curse each other, then.

「 a tender feeling ↠ bang chan 」

⤷ from the world of Countless Skies Upon Me

“Honey, I’m home!”

Chan internally cringes at Minho’s cheerful voice—he sounds like he just came back from war. Though realistically, he’s simply giving up on fishing by the lake in front of your cottage when Chan found him fumbling with the rod like a huge idiot.

Lee Minho might be able to wrestle a crocodile with his bare hands but he still can’t catch a single pathetic fish to save his own life. Quite literally. He’s going to chomp on stale bread tonight if he doesn’t bring home anything, you say.

Of course, Minho has his own ways.

“Please help yourself, put your stuff down wherever,” he tells Chan with a smile, shrugging off his cloak and shutting the door close. It’s weird to see Minho being so giddy like this, he really doesn’t sound like himself. The Y/N effect...amazing.

Chan nods rather stiffly, cautiously stepping inside like it’s the first time he’s ever been here—it’s not. He’s no stranger to the warmth of your fireplace, the softness of your blue couch, and the aroma of your cooking from the kitchen. You made sure he was the first to see and approve of your new home after the wedding for he is your brother. Chan just can't quite get used to...all of this.

“Papa! Papa!”

“Yui, did you have fun at school?”

Oh, and also that.

「 semper lucet ↠ bang chan 」

You’ve been a loner for as long as you can remember. 

Really, as melodramatic as it sounds, you don’t think it’s fair when every other kid in class always sits together during lunch and talks about something as silly as a new trendy toy that they saw on TV the night before or complains about how much vegetables their mom's packed into their lunchbox. And they always have a partner when the teacher tells the class to work in pairs. No one ever gets left out. Unlike you. 

Every day is the same as every other day; you get home from school only to find a single lamp in the hallway being lit up, dinner in a box of Tupperware inside the fridge that’s at least five times bigger than yourself and a cold pitch of milk on the marble counter. You also don’t think it’s fair when your classmates get to run into their parents’ arms after a long day full of monstrous lessons because, sadly, your parents have never come home before ten o’clock. 

Some outsiders might find it funny if they witness a nine-year-old preparing her own meal, getting washed up on her own, and tucking herself into bed. Others might find it dangerous and irresponsible of the parents to leave their daughter at home all alone at such ungodly hours. But you? You find it quite depressing actually, sometimes you wonder if you’ve done something terrible in your past life to deserve to die alone in this one. 

Hence, sleep doesn’t like you that much. Most of the time, you’d be turning and tossing under your comforter non-stop until your parents’ footsteps can be heard outside. Other times, you’d find yourself having a staring competition with the ceiling until sleep finally gives in and draws a hand over your eyes. Your boring life goes on like so, slowly and dreadfully.

Well, at least it keeps going like that until something crashes onto your balcony. Or someone.