Chapter Text
“All the things yet to come are the things that have passed
Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass
Like the bonfire that burns, that all words in the fight fell to”
“And the day that we'll watch the death of the sun
That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on
Then you'll gaze unafraid as they sob from the city roofs”
The city was empty. Empty and cold. Two boys, a pair of survivors, sat on a roof. Full of the warmth that the dying sun gave out, as they sat and stared. The last of their friends. The last of everyone they had passed in the streets.
The two boys, though battered, scarred and broken, had pushed themselves up the flights of stairs to see their final moments. Face it head-on. Face it without fear, knowing that even if they screamed. Even if they sobbed, even if they prayed. The sun wouldn’t stop creeping closer.
As they watched the ball of flames creep closer, and feel the shell of what was once called Earth grow hotter by the second, the boys watched in silence. Observing their demise. Accepting their fate.
Their hands were intertwined, desperate for something to hold onto, not wanting to leave alone. Not wanting to die alone like their friends did. Not wanting to give the other up, in desperate hopes they would be together somewhere else. In desperate hopes, that something called heaven, really did exist.
Their clothes were battered. Their skin was bruised. Their hair was messy, and their eyes were cold and unafraid of what was going to come.
Han and Minho, over the years, had become too familiar with death to fear it. It was more of a lingering shadow. A person in your corner, in some horrible twisted sense. Everything is twisted nowadays. It had been for a while.
There were screams from below. Giving evidence that the last few survivors realised there was really and truly no hope left for them now. Han and Minho paid them no heed. Watching in silence still.
They were silent on the roof, hands together as their feet swung. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. The only indicator that anything was still real, was the pressure of their hands, and the dull thud of Han’s shoes against the building.
The green of the world had faded. Over many years, all now past and gone, the world and the forests had faded. The lakes and the ponds had all become swamps. All become brown. All became dead.
Soon, as the scientists predicted, the world would die. Humanity, as we were all warned so long ago, was at the end of the line. The clock had ticked down to its final minutes.
They had watched people come. People go. The pair were the only constant thing to each other in a world that went by so slowly and so quickly at the same time.
Han and Minho were the survivors. And here, was the time were the survivors finally met their fate. As the sun grew ever closer, and everything started burning, Minho turned to face Han.
Han.
His best friend.
His constant.
The one person that was always there.
The person he was going to die with.
“I love you.” He whispered before he shut his eyes.
“I love you” was the response.