Taemin opened his eyes.

A brown blob hovered in front of him, stark against a white canvas.

He closed his eyes. Stars flickered across the black sky. Somewhere, in the distance, a distorted voice was spitting something he couldn’t understand. A long guitar note swirled around his ears, lights spiraling, his head twisting, free falling.

Taemin took a deep breath.

The music petered out, his body steadied, limbs and head heavy. Eyelids fluttered, adjusting the blob until it took an oval shape. Someone called his name in the cacophony of blips, whispers, cries and other noises he couldn’t recognize, a constant murmur which told him he wasn’t home anymore.

“Taemin?” That voice became his anchor and his ropes in the tumult, lugging him into reality. A pain punctured his arm. Taemin hissed. He gulped and focused only on the dark spot. His mind chiseled the shape until a face finally came into view. “Do you remember me?”

Dry throat, coarse voice, he had to swallow three times before speaking. “Want me to say no?” Taemin checked where the pain came from and saw an IV had perforated his skin, a clear fluid squeezing through the thin tube. Lights dimmed. The man’s features finally gave him an identity. He was grateful that he wasn’t stuck in a room with a stranger. “What happened?”

His editor towered above Taemin, pushed back chestnut hair revealing his forehead. His jaw slowly relaxed and he smiled, amused, two rows of pearly white teeth rimmed by plush lips. Warm brown eyes, under thick black eyebrows, curiously skimmed him. His smile faltered and he frowned, struggling to find a proper answer. A nose as straight as the rest of his face balanced out the features. He had always been handsome in Taemin’s eyes, yet didn’t have that wow factor for Taemin to pursue an intimate relationship. He was wearing a light blue shirt, first two buttons loose, with his sleeves rolled up.

“You fainted.”

Taemin guessed he was lying in a bed. His editor fit Taemin’s criteria of ‘damn, you’re tall’ and he doubled in size while staring down at him. Taemin wondered if that was how Lilliputians felt at the sight of Gulliver. “For how long?”

“A few seconds. Then you fell asleep.”

“Was I ? Because that gives me ideas.”

“I told you to take care of yourself,” his smooth, calm voice was in contrast with his glare. “Yet I find you drunk while rocking on Queen, do you really want to die?”

Drunk and rocking on Queen – that sounded familiar.

After Jongin left that night, Taemin did the only thing he knew – he got a bottle of beer, then another and another, awake until noon and with music blasting the same CD until Taemin got sick of the rhythm and turned it off, hitting the bed. He slept for two hours, jolted awake and sat in front of the laptop for the remaining of the day, working on his novel. It continued like that on Sunday, losing most calls and not answering any messages. He didn’t feel like interacting with the world, the exception being his brother. Heechul would knock down his door if he dared not give a sign of life.

He wasn’t sure what upset him in such a way. He expected his brother not to get along with Jongin and to make one of his empty threats. He expected Jongin to scurry away, yet he was glad he stayed at least until later in the night. Most of all, he expected not to write at all. He had been typing and deleting for hours, doing a 360 when morning came again, greeted only by a white page and a blinking cursor on the screen.

Taemin’s only regret was not eating much.

In the end, he gave up on everything, played the same CD, collected empty bottles from the living floor and banged his head to the beat. That was when he heard the door open, saw his editor, gave him an intoxicated grin and then the world spun with him. The last thing Taemin saw was his editor sprinting to his side, bottles rolling everywhere.

“Not anymore,” Taemin croaked, jokingly. “I guess I won’t make the deadline.”

“I’ve made some calls. You’re getting another month.” He put something on Taemin’s chest. “Here’s your phone.”

 “Where am I?”

“Hospital.”

Taemin cursed. Of course, where else? “Did I sleep for a week or something?”

“Amazingly, only for an hour.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” The editor stated flatly, clearly no longer in the mood to deal with his frolicking. “I’ve called your brother, he should be appearing soon.” Taemin groaned. He grabbed his phone, hurrying to cancel anything his editor might have done because the last thing he wanted was to see Heechul. The man placed his hand over Taemin’s and stopped him. “Jinki, I called Jinki.” He touched his shoulder next to keep him down. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“That’s my middle name.”

