Fifteen
The Lifetime Kids“I got pancakes for breakfast,” Jinki muttered cheerily, as he delved his hand inside the carrier bag of groceries. “You like pancakes, right? Everyone likes pancakes. I like pancakes. They're good for breakfast. They're good for everything, really.” He scanned his eyes across the small, packaged bundle of pancakes he'd purchased, shrugging merrily before sliding them across the counter. Taemin watched him, silent, as he stored the remaining few items in the cupboard and smiled happily. It was mid-afternoon, and Jinki’s mood was as enlightened as the gaudy kiss of the sun.
“I'm sorry it took me so long,” Jinki apologised, turning to face Taemin with a brisk smile. “It isn't even breakfast time anymore, but my cousin needed my help and I couldn't exactly say no because…”
Jinki talked and Taemin didn’t listen. The words were too dulcet, caught like contraband in the hands of a warden - so different, so candid, so wrong. He appeared remarkably handsome, remarkably human, wearing a checked green and white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing two strong arms and the softest of skin. His grin flashed sporadically as he talked, enthused with life and with the prosperity of morning, and Taemin couldn’t bring himself to break it.
Don't you dare tell Jinki about this. Don't you dare.
Taemin raised his head and smiled, but it came out crumpled, like the edges of a dog-eared magazine. He still wore the clothes Jinki had given him, only now he felt uncomfortable, and the tight grasp of responsibility weighed down his slender shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Jinki asked suddenly, head tilted.
Taemin responded with a look verging on disbelief.How could he be okay? He'd spent the night previous crying into his hyung’s chest, and now that same man was acting as if the situation had never occurred. Then, as if to add a penny to the pound of horror, Kibum had visited and broken like the face of a shattered porcelain doll. Taemin curled his fingers, and bit his bottom lip. Had it even been real?
“I- I'm just-“
“Tired?” Jinki offered helpfully, eyes softening with the embrace of empathy. Then, “You didn’t have anything important today, did you? I realised I completely forgot to ask. I mean, it isn’t like our schedules are the same anymore, is it?”
Taemin gripped his elbow sullenly, hand creating a cold tingle that was near efflorescent in its vigour. He didn’t remember, and he didn’t care.
“I don’t think so,” he answered honestly. Words tried to breach the gap between his mind and his mouth but none could find way. In the vibrant kitchen, with the midday light playing God’s lyre, Jinki looked so pleasant. For once, his mood had lifted, had risen, had scored tiny smiles onto the faces of every action, and Taemin couldn’t bring himself to stop it – and he couldn’t bring himself to betray Kibum, either. There was something repulsive about telling Jinki what had happened, for what he didn’t know needn’t hurt him, and Taemin and Kibum – they could handle this, they would handle this. There was no point in worrying their elder, for it would worry him to the brink of insanity.
Taemin watched Jinki smile, regret already unfolding limbs in his stomach.
“Pancakes are just so versatile,” Jinki mused fondly, turning back to the packet of sweet bread with a look of serene contemplation. Taemin watched him awkwardly. Every motion the elder made seemed so out of place, so wrong, as if he'd stumbled into a heated argument he didn’t understand. However, even if he was to dismiss Kibum, to help shield the rapper’s plight – for now – there was one thing Taemin couldn’t simply neglect like an emaciated child, one thing he had to nourish and fulfil.
“I-I'm sorry about last night,” he croaked, cheeks darkening with remorse. He'd been so weak, so pathetic, so vulnerable – and now, in the mouth of everything, he was being so selfish, so arrogant, so pretentious, in focussing solely on himself. Taemin lowered his head, confliction drowning every thought.
Jinki halted suddenly, and turned back to the maknae.
“Sorry for what?” he posed.
Taemin blinked.
“Hyung, you know what.” Taemin’s eyes were centred and piercing, as if dragged from the timeliest of epochs and having faced the suffering it induced. The grasp of nervous anxiety was a fearsome predator as it began to feast on his flesh, inch by inch, carnivorous, hungry and brutal.
