2Min Oneshots <3

Falling

Title: Falling
Genre: non-idol au, angst, alcohol, unsafe driving, meltdown
Length: ... words
Written: June 22, 2026
Published: June 22, 2026

Top: Minho
Bottom: Seungmin

Prompt: Seungmin gets in Minho's car after quitting his job in chaos—pouring out alcohol, laughing too hard. They speed through the rain with no destination, Seungmin's dad calling nonstop. They drive past his old workplace, talk about burning every bridge, and keep accelerating. Seungmin tests limits; Minho pretends he's in control. They almost stop, almost talk—but Minho hits the gas again. They keep falling into the dark.

A/N: if you see some grammar/vocabulary errors please let me know because English is not my first language.

————

The whiskey cost four hundred dollars.

Seungmin knew this because he'd watched his father order it once at a business dinner, watched the way the server had handled the bottle like it was spun glass, watched the way his father had swirled it in the glass like he was performing some sacred ritual. He had explained the provenance, the aging process, the notes of vanilla and oak and something else Seungmin couldn't remember. He'd been too busy counting the minutes until he could escape.

Now the bottle was in his hands. The cork was somewhere on the floor. The liquid was warm and amber and he was pouring it onto the hardwood like it was nothing.

Like it was water.

Like he was drowning something.

"Pour another bottle to the floor, love."

The words came out wrong. Too high, too bright, cracking at the edges like the smile he was wearing. He tilted the bottle further, watching the whiskey pool around his bare feet, spreading in lazy amber rivers across the polished wood. The smell was overwhelming. Oak and vanilla and something else. Something that made his eyes sting.

He'd quit.

No. He'd been fired. There was a difference. Quitting implied choice. Quitting implied dignity. Quitting implied you'd walked out with your head held high and your middle finger raised and the last word still burning on your tongue.

He'd been escorted out. By security. In front of everyone.

His father's company. His father's friends. His father's legacy that he'd been expected to inherit like a crown or a curse.

They'd taken his keycard. His laptop. His dignity.

He'd taken the whiskey from his father's private office on the way out. It had been sitting there, mocking him, a monument to everything he couldn't be. He'd grabbed it like a child grabbing a toy. Like it meant something.

It didn't mean anything.

Nothing meant anything.

He laughed. It came out manic and hollow, bouncing off the walls of his apartment. The same apartment his father paid for. The same apartment he'd been calling home for three years. The same apartment that was about to be taken away.

He poured more whiskey.

The bottle was half-empty now. Or half-full. He'd never understood the distinction. It was both, wasn't it? It was neither. It was just a bottle with less liquid in it than before, and he was standing in the middle of a growing puddle that smelled like his father's disappointment.

"Seungmin-ah."

The voice came from the doorway. Low. Calm. Measured.

Minho.