M
he slipped through his fingers, like the sugar he used to offer when they craved a burst of spirit as children. so many memories, from the good and sweet to the dark and hurtful, flood his mind when he pictures his childhood. a childhood stuck in the city, swelteringly hot and bustling, yet always cold, lonely and isolated.
the escape from the concrete jungle to the green of the suburbs or the blue of the ocean is a breath of fresh air. a reminder of his blissful memories with his boy. interlinked fingers, soft whispers, hideaways from the world that only the two of them knew about. a deep connection that he craves so dearly, longs for the boy who could finish his sentences without a second thought.
slipping hands into each others' pockets, stealing quick glances, taking the long route home just so they could treasure those last moments.
minho laments the unfair hand he's been dealt. oh why can he remember, so vividly.
he can recall exact details of moments when they'd have to get split up by teachers. of offhanded comments and speculations jisung would make over coffee in the early hours of a saturday morning. of the sound his beat up trainers would make against the concrete of their skatepark.
and oh, the graffiti. the hiss of the spray can, the drip of the paint down his wrists. the pitter patter of paint hitting the floor. vibrant colours and the strong scent of chemicals coiling in the air around them. controversial messages and scenes that only they could stomach putting on paper. the time almost the exact same picture materialised on the paper in front of them as they each sketched out a design.
the art that brightened up the dull and grim surroundings they grew up in. the unstable nature of their support networks. the laughter that came hand in hand with tears upon a discussion of home life. he wants to stay in his isolated world of youth alone with jisung forever. a perfect match that was stolen away from him when he needed it most.
minho desires. he wants that life back so desperately.