Jinki stopped then, and momentarily his shoulders sagged. His expression drifted to remembrance and for a while he was silent, contemplative, clutching a packet in his hand and a memory in his sight. Then, a shrug.
“We all get emotional sometimes, Taemin. It's okay.”
Jinki turned back to bustling by the kitchen, and Taemin was left cold. The elder’s dismissal hadn't just shocked him – it had hurt him. Taemin understood what he was doing, playing a charade, for that was seemingly the singer’s way, but even he had assumed that the previous night would shatter it. Now, Taemin’s muscles felt limpid, his mind a flaccid husk, and the colour drained from his cheeks.
“Did you- mean what you said?” Taemin asked suddenly, the doubt expounding in his chest. Maybe Jinki had forgotten his whispered promises, yet Taemin certainly hadn’t. He clenched his fists, regarding the pictures on the fridge with a faint remorse, awaiting Jinki’s answer.
The singer stopped, turned, and with a gaze the deepened hues of a poplar tree, responded, “Of course.”
Taemin nodded. There was something hidden in Jinki’s eyes, as if a cryptic meaning in a convoluted poem. They were rounded, seemed to glint like the dispelling of light over river, and cultivated a unique sincerity, one Taemin wasn’t used to seeing. It fractured time to a mirage of seconds, and every background disturbance ceased to exist. The maknae swallowed, thickly. Jinki was trying to tell him something, but his eyes were too leaden to hear it.
“You're so pale,” Jinki remarked quietly, his mood having somewhat shifted. Taemin shook his head instinctively. Even without trying, he'd dampened the elder’s mood.
“It's the light,” he tried, with a weary shrug.
“You’ve lost weight,” the elder continued, analysing Taemin now like a newly discovered species. His eyes grazed over the thinning form of the dancer, lips jutted and arms folded across his chest.
“It's the clothes,” Taemin mumbled, tugging at them mildly to show how over-sized they were.
“You don’t dance often anymore.”
“I was in a car crash, hyung.”
Taemin held a defensive stare as Jinki pursed those soft lips of his, concern defeating every wry glimmer of happiness that tried to grow.
“Taemin-ah, just… Look after yourself.”
Taemin took a step backwards, a startled mouse. The fragmentations began to piece together again, crafting the reality he faced, and Taemin saw irony wherever he looked; he wasn’t the one who needed to look after himself. Kibum was.
“I can't look after you anymore,” Jinki murmured, regretful. He gripped the edge of the counter, stance like a valiant fighter-pilot about to embark on a suicide mission. “I wish I could, but I can't. So you’ve got to- to look out for yourself.”
“I'm twenty-four,” Taemin replied, trying to curb the discomfort in his tone, “I know how to- how to look after myself.”
“Do you?” Jinki rebuked, sliding his eyes to meet Taemin’s again. A slight anger curled the tips of his words. “Do you really, Taemin?”
“I-“
“Please don’t make an excuse,” Jinki stopped, straightening himself, “because I'm- I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Ever since the crash-“
“Hyung-“
“-there's been something different about you. You're getting so fragile and quiet and it's just like-“
“Hyung-“
“-the abuse all over again, only, this time, I don’t know who’s hurting you.”
Taemin’s throat constricted and his hands instinctively clenched. Not this. Not now. Jinki's eyes watered slightly, and his lips were downturned.
“We-we all had it-“ Taemin’s words became hitched and his mind began to fuzz with the penumbra of memories. “That wasn’t just me, hyung, that was all of us, that was-“
“But you were just a kid.”
Jinki’s words were slow, impactful, each one like a red dawn. Taemin backed away. He couldn’t have this, not now, not ever – not with everything that had just happened. His head began to pulse, heart dictate a rhythm of distress, and he felt just like he had the night before, only this time he felt it without the tears.
“I'm going to- to- to get dressed,” he stammered.
