Jongin got lost in Taemin’s dark eyes.

He imagined they were back on top of his office building, back at watching the city unveil, lights fleeting between them like fireflies. Only, instead of standing close to one another, Taemin was on the edge. A single step backward and he would plunge into darkness if Jongin approached him. In fact, Jongin had already come too close. If he stretched his arm, his fingertips could reach Taemin, or he could grab him and drag him back to safety. Instead, the fear of the unknown, plastered on Taemin’s blank gaze, scared him as well.

Would Taemin actually jump? Would he end it so Jongin wouldn’t need to?

Jongin’s multiple past rejections became a joke. From stoic girls to stoic women, surprised boys to angered men, someone always found a way to relay to him gently how much he meant as a friend, or a colleague or a person in general.

He’s amazing, they’d underline with a pink neon marker on a list of Jongin’s qualities. Yet, not the one I want to be with, not the one to start a family, not the one to love – they would add in bold black at the end as a conclusion and sign with their names. He wondered if those reviews ended up in some sort of file on him that anyone who ever wanted to date him, or were in the middle of dating him, could check at their discretion.

He’s a gentleman, he opened the door for me, one would remark, but acted cold throughout dinner. Another began strongly: Charming, quite a catch, and concluded with if you do not mind someone who cannot hold a proper conversation.

Good for nothing son of a , a furious woman scribbled with a blue ballpoint, I got tricked!

What would have Taemin written?

Several dates and nothing exciting, Jongin imitated his voice in his head and pictured him hunched at his desk, with a paper instead of his laptop and a fountain pen in hand. Good if you want to settle but I’m craving adventure.

Suddenly, he thought that letting go of Taemin wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if he pushed him instead of distancing him from the edge, he wouldn’t fall. On the contrary, like a mother bird teaching her children to fly, he could have given Taemin the chance to spread those wings he had been hiding away from the world. So maybe, just maybe, if he told him that any answer would do another time, any answer at all, he could let him adjust to the idea, let him grow fond of it or, on the contrary, finalize his ‘Dating Kim Jongin’ assessment in a negative tone.

Just like the rest before him.

One star. He’d mockingly add. Maybe a star and a half for being good with kids.

“You said one more date, Mr. Kim.”

Instead, Jongin opened wide his eyes, unaware he had been a blind man following the wrong path.

Jongin had not noticed the ghost of a smile lingering on Taemin’s mouth before he parted his lips to speak. He had neglected the sheen in his eyes and the flush in his cheeks. The picture in his head switched, with Jongin about to lose his balance and plummet into the ongoing traffic, if not for Taemin’s hands still holding his.

“One more date?”

Jongin found his voice at last and it sounded as if it had come from faraway lands, echoing several times before it settled inside Taemin’s ears, another pause delaying the inevitable. Why did Taemin have to wait again to answer him? Was he, in the end, planning to let go of Jongin and laugh at him too?

“One more date, Mr. Kim. After, you’ll have my answer.”

Yet, he talked softly, as if Jongin had been the rebellious kid in need of explaining about good and bad, not his partner in crime. Taemin didn’t need Jongin’s help in anything, did he? He never did. He only pretended to be this equally fragile boy for Jongin to protect.

The hospital was a joke.

Their dates were a joke.

Their relationship was a joke to him, wasn’t it?

He wanted to scream. Jongin squeezed Taemin’s hands, first to hurt him, secondly, so Taemin wouldn’t leave – not yet, not so soon.

Jongin wouldn’t become another laughing stock, another commentary jarring on his nerves.

“Hey,” he heard him speak again, “I know the perfect place too.” Jongin watched their hands. He was squeezing him back as if Taemin also had no desire to let go. Jongin kept mum, shaking and bitter.

He wanted to love Taemin, but if Taemin made him heartsick, he didn’t know how much more he could endure it. At the same time, he didn’t want him gone – second chances, was it? Second chances that no one offered him. Not his parents, not his lost friends, lost lovers, colleagues when he made a mistake. Taemin couldn’t be one of them – Jongin wouldn’t allow it, even if he had to stoop to admitting his pride had, more than once, been a factor in all of his decisions.

