I watch as he turns away from me, his eyes cold, hard, heartless. I had never once thought that he could look like that... at least not when he was gazing at me. Yet, I was wrong. Undoubtedly wrong. How did I ever even think that he had a heart, that he had cared for me in the same way I had him? I feel the tears rush down my face-- I do nothing to try to stop them. What could I do, anyway? There was no way I could stifle their flow, not after he had said those things.

"You're not a man, maknae. You're a boy. And you always will be. A stupid, immature boy."

He's gone now, his scent lingering behind-- a affirmation that he really was here, that it really did happen. I immediately let out a cry as I crumble to the floor, hands quickly moving to cover my face. I try to rub the tears away, scolding myself for weeping so bitterly. This is just an example of what he was saying... I am just a boy. And these thoughts only goad the tears to come forth with a swiftness unmasked by any motion of the fingers. Realizing my attempts at fording the streams are useless, I let my arms fall to my sides. My knees press into the carpet, my knucles grazing the delicate floor.

"You must feel so good about yourself right now, hyung." I whisper to my stomach as I attempt to maneuver my body into a ball. An insignificant ball: small and unrecognizable. "You must have wanted to say those things for a long time--"

My voice cracks as another bout of sobs rake through my entire body. I hate how devastating they feel, inciting the pain I had felt throughout that conversation to expand even further: into every fissure of my body the reminder of his words now resides. And I hate it. I hate it.

"I'm-- I'm sorry. For thinking that-- that we could be--"

But I can't finish the sentence. There is no way I can. Partially because of the new series of cries that has now overwhelmed me once more, leaving me unable to breathe, let alone speak. But there's something else preventing me from finishing that thought. Perhaps it's my own naivety (yet another thing attributing to the truth behind Minho's harsh words) in thinking that something could of actually happened between the two of us. Even now I am unsure what it would of been, if it would have been anything, but the mere fact that the possibility is no longer prevalent is, quite honestly, too heartbreaking to even entertain. So I don't. I refuse to even acknowledge the thought that I had once dreamt of the two of us, together--

"Taemin?"

I feel myself tense, my breaths now coming in short, quiet gasps. The tears still flow, but at least they aren't accompanied by the loud, turbulent sobs they once had.

What if it's Minho? What if he's coming back to apologize? Say that he was wrong, say that everything he had said was wrong. That he was sorry.

"It's Onew. Are you in there?"

I scold myself for hoping for something else, for even thinking it would be him. No, why would he apologize? He was right, after all.

"Hyung." I sound weak, oh so weak and I resent it with all of my being. But it's the only thing I can manage to mutter before falling into my sorrow once more.

I hear the door swing open, almost violently."Taemin! I--" And his voice breaks off. I'm not sure what caught him guard: the way in which I was curled on the floor, the visible shaking of my body, or the tears that continue to stream down my face.

Or, perhaps it was all three.

"Taeminah~! What's wrong? What happened?" There is a twinge of anger in his voice, as if he would raise hell for the person that caused me to be such a mess. I guess it wouldn't be so bad, to make Minho feel this pain, this unbearable pain, too. But, even thinking such thoughts seem dangerous. For, even though his words spurred this onslaught of tears, I dare not wish this upon anyone but myself. It is far too painful, even for him.

I can see the man's knees beside my face as he gently places a hand upon my back. I look up in response, fearing what he may be able to see in my face, yet, at the same time, almost wanting him to be able to witness the wretched torture I was experiencing. Because if it would be anyone to help assuage this pain, it could be him.

For, he has always been there for me. And not just because he is the leader either. Perhaps that was the first motivation behind his eagerness to help me, but as time has gone on, a bond has grown between us. Like an older brother, I know I can always turn to him for assistance, no matter the issue. Forgot my part of the dance before a performance? He does his best to remind me of the steps, usually clumsily flailing his arms and messing up a few of the moves, but all the while grinning and looking genuinely pleased to help me. When I first joined, he had been the one to give me my first singing lessons, calmly giving me advice on reaching the higher notes and breaking into my falsetto.

Hyung, if only you can help me now. Please.

Onew's eyes widen as I turn my gaze to his, and I can see the shock and confusion in those depths. He seems speechless, lost in thought as he tries to piece together the agony in which I am experiencing. The silence between us is punctuated by my shuddering gasps as I attempt to control my sorrow.

"Who did this?" There is anger in his face, anger that I had never witnessed before. Not from him: the caring, understanding, and loyal leader. Perhaps from Key, when Minho had done something to purposely bother him, but, even then, there was an undercurrent of playfulness. But not in Onew's voice, not now.

"I--it was--we--" I try to piece together my thoughts; they had been left scattered and broken. "Minho and I..."

Onew turned his gaze away, staring off somewhere to the left. I suddenly yearn desperately to know what he is thinking, what he is planning. "Hyung..."

"He's supposed to come with us tomorrow, Taemin. To the I AM Movie Showcase." His voice is firm and tight, as if he is restraining emotion from leaking into his tone. "But he doesn't have to, not if you don't want it. We can leave early, before he gets up. He won't know until it's too late."

Relief pours into my veins, causing a shy smile to flirt upon my lips. The longer I can put off seeing his dark eyes, lean, muscular figure, wind-tossed hair--

"Thank you, Onew," I sigh, gratitude overwhelming my voice. "I think that would be for the best."

With a grim nod my makeshift older brother rises to his feet. "Come on, maknae," he says affectionately. "Let's put you into bed; it's going to be a long day tomorrow and you need your rest."

I nod in agreement and follow suit; slowly picking myself off the floor. I slip underneath the covers he has lifted for me, and flash a smile in his direction. His grin is his only response, but really that's the only one I need. As he moves to leave, his back to me, I call: "thank you, hyung."

He turns back to smile at me once more, nod in acknowledgement, and then slowly slip outside. "I'll wake you tomorrow. Try to get some rest," are his parting words before he leaves me in the darkness. And, despite all that happened earlier, I find the smile I had given him persistently remains on my lips. And, honestly, it doesn't bother me one bit.

Keeping Minho far from my thoughts I slowly close my eyes and wait for the dreams to take me.

Thank you Onew, for numbing me even if just for tonight. You're my hero.