​A/N WARNING: This chapter is in //severe// need of editing. It reads terribly, the syntax is awful, the little figurative language there is seems so weak x.x really, I think a toddler wrote it~ I could make excuses but I won't even try, I just was falling behind with updates (big surprise T.T) and ended up writing the majority of this in the early hours, hence the woeful quality, so I'm very sorry :/ in other news, if you have time and think you'd like it (although there's no obligation so don't worry :3) I started a collection of SHINee one shots, and I'd appreciate any reads or comments >.< it's for a friend, so I need to know how to improve, TEACH ME HOW TO WRITE WELL D: But anyway, despite the horrible quality, I still hope you enjoy, and, as ever, thank you <3 xxx THANK YOU!!! :3

•••

“Yah! Idiot! Wake up!”

Kibum groaned as the corner of a cushion rebounded from his forehead. He blinked slowly, trying to accustom his eyes to the sudden splay of light that infected the room as soon as Minho tugged apart the blinds.

"It's past noon,” Minho muttered, whilst Kibum sat up wearily, glancing around his bedroom with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips. His room was all-white but for the blue walls – a very cold interior, something most people found unsuitable for sleeping premises, but Kibum loved it. Chic, sophisticated and lacking any homely spirit, it reflected his personality perfectly. By the window, Minho stood with his arms folded across his chest, dressed in his running gear. Kibum squinted at him.

"Have you been working out?” he drawled lazily, forcing Minho to roll his eyes and storm away. As he exited, he yelled light-heartedly at the duvet-confined Kibum, “Get up, your flirting isn’t working!”

Kibum sighed heavily and collapsed back atop his bed.

Thirty-four minutes later, he found himself sitting opposite Minho at the table, still dressed in his fine silk pyjamas; Kibum imagined the sight was a ludicrous one that leant to an image of 'happy families' over aggravated housemates. Minho flicked through the morning paper pensively, strong arms flexing every time he turned a page, and Kibum jabbed his spoon at a bowl of cereal, losing interest quickly in everything and anything to spark his attention. They appeared like a father-son duo, as Minho his bottom lip and Kibum fell back against his chair, sighing.

"What?” Minho pondered, glancing up from the pointless local news story he was investigating. He looked sharp this morning, refreshed, his hair wet from a recent shower and casual clothing a juxtaposition to the running gear he'd been flaunting half an hour earlier.

"Nothing,” Kibum muttered petulantly, tapping his spoon against the table-top.

"Alright, then,” Minho nodded, resuming to his reading.

A moment passed.

Kibum was the first to break the silence again.

"Have you been speaking to Taemin recently?”

Minho frowned and set down the newspaper, before pressing, “Why Taemin?”

Kibum shrugged a shoulder, folding his arms and answering, “He just seemed a bit off last day he was here, that’s all.”

"Yeah, well, he's a lot on his plate,” Minho murmured, almost regretfully. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, having already been up since the early morning to embark on his rigorous training regime.

"He certainly seems to care a lot about you,” Kibum noted, beginning to pry. He didn’t know why he was doing it – a curious cat, maybe, with an affection for aggravating others – but his mind urged him to, to sate his various concerns and questions.

"I've known him since high school,” Minho answered, “since he was a kid.”

"How did you two meet anyway?” Kibum questioned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “Wasn’t he, like, quite a few years below you?”

There was a slight chill in the air that hung from even the room’s cleanest enclaves, sending a mild shiver through Kibum as he awaited an answer. Though soft his pyjamas were, they didn’t conserve heat as well as he would have liked.

"It's a long story,” Minho finally offered, clearly not keen to display the entirety of events, but, ever-scandalously inclined, Kibum wasn’t satisfied with such a dismissal.

"We have time,” Kibum prompted, “I mean, I'm off Saturdays, after all. Come on, Min, you might as well tell me.”

Minho pursed his lips, tilted his head and examined his friend. Though treacherous and deceptive, Kibum could be trusted with a secret. The venom he spoke was often that of self-observed events. He'd never twist the knife in an area he knew would be fatal to lodge it, and so Minho figured the young designer could be trusted with his backstory. He didn’t need to know everything, Minho supposed.

"Well, you know Taemin,” Minho began, relaxing his posture and debating the best way to present his tale. “He's quite… He's different. In high school it was- it was kind of similar. I mean, he didn’t have the blonde hair or the make-up, but he still didn’t fit in, not really.”

Kibum nodded, already deeply enraptured in the story.

