It’s been 182 days, 6 hours, 5 minutes and 3 seconds since that night.

That’s how long it’s been since you lost Minho.. the image of his still body that night, closed eyes and eerily peaceful smile with the blood pooling on the floor around him.

The memory of you not being able to jam the door fast enough- the blood seeps out from beneath the door and he gasps for air behind it, croaking out ‘it’s okay’ until he drops silent- that’s enough to keep you awake as you cuddle whatever you’ve got left of him.

Minho lays beside you, watching with tears in his eyes as his translucent body hovers on the empty side where he used to lay, you’ve made sure to keep it untouched- just for him.

“God, I tell you not to torture yourself like this and what do you do? You go ahead and keep this shit in your head.”

He whispers with a pout while stroking a couple of stray hairs away from your face, of course, you don’t realise it’s him, it’s clearly the breeze coming in front the open window.. because how could your boyfriend ever come back after leaving you so quickly?