Taemin put the phone back on his chest, glad the man’s dry humor hadn’t perished yet. “Shim God Changmin? That’s an awful name.”

“They called me choikang in my childhood. God sounds better.” Changmin took his hand away and leaned over. Taemin saw him pick his navy blue blazer from the foot of the bed. “They said you’re fine, but you need to rest and eat.”

He pulled the blazer on and checked his watch.

Taemin thought he was nothing but a nuisance to Changmin, who always had to run here and there – people to meet, deals to make, drafts to check. He was busier than Taemin had ever been in his entire life. Guilt ate him and Taemin thought that Changmin shouldn’t have wasted a single minute on him.

“I’m sorry,” Taemin’s voice broke, still struggling to regain his normal tone. He chewed on his lips. They stung. “I’m sorry for always causing trouble.”

Changmin sat next to Taemin, pulling the bed down with his weight. He tilted his head until he could see Taemin’s face again. Behind him, pale blue plastic curtains separated Taemin’s bed from the other patients. Changmin must have pulled it to allow him some privacy. Aquamarine covers on top of a thick blanket wrapped around Taemin like a cocoon.

“We both know that doesn’t matter anymore.” Changmin gave Taemin’s shoulder a light squeeze. He gently moved his phone from his chest to the white bedside table, right next to a plastic bottle of water and a saucer plate. “Sit up. Doctor should be here soon.”

With a groan, Taemin did just that.

---

Wonshik got wind of Taemin’s stupidity, so, naturally, Taemin ended up alone in a room with a single bed the same day instead of going home. While he’d normally feel awful when others wasted their money on assuring him maximum comfort, Taemin didn’t complain. He followed the doctor’s instructions – rest, drink, eat – and listened to some music on his phone. Changmin refused to bring him his laptop and Wonshik came for an hour – scolded him for a half, ranted the other – and left muttering about work, his lover and the unfairness of life.

It made Taemin laugh.

Heechul was out of town – to Taemin’s delight – while the oldest of the siblings, Jinki, checked on him late in the evening.

All the care and the attention cheered Taemin up. But, no matter in what kind of room he was stuck in, with or without neighboring beds, with or without nurses fleeing past him, Taemin refused to stay more than a day.

On Christmas Eve, he put on the clothes Jinki brought him, washed his face and mouth, combed his hair and waited in the hospital lobby.

Everything around him was white or baby blue, as when he woke up, sterile, the smell of chemicals oozing from the furniture. The only other colors were people’s clothes, zipping in and out of his eyesight along with their perfumes cutting through the stench of the hospital. There was an indecipherable buzz coming from the front desk, a radio playing on low volume to animate the evening. Behind it, a man was going back and forth between the documents around him, answered anyone who asked and glanced from time to time at the people crossing the hall. He was wearing the same pristine gown the doctors had, matching the aquamarine sheets. Taemin glanced up, the high ceiling seemingly endless. Bright neon lights shoved his eyes back to the floor.

He sat on one of the many couches aligned with the wall and wondered what he should tell Jongin.

Taemin read all of his messages and ignored his missed calls. Every time another notification filled his screen, he found his words harder. He had a speech ready for when they would meet, explaining his situation while leaving out some details like him collecting beer and soju bottles in his apartment. Taemin had a lot of cleaning to do once he got home. However, the more he thought about his reasoning, the more he wanted to throw his phone out the window and to beg the doctors to keep him in until the year ended.

He promised they would spend Christmas together. He didn’t want to break that promise just because he lost his sanity for a moment. At the same time, he was scared he hadn’t fully recovered and part of him was still stuck in whatever wonderland he thought he’d find in alcohol and sleepless nights.

He checked the hour. Initially, Taemin accepted Changmin’s offer, to drive him home once he decided to leave the hospital, and it had been the better idea until Taemin realized that Changmin might want to have an evening off too and he vehemently refused. His brother wouldn’t finish work until late (and he had no desire to call him over that night, knowing he stayed each Christmas Eve until well after midnight to pack all presents) and Heechul… Heechul was difficult, in or out of town. Wonshik could have been the smart choice and he would have most likely invited Taemin over – more like kidnapped him – to have a Christmas Eve dinner with him and his boyfriend, but Taemin hadn’t been known for his brains lately, at least, not in his circle of friends.