Taemin spun and jolted through the doorway before Jinki had time to so much as speak.
•••
The Past;
I know where one hides it;
Buried, deep, in some
Subconscious or-other.
I can't reach it.
Buried, deep, in some
Subconscious or-other.
I can't reach it.
Maybe in a day,
Maybe in a year,
I will grasp for it slowly,
For my arm has grown to reach it.
Maybe in a year,
I will grasp for it slowly,
For my arm has grown to reach it.
•••
Taemin could barely breathe from exertion as he lay, back flat against the wall, perspiration beginning to condense on his forehead and leave him bound to a stupor of exhaustion.
“Here,” Minho mumbled, rolling him a bottle of water from where he stood. Taemin let it fall into his hands, not even managing to thank the quizzical man who'd bequeathed it.
As Taemin took a swig of the liquid, Minho reached for his bag by the maknae’s side and fumbled awkwardly for his phone. When he found it, he sighed, then slid to sit – about a shoulder apart from the dancer. His eyes were curious as they danced over the screen, Taemin regarding him with faint interest. Minho seemed even more muscular than the last time they'd all practiced together, his biceps strong beneath his white t-shirt, pulsing from the workout they'd just been subject to. Unlike Taemin, he didn’t seem the least bit affected by his strenuous endeavours.
“Pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless…” he murmured to himself, observing the syndicate of notifications with furrowed brows. Taemin lost interest in the rapper then, screwing the lid back atop his bottle of water. His eyes glided to where they were inevitably always going to and stopped there.
Jinki and Jonghyun sat on a bench, the furthest corner from Taemin, chatting easily about something that kept provoking soft laughter from their lips. Occasionally, Jonghyun would glance up and catch Taemin looking, and he'd offer a slight smile; although this sent Taemin’s cheeks into flushing a vivid pink, such was their colour already that it was barely noticeable. He would pretend he hadn’t been looking at all, cast his eyes to something else in the yellowed practice room, but would always sway back to the narrow-framed composer.
“Yah, Taemin, stop staring at those two, you'll give them the wrong idea.” Taemin’s body jarred at Minho’s terse, albeit joking, scold, and instantly switched his eyes to the elder, folding his arms and defending with brunt exasperation.
“I'm not staring at those two, why would I stare at them?"
Minho shrugged, reverting his attention to his phone screen. Taemin mumbled something ill-hearted beneath his breath and shifted slightly. Uncontrollably, he looked back at Jonghyun. He wore a large blue sweater today, and the scars across his face had become somewhat less visible. The public had still barely caught a glimpse however, Jonghyun’s penchant for masks disrupting the views of the camera, and they were yet to return to their proper schedules. Practices had been set-back, shows had been cancelled, fans had been disappointed – but, in Taemin’s eyes, none of that mattered more than the fact that Jonghyun needed to get better, had to get better, before they resumed to their work.
“You really need to get back to the gym,” Minho remarked, bored listless by his phone and chucking it back atop his bag. “Seriously, I haven’t seen you this unfit since you were a trainee.” Minho nudged him playfully and chuckled slightly.
“Aish, just because you're some kind of sporting hero,” the maknae grumbled. “We can't all run a marathon in our sleep.”
Minho rolled his eyes, before offering, “Do you want to go running with me? Like how we used to? It'd probably do you good, help build up your strength after- after the crash, and all.” Hesitantly, Minho shot a quick look at Jonghyun and Jinki, as if to check they weren’t listening. Satisfied, he slumped further on the wall, nostrils flaring at the scent of sweat and vigour.
“I don't know,” Taemin replied sceptically, throwing the idea back-and-forth in his mind. “I probably couldn’t keep up with you, hyung.”
“Well, then we'll go at your pace,” Minho compromised, “we don’t have to sprint from Seoul to Incheon if you aren’t up for it.”
“Don’t tell me that’s how far you run,” Taemin commented sceptically, tilting his head at Minho.
