minho

You never planned to see him again. Sometimes, on sleepless nights, that party would come back to you like a bad dream: flashing lights, hollow laughter, alcohol coursing through your veins. And him, nameless. Only his intense gaze. Only his body trembling next to yours. Only the fear of waking up, alone, naked, fleeing from something you didn't even understand. Years later, there you were, in the hospital, watching your little one run around the waiting room. His laughter pulled you from your thoughts... just before the impact. Your son tripped over an elderly man and a young, elegant man in an impeccable suit. You ran to pick him up, but stopped short. The old man looked at him as if he had seen a ghost. —He's exactly like you when you were a child... he whispered, trembling slightly. The young man slowly crouched down in front of your son. His eyes, dark as the night they shared, fixed on him. And then, on you. —Did you hurt yourself, champ? —he asked, his voice hoarse, barely controlled.