“Where?”

They were on the streets again. He heard vendors chatting and laughter, he heard kids squeal, heard girls in groups chat, heard boys being loud, heard tourists discovering the nightlife. He heard them all but had eyes only on Taemin’s growing smile, and on the snowflakes in his hair, snowflakes on his shoulders, snowflakes on their hands, melting at contact.

He wondered what Taemin was jotting down in that moment, if he was nearing his conclusion or if he turned the page.

---

Jongin prayed to the gods of old and new and to the Almighty Lord and Saint Mary, and to any other he could name without checking the Bible or the internet or any book on mythology, for Sehun not to be home. It was one thing to bring along a colleague or a friend, but having Taemin on their sofa wasn’t something he planned. While he enjoyed Taemin’s spontaneity a lot more than he wanted to admit – misadventures followed by a kiss and all – he did not want Sehun to look at them from the corner and wiggle his caterpillar eyebrows at him.

He let out a breath he had been holding while driving when he noticed lights were off. Sehun must have taken a detour that evening or a night off to drink with his buddies that usually dropped him in the early morning in front of his gate. If Jongin could earn at least a dime every time one of his dogs barked at the door and led Jongin to the gate to see Sehun snoring on the pavement, Jongin could have afforded a nicer Christmas present for Taemin.

Speaking of which, he should really give Taemin his Christmas gift. Being stuck in his house and all.

He tried to remember the last time he had brought someone over, not for business or amity. He went too far, to the days before he left for University, when he still lived with his parents. Sehun again; he brought Sehun home and not because he wanted to get in his pants.

He glanced timidly at Taemin who familiarized himself with Jinx and Thunder, petting and whispering them sweet nothings. When the two dogs finally let go of their guest, Jongin wished it hadn’t been snowing, so he could usher them out. Instead, he whistled and hastened to the kitchen after the dogs to feed them. He flinched after he turned around and saw Taemin leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, with the same smile he had been wearing on the streets overwhelming him. A lazy, all-knowing, assured smile.

Of all the places he wanted to date at, Taemin had to pick the most intimate of spaces, the one his parents had no influence over and the one in which his past endeavors smudged the walls and the furniture, and held the scent of Jongin’s many failures, many rough sleepless nights, many gruesome mornings. He felt more exposed in that moment, with Taemin examining him like a hawk, than when he foolishly touched himself under Taemin’s shower.

Jongin deserved it. Just for that one moment, he deserved it.

He moved to the counters and busied himself with the glasses resting by the sink.

“Want anything to drink?”

“Think I had enough for one day.”

“I have tea too,” he opened one cupboard and pointed at the boxes– sencha, green tea with jasmine and Sehun’s strawberry and sour cherry blend.

“I’m good,” Taemin waltzed at his side. The house slippers he had were seemingly too big and Jongin cursed himself for not having a smaller pair. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a cup.”

Jongin nodded and grabbed Sehun’s tea. It had the mix of sweetness and sourness he thought Taemin might enjoy. A hint of honey or sugar, or extra acidity from a lemon, would make it a delicacy. Taemin’s fingers brushed over his hand as they both reached for the cerise box. They locked eyes and Taemin chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” he pulled away, fingers resting on Jongin’s shoulder. “I have that one.” He added quickly after Jongin took the box out, the brand with the green logo visible. “You drank it with Heechul.”

Had it been the same? The one Taemin had tasted better. Or anything tasted better after confronting Heechul’s scrutiny, really.

“Want another then?”

Jongin offered, confused again at why they were at his house and why wouldn’t Taemin end the torture already.

He hadn’t had a single sip of alcohol that night to keep his head cool. He even drove carefully to his home, far from the noisy heart of Seoul. He promised Taemin one more date, he admitted while behind the wheel, and waited patiently for anything else to be shared between stolen glances to a Taemin idly texting something on his phone and checking the weather through the window like he had a hundred times before, while music playing on the same radio station Jongin tuned into. Singers told him he loved him and wanted to be with him more than once.

“No, it’s fine. Unless you want the green one.”