“What?! No, of course not, idiot, but-“ Minho scratched his head thoughtfully. “I just thought it would be a good way to spend some time together, get things back to how they were, y’know?”
“Yeah…” Taemin mumbled. “I know.”
“Hey!” called a sharp voice, grabbing Taemin and Minho’s attention suddenly. Both men whipped their heads towards Jinki as he perched on the edge of the bench, shoulders just brushing Jonghyun’s. Indescribably, a pang of distaste rang through Taemin. His hyungs weren't meant to be so close. “Have either of you heard from Kibum?”
Taemin lowered his head in an abstract guilt as Minho replied, “No, lazy bastard probably isn’t even out of bed yet.”
Jonghyun glanced at his watch, before muttering, “It's three o’clock.”
“Exactly,” Minho nodded. “Y’know, I once walked in on him still asleep at four.”
“Seriously?” Jonghyun exclaimed, inspirited by a tilted humour. Despite everything, Taemin gave a small smile at the sight of his amused hyung.
“Yeah,” Minho nodded, tapping his fingers along the rim of his water bottle. “I swear it. Sherlock was tough on everybody.”
Jonghyun chortled slightly, Jinki smirking. Only Taemin didn’t respond.
“Well, he better show up soon,” Jonghyun mused, “because if Yunkyung walks in and he isn’t here…”
“Yunkyungie-kyung,” Jinki rhymed thoughtlessly, like a bored toddler. His voice lilted upwards to a high-pitch as he did-so. Jonghyun laughed yet-again.
“You should write a song about him,” Minho directed towards Jonghyun.
“Who?” Jonghyun replied. “Yunkyungie-kyung?” Jinki giggled now, eyeing Jonghyun with some peculiar form of affection.
“I meant Kibum,” Minho corrected, “but, now that you mention it…”
“What genre?” Jonghyun posed. “R&B?”
“Rap?” Minho suggested.
“You want me to rap?” Jonghyun laughed. “Aren't I more of a singer?”
“Jinki can feature,” Minho decided, “as a rapper. You can do all your- vocal stuff, and he can… Y’know, rap.”
“What about Taemin-ah?” Jonghyun pondered, glancing at the stoic maknae with a crooked grin. “Doesn't he have a role?”
“He's-“ Minho stopped, observing Taemin deeply. “He's the stylist.”
As Jonghyun chuckled, Jinki shook his head with resign and muttered, “Ah, then we're definitely going to fail…”
“Honestly,” Minho interjected, “I think that was the case when we said you were rapping.”
“Hey!” Jinki complained. “Who died and made you rap God?”
“Kibum, clearly,” Minho mumbled, checking his phone for messages. Taemin felt his heart tremor slightly.
“Seriously though,” Jonghyun began, “hasn’t he replied to anyone's messages? Where is he? He can't miss practices like this.”
“I've tried calling him,” Jinki offered, “but… Nothing.”
“Isn't he always on his phone?” Minho speculated, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Like, always?"
“Have you heard anything?” Jinki pondered, pointing his head at Taemin.
“No,” was the instant response. Taemin remained sedate, calm; there was nothing he could say, not without causing upset when it wasn’t needed.
“I worry…” Jonghyun started, and then stopped himself with a shrift shake of his head. “Y’know what, maybe he's just forgotten, we can all forget. It's-it's human nature, right?”
“Right!” Jinki agreed, as Jonghyun looked around, almost frantically. Taemin lowered his head. “Right.”
Taemin’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he tensed.
Jonghyun began to hum one of his own songs as they verged into silence, his voice light and ethereal in the room – a room that got increasingly smaller the longer Taemin waited to check his phone. He bit his bottom lip, fingers curled.
“So-“ Minho began, and Taemin tuned out. Complacently, he dug his fingers into his pocket, and, eyes wrought with worry, checked the new message.
Meet me at my place in an hour
-Kibum, 15:07
i got a sudden burst of inspiration for this story... i really hope it lasts long enough that i can update Dx
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