"Anyway,” Minho sighed, shifting his position, “one day I was running around the tracks and I saw these group of younger students arrive at the benches. It was after school so I hadn’t really been expecting it. It was mostly girls, but there were a few boys, of which Taemin was one.”

"So you met him running? How typical,” Kibum joked, but stopped when he saw Minho shake his head, expression somewhat darkened.

"Since I was running, I heard the girls begin to taunt the boys. They were saying things like oh, but you can't run like Choi Minho, and… It was stupid, really. I was just the fastest kid at school at the time, so they wanted to compare their friends to me. The guys started to make bets amongst each other, and that’s when I noticed Taemin. He was… well, their bets were pretty harsh on him. I hadn't realised why he was with them, at first, because I thought they were friends, but then I noticed-“

Beside Kibum, Minho’s mobile began to shrill.

"Ignore it,” Kibum tried, but Minho just shook his head, reaching out and grabbing the cell. Kibum cursed.

"Oh,” Minho spoke, eyes widened at the caller ID.

"What?”

Minho blinked.

"It's Taemin.”

•••

Jinki awoke to the sound of one of the most beautiful voices he'd heard in years, singing a sweet pop song, the vocals somewhat dampened by the wall and half-opened door separating them from Jinki.

It took the artist a few seconds to realise where he was. He didn’t recognise the room, for in darkness he hadn't seen it, but he certainly understood what had happened as soon as he shifted, feeling an indirect pain lance up his sides. He grimaced, pulling the white duvet closer to him in embarrassment as soon as he realised he was completely .

Memories of last night fluttered beneath his eyelids as he struggled to comprehend them. He remembered the white-light in his vision as a result of the intensity of their love-making, yet he also remembered the cautious touches and held gazes. He remembered waking up in the early morning and Jonghyun giving him the freedom to shower alone, yet he also remembered staggering back into the bedroom after his shower, too exhausted to stay awake. He'd fallen back to sleep, and Jonghyun had let him. His hair was still somewhat damp as he squinted.

Whilst Jonghyun sang, Jinki frowned, the musician’s luxurious vocals accompanied by a soft scampering, like an animal had invaded the flat. Unable to see into the kitchen, Jinki was left curious, trying to focus more on Jonghyun’s beautiful singing than the playful scratching – and Jinki had to admit, Jonghyun’s voice was very, very beautiful.

It ran goosebumps across his skin as he slid out of the bed, reaching down for his boxers and pulling them on quickly. Cursing at the realisation that the only clothes he had were a shirt and suit jacket, Jinki almost became fretful until he noticed a neatly folded t-shirt at the edge of the bed, clearly left there for him by Jonghyun. Frowning, Jinki lifted it warily. It was a simple green top with no inscriptions or patterns, but he was surprised by the fact it actually fitted him. It couldn’t have been Jonghyun’s, for the younger male was much slighter in build than Jinki.

Throwing it over his head carelessly, Jinki ruffled his hair, still only partially awake. The events of last night seemed like a dream, and he would’ve believed them to be so, were he not in the tiny bedroom of his lover, listening to the man's near-angelic voice drift towards him soothingly. Jinki allowed himself the roots of a smile before standing, the morning light already filtering through the open curtains. Carefully so as not to provoke the back-pain that afflicted him, he padded to the doorway, and sheepishly entered the living area.

His lips instantly cracked into a wide grin when he saw Jonghyun. The younger was dressed somewhat innocently in a large orange hoodie, one Jinki vaguely recognised, that cut off mid-thigh. The outfit would have been adorable were it not for the fact that Jonghyun’s legs were bare, and Jinki couldn't help but gaze at the soft flesh, wanting to hold Jonghyun but unable to do so. Last night, despite his rampant imaginings, he'd barely held Jonghyun once – it'd been the musician who had done so to Jinki. As Jonghyun sang, oblivious to Jinki’s unsure presence, he stacked away a few clean cups in the b cupboard. Jinki almost would have laughed, had his eyes not resorted to exploring the rest of the room.

It was a small living area, with four doorways that forced the arrangement into an awkward haze. Though Jinki knew where three of these doors led – the exit, bathroom and bedroom – the fourth was a mystery. The majority of the living area was consumed by a threadbare brown sofa and a squat coffee table with various ringed stains. There was no television, no fireplace, no centrepiece to the room, but it was so squashed it barely seemed to matter.

Jinki cast his gaze back at Jonghyun, the pale light dusting his skin in makeshift freckles, and then he heard a bark.

The artist frowned.