“I’m good with anything,” He wasn’t. “Fine, really.” Jongin, your voice sounds weird. It should be firm, calm, but it had a note too low, a smirk too cocky to sway the other – did he have to put on colorful clothes and dance for Taemin to accept him as his boyfriend? Or had Taemin someone else in mind and he wanted to end their charade? Certainly, giving Jongin’s history, he could as well do the Macarena in a toga and there was still a higher chance of Taemin rejecting him. “Anything you wish, Mr. Lee.”

“Anything?”

No.

“Yeah.”

“Anything at all?”

Hell no. Just say it already.

“Sure.”

“Then a cup of tea would be nice.”

Goddamnit Jongin. He bit his tongue.

“A cup of tea for Mr. Lee, coming right up!”

---

Taemin’s fingers warmed from the cup of tea he was holding. He crossed Jongin’s living room until he got to the three bookcases taking over an entire wall. He took a quick sip – the tea was perfect.

Just like Jongin.

He could hear Wonshik jeering at him, saying how a couple of dates wouldn’t make them lovers. How it took Taemin a year to accept the only one he ever labeled his boyfriend in front of his friends. How he embarked with Jongin in a supersonic race instead of a stroll in the park, rushing past what was important and seeing only what he wanted. In point of fact, Wonshik was right. Taemin didn’t want to slow down. He didn’t want to waste another year, and a year after or more, dating.

The room turned cold. White furniture, beige walls, a blanket discarded on the floor and the back of a man. Mountains were glistening with an abundance of snow. Whenever they were outside, the crispiness of that place made Taemin happy. He sometimes could feel his gloved fingers cupping his face and Taemin remembered how big his smile was and how red his cheeks got. But the memory that haunted him always began with his back – black hair, sweatpants – slowly turning and facing Taemin. He heard them argue and Taemin’s fingers pressed over the cup.

He had waited for so long before and it brought him nothing but anguish. Taemin took another sip of the tea.

Jongin meeting Heechul had been an unfortunate coincidence, but inviting Jongin over at Jinki’s restaurant for family dinner wasn’t. If he had to play carefully again, study the other like he was another of his characters, Taemin would be exhausted by the time he had to write their story. Spending so much of his energy on nothing but characterization had brought him to his knees in the past. How many of his novels had never seen light because he obsessed too much on the characters and too little and what they were actually doing?

Rushing, Wonshik’s doppelgänger spluttered, you’re damn rushing into it and ruining it just like you ruin ing everything.

Taemin placed some strands behind his ear, drinking properly. He ignored the second voice. Wonshik would never tell him that, even when maddened with grief.

Taemin liked Jongin. Liked his company, liked the way he acted with others too – polite, gallant, but not overly friendly to the point that the honey in his tea couldn’t compete with his sweetness. Nothing regarding Jongin made Taemin feel uneasy anymore, nothing made him doubt himself, nothing made him want to hide.

The way Jongin’s entire face dropped after Taemin had answered him spoke volumes. Some other men would have given up already, told him to beat it – Is this a farce to you? – or maybe those were the thoughts he would have put in his characters’ mouths. No man in this world could wait that long for him when Taemin had no patience either. It wouldn’t be fair.

Taemin glimpsed at Jongin.

“I didn’t know you lived so far from the office.”

“It’s a quiet place,” Jongin didn’t look at him, his attention all on the dogs. “And good for the kids, right?”

The kids. Jinx and Thunder. Taemin smiled and approved in silence, looking down.

“It’s quite spacious too. Bigger than my apartment.”

“I guess,” Jongin had tea too, but he did not touch it after he brought the two cups in the living room.

Taemin studied the bookcases again, specifically, the framed photos. He wondered if Jongin had studied his apartment like that too the first time he came over. He saw Jongin with a woman and a man – the parents, Taemin guessed. In another, he had a photo with the dogs from when they were smaller. All three were smiling. The following photos were Jongin with different people or in different groups – university, workplaces, trips around or outside the country.

He recognized Wonshik in one of them and the University campus grounds. Maybe in a parallel universe, he would have met Jongin during University too, when he was a better person, a better someone for Jongin. In another photo, a blonde man had his arm around Jongin’s shoulder, simpering to the camera, while Jongin had his chin high up and mouth slightly parted, exuding confidence.

