#(otherwise I would be aching for the punishment of someone reading this out of context)

[thebigshotman]

(Before continuing on to the movie review this week of “Annie Hall”, I feel I need to state this. Yes, this is a Woody Allen film. Yes, he is, without a doubt, a scumbag of a human being. However, I throughly enjoyed the movie. This is because separating the art from the artist is a very real thing people can do, no matter how influenced by the artist’s life the art was. I and everyone else in my class did the same thing.

As my professor said before the screening: “This is a film class, not an ethics class; take your scorn elsewhere”. So please do not come to me with anon hate about the fact that I enjoyed this movie. It will be immediately deleted as if you never sent it. (I know most of the regulars around here know not to do that, and know what kind of person I really am, but you never know who might see this 😬)

Anyway! With that disclaimer out of the way, the review is under the cut for those interested! Thank you all for being respectful and chill 😊)

Another week, another movie in film class! Last week’s “Godfather” didn’t give me much to talk about, but good golly did this one! This week we watched “Annie Hall” by Woody Allen, and it was a romantic comedy. Romantic comedies are something I usually don’t watch very often, with the sole exception of “Pretty Woman” and a couple of others. But this one had a lot of tricks up its sleeve to keep me interested!

The movie is about the relationship between Alvy Singer-Allen-and the titular Annie Hall-Diane Keaton-as it rises, falls, rises again, and eventually breaks up amicably. Alvy’s other relationships are also explored briefly to hammer in the point that he seems to be unlucky in love no matter what. We see this relationship out of order, with their awkward first meeting only coming about a third a ways in. We also break the fourth wall pretty frequently, with fantasy sequences woven in here and there by all characters and frequent asides to the camera by Alvy. In the end, they meet each other one last time for dinner, and the whole thing ends surprisingly poignantly with a metaphor involving love and eggs. Trust me, it was way better than it sounded 😂

The screenplay definitely deserved to win an Oscar, as it’s very tightly written and very funny, if odd and cringe worthy occasionally. What didn’t win an Oscar but was amazing, though, was the cinematography, done by the same dude that did “Godfather” funnily enough. It really captured what it must be like to fall in and out of love against the backdrop of a big city. The fantasy sequences and asides, very unusual for a romcom, also make it stand out from a crowd and keep you guessing what strange-but-realism-driven thing would happen next. The movie line scene with a cameo by Marshall McLuan (you can look it up if you want) was a highlight!

I’d say it’s a combination of what “Scenes from a Marriage” and “Ferris Buller’s Day Off” must be like…but I’ve never seen either lol

Keaton deserved the Oscar for playing Annie, bringing just enough of her real self into the role to make her realistic but enhancing everything when needed to make her the prototype “manic pixie dream girl” she is. Some of my classmates thought Alvy was annoying, what with his constant griping and distinctive voice, and I can definitely see why, but…I saw parts of myself in both of them. My positive qualities in Annie’s free-spiritness and definitely my negative ones in Alvy’s anxieties and overthinking. So I can’t bring myself to hate either, or their performances. They truly captured the “nervous romance” of the tagline!

So, yeah! Overall I really liked this movie! It did a lot of things I didn’t expect a romantic comedy too, and in a good way, too. The burden of how horribly its writer/director/lead actor forked up over the years weights heavy on it, make no mistake, but I think despite that it’s aged decently. If you can find it for free somewhere I recommend watching it! Just, y’know, do what I did. As for me, I will be watching it again as soon as I can find that aforementioned free source lol

Next week is “Network”, the origin of the famous “mad as hell” rant! Definitely a very big change from a romcom, but as someone going to school for media and a news reporter myself I can’t wait to see how it is! I’ll be sure to let you all know. In the meantime, hopefully I’ll be on in a few hours to get to threads.

La dee da la dee da…seriously I loved Annie. See you all soon!

My mission if there’s ever a 70s day at college is to dress like her in this gif 😁

[braveskyered]

Dames Special - Valentine’s

It is highly recommended that you read Knights before reading this, otherwise you may miss some context.

SPOILER WARNING!

This reveals heavy spoilers for Knights, if you have not read Knights up to Part 18 and onward, please turn away now. Otherwise, read at your own risk.

