**The Eating Pants: SHINee Minho’s Death**
Prompt: The Eating Pants: SHINee Minho’s Death
The hum of silence fell over the room, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric and the faint whir of electric fans. A solemn gathering took place in the dimly lit apartment, adorned with memories of laughter, music, and warmth. SHINee, once an inseparable group of brothers, felt the weight of absence in their hearts. Minho, with his contagious smile and boundless enthusiasm, was gone. The cause of his death still hovered like a bitter ghost: the eating pants.
It was just a few weeks prior when the fateful incident occurred, a day that started off like any other. SHINee had been preparing for a variety show appearance, a chance to showcase their personalities and, more importantly, enjoy a feast on camera. Minho, ever the competitive spirit, had decided that this episode would be the ultimate showdown of appetites.
As they sat around the table, the spread was glamorous: sizzling dakgalbi, glistening tteokbokki, and mountains of kimbap. The production crew, keen on capturing every moment of enjoyment, set the camera rolling. Laughter rang out as Minho donned the infamous eating pants—a pair of comically oversized shorts that boasted an elastic waistband, gifted to him by Key during a previous outing to a clothing store. Minho loved these pants; they were a symbol of carefree fun and indulgence.
“Oh, the eating pants are back!” Jonghyun teased, chuckling as Minho struck a pose, the pants nearly reaching his knees. The others joined in, mimicking exaggerated eating gestures, smirking at Minho’s determination to consume as much as he could.
The competitive spirit quickly escalated. Minho dove headfirst into the food, a man on a mission. “I will out-eat all of you!” he declared, punctuating his words with mouthfuls of deliciousness. Taemin, sitting beside him, laughed and cleverly countered, “Let’s see if those pants can handle the pressure!”
With every bite, the boys cheered him on, each wave of camaraderie fueling Minho’s determination. The cameras zoomed in on his laughter and joy, but no one could have foreseen the tragic twist that awaited them.
As the meal approached its climax, Minho pushed the elastic limits of his eating pants. He laughed, threw his head back, and took one last heroic bite—until a horrifying sound erupted. The elastic waistband, stretched beyond its limits, snapped with a resounding pop. It was shocking, sudden, and surreal.
“Minho!” Onew shouted as the world seemed to slow down. The camera captured every second, but it was clear that something was severely amiss. Minho winced, barely holding onto his laughter, his eyes wide with confusion and a hint of panic. He stood up abruptly, the remnants of the feast tumbling away, but something was wrong.
The laughter faded. The energy in the room shifted as Minho clutched his stomach. “I think I—I don’t feel so good,” he murmured. The crew, initially ready for more comedic moments, rushed from behind their cameras, sensing the emergency.
In a matter of moments, Minho collapsed, the carefreeness of the eating pants replaced by an all-consuming darkness. The frenzy turned chaotic; the boys rushed to his side, frustration and disbelief drowning their minds. Despite the frantic calls to emergency services, the vibrancy of life slipped away from Minho’s grasp.
Now, days had passed, and the group found themselves sitting together, grappling with the aftermath of losing their brother in such a tragically absurd manner. The incident rippled through their lives like a forsaken dream—both startling and surreal. They cherished Minho’s affection and energy, and as they mourned, laughter felt oddly misplaced, yet the memories lingered.
Kibum, lost in the weight of his friend’s absence, glided his fingers over the eating pants, now neatly folded on the couch. In that simple garment, he found the essence of their lost friend: fun, laughter, and unforgettable moments. Yet it was also a cruel reminder of the day everything changed.
“What are we going to do without him?” Key whispered, voice shaking. His vulnerability pierced the silent atmosphere. “He was always the one who brought us together.”
“No,” Taemin said softly. “He wouldn’t want us to be sad. He loved food, he loved us. We should celebrate him.”
The words struck a chord in each of them. With understanding flooding through their grief, they opened their hearts, pledging to keep Minho’s spirit alive. A flicker of resolve ignited within them. In their pain, they found strength, and in their memories, they found a way to honor him.
An idea took shape. They decided to host a memorial feast, an evening dedicated to laughter, food, and the essence of Minho. They prepared each dish he had loved, invoking moments when they gathered around tables, the sound of their voices rising above the clinking of utensils. They even bought new versions of the eating pants—it felt right to embrace them as a symbol rather than a reminder of loss.
On the night of the memorial, the apartment was filled with aromas, a kaleidoscope of colors representing their dear friend. The boys, adorned in food-themed outfits, gathered around the table, sharing stories, laughter, and even a few tears.
As they sat together, feeling the warmth of Minho’s spirit embrace them, they toasted to him. Recalling his laughter, his silly antics, and that iconic moment with the eating pants, they forged a new memory—one of joy, acceptance, and community.
Minho may have left the world physically, but through each bite, each shared chuckle, and each story told, he remained eternally woven into the hearts of his brothers. And there, amidst the feasting, they found solace amid the chaos, embracing life in honor of their beloved Minho, never to forget the eating pants that represented the core of it all: love.