"Aish, Roo!” Jonghyun scolded, turning his back to Jinki and staring determinedly at the ground. “You'll wake Jinki!”

Jinki raised an eyebrow and awkwardly began to walk forward, carpeted ground soft beneath his feet, and stopped when he was just behind Jonghyun’s shoulder, and could stare where the younger was in complete amusement.

"He's awake,” Jinki muttered, and Jonghyun jumped, practically falling into Jinki when he registered the presence of the artist.

"Ah,” Jonghyun nodded, blushing easily, as the small, inescapably soft creature he'd been speaking to scampered beneath the table, tiny paws pounding the ground gently.

"I didn’t know you had a dog,” Jinki smiled, as the black and brown puppy found its tattered dog-bed in the corner of the living room. After the dog had taken its place, it regarded Jinki with eyes almost as endearing as Jonghyun’s. Almost, but not quite.

"Yeah,” Jonghyun muttered, “that's ah… That's Roo. Say hi, Roo!”

Ignoring Jonghyun’s command, Roo just stared.

"Oh," Jonghyun muttered, staring blankly at the unmoving puppy.

"Anyway!” Jonghyun exclaimed, Jinki mildly amused by the clear friendship between dog-and-owner. As Jonghyun turned around, Jinki instinctively took a step backwards, in fear of invading any personal space Jonghyun required. There was only a few feet between them, their frames tantalisingly close in the embraces of the early afternoon.

"Did you sleep well?” Jonghyun queried, voice suddenly softer. “Do you want some breakfast?”

"I slept fine,” Jinki nodded, “and no, don’t worry, it's-it's okay."

"Are you sure?” Jonghyun prompted, moving to his cupboards to investigate his food stocks. “I mean, I normally don't even eat breakfast so I don’t have much, but…”

As he reached up to open the squeaking cupboards above his head, the hem of his hoodie rose to reveal more of his thigh. Flustered, Jinki glanced away, not wanting to appear disrespectful to Jonghyun. His mind was so laced with the thoughts of the night before that he couldn’t help but dream further, dream of when he'd get his turn to dominate his partner.

"It's fine,” Jinki assured, “really, it's fine.”

"Okay, well, do you want coffee?” Jonghyun queried. “I was just about to make some.”

"Sure,” Jinki nodded, voice only just clearing from his wake-up drowsiness. As Jonghyun busied himself by filling the kettle, Jinki took a seat at the rounded table, rubbing his temples thoughtfully.

"So,” Jonghyun murmured, the kettle beginning to boil, “in terms of art exhibitions, was last night successful for you?”

Jinki frowned. With his mind so intently sewn to Jonghyun, he'd completely forgotten the exhibition, and could now barely reach it past the thoughts of skin on skin and nocturnal searching.

"Yeah, no, I think it was fine,” Jinki answered, narrowing his eyes in a bid to remember. “I mean, it wasn’t the best, but…”

"It wasn’t the worst?”

"Yeah,” Jinki agreed, as Jonghyun lifted down two cream mugs from the cupboards. Awaiting the kettle to boil, the musician drummed his fingertips atop the kitchen counter, staring out of the window that sat there. From what Jinki could see, Jonghyun’s view was a dull one of another brick building, and it somewhat blocked the haze of natural light that was attempting to gain purchase in the cluttered room.

"I suppose that's always a positive,” Jonghyun shrugged. "I mean, even if it isn’t the best, if it's not the worst you're, like, totally getting somewhere.”

"I guess,” Jinki nodded, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead. Removing his hands, he noticed Jonghyun frowning at him, reading the gesture as some form of stress.

"Are you okay?” he wondered, forgetting the whistling kettle as he regarded Jinki's fresh skin and hunched posture.

"Yeah, yeah,” Jinki smiled, “just thinking about work, that’s all.”

"Hmm,” Jonghyun contemplated, tilting his head. “Don't let it worry you, Jinki, it's not worth it.”

"I suppose.”

Suddenly, Jonghyun released a playful grin, and carefully walked over to Jinki. As the elder’s seat was already pushed back from the table, it was of no real difficulty for Jonghyun to place himself firmly on Jinki’s lap, much to the surprise of the artist, who didn't know where to place his hands when Jonghyun looped his arms around his neck.

"Are you still stressed?” Jonghyun chimed cutely, body light as he leaned in and nuzzled Jinki’s nose with his own. Jinki laughed, the fabric of the orange hoodie soft against his neck, and broke his head away from Jonghyun with a stunted, “No.”