SPOILER WARNING!

-

“Ah… I’m sorry, Elaine. I know this isn’t the best, since I couldn’t get a reservation at the Adagio in time, but—"

Elaine held a finger over Arthur’s lips with a fond smile, “It’s perfect, my star.”

Seeing Arthur’s face turn red will be a sight Elaine will never get tired of seeing. Sure, maybe it is cheesy to decorate the kitchen table with a big red cloth and gold trim with a fancy vase full of red, white, and pink roses in the center, complete with takeout from an Italian restaurant, but it’s still wonderful all the same.

“Our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple. I wouldn’t have this any other way. Now…” Elaine said as she pulled out a chair for Arthur, “Shall we?”

“Shouldn’t it be the man doing that for the lady?” Arthur asked in amusement as he sat down.

“Oh, hush. You know I never follow tradition.”

Once Elaine sat down in her own chair, the two started to eat. The food didn’t look the best, but it’s still delicious and she made sure to savor the taste for as long as she could. It didn’t matter to her where their meal took place, but the fact that she could enjoy it with her husband is all she wanted for this special day.

The sound of something metallic clattering against something hard reached her ears, causing her to look up to Arthur before glancing at the floor. Did Arthur drop his fork?

“Is everything all right, my star?”

“Y-Yeah,” Arthur nodded before standing up and kneeling down beneath the table, “Sorry. Butterfingers. I’ll get another fork.”

As Arthur went to the kitchen sink, Elaine left herself in deep thought. She wondered if Arthur had any past Valentines, or how he celebrated it back in his old hometown. She did recall Arthur saying that he had never loved anyone before he met her, but there was something about his tone in the few times he would talk about his past in Tempo. A longing, perhaps?

Well, it shouldn’t matter. He’s here with her now, and she will see to it that he will have the happiness he deserves. When Arthur came back to the table, they resumed eating their meal.

- - - - - - -

No matter what happens, no matter how much one wishes for it to be, time marches on. He isn’t sure how these bills are going to be paid off in time, or how he will be able to work as a chef again. His wife is able to somewhat manage, but he knew it’s only a matter of time until she can’t anymore.

His right arm ached, which made things worse, for he had lost it just two years ago.

…

“Joe, you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry, Lokia.”

“Was everything okay at the restaurant?”

“We had a dinner rush for Valentine’s Day,” his wife said as she set tray of food down on the table next to the paperwork, “So we should be able to meet our sales goal.”

Joe sighed in relief. Some profit is finally coming in, which means being able to pay some of their bills and their few remaining employees. Their medical bills, however…

He isn’t sure who has it worse, him for the loss of his right arm, or his wife getting burns that has scarred her for life. The fact that they’ve both been injured at the same time made things more difficult. Joe had managed to finish his physical therapy and has gotten used to living with just one arm (his non-dominant arm, no less), but Lokia will eventually need to get more surgeries so she can regain some more movement in her hands and neck. It’s a miracle that Lokia can still work as a chef at all, even if it’s not at the pace she used to do.

Technically, Joe could’ve used the prosthetic that was given to him, but…

The arm, made from the blueprints that Arthur had left behind and mirrored by Lance, did do its job of giving Joe some degree of normalcy, but the general appearance of the prosthetic itself, and the fact that it would become too painful to wear after a while… Joe wondered if Arthur designed for the arm to be painful on purpose, to remind him of the time where everything went wrong. Or maybe it was unintended to be like that but didn’t bother to fix it until finding out what happened to Lewis, and then deliberately choosing not to do so as a way of self-punishment.

It sickened Joe to think that the last one is probably true. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to wear it for too long despite Lokia’s occasional insistence. Lance had never even offered to build the arm in the first place. He just did it without anyone asking.

“Here,” Lance said gruffly as he slammed a long yet somewhat thin box on the table, “I did the best I could, but I know it’s not perfect.”

When pressed for details, the mechanic gave Joe and his family a glare of disgust.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I only did this because I know my boy would’ve done the same thing for you if you hadn’t forced him out of here. Whether or not you use it is up to you.”

