Minchan: Fighting The Storms With You

40

Chan sat on the worn-out sofa, his heart pounding as he stared at the number on his phone screen. His thumb hovered over the call button, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. It couldn't be real. It had to be his imagination playing tricks on him again, like it always did. But what if it wasn't? What if, this time, it was different?

For the first two years after Minho's death, life had been nothing short of a nightmare for Chan. He had completely shut himself off from the world, drowning in the relentless tide of his grief. Everywhere he looked, he saw Minho. In his dreams, Minho would appear, sometimes as the vibrant, lively boy he had been, and other times as a lifeless figure lying on the cold floor, blood pooling around him. Even when Chan was awake, Minho's presence haunted him. There were days when he would catch a glimpse of Minho's familiar smile, only to blink and find himself alone.

The pain was unbearable, and Chan had sought solace in all the wrong places. He turned to drugs, hoping they would numb the agony that consumed him. He began cutting himself, desperate to feel anything other than the hollow ache that gnawed at his soul. 

His studies were abandoned; the few times he did manage to drag himself to school, it was only because his mother forced him to go. But even there, he couldn't escape. He would see visions of Minho, his mind conjuring the image of his lover lying on the flower bed, trembling and helpless. The memories would overwhelm him, and he would break down in the middle of class, crying out for Minho, wishing he could turn back time. Why did he have to find him that day? Why did fate have to be so cruel?

Chan tried to hate Minho, to blame him for leaving him behind in this world that no longer made sense. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, he could never bring himself to despise the beautiful boy who had meant everything to him. Minho was gone, and yet, he was everywhere, a ghost that refused to let him move on.

But then, something changed. It was a day that would forever be etched in Chan's memory. His grandfather had passed away, and Chan attended the funeral as a drunken mess, barely able to stand, let alone process the loss. When he returned home, he found his mother sprawled on the living room floor, unconscious from too much drinking. Chan, not much better off, somehow managed to lift her and carry her to her bed. As he laid her down, she stirred, her voice a faint, broken whisper.

"Chan-ah... Chan-ah," she called out weakly.

"I'm here, Mom," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you want some water?"

But instead of answering, she began to cry, her words slurring together as she confessed, "I'm so sorry... I was never there for you... I don't know what to do anymore... I can't let you kill yourself... You're the only one I have left... Please... Chan-ah..." Her body shook with sobs, and then she passed out again, her tears staining the pillow beneath her.

Chan sat there, her words echoing in his mind. He had been found outside the bungalow, the only survivor, while the entire place had been reduced to ashes. He had tried countless times to piece together what had happened that night, to remember anything that might make sense of the tragedy. Was it Minho who saved him? But why? Why would Minho save him, only to leave him in this miserable existence?

As he sat in the darkened room, Chan felt something shift within him. He stood up and fetched a blanket, carefully draping it over his mother. Then, he sank down beside her, his mind racing with thoughts of Minho. If Minho had saved him, then he couldn't let that sacrifice go to waste. He couldn't continue wasting away, drowning in his grief and guilt.

From that moment on, Chan began to change. He sought therapy, slowly rebuilding himself piece by piece. He took small steps, each one a victory in its own right. He started writing down his feelings, pouring his pain into the pages of a journal. He picked up music again, finding solace in the melodies that once brought him joy. He resumed his studies, this time through homeschooling, determined to make something of the life Minho had saved.

The visions of Minho didn't stop, but Chan learned to live with them. He no longer broke down at the sight of Minho in his dreams. Instead, he smiled, grateful for the time they had shared. He learned to be thankful that he had been given the chance to love and be loved by someone as extraordinary as Minho.

And now, five years later, here he was, sitting on this old sofa, staring at his phone. His head throbbed with a mix of anxiety and hope. Was it really Minho he had seen at the London airport, or was his mind playing tricks on him again? He needed to know. He couldn't just let this go.

Taking a deep breath, Chan dialed a number.

"Han," he said as soon as the call connected, his voice trembling slightly. "I want you to come to London. And drag Seungmin with you."

There was a brief silence on the other end before Han's concerned voice came through. "Chan, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Chan admitted, his hand gripping the phone tightly. "I don't know if I'm okay, but I need you here. Please, just... I need to know if I'm losing my mind or if... if there's something real about this."

"We'll be there," Han replied without hesitation.