Jonghyun’s cheeky grin widened as he felt Jinki’s fingers hold his narrow waist, both men staring at each other in reservation. Jinki could feel the contact of Jonghyun’s thighs on his own, and his skin prickled at the very thought, but he didn’t know if it was too soon for either of them to repeat what they'd done only hours earlier.

Humming happily, Jonghyun moved his lips and began to kiss Jinki passionately, their tongues becoming intertwined yet again as they submitted to each other. This time, however, their fantasies were cut short.

"Yah!” Jinki suddenly yelped, as he felt something wet poke against his shin. Leaping off of the elder in shock, Jonghyun could merely laugh as he witnessed the culprit, Roo, Jinki’s leg affectionately.

"Roo-oo,” Jonghyun falsely scolded, as Jinki chuckled, the younger resuming to making the coffee, body still tingling from the contact.

"Roo-oo indeed,” Jinki smiled, reaching down and petting the inquisitive dog kindly.

"Y’know,” Jinki began hesitantly, “they say pets look like their owners.”

Jonghyun rolled his eyes, carrying two steaming mugs of strong coffee to the table – one for himself and one for Jinki.

"Are you saying I look like Roo?” Jonghyun shot back, taking the only other seat around the table as Jinki thanked him. The chairs themselves were wooden and rigid, but Jonghyun was well used to it – he just hoped Jinki was also.

"Kinda,” Jinki confessed, lips burrowing into a smile as he took his first sip of coffee.

"Well, I'm sure she feels very honoured,” Jonghyun grinned, joining Jinki in taking a drink. “Oh, wait,” Jonghyun murmured, a thought suddenly springing into mind, “where's Yoogeun?”

Jinki paused.

"It's almost one,” Jonghyun offered, able to sense that the artist was about to inquire about the time.

Jinki relaxed.

"He's with Minho’s parents, but they aren’t expecting me until the late afternoon.”

"Does that mean we can spend a few more hours together?” Jonghyun asked, lips twitching into a coy smile.

"If that’s what you want,” Jinki nodded. “Go out for lunch?”

"Sounds nice,” Jonghyun agreed. “I've some clothes you can borrow.”

"My size?”

"I guess.”

Jinki nodded, wondering why Jonghyun had clothes too large for his tiny frame, but figuring it inappropriate to ask.

"Come on, then,” Jonghyun beckoned, instantly standing, “unless you want to get dressed by yourself…”

Jinki raised an eyebrow, but followed Jonghyun instantly.

•••

"Does it hurt?” Minho asked, inspecting Taemin’s bandaged foot hesitantly. Taemin shrugged, using his crutches for support as they walked the city streets – three misfit friends ambling around to find somewhere nice to eat. Kibum regarded the young dancer hesitantly, hands braced in case he suffer an awkward fall given his inexperience with the crutches. Minho instead seemed somewhat fascinated with Taemin’s shattered ankle, as if empathetic with the pain he'd felt.

"It's alright,” Taemin muttered, pedestrians having to swerve around them as they walked. "My mum had some, like, pain killers and things. At the time it hurt, a lot, but now it's… Yeah, it's alright.”

"How did it happen again?” Kibum asked, enraptured with Taemin as the cars on the road beside them reached a tight gridlock. The scent of exhaust was salient; it s around the dull buildings that were packed in as if the military forces, and travelled alongside the plethora of pedestrians let loose from their working premises for lunch.

"It wasn't even whilst dancing,” Taemin joked, in disbelief. “I was carrying a box down the stairs at my parents’ place. They didn’t think it wise to go to a hospital, given my mum's experience with nursing, otherwise I suppose I'd be there now, and not with you guys.” Minho frowned as Taemin answered, noticing the slight nip in the younger's words. His tone had been particularly sharp this afternoon, though Minho figured that was from the dampened pain, it had to be.

"Hospitals go through a lot of bull,” Kibum nodded, in understanding. “So slow.”

"Precisely,” replied Taemin, grimacing at his clunky movements. His confinement was irritating him, and he was so unused to such implements. He'd used them once before, as an over-excitable thirteen year old who'd broken his leg in a bid to conquer a dance move he still couldn't perfect, but had long since forgotten the technique to aid him in smooth passage.

"Hey, is this the restaurant you wanted to eat at?” Minho questioned Kibum, as they approached a rather busy-looking food joint promising cuisine from across the world. Despite its location, it seemed rather warm, a hidden delight (as Kibum had described) down one of Seoul’s many labyrinthine side-streets. Although Minho glanced at it sceptically and Taemin shuffled ungracefully to avoid a departing customer, Kibum just nodded excitedly.