Taemin texted Jongin instead, and three minutes later, his phone sprang to life. He sat up, walked away from the couches and spoke low as not to disturb anyone in the lobby.

“Where are you?” Jongin’s voice gushed from the other line, unsure whether he was angry, worried, upset. “I mean, at what hospital. I’m coming over.”

“Ah,” Taemin could hear Jongin breathing on the phone. He paused for too long, only listening to the way he blew air into the receiver.

“Taemin?”

“I’m sorry.”

Taemin stared at his fresh polished boots. Jinki must have cleaned them because they were full of mud last time Taemin hopped in them. The wool coat with blue, black, dark grey and white squares curved around his body. His fingers hitched at the ends of his three-color scarf, the only item in his outfit reminding Taemin he hadn’t parachuted in another dimension where everybody suddenly cared about him due to the goodness of their hearts. Not because of his looks or flirty eyelashes, flirty touches, that he exploited once he understood the person before him had no desire to go beyond the layers that encompassed him. He’d rather give the fool some gold than let him dig further.

A leech fattening on pity whenever he played the victim, thriving in the same pond Jongin swam in. Taemin had been ready to out the marrow in his bones if he too admired only the glittering surface of the still waters. He hadn’t expected Jongin to dive under and find him hiding among the stems of water lilies.

“Can you tell me where you are?” Taemin covered his eyes with his arm, wishing he wouldn’t cry. He had no reason to cry. “Please.”

His lungs had filled up. A shiver crested his ribs as he exhaled. “Only if you drive me home.”

Fortunately, Taemin’s voice didn’t falter. He gave Jongin some indications and waited quietly, focusing on nothing in particular as he made sure no tear escaped him and the tremble in his joints vanished by the time he’d meet Jongin. He was too afraid to sit on the couch again, knowing that he might not resist the urge to bawl if he sank to a corner from where no one could question him.

In his blank state, he hadn’t noticed the doctor that had approached him from the front desk.

“Are you alright?” Taemin sniffled and turned to the man with the white gown, aquamarine clothes and platinum blonde locks blossoming from black roots. His eyes widened. “I don’t mean to pry.” He was standing at around the same height as him. “Here,” and handed him a thin, long can of tea, “you look like you might need it more than me.”

Taemin knew that square face, even if it wasn’t lost behind the rack of magazines. He knew those bright eyes, despite the exhaustion that scooped at his eye bags. He knew that lazy smile, the same one he gave to the cashier when he paid for his groceries.

Shakily, Taemin took the hot can.

As swiftly as he popped before him, the doctor returned to the front desk, talked for a minute with the man there and disappeared with a clipboard down another hallway.

Taemin almost dropped the can, unable to process anything anymore. He opened it, peppermint bursting through his nostrils.

“Crazy,” he muttered and finally dropped back on the couch, whispering to himself as he sipped on the tea, “I’m going crazy.”

He could swear the doctor resembled ramen guy.

---

Jongin took a moment to come back to his senses after he almost flew through the windshield.

His heart was beating as fast as he had been speeding down the road and only a miracle didn’t make him get into an accident by the time he parked nearby the hospital, adrenaline bubbling at his wrists and anger searing his fingertips. All while his phone lit up on the board with calls and a single message from his boss that only read ‘come at my office when convenient’. He knew that leaving the meeting had been a terrible mistake. He had to cope with the consequences later, his mind nowhere near his job when he finally killed the engine.

Slowly, he released his grip on the wheels and plummeted against the chair. Staring at the streetlights, the glowing signs and the flashes of cars, Jongin became the center of the masses rotating around him. A jumble of words and feelings and all logical explanations clashed in a battle for dominance, each expanding to fight the dread strangling him.

