"We don't have to fight," Minho stepped towards you cautiously, until his chest was pressed against the mouth of the gun you pointed at him. He was unarmed, harmless, and he was presenting himself to you like that. Just him.
Your hands clammed up against the cold weapon.
If only you could drop it — you wanted to drop it. You wanted to believe him and drop your gun, but your family's name was looming over your thoughts. You'll disappoint them.
Haven't I already? What's the point in pretense?
"Any last words, agent Lee?" Your voice sounded foreign to your ears. This isn't you. This isn't the same person you were, a few nights ago, finding peace in Minho's embrace. You weren't like this when he said he loved you and you reciprocated.
This is not who you wanted to be.
"There's something on your lips," he only said, and when you furrowed your brows in confusion and touched your lips, he gently pushed the gun away. Stepping closer, he cupped your face and closed the lingering gap between the two of you.
An invisible wall that put the two of you in different worlds. He leaped over it, and you were losing awareness as you melted into him.
You didn't choose to be born in a mafia, neither did Minho. You didn't choose this life, just like you didn't choose to fall for him. Fate is sometimes like that. Unpredictable. Unreasonable. But it is what's meant to be.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered at that moment but Minho, whom your world suddenly revolved around.
You dropped your gun.
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