"Trust me,” Kibum muttered, “it's great, I love it here.”

"The last time I trusted you on restaurants I ended up feeling ill for, like, a week,” Minho grumbled, as he allowed Taemin to follow Kibum inside, finding himself to be at the end of the small line they'd created to enter.

As first impressions went, the restaurant was certainly excelling in contrast to outward appearance. The large windows from outside allowed a natural light to filter across the modern, sophisticated interior. It wasn’t exactly warm, instead somewhere comfortable, the atmosphere one of chatter and happiness rather than hushed conversations and stately attire. To one side was a bar, and behind it the door that led to what Minho assumed to be a large kitchen. The walls were a rich purple and the seats soft and cushioned. Large lights helped illuminate the corners the sunlight could not reach and well-dressed waiters and waitresses served the packed tables with friendly dialogue and a positive attitude.

"Ooh,” Taemin commented, whilst Kibum discussed seating with a tall waiter. As they were led to their table – a small booth big enough for at least two others, confined to the wall so they had a clear perspective of the entire room – Minho guided Taemin carefully, ensuring the younger didn’t accidentally attack anyone with his crutches. The bustling restaurant held the scent of many intense spices, and was very, very K​ibum

“Thanks." Kibum bowed slightly after his brief exchange with a waiter he obviously recognised, as they slid into their booth. Menus were already on the glistening table-top when they assumed their seats, Minho taking Taemin’s crutches and moving them to the side for him. As he did so, their fingers brushed, and Minho stiffened, Taemin recoiling instantly.

"Anyway,” Kibum began, oblivious to the awkward encounter between his friends, interrupting before either had time to consider it. “I really recommend going for the duck dish, it's amazing.”

As Kibum initiated a run-down of the menu, advising on what dishes were good for cheer-ups and empty stomachs, Minho cast his gaze around the room sullenly. Families, couples and pockets of friends chatted merrily, as if the rest of the world wasn’t a part of their own. They seemed captivated by the words that fell through upturned lips, a slice of joy in a city that sought little and created less. A few seats away from Minho, a young child scampered between the table-legs, his mother politely scolding him as he grabbed at her shoes with grubby fingers. The toddler endeared Minho, for he reminded him of Yoogeun – full of life, bright, keen to explore – and so subsequently reminded him of his own wish for a future where he too was a father. He was just yet to meet the right woman to commit to.

"That sounds nice,” Taemin murmured from beside Minho, dragging him back into reality as the clang of cutlery resonated in the background.

"It is nice,” Kibum nodded, "trust me."

“Hey, Kibum,” Minho interjected, “how many times have you eaten here?”

Kibum paused, tilted his head, began to count on his fingers, and then replied with a simple, “Several.”

Taemin laughed slightly, but his eyes didn’t smile with him.

After ordering Kibum’s advisory dishes and advocating drinks with a seamless proficiency, the group of friends fell into talk on life and its conundrums; Kibum discussed the old computer in his office and Minho focussed on the newfound hole in his running shoes. When the dishes arrived, Kibum then began to gush over the amazing shoes he couldn't afford, and Minho hesitantly complained about the broken light-bulb in their apartment that was of more importance than a new pair of shoes. The only one somewhat reserved was Taemin, who merely commented on the perils of others and never opened up on his own. Before Minho could prompt him into speaking, however, he was cut short by a sudden, “Oh my God!"

“What?” Taemin pondered curiously, having left his food practically untouched and his cup of water barely sipped. Minho followed Kibum’s line of sight in curiosity, and was about to provoke the secretary into further explaining his outburst, but quickly became just as stunned himself.

Across the restaurant, being led to seats, were two men he recognised clearly – the artist and his subject, the normal and the zany, the father and the musician. Minho blinked.

What the hell were Jinki and Jonghyun doing together?

Smiles played on their faces as they took their seats at the opposite end of the restaurant, too enraptured in their own conversation to notice the three friends that observed them curiously at the other end of the establishment.

"Maybe they're going on a date,” Kibum joked menacingly, taking a sip of the glass of red wine he'd privileged himself with just as Minho reached over and tapped him lightly on the head.

"Yah!” Kibum exclaimed, setting his glass down quickly. “Watch it, I could’ve choked.”

"Don't be such an idiot,” Minho mumbled, trying to pry his eyes away from his friend. "Jinki isn't gay.”