Ever since that day, Lance refused to interact with the Pepper family outside of repairing their cars or the arm, and even then, he would just have any of his employees to do the talking. A part of him wondered if anyone at Kingsmen Mechanics would do a shoddy repair job on their cars on purpose, but after Lokia once accused Lance of doing such a thing, the mechanic all but told them to take their business elsewhere.

“Unlike you, I’m not petty enough to want someone dead. I prefer my customers being safe on the road. If any of my employees do anything outside of proper repair, they’re either written up or fired. I’m still replacing the brake pads on your van whether you like it or not, because it wouldn’t be good on our conscience if your daughters were to get hurt in an accident. But if you don’t want us to do anything, then all you have to do is say so.”

The words… hurt more than the Peppers care to admit.

“Joe?” He looked up upon seeing his wife right next to him, the smell of the food becoming too much to ignore, “Please. You need to eat. I cut the meat into bite-sized pieces.”

He let out a breath before pushing the papers he was looking over aside, giving Lokia the room she needed to push the dinner tray in front of him.

“I managed to get the last of the spray paint off our door, by the way,” Lokia said out of the blue, “I should be able to finish replacing the damaged parts of the gate by tomorrow.”

Joe hummed as he watched his wife leave. He really didn’t want to think about the vandalism that had been going on with both the Pepper Paradiso and the family home. If there’s one thing that parents should never go through, it’s outliving any of their children. They just managed to lay their son’s body to rest just two years after it had been found.

That should’ve been the end of it, yet…

“It’s all your fault!”

“I lost my family because of you!”

“Rotten Peppers with awful taste!”

The words that the townspeople had left for them, whether it’s yelled at them, painted, or worse, etched onto their property, left them plenty of reminders of their foolish mistake.

And it all happened because they blamed the wrong person for the loss of their son.

They were told that a demon had taken control of Arthur and used him to shove their son Lewis to his death, but they couldn’t help but think that Arthur was still at fault in a way. He should’ve resisted, fought back, but instead just… stood by while their son was killed. They knew it was irrational, but it was all they could do to cope with their grief. They didn’t know what to think of the ghost that their son had become and knowing that the ghost also held resentment for Arthur in the few times they’ve spoken to him (…it?) only fuel their own.

In the few times Arthur dared to interact with them, whether it was to pick up food Vivi ordered or the few times to see if anything needed fixing, Joe and Lokia made it clear that Arthur wasn’t welcome, lashing out whenever he showed up by himself. His daughters were too young to know what exactly happened to Lewis, but Belle and Cayenne learned to hate Arthur, too, while Paprika remained in her own little world wondering why her big brother isn’t home.

The young mechanic got the hint, and for a few months did he not appear before them.

Things finally came to a head when Arthur showed up suddenly on Paprika’s birthday, holding out a large paper bag bearing the Pepper Paradiso logo to them. When demanded on why Arthur came back, the mechanic said it was to fulfill a request Lewis had asked of him.

Arthur should’ve been the one that died instead of our son!

The slap that Lokia gave Arthur, the rock that Belle had thrown and hit the back of his head, the anger and humiliated sadness Joe felt as he stomped on the box, not caring what was inside of it upon hearing Paprika’s cries when Arthur tried presenting it to her. It was good riddance when Lokia literally threw Arthur out of their home before tossing out what the latter had brought without even looking at it.

Regret and shame would come back at them tenfold starting the very next day.

After coming home from school, Belle had found the tossed-out box at their front door with a note saying that it looks like it was thrown out by mistake, as it was a package in Lewis’s name.

“I got the Christmas present for Paprika,” Lewis told his parents when he was alive, “Arthur’s holding on to it for me.”

Arthur was in the hospital during the holidays. He may have even forgotten about it after all the trauma of losing an arm and friend had put him through. He had to have found it later and tried to make things right.

The shame the family felt didn’t stop ever since. They thought to apologize, but how could they face Arthur after what they did?

The hell that came after them less than a week later was even worse, and everyone in the town became tormented with nightmares. Eventually, the survivors of those lost to the nightmares started to lash out.

And it was all because of the Peppers wanting an innocent man gone and out of their lives.