As much as he wanted to blame Taemin for the restlessness piercing through his mind, he blamed instead himself for reacting so violently at the meeting and the trepidations his surroundings instilled in him. That specific building, emerging in the corner, had given Jongin more nightmares than he could count on his fingers and toes. He was sure he had followed Taemin’s directions properly. The same clothes shop on next to the chicken restaurant, parallel to a general store and a café – they were still there as if nothing changed in years. Taking over most of the street was the grandiose white building, the hospital where Taemin waited, the hospital Jongin avoided.

He touched his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Last time he had been there, an ambulance’s red and blue lights silently sliced through the street. Nurses and a doctor exited the hospital, helping other two push a stretcher inside the building. Jongin had just parked not far away, mildly intrigued by what had happened. The call he got that night had been too fragmented to wholly comprehend, so he scooted to the ambulance to find some answers, unsure whether the ‘closest one’ meant that hospital in particular.

In the vehicle, a paramedic hunched next to Wonshik, who sat on the bench with his legs apart and his elbows leaning against his knees, blood on his shirt, blood on his fingers. Jongin had never seen him so pale or with an expression so vacant as if the moon became human and the horrors of the planet it had yearned for so much, had stumped him.

Jongin froze, unsure what to do.

Was Wonshik the one hurt? Had he been in an accident? Did he help someone? Or had he been attacked and he had to defend himself? Jongin believed his guesses disgusted anyone who could have read his thoughts. He was more concerned with the events of that night than with his friend’s wellbeing. The paramedic urged him to leave, but Wonshik’s eyes were affixed to him, pleading him to stay. Jongin stepped back. He let the paramedic shut the doors and Jongin drove home.

In his car again, his hand fell from his throat to his stomach, nausea clutching at his stomach. He wished he could throw up or bash his head against the board for how he acted.

Wonshik stopped coming over for their studying sessions for a couple of months. Jongin hadn’t contacted him, but Wonshik did. He surprised Jongin by wanting to continue their lectures, wanting his help, despite how Jongin left him alone to fend for himself that night, the same night Wonshik never brought up.

Jongin made a pact with himself afterwards, one in which he would stop running when he had a similar choice before him. Gazing at the hospital, Jongin wondered if his feet would allow him to move, if he had the courage to respect his agreement.

Some devil that came to collect his gravest sins must have ushered him there, ready to drag him to the firing pits of Hell and boil his legs and arms in acid.

His fingers locked on the wheel again.

No.

Taemin needed him. Even if he had his head chopped off, his nose detached, his eye sockets emptied, his limbs severed or a garland made out of his guts, Jongin wouldn’t leave him too.

He would never leave anyone he cared for, ever again, even if he was nothing but a puppet they tested their new strings on. He’d rather dance to their every command than make another poor decision.

Jongin got out of the car and crossed the street.

The automatic doors parted. His heart almost imploded, each step hurting more than the last one.

Why were the lights so strong?

He felt like he was suffocating faster inside the hospital than in his car, his mouth opened to draw in more air, seeking anything out of the ordinary, or anything that resembled Wonshik that night.

He halted.

Taemin.

He had seen Taemin. He stood up from one of the couches on his left, with his hair loose, his face immaculate, apart from the usual signs of fatigue Jongin must have had permanently tattooed on his face too; clean, nothing red on him other than the flesh of his lips – he was smiling – and the slight flush on his cheeks – his smile dropped.

Without second thoughts, Jongin hurled forward. He whisked away the image of Wonshik and pulled Taemin at his chest and inhaled his scent – airy, citrusy, calming. Taemin tensed from the force of the hug, but he didn’t push him away. Soon, Taemin’s arms joined in, clasping around Jongin’s middle.

“I’m sorry.”

Jongin cupped Taemin’s head between his palms.

“Let’s get you home.”

“I just… am really sorry.”

“We can talk about it later,” Jongin securely fit Taemin’s hands into his palms. “Is this all? No bags or anything?”

Taemin shook his head. “Wonshik already took care of everything.”

