(six weeks before)

"Please Minho, you have to forgive me."

I wish he would cry.

"I messed up, I need you to know that I know that."

"You messed up?" I'm shaking. I don't want to be shaking, I can't be shaking right now. I don't know how to do this.

"I messed up," he whispers, looking down at his hands and I don't know how he can be so calm.

"This wasn't a mess up. This wasn't a mistake. You - how could you even - why? Just tell me why."

"Minho it was a mistake!"

He's raising his voice now, and it goes right to my brain. This feels too good.

"I don't care if it was a mistake!" I yell. I can hear my pulse.

"Minho you need to forgive me," he says, and it's dead quiet. I hate this, why won't he scream at me. Why won't he lose control, why doesn't he care.

"Why should I forgive you."

"Because I love you."

My breath catches, stuck in my throat. It's choking me.

He's right. How can I say I love him if I don't trust him. If I don't let him make mistakes.

And then he looks up at me and he's all I see.

He's right.

"I - I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," his voice is honey sweet and smooth, running over my thoughts and silencing them in his smile.

"We'll be just fine. I promise."