His eyes traveled to the titles filling up the shelves. He trailed his finger over a book’s damaged spine.

“Murakami,” he pulled it out and beamed at Jongin. “So you did read him.”

Jongin finally faced Taemin.

“Yeah.”

Taemin felt a sense of déjà-vu, some circle closing. That name was reminiscent of their dinner, their catalyst.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Taemin flipped through the book using one hand. Jongin had taken notes, highlighted some sentences that he must have liked or he must have wanted to quote to impress. “I hate him.”

“Murakami?”

He pushed the book back in its slot. “This Murakami in particular. He goes on and on and never reaches his destination.”

“Isn’t the journey more important?”

Taemin chuckled. “I want to believe that we all have several destinations instead of one long journey. Don’t you think that’s nicer? What guarantees that you’re not following Fata Morgana? Shorter journeys, more destinations. And you can always change your course.”

Jongin was staring at him with those eyes that slowly undressed Taemin, those eyes that had been lingering ever since they left Jinki’s restaurant, those eyes that averted whenever Taemin held their gazes for too long. Jongin was chagrined at his presence.

Taemin ached – he hurt him, hadn’t he? No matter how much Jongin tried to act it cool, he hurt him and there was no excuse for it.

“Sounds strange.”

Taemin put his cup next to Jongin’s and joined him on the sofa. “How so?”

“Isn’t it the same as having a long journey and one destination? Shorter journeys and more than one destination doesn’t excuse you from reaching your final destination.”

“So you’re saying that whether I’m on a long journey or shorter journeys, there’s an ending I have to eventually reach?”

He hurt him.

Taemin could see it in the way he avoided him, see in the way he was forcing himself to speak without mentioning what happened on the street. Regret swelled in his chest.

“I’m saying they’re the same. That’s why the journey matters more than the destination. The destination is not a fixed place or goal, it’s death.”

“Woah there, that took a nasty turn.”

“So whether you decide to take the known road or less beaten path,” Taemin felt as if gravity itself gave up on him, dizzy and about to cry, “all of our choices eventually lead to that one final point.”

Taemin’s world spun, but Jongin anchored him to the sofa. He threw himself at his chest and was not surprised when Jongin accepted him instantly and secured him with his arms. Always the one to open up to him, always the one to accept him – why couldn’t Taemin be like that too?

“I envy you.”

“Envy?”

He looked up in Jongin’s eyes and wished he could tell him everything about him, from his childhood to the day they met.

“I envy how easy it is to speak with you, envy your life and your friends and everything.”

“That’s not exactly---”

Taemin silenced him. Lips upon lips, he closed his eyes and pinned Jongin’s wrists to the sofa. He straddled him and kissed him with such fervor, Taemin thought the world had caught on fire.

“Yeah,” he let go to Jongin’s shirt. “I envy you and want you at the same time.”

“I want you too,” he stopped Taemin’s hands and pulled away. “But not like this.”

“Hmmm?” Taemin tilted his head dangerously, mouth hovering above Jongin’s jaw.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Drunk people say that.”

“I’m not drunk, Mr. Kim.” Taemin leaned his head against his shoulder and nuzzled at his neck, his hand falling from Jongin’s chest to his lap. “Maybe I a little.” He groaned. “A little more.”

“Come,” Jongin’s voice was airy and when he lifted Taemin, he thought he was flying.

He staggered on his feet. Jongin’s arms gripped his and steadied him down the hallway and to the bathroom. The tiles were cool on his skin and Taemin lost not a second further when he pulled Jongin close again and kissed him. For a second too, Jongin didn’t outright reject him, yet Taemin was already missing him when he murmured something and left him alone.

He hurt Jongin, he hurt him like he had been hurt.

Taemin dropped his face in his hand. Maybe he was drunk. Had he been acting strange all night? He wouldn’t know. Others told him he usually got crazier when drunk, but not much, usually fell asleep quickly too, not enough time in between to let himself savor the stupor. Hands were on his again, hands on his head. He looked up and got a shock when he hadn’t seen Jongin, but that man in his dreams, that memory he murdered again with blinking. Jongin replaced him.