- - - - - - -

“This has been a lovely dinner. Thank you, Arthur.”

“I’m glad it suited to your tastes.”

Elaine looked down at one of the side dishes on Arthur’s side of the table, “Oh, you didn’t like this?”

Arthur looked down at the small bowl still full of soup before shaking his head and smiled at her, “Not really, but if you want it, you’re more than welcome to it.”

For a moment, Elaine thought she saw a look of sadness in his eyes, but upon hearing him speak, she disregarded the thought and thanked him.

Arthur then proceeded to clean up the table while Elaine took the bowl and a spoon to finish the soup the former didn’t eat.

The zuppa toscana has just the right amount of spiciness. Elaine wondered if there’s a way Nana Niniane could get the recipe so the rest of their family could enjoy it.

But that’s for another day.

[taeminuet]

Heartbeat (15/?)

Title: Heartbeat Fandom: SHINee Pairings: Jongtae; Minkey; OnKai Chapter Wordcount: 3.5k Overall Rating: R (Some chapters will be NC-17; these will be marked.) Chapter Warnings: ableism, mental illness,  Summary: In which not every problem needs to be fixed and not every person needs to be saved; sometimes you just need support.

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1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 7.5 , 8 , 9 , 10 , 11 , 12 , 13 , 14

Chapter 15: Minho

Minho’s head hurts. It’s feels like someone cracked him across the back of his head, and he feels just a little bit sick when the tries to sit up, nausea twisting in his gut. He overdid it last night, he thinks, trying to remember what all had happened. At some point, he can’t, the whole night a blur that fades to black.

He remembers snippets: it had been finals – the championship game. They’d won, and then… And then Lu Han had pulled Minseok away to celebrate (i.e. make out against the lockers,) and Minho had gone out to celebrate with his other friends. They’d been driving, and they’d had the beers on the floor of the car, even if it wasn’t safe. And Minho had bent down to get one and – and nothing. And nothing after that.

He’s not sure how he got this bad of a hangover off cheap beer, but his head is pounding, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the minimal light coming off of – of something…

It’s too white to be his ceiling lights, too close to fluorescent, and it burns through his closed eyelids in a way that makes him groan uncomfortably. It hurts, and Minho has to all but ball up to blink his eyes open, staring at… at strangely unfamiliar bedsheets. At an unfamiliar room. At an unfamiliar face in the mirror, too angled, hair framing it all wrong.

Minho opens his eyes, for the first time in memory and the several-hundredth time in the last few years, to an unfamiliar life. To a notebook written in a familiar hand, with unfamiliar names and faces and facts.

He falls into a routine that he’s not aware is a routine: the stages of grief all packed into such a short about of time: denial, grief, anger. He’s not sure who he would bargain with, but a part of him is willing to try that too.

But in the end, what choice does he have but to do as his notebook says. To get up. To keep living.

He’s confused, slightly, when he manages to find out the time. It’s a little after 9'oclock, but from the darkness outside his window, kept at bay by the sharp florescents in the ceiling, it’s night, not morning. And from the loose schedule in his notebook, there’s no reason he should be waking so late. Or maybe there is one? But there’s no notes, no indication of why.

Only the tentative knock on his door, the way the woman peers in – Nurse Jung, Minho’s mind recalls, in his own script – keeps Minho from continuing to think about it.

“Can I…” he pauses for just a moment, the beginning of the phrase clicking in his mind like an empty lighter, sparking against nothing. Something he read, only moments ago, but he doesn’t quite remember the context, the meaning. He shakes free of it. “Can I help you?”

She smiles, the kind of practiced but slightly frazzles smile, like she’s trying to keep from letting on how stressed out she really is. “How are you feeling?”

Minho doesn’t know how to answer that question. At all. How is he supposed to feel when he’s just had his life turned on it’s head? How often does he have this mental debate with himself?

“My head hurts,” he says finally. “Can I have some medicine? Or is that not okay for me, since…?”

She sighs a little. “We’ll see about getting you something for the pain – your doctor should have an approved list on file. Otherwise, though?”

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to be feeling? My notebook says I’ve been here for years. Why are you worrying now?” It feels harsh to say, but the way her expressions flickers tells him something, and Minho pushes. “What’s wrong?”