Jongin stiffened when he mentioned his name. He turned Taemin’s hands, checking whether they had any blemishes, any discoloration, anything that told him he wasn’t holding Taemin but the ghost of past Wonshik, the devil’s trick to his masterplan. The short fingers were Taemin’s, no cuts, as endearing as he remembered, skin tone blending with his, and no speck of red anywhere.

He let go before Taemin called him a lunatic.

Taemin was safe. That was all that mattered to Jongin.

---

Taemin stared out the window, lost again in the other dimensions he gazed upon with fascination. There wasn’t anything unusual in the action itself – he often found the microorganisms of the car’s window deserving of his attention – but it rattled Jongin to no end. Taemin came to him in the form of a wisp, the wind, a breeze, fresh and gushy and summery. While driving him home, he dissolved to dust, to smoke, ash, heavy and thick and choking him.

Jongin needed ten or twenty more minutes, but if someone asked him for what, he wasn’t sure what to answer: to completely snap out of the frenzy that had taken ahold of him or to gather the courage to find out how Taemin ended up in said hospital? He probably wouldn’t tell him anyway, at least, not right away, not from how silent he became once they exited the building. And even if Jongin had an entire day at his disposal, he still felt there wasn’t enough time, but, still couldn’t understand for what.

The only other moment he asked for more time had been before taking his college entrance exams. However, the intensity differed – then, like in the car, the wish came out of his insecurities. However, he studied for almost his entire life for that one glorious aftermath. Behind the wheel, he had that sensation of urgency, desperation, all coiled at the base of his gut and shooting spines through his chest and clogging his throat. As if something went missing between them.

He wasn’t ready, not sure why, though.

Unknowingly to Jongin, Taemin glimpsed at him the entire ride. He shared Jongin’s thoughts – needed more time, needed to prepare better, needed to find whatever disappeared between them, whatever shifted inside of him. He turned his palms upward, fingers twitching and the muscles in his arms and the muscles in his stomach contracting. The man beside him morphed into another, stabbing him twenty-three times in his heart. Jongin’s cologne brought him back to reality. Taemin shut tight his eyes, curled his fingers into fists.

Taemin fell and crashed and was about to burn. Jongin wasn’t him. He had to accept that already.

---

They were in the elevator. Taemin pressed for his floor. The doors closed.

More silence.

Jongin took his glasses off and put them safely in their case, then in his wide pocket. He’d have to survive without them for the rest of the night. He glanced at Taemin’s back, then quickly ahead.

Taemin met Jongin’s eyes in their reflection and opened his mouth to speak at the same time the doors split. Another man entered, looking between the two before he stretched over to press for another floor. Taemin shut his mouth, avoiding the gazes their mirrored selves threw back at them once the elevator ascended.

The silence game went on until Taemin unlocked the door to his apartment, golden light flooding as the two discarded their outer layers and exchanged their shoes for house slippers.

Jongin wanted to make Taemin some tea, but he found the other blocking his path in the hallway, arms spread so Jongin had nowhere to go. He squinted, eyebrows furrowed, annoyed that he had not kept his glasses on longer, and immediately broke his scowl when he realized Taemin was staring right at him.

“I’m sorry,” Taemin began, arms settling by his side, “I’m sorry if I ever forced myself upon you.” Taemin left no gap for Jongin to intervene. “I’m sorry for kissing you without asking first. I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable with my proposals. I’m sorry for never considering what you’ve wanted too. Most of all,” Taemin’s fingers disappeared in his sweater’s sleeves. He looked at them, rubbing his nails together – bad habits from his high-school days.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, please listen.” Jongin watched him pull his sleeves, trying to bury his hands further into his sweater, before he gave up and wrapped his arms over his chest instead.

Jongin nodded and softly said, “Alright.”

Taemin shuddered. “Most of all,” he swallowed, looking at the hanger, “I’m sorry for worrying you and for using you. I know I should try harder for you, I mean,” eyes shot up, “for us. It takes two to make a relationship work, right? And I really should talk more and,” down again, the ends of his hair following. Taemin pushed his bangs back, eyes again on Jongin’s, arms by his side once more. “And I really should stop pushing you away.”

“You’re not,” Jongin replied, surprising himself at how easily the words came to him.

