Minsung Oneshots

Ghosts of his past

"Sungie...."

Minho's voice broke as he stared at the boy crouching in front of him, sobbing silently.

"Please....." He pleaded, his voice trailing off in vain. "Please don't cry....." Minho reached out with his right hand, trying to brush through the younger's soft hair. He let out a choked sob when he saw his hand vanish through Jisung's locks.

However he still didn't leave Jisung's face, travelling down with just enough distance between the two bodies to make Minho feel the heat radiating off Jisung in waves, meeting his own cold skin. His eyes followed the movement of his hands as Minho caressed Jisung lovingly, his eyes trained unmovingly on the sobbing younger, aware that he would never be able to feel Minho's touch ever again.

Minho sniffled as he stood up. The dry, autumn leaves crunched under his blood splattered shoes as he leaned down once again, his hand hovering just inches above Jisung's hair.

A moment of hesitation passed as Minho pulled his hand back. He looked around the silent graveyard, squinting slightly in the cloudy sunlight.

It was daytime and there weren't much people around in that area of the graveyard. Minho was thankful for that as he looked down at the crouched younger leaning against the newly fashioned grave stone. It broke Minho's heart to see Jisung in such a state but he couldn't do anything about it.

After all, here he was, a dead spectator at his own funeral, watching as his best friend mourned him and not being able to do anything about it.

Minho felt confused. He couldn't understand how everything had lead up to this.

Just a few days ago he was sitting happily with Jisung on the younger's bed, joking around with him in his room filled with polaroids and fairy lights, helping him pack up to leave for his neq dream high school in Seoul. And now, a mere week later, he was standing in front of his grave, a ghost as he watched his best friend mourn for him, his heart gradually tearing to pieces.

Minho looked down at his clothes, covered in dried blood. He touched the side of his face, also slightly sticky with blood. Removing his fingers he saw them covered in the dark red semi-liquid.

Minho kicked the side of the grave stone, groaning in frustration as his foot went right through the stone, making him stagger forward and almost faceplant onto the dirt packed ground. He straightened up scowling, dusting off imaginary dust from his clothes.

Why? Why did everything around him feel so real? Why could he hear the crunch of the autumn leaves? Why could he feel the blood still running down the side of his face? Why could he taste the dryness in his mouth with such perfect clarity? And yet, why couldn't the broken, sobbing boy in front of him feel anything?

Minho looked up on hearing the rustling of leaves, the annoyed frown vanishing from his face. His breath hitched as he watched Jisung stand up shakily, wiping his red eyes as he dusted off his black shirt and stepped back a little, a small smile gracing his face.

Even in this state, Minho couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful he looked. Like a tragic painting stuck in time, beautiful, yet sad.

Jisung stared at the gravestone for a minute, unaware of his best friend staring back at him. Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out something and laying it onto the slab of grey stone, carefully.

"Bye Minho" Jisung whispered hoarsely, as he turned around walking away, the bitter wind blowing through his brown hair, making him shiver involuntarily. "Happy late Birthday"

"Bye Jisung" Minho whispered, the words falling from his lips on their own accord. He raised a hand and waved at Jisung's retreating back, a stupid, love struck smile painted on his face even though he knew Jisung would never be able to see it again.