“You had a bit of a run in with another patient earlier in the day,” she says hesitantly. “It’s very unlike him to physically lash out at other patients, but it seems as there was some sort of incident…”

“I don’t… remember,” Minho says, and it’s so stupid because of course he doesn’t. It hurts, somehow, the pitying look in her eyes. “Did he… do you know why?”

She hesitates again. “He claims he didn’t. I suppose he doesn’t want to get in trouble, but he was found with you. Like I said, it’s very strange of Kibum to–”

She stops and clams up, but the secret is out. Kibum.

It’s… it doesn’t seem right, though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know anything about him, really, just what he has written: his name, his wheelchair, his basic personality, his favorite place to draw.

And, though he’s not entirely sure why, there’s little details, little things Minho’s written – the way his eyes get more catlike when he’s focusing; the way that when he laughs, it’s with his whole body and Minho should keep an eye out to make sure he doesn’t hit his own leg. It’s not a lot to know about a person.

But still, it doesn’t sit right with him, somehow. And maybe it’s a terribly idea to rely on instinct, but wha else does he have?

“Can I see him?” Minho asks, standing. He sways for a moment, head still aching a bit, but it’s starting to fade a little, and he doesn’t have any trouble walking to the door, attempting to push past Nurse Jung.

She doesn’t move. “I don’t think,” she says, “that that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not?” Minho says. “You said yourself he’s not usually violent. I want to understand what happened. I want to understand something–”

It comes out more desperate than he intended, enough to shock her into stillness, giving Minho just a moment to push past her. There’s a loose map scribbled in the front of his notebook, telling where everyone’s rooms are, and he knows that Key’s is the one just next door, so he heads to it quickly, his fingers rapping on the door before anyone can stop him.

There’s no answer, and Minho’s stomach twists, but he has to try. He urges the door open, just a little. “Kibum,” he starts, and that sounds wrong, so instead he tries, “Key, are you…?”

“Minho?” comes a voice, somehow deeper than he’d expected, a little rough like he’s been… crying. “Minho, is that…?”

Minho swallows thickly, his stomach suddenly lurching, almost twisting. “Can I come in?”

Key doesn’t answer, just for a  moment, and then, “I… yeah. Yeah, of course. I can’t–”

Key can’t come to him, and it’s not until Minho is inside that he sees why. Key is sitting in his bed, half curled into himself, and his chair is across the room, nowhere in reach. They’ve left him there, isolated him on his own as punishment, and Minho feels a flash of anger.

His fists tighten, and he looks down at the floor to try and hide the look. He doesn’t want Key to think he’s mad at him, because he’s not. He’s just confused, and now he can’t bear to see what they’ve done to Key, and just –

“I just…” he starts, and then he stalls, because as he’s looking down, something catches his eyes. There’s a photo, half sticking out from under Key’s bed, and he’d leave it, but he can see himself in it. He stoops to pick it up, and all of a sudden he doesn’t have any words at all.

In the picture, he’s smiling, almost stupidly, and no wonder, because Key is there and he’s… god. He looks so happy, and Key looks so beautiful, and Minho feels like something has stolen all of the air from his lungs.

Minho doesn’t want to look away from the photo, away from Key’s smile, but Key makes a soft noise that demands attention. “Minho, why are you here? Why–”

“I wanted to find out what happened,” Minho says honestly, and it doesn’t sound accusatory exactly, but Minho still finds himself rushing to add, “I don’t think you hurt me. I just… I just want to know. It’s hard not knowing.”

And Key’s face flickers, turns so desperate that Minho’s heart squeezes., because if Key has the ability to smile like he is in that photo, Minho wants to see it so badly.

“Minho, you have to believe me, I would never hurt you. Never. I know it seems stupid, but you just – you fell. You tripped backwards over my chair and you fell and hit your head, and they won’t believe me, but I would never…”

Minho doesn’t know what to say. What can he say here? He holds up the picture with a shaking hand, handing it to Key. His hands are shaking. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t remember it. I don’t remember anything. But, well, you know that already. And I…”

He takes a deep breath, staring at Key. There’s something startlingly genuine in his face, something genuinely disarming. He doesn’t know how to tell Key no, that he doesn’t believe him. But he can’t say yes either.