Taemin forced a laugh out, sounding more like a puff. “Yes, I am.” He his lips, nibbling shortly at the lower one. “I sometimes forget that I’m not writing a novel,” the right corner of his mouth was quivering, struggling to point upward. “I guess I live in my head more than I realized and it’s difficult sometimes to see what’s real and what’s a story.”

Something finally broke, cracked, snapped, tumbling and grinding and creaking from Taemin’s heart. And they weren’t the sounds when he tried to push it all back inside, but when they escaped, the tempest of his youth, the tempest of the fields, the storm and thunder and lightning, back again to obliterate him.

His palm hit his left eye. Taemin did not intend to cry that day, no matter how many opportunities he had, not alone or in the presence of others. More and more tears gathered at the edge, their numbers overbearing, and he feared Jongin might see that side of him that deserved nothing more than a punch and a kick and anything that would make it go away; the side of him fastened to the past. The façade he’d been training for years also malfunctioned, becoming a pouting mess, pouting brat his brother would say. He tugged at his lips to stop them from trembling or from jutting out.

Jongin gently removed his hand and leaned over to kiss him on the lips.

“You’re not,” Jongin repeated and snatched another kiss, one Taemin accepted. “You never were,” Jongin was holding both his hands when the third kiss came. “And I like the way you are,” Taemin’s back hit the wall at the fourth kiss, “the way you think,” his arms wrapped around Jongin’s waist at the fifth kiss, “the way you see things,” Jongin stood as close as their bodies allowed it on the sixth kiss, “and your stories.”

On the seventh kiss, Jongin tenderly bit Taemin’s mouth with his lips.

On the eight, Jongin let go and grabbed his hips.

On the ninth, Taemin followed his moves and clutched at his shoulders.

On the tenth, Jongin’s fingers slipped under his right thigh.

On the eleventh, they pulled apart to breathe, then dove right back in.

And when the twelfth kiss had come and had gone, Jongin helped Taemin straddle him and hauled him off the wall. He spun Taemin away from the hallway to the living room, aiming for the sofa, kissing hungrily between short breathing breaks.

Taemin unhooked his arms from Jongin’s neck and sat on top of the backrest. He stretched his legs until his feet touched the carpet, one slipper lost somewhere in the apartment. Taemin kicked the other slipper off and his hands rested on Jongin’s waist.

“Stay,” he whispered as Jongin kissed him on the forehead. “Stay tonight.”

“I will.” He kissed his cheek next.

“Stay at least until morning.” Taemin prayed Jongin couldn’t feel his rapid heartbeat when his lips brushed over the vein on his neck. He gripped at Jongin’s arm when he at that exact spot, tasting the base of his jaw, at his skin, pushing back his hair and breathing over his ear. “Sleep with me.”

“I will.” Jongin panted. Taemin’s grip loosened and Jongin pulled away, staring at him, flustered. “I might need a new pair of pants, though.”

---

Taemin glanced over his shoulder, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Jongin was standing on the other end with a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. Well-defined abs, the same gorgeous tan powdered all over his torso in an even layer. Taemin’s eyes travelled from his navel to the hem of his underwear peeking from his pants, a dam against the rivulets made of veins crossing his stretched skin. He bit down his lip a bit too hard, turning his head fast when Jongin met his gaze. He felt the bed wobble when Jongin crawled on top, his legs appearing next to Taemin’s and his right hand landing over Taemin’s left one.

“Are you alright?” Taemin tilted his head until he faced Jongin again, wishing he could map with his mouth and hands every single line his chest possessed. He bobbed his head several times, restraining himself from doing anything reckless. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” Jongin let go of his hand and touched his shoulder blades. “Just one thing,” Jongin pulled his hand away entirely and rested both between his legs, Taemin’s eyes finding it harder not to fall from Jongin’s eyes and mouth to his s or the muscles on his stomach. “I don’t fall asleep easily.”

“I don’t mind.”

Taemin didn’t want to mention how he had already fallen asleep in his arms once, but that hadn’t lasted more than five minutes and this time around, he would be stuck at Jongin’s side for at least five hours. “And about today,” Taemin trembled, his toes rubbing together and against the fluffy carpet. “I forgot to eat again and fainted. That’s all.”