Taemin hugged him and Jongin stood with him in his arms in the middle of the bathroom, the sound of warm water drowning Taemin’s whimpers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

---

Jongin wondered if there was a spider on the ceiling.

He cocked to the left, closed one eye and stuck his tongue out. No, just a dark spot. He straightened his neck and turned his head to his right.

This is hard.

Taemin was sleeping soundlessly. To be more exact, Taemin was sleeping in his bed, wearing Jongin’s clothes and breathing on his skin after he helped him wash his face. He went on and on, raving about how he shouldn’t have, but didn’t pinpoint what was the source of his woe, so Jongin let it slide. Sleep should do him good. Jongin knew he was drunk from the way he walked and how he was slurring his words in the bathroom and maybe it wasn’t obvious to Taemin, but Jongin panicked every time he sensed that slight change in his personality.

If he hadn’t been mopping the floor with his skepticism, he might have realized sooner that Taemin had been out ever since they left the restaurant. He must have been drunk when Jongin popped the question, drunk when he was driving them to his home, drunk while they prepared tea and drunk while they went into a philosophical debate, which still puzzled Jongin. He couldn’t quite remember what they talked about – something about journeys and death? Seemed like it.

He was too busy thinking of a way to get Taemin to sleep as soon as possible. With Taemin actually in his bed, Jongin was wide-awake and counting dots, doing his best to ignore every time Taemin curled up against him and let out another moan as his body battled with the alcohol in his system. Drunk or not, Jongin couldn’t forget the way Taemin said he wanted him. He couldn’t forget how Taemin immobilized him with ease, even though Jongin knew he could have just as well shoved Taemin off him.

He couldn’t forget the warmth of his mouth and the way he fit on his lap like he had done it plenty of times before and down boy. Jongin frowned. Once, shame on him. Twice, he might as well kill himself. He turned his back to Taemin and closed his eyes. He would have to sleep that day away too if he wanted to have a chance of survival.

In the morning, he would inform Taemin that nothing happened, how they were both exhausted and there was no point in driving him home. Jongin snapped his eyes open. He sat and gazed down at Taemin again. His hair covered part of his face, enough for Jongin to remove it and his cheek with the back of his palm.

He got out of bed and arranged the blankets and pillows so they all belonged to Taemin. He exited the room, not bothering to call the dogs too. He quietly trod over the floor until he got to Sehun’s room and crashed in his bed, annoyed how much it smelled like his friend.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep or how much time passed when he heard and felt the dogs tugging at his clothes. Jongin rolled on his stomach, groaning, yesterday’s erased from his mind. Drowsy, he rubbed his mouth and stood on all fours.

“I’m up,” he muttered, feet hitting the floor. “I’m up.”

He trudged to the hallway, darkness swallowing everything. His hand followed the wall until he hit the switch. Jongin could swear he saw Taemin in front of him, his long hair a mess, wearing his clothes and with one eye partially closed as he grimaced from the sudden burst of color around him.

“Hey,” Taemin rubbed the said eye and hid a yawn behind his fist. “Morning? What time is it anyway?”

Jongin’s heart was beating faster. How could he have forgotten that Taemin spent the night over? He didn’t move from his spot, watching the way Taemin’s hair swayed with his body when Taemin leaned against the frame of his bedroom door.

“Uhm, I’m not… sure.” He frowned at the clock on the opposite wall. “It’s almost six.”

“Damn,” Taemin smiled at Jongin as he effortlessly massaged his arm. “Sorry for stealing your room.”

“Uhm,” Jongin swallowed, glad that Jinx popped with the leash in his mouth, waggling his tail expectantly. “I’ll get dressed and wash and… uhm… walk the dogs, so,” he grinned sheepishly, snatching the leash from the dog. “Enjoy your stay some more?”

“I will,” Taemin nodded, feebly lifting his hand and waving it at Jongin. “Have any spare toothbrush?”

“I do, actually.”