"How do you know?” Taemin pressed, playing the devil's advocate – a role Minho really hadn't expected of him.

"Because he had a wife,” Minho answered pointedly, taking another bite of his food and chewing on it heavily. The taste sensation it had been was somewhat diminished now, his mind only intrigued as to what his friend was doing with the near-stranger, the man he'd been drawing constantly for weeks. Maybe Jonghyun had commissioned a painting – that would explain the sketches and the meet-ups. That had to be it.

Minho swallowed thickly.

Kibum shrugged a shoulder, “People change, Min. Besides, regardless of whether Jinki’s straighter than a flag pole, Jjong’s not.”

"What?” Taemin inquired, lips bending upwards for the first time during the entire meal at the slightest hint of scandal. Meddling, Kibum nodded, drumming his fingertips atop the table.

"Oh yeah,” he confirmed.

"And how would you know that?” Minho asked, raising an eyebrow as he gave his friend a deadpan glare.

Kibum smirked.

"Either way,” Taemin decided, before Kibum could say anything more, “Minho’s right… Jinki isn't gay, and just because Jonghyun might be… It doesn't mean anything. They're just two friends having lunch together. Alone. And…”

Taemin narrowed his eyes, squinting.

"I think Jonghyun just touched Jinki’s knee,” Kibum observed, interest completely dying at his lukewarm meal.

"Don't be an idiot,” Minho muttered, almost growled. “We should- we should invite them over.”

"But we're finished,” Taemin commented innocently, as Minho began to move, “and they haven’t even ordered.”

"So?”

" So... We shouldn't interrupt their date,” Kibum mumbled, resting his elbows on the table-top. "Besides, Taemin’s right.”

"It's not a date,” Minho dismissed, “stop acting like that.”

"Like what?”

"Like being gay is normal."

Kibum was startled, and retracted into his seat instantly, as if his palm had been slapped. Though Taemin’s head lowered and he allowed himself a sharp intake of breathe, he said nothing, simply hiding behind his hair. The atmosphere suddenly seemed very cold, the playful mood immediately dissipating.

"I-I'm going to the bathroom,” Taemin excused, reaching past Minho swiftly and taking his crutches. Though it took him a minute to operate his walking aids, he disappeared quicker than Minho had seen him move even prior to his accident. Once he'd left, Kibum didn’t bother to hide the glare he shot Minho’s way.

"Why are you acting like such a bastard?” Kibum hissed quietly, eyes wide yet lips turned into a faint snarl as he regarded his housemate. “You're many things, Choi Minho, but I didn't take a hypocrite for being one of them.”

"I've no idea what you mean,” Minho stuttered, “and nor do you. Leave it, Kibum.”

"Ha, even after all these years,” Kibum deflected, “you still won't accept it. Homophobic bastard, that’s what you are.”

Angrily, Minho reached into his jacket pocket and removed his wallet. He opened it, tugged out some cash and dropped it on the table, beside his food.

"That’s my share and Taemin’s,” he spat cruelly, “you can pay your own way. If Taemin wonders where I went, I got a phone call.”

And with that, Minho stormed away, staying as far from Jonghyun and Jinki as he could.

•••

Taemin inspected his appearance with the frailest of gazes. Given the size of the restaurant, he'd almost been surprised to find the bathroom and all its cubicles empty. As he'd entered, another had left, but he'd been in the closeted room for the past five minutes and nobody had graced his presence since.

The bathrooms themselves were clean, orderly, the mirrors large and the interior of the purest white. The scent was of bleach and the temperature of a mild chill, but that was fine. Taemin didn’t feel it anyway.

​Stop acting like that.

Like what?

Like being gay is normal.

Taemin shivered, and wiped away the first tear that threatened to fall. Of all people, he hadn’t expected to hear that from Minho. Of all people, Minho was the one he trusted the most, but even the protective basketballer didn’t see his preferences as sane, as anything more than a satanic condition. Taemin couldn’t blame him, he supposed – maybe he was abnormal, maybe he was strange, maybe he wasn’t quite right. Society told him so with every passing breath, and his father with every misplaced word.

Taemin planted his hand against the mirror, creating a slight mark there as he removed it. The pane was cold. He'd trusted Minho, and he'd gotten hurt because he was idiotic enough to think that maybe, just maybe, Minho would understand.

Behind him, the doors swung open, a bumbling customer entering. Ensuring his eyes weren't too red and the sense of betrayal wasn’t too prominent, he moved to return to the restaurant, fists clenched as he did so.