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I want to. I don’t know why, but I want to believe you. But I don’t know.”

He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he does anyways, sliding down to his knees on the floor and leaning forward, resting his forehead against the edge of the mattress. He’s shaking slightly, more than just his hands now, frustrated with everything, with not knowing, with not understanding, with the exhaustion that’s weighing on him even though he only just woke, with everything.

And god, he doesn’t know if this is a good idea, but Minho doesn’t even know enough to be able to second-guess himself, and Key seems so desperate, so unlikely to get angry, that the blond lashing out at him feels almost ridiculous; Minho will take his chances.

“I want to believe you,” he whispers. “Why do I want to believe you so badly?”

It’s just a moment, and then there are hands touching him, sifting into his hair and almost petting him, like they’re trying to ease the tension out of him and reassure him all at once.  “I know. I know, Minho. It’s okay,” Key says, voice getting thicker with tears “I… I’ll prove it, okay? I’ll prove it. Just… help me down, okay? Help me.”

And it’s such a bad idea, but Key is drawing Minho’s hands to his hips, and he’s looking at Minho with such vulnerability, and so Minho obeys, following Key’s careful directions until Key is on the floor in front of him.

“Look at me. I’m… I’m completely in your hands now,”  Key says, voice trembling a little. “I know it’s not the same, but I’m trusting you, Minho. Try to trust me too. If you really can’t, I’ll understand, but you have to dig down deep in there and really feel it. Don’t listen to the notebook or anyone else, just see if you can feel something. Please.”

Minho’s heart squeezes. How? How can’t he trust the one thing he has in his own hand, the one thing that’s giving him some idea of who he is now, of what his life is now? How is he supposed to just ignore that?

But Key is  taking his hand, placing on his leg, and Minho can feel the fragility under his palm, feel how much faith Key is putting in him right now.

Minho swallows thickly and slides his hand upwards to Key’s waist again. Key lets him pull him gently, doesn’t pull away, and that level of trust is terrifying, but it’s also touching enough that Minho doesn’t question himself, doesn’t stop himself from caving to the urge to pull Key into his arms, holding him gently.

Key isn’t as small as he would have expected – his shoulders and arms are broad, matching his hands, bu still it’s not what it should be. Key’s legs are too badly damaged, what would have once been muscle and bone now damaged, quite possibly beyond repair. Minho knows that much at least – it’s written in his notebook, a perfunctory note next to a memo not to bring it up if he can help it.

But whether or not he’s his full weight, his full strength, Key is so pliant in his arms, so trusting. Minho can’t believe that someone like this could even attempt to hurt him.

But beyond that even… Key’s voice is desperate and raw, truthful in a way that can’t be faked as he pleads, “You have to believe me. I would never ever hurt you.”

Minho still doesn’t have a right answer, but he isn’t sure he needs one, not when he’s so close, not when he can feel Key like this. He tries to clear it all away – no words, no memories, no thoughts; just the shape of Key in his arms and the way his entire body is shaking, his heart racing where it was caught in his throat.

“It’s okay,” he strangles out around it, trying to will it back into it’s proper place in his chest, but it won’t listen, just stays where it is, making his throat feel tight.. “I… I believe you. I know you wouldn’t.”

Key goes almost slack in his hold. “You believe me,” he says, and when he looks at Minho, his eyes are wet and he’s smiling shakily. After just a moment, he curls back into Minho’s hold, like he doesn’t want to leave. Minho doesn’t really want to let him go.

“Tell me about that picture,” Minho asks. “Please.”

And Key does. He tells Minho about his whole morning, his whole day, telling Minho a story about himself that he doesn’t remember. And it’s a little unnerving, but Minho doesn’t doubt it’s true.

“I thought,” Key says, and then falters for the first time. “I thought you’d remembered something. Something about me. And you got upset and fell. It was just an accident. But I crawled over to you to make sure you were okay, and the nurse found me like that and assumed… But god, thank you for knowing I didn’t, Minho.“

Minho frowns. “What… what did you think I’d remembered?”