---

There was a time when Jongin wouldn’t skip a day without going for a run. In the morning or evening, he would make sure to put on his good shoes and loose clothes, music blasting as he jogged along the riverbanks. Lately, no matter how much he tried, running no longer served its purpose. Physically, he would be out there, pushing his body to its limits to feel that pump of adrenaline and that burn cleanse him, but mentally, the sensation didn’t satisfy him.

Instead of keeping up with his hyperactive pups, he followed at a steady pace, hands in his pockets and head low. He took his winter jacket instead of his grey hoodie and jeans instead of sweatpants. The sound of snow crushing under his heavy boots broke the silence. Jinx and Thunder wandered ahead, avoiding patches of ice as other regular runners passed them, shouting out morning greetings and Jongin returning them.

And he thought again of Taemin.

No matter what he tried to do, Taemin wouldn’t let him rest for a minute. He thought of him when waking up, when getting ready for work and while driving there. He imagined Taemin’s smile and reconstructed his voice in his head while in his office, during meetings and during lunch. He thought of the way Taemin rocked, the way he laughed, the way he turned and called out for him – Mr. Kim! – and Jongin always gripped too tightly on the wheel while heading back home. And at night, when holding his phone and reading, again and again, the texts shared between the two, he thought of Taemin’s touches, Taemin’s kisses, Taemin’s thighs.

He stopped and let out a long sigh, steam vanishing into thin air.

“Ah, for ’s sake.” He kicked a mound of snow, flakes shooting forward. “What the did I do wrong now?”

Should he have been harsher? Should he have become one of those guys in TV dramas that all the girls swoon over? Should he have nailed Taemin to the wall and declare once again his intentions in the most dominating possible way?

Jongin followed his dogs.

At the same time, he was growing increasingly anxious with Taemin – afraid to touch him, afraid to kiss him, afraid to talk; afraid he might break if he would do any of those. He had been stupid to believe that Taemin didn’t need his help. After all, what kind of man drank himself into the hospital?

Jongin spotted his house.

Funnily, he knew that type of man. He knew him well enough to understand it could get worse.

Resigned, he went through the gate and front door, getting rid of his jacket and boots. He took the towels he kept nearby and cleaned the dogs’ paws one by one before allowing them to enter the kitchen to eat. The house was as silent as the neighborhood and Sehun’s shoes were missing. He really wanted his best friend’s advice. At around that hour, they would be discussing matters of their love lives while having breakfast together.

That morning, Jongin searched for Taemin instead.

He opened the door to his bedroom and almost bumped into Taemin. He was staring at him, hair damp and still in Jongin’s clothes, his hand on the handle too.

“Had a nice walk?”

“Yeah.”

Jongin opened the door wider, Taemin’s hand unwillingly dropping to his side.

“Are you cold?”

“A little, yeah.”

Jongin stepped forward, his eyes set on Taemin’s, who had not moved away.

“I’m sorry for last night.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Really, it’s okay.” Taemin met Jongin halfway, his toes almost touching Jongin’s slippers. “You let me sleep at your place too. Now we’re even.”

“Not about that.”

Jongin gripped on the door. He could smell his shower gel on Taemin’s skin, a strong essence imbuing the bedroom. A fragrance meant for powerful men, determined men, who knew what they wanted in life and grabbed it mercilessly. A fragrance which did not fit him.

“Then about what?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Mr. Kim.” Taemin’s arm found its way around Jongin’s waist. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Taemin pulled Jongin closer, kissing him. Jongin’s hand instantly brushed up Taemin’s back as he pushed the door and let it shut behind them.

A/N

Ha… hahaha… it’s been… a while, yes. This chapter was supposed to be longer, but 1. as I said, it’s been a while, hello!, 2. IT’S KOEMI’S BIRTHDAAAAAAAAAAAAAY *throws confetti*

Also, I lost the bet. Koemi said not to disable the comment section and since a deal is a deal, so be it. We’re nearing the middle of the story and did we say it’s slow-burn? Cause this is slow-burn guys, I’m sorry. Things should speed up a little from now on, so hopefully next update won’t take as long.

P.S. For anyone that checked the playlist on the foreword, there’s a new song ;D