Taemin didn’t mention him getting drunk or skipping on sleep. The lack of bottles in his living room and the lack of alcohol in the air and the fresh sheets on his bed meant that someone came by and tidied the place up. Whoever that had been, he was thankful for keeping his skeletons in the closet.

“Mr. Lee!” Jongin chuckled low. Taemin’s heart skipped a beat. It’s not like he heard him laugh for the first time. What was wrong with him? “You had me worried sick. If I knew it’s this serious, I would have proposed we meet more often earlier, so I’m sure you’re eating.”

“That actually would be nice,” Taemin laughed too, but he was sure it sounded fake. He didn’t exactly want a babysitter, but if it had given them an excuse to double their meetings, he was all in.

Because, when looking up at Jongin’s smiling face and at his straight back, as he switched off the lights, when Taemin snuggled at his chest and when Jongin placed a kiss on top of his head and lent his arm as a pillow, Taemin knew he wanted Jongin not only for dating.

That something he’d been missing, lunging at him in the hospital and in the car and in the hallway, somehow found its way back to him and it all added up again.

For in Jongin’s arms, he felt safe. The chaos inside him had dulled.

Taemin touched Jongin’s chest and felt it rise and drop. Taemin listened to him breathe, until he, too, floated with Jongin to dreamland.

---

It snowed more than expected. White mounds assumed control over the streets, a bluish pale capturing the surroundings. It was still dark by the time Jongin woke up, sweaty from holding Taemin the entire night. A thousand needles rained over his arm as he pulled it away from Taemin. That didn’t bother him as much as much as how close he had actually been to the other. Somewhere, during sleep, Taemin turned his back to Jongin and Jongin hogged Taemin like a teddy bear, putting them in a position that hadn’t advantaged Jongin at all.

He sat up, flipping the blanket off him. Even with his sight at a disadvantage, Jongin knew he had made a grave mistake. He glanced at and palpated the hill between his legs. A part of him went camping and he had to fix it before Taemin woke up and caught him in the act.

Jongin lurched out of the bedroom, whining. Why had his body betrayed him that day of all days? For not sleeping home? As a Christmas gift?

He locked himself in the bathroom, the shower and hoped the cold water helped.

Then, only when he was exposed to the cool air the jet of water released, he remembered the way Taemin nestled up against him, the way he accidentally (or not) caressed his s in his sleep; or the way his lips felt when he pinned him against the wall and carried him to the living room. And Taemin’s confession, how much he liked Jongin, how much he wanted their relationship to work, how much Taemin cared, how much… – Jongin glared.

Down boy, down. He was in Taemin’s bathroom, under his shower, the models at the mirror judging him. Turning the water hot had the same results. It wouldn’t get down.

Twenty-five minutes later, he judged himself too when he left the bathroom with only a towel to hide his nether regions, embarrassed and gasping from the steam that had accumulated during his… playtime.

Taemin could never know – that’s the lie he told himself as he returned to the bedroom, lights washing over the entire apartment.

“Taemin?” Only there was no Taemin, only the crumpled sheets and the blanket piled in the middle of the bed. “Taemin!”

Jongin held onto the towel as he took the corner and found the living room as empty and bright. He needed underwear and clothes and maybe a pair of socks, and he needed to know Taemin hadn’t heard him under the water.

His stomach grumbled, a subtle, delicious smell spreading from the kitchen.

“Tae---” Jongin rushed there, stopping in the hallway and staring dumbfounded at the man staring back at him.

That was not Taemin. Not Taemin at all.

The stranger scanned him up and down, whistling and giving Jongin an all-knowingly grin.

“Damn,” he muttered in appreciation.

Jongin wished he could be back in his leather pants. Those were better than the towel he almost dropped from shock.

A/N

Sorry for any mistakes. I'm dead tired rn, will fix them later. This chapter came late because I wasn't happy with it, so rewrites and cuts happened. Still not pleased, but at least we updated woohoo.