Key stiffens in his arms. “I don’t want to upset you again,” Key says. “It’s fine. It was just… I was a fluke, or… Or, I don’t…”

“Please,” Minho says. “Please, tell me.”

And Key huddles closer, like he’s afraid of Minho pulling away, but nods. “A few days ago I called you perfect. And this morning, I did it again, and you asked if I’d said that before. Like you remembered me saying it. Like…”

“I wrote that,” Minho breathes. “I think… it’s scratched out, but… you can feel it through the paper. Or… or, I don’t know. Maybe just because I wrote it, I can… but I…”

“Oh,” Key says, and he doesn’t sound disappointed. He sounds in awe, and Minho pulls back in shock to see Key’s eyes watering.

“Please don’t cry,” Minho says, panicked. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not crying,” Key says, even though he clearly is. “I just… you cared enough to write that? Even if… even if you decided better after, you cared enough to think you’d want to remember that.”

Minho bites his lip. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, a little bewildered. “You’re– I mean, I’m not. At all. But to have someone like you think that…”

“Someone like me,” Kibum repeats, and his voice is flattening a little bit, like he’s expecting Minho so insult him, and Minho honestly has no idea why.

“You’re… god. You’re beautiful. And you’re – that you trust me this much? That you care this much what I think? I don’t – you’re amazing,” Minho says, and he knows he sounds bewildered because he is. Why would anyone think anything less of Key after what he’s seen?

“Your way with words never ceases to impress me.” Key says, and he’s teasing, but his voice is wavery and affected and he still looks like he’s about to cry. But he smiles faintly along with his teasing, and it’s so soft and affectionate and beautiful.

And Minho’s been going with basically gut instinct since he woke up, and he’s here, so he doesn’t see why he should stop now.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and he feels like it sounds ridiculous, but Key’s breath hitches like Minho’s just struck him, and he looks so terrifyingly hopeful.

“Yeah,” Key says. “Yeah, please. Kiss me.”

Minho slides his hand up to cup Key’s cheek, the other staying around his waist to hold the blond steady, and kisses him.

It’s nothing special, Minho doesn’t think, just his lips pressing softly against Key’s. His lips are probably a little dry, and his hand is shaking against Key’s cheek, and he probably kisses like the inexperienced moron that he is.

But Key’s lips are soft and slightly chapped, and Minho feels his breath catch in his throat, pulling back from Key to just stare for a moment. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, just gapes for a moment, his heart racing in his chest.

And then Key kisses him again, just as gentle as the first time, and Minho can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Key,” he breathes, and it’s like it breaks a spell, because Key stops kissing him to smile helplessly.

“I never thought – I wanted for so long, but…” And Key’s smile falters, just like that.

Minho feels his chest tighten. “I’m… I won’t forget. Not yet. I just woke up. I have days. We can figure this out. Whatever this is. Key…”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Key says, but he looks tired suddenly, almost exhausted. “I… I want you to stay. But… I’m supposed to be in trouble for hurting you. Even though…”

“You didn’t,” Minho says, and it comes out certain and vehement. “I know.”

“Minho…” Key says, and his voice is so soft, shaking just a little.

“I… I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Minho says finally. “I’ll be here tomorrow. We can figure this out tomorrow. Key…”

“Tomorrow,” Key says, and he sounds hopeful and also like he’s frightened by that hope. “Minho… kiss me again. Before you go.”

And Minho does. He presses kisses to Key’s lips as he helps him back up, back into bed. He pulls Keys’ chair closer, just in case, and kisses him again and again. And he’s fully aware that Key isn’t sure if these kisses mean goodnight or goodbye, but…

But Minho’s not willing to hurt Key like that. Even if he’s still confused and lost, even if he doesn’t understand, he feels something for Key. He doesn’t know what yet, but it’s there, and he felt it. And he’s not going to give that up just yet.

“Tomorrow,” Minho promises.

Key’s expression is all longing, so clear that he couldn’t hide if he wanted to. “Tomorrow,” he says, and then tentatively, “Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho swallows. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He will be. He has to be. He won’t let himself forget. Not this.

-

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