Leal [Minwon]

Chapter 1- Fractured Reflections

Hey there! So, just a quick note before diving in...

I know it's been a while, but I've been holding off on posting anything until I had a decent amount written. Right now, I've got four chapters, about 60k words, and let me tell you... not a whole lot has happened yet, but trust me, the slow burn is real (like, seriously, take the slow burn tag to heart).

This fic was originally supposed to be all about the sexual tension. Like, that was the goal, you know? But then... some angst decided to sneak in there, and now I'm not sure which one's going to win out. We'll see where it goes.

Either way, I'm so excited to start sharing this with you all, and I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

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Staten Island at sunset feels like an escape, a fleeting moment where Mingyu can pretend the world isn't closing in. It's a fantasy, a temporary sanctuary that promises peace he hasn't felt in years. He sits cross-legged on the damp sand, the cold grains seeping through his jeans, clinging to his skin. His camera rests heavily against his chest, the strap firm around his neck like a lifeline. He watches the horizon with quiet reverence, the sky before him a stunning canvas of color—fiery oranges bleeding into pinks, deep reds swirling through streaks of violet. The sun is sinking slowly, almost hesitantly, as if it too doesn't want to leave this beauty behind.

For a moment, Mingyu lets himself breathe.

Tomorrow will be another day under fluorescent lights, holed up in his office, adjusting images of flawless Saint Laurent models. He'll smooth out skin that already needs no retouching, perfect features until they don't look human anymore. It's a routine that has long since lost its magic. He'll go through the motions of it—click, drag, filter—until everything looks polished but sterile.

But tonight, as the golden light bathes the beach, it's different. These pictures, the ones he takes just for himself, are raw and unfiltered. They're his. Real. Honest. He frames the sunset in his lens, his fingers steady as he captures the fleeting moment when the sun dips below the waterline. Each click of the shutter is like a heartbeat, a reminder that this is when he feels most alive—when no one is telling him what beauty is supposed to look like.

There's an irony in turning your passion into a career. The thing that once made your heart race eventually becomes just another task on a long to-do list. It dulls, loses its luster. It becomes routine. But here, with the salt air filling his lungs and the ocean whispering softly at the shore, Mingyu remembers why he fell in love with photography in the first place.

It's the freedom. The chance to create something that's his, with no one else's vision getting in the way.

He watches a family nearby—two parents chasing after their laughing child, the sound of their joy carrying over the breeze. It's a scene so painfully picturesque that it stabs at something deep in his chest. He hates that he can't look away. Their happiness reminds him of everything he wanted once. A life he almost had. The memories of Sunday mornings, whispered dreams of children and a future, flicker in his mind like ghosts he's tried to forget.

Once, he thought that kind of love was his, too. Something unbreakable. But forever turned into four years of trying to piece together something that had already shattered.