“YAH! Get up, Taemin-ah! Get up!”
Taemin jerked, his leg instinctively kicking out as a set of strong hands tugged at the duvet he was curled warmly under, as if hibernating. It was so early that only a dusk-like light filtered through a crack in the drawn curtains, but the bedside lamp was lit, the faint yellow glow illuminating the haphazard, box-shaped room that belonged to the maknae. The room itself was so small that the floor had become a default wardrobe, shelf and drawer, and the walls were completely plastered in pictures, letters and notes, from his family, fans and the other members.   Finally managing to tug the blanket from Taemin’s head, Lee Jinki gave a warm, yet lovingly goofy, smile, and excitedly exclaimed, “Taemin-ah, you're grown up! You're finally an adult!”
The cold of the morning momentarily struck him clueless as Jinki rolled off of the bed, taking half of the duvet with him, dressed in an over-sized jumper and his tartan pyjama bottoms. He grinned wildly, hair sticking up manically, and clenched his fists.
“Aish, get up! You're eighteen, Taemin-ah! We don’t have to look after you anymore, and I planned a surprise!”
  Taemin blinked, propping himself up with his elbows and tiredly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Oh, wait-“ Jinki muttered, furrowing his brows, “don’t get too excited, it's not a stripper.”
  “Hyung...” Taemin sighed, his lips twitching upwards at the tasteless joke, “aren’t you meant to be the mature one?”
“Ah, just get up, come on!”
Jinki disappeared out of the room, giving Taemin ample time to roll out of bed and check his phone for the time. It was only 3:30AM. What was Jinki up to?
Grabbing the closest jumper he could find, an old white hoodie that had used to belong to Jonghyun until Taemin had stolen it to wear as pyjamas, Taemin pulled it over his head and padded gingerly out into the corridor leading to the open-planned living space. Their manager had been called overseas and had been gone for the past few nights, but was scheduled to return later today. Taemin hoped that, whatever his hyungs had planned, it wouldn't create a complete and utter mess.
“Hyung...” he yawned, tiptoeing gently in case the others were asleep. It was almost pitch black, but for a lamp emitting a soft blur from the living area. Taemin’s shadow grew and then shrunk as he entered.
It was rather spacious, yet they'd managed to make it homely and warm, with a large leather couch on one side and the under-used kitchenette on the other.
  On the coffee table, a small box sat, wrapped in tissue paper carefully with a label attached. Seeing the room was empty, Taemin approached it gingerly, bare feet soft against the smooth wooden floor. He bent down and picked up the box, the glaring lamplight, however weak it was, causing his eyes to slightly water given his quick exposure to the light from darkness.
Reading the label, Taemin raised an eyebrow. Written neatly, in handwriting he recognised as Kibum’s, it said: “To a clumsy dongsaeng, who'd rather dance than breathe.” Taemin smiled and unravelled the fashionable ribbon that had wrapped the parcel. The tissue paper fell, drifting to the floor to reveal a sleek black box, slightly larger than one that would bear a ring. He smirked at the thought of this being an odd proposal.
  He opened the box carefully to reveal a beautiful bracelet, a customised wooden design with the quote “dancing is breathing” etched into the thin wooden panel. Taemin widened his eyes, removing it carefully and sliding it over his thin wrist. It hung beautifully, an immaculate, sophisticated design that would ultimately end up in people furthermore questioning his masculinity. But Taemin didn’t care, even he knew the bracelet was a work of art – an expensive one at that.
Inside the box was also a note that read: “Taemin-ah, do you like it? I chose it well, don’t you think? I wanted to get you something meaningful, and I found this to be a good choice. Don't you think I did well? Enjoy, from your loving Umma, Kibum! P.S look under the sofa.”
  Taemin frowned at the last imperative, but did as instructed, crouching down and stretching his arm beneath the couch, reaching for something, anything he could find. The house was so silent it seemed as if nobody was home, and Taemin felt as if he was disturbing something whenever he made a noise. Finally, his hand found a box lodged firmly between the floor and the couch, that took some wrenching to get out. From the wrapping alone, Taemin could instantly tell the present was from Minho. Even the label hung off treacherously, the tape beginning to break free from the cheesy wrapping paper.
“Ah, my dongsaeng,” read the label, “all grown up. I wondered what would be an appropriate present for a man to get another man, something that signified manliness, but... Really, it was very difficult. Men are very difficult to buy presents for, nonetheless to buy something you appreciate...”
  Curiosity prickling his spine, Taemin tore off the wrapping paper noisily, flinching at the sound, to reveal a shoe box that was covered in terrible pictures of him and his hyungs. Taemin couldn’t help but grin. Setting the box on the counter, he crouched to remove the lid, expecting to see a shining new pair of shoes, but instead was greeted by a collection of useless items; alcohol, a how-to-survive-adulthood guide, a small money-bank, easy-cook ramen... Taemin laughed. He lifted the note attached and read it with a smile in his eyes.   "Taemin,, this is your guide