Taemin woke up at dawn, at the hour when the night had begun withering away and the pre-sunrise twilight filled the room with sleepy silvery glow. He looked at the electronic clock on the bedside table: he still had about two hours before the alarm, which he'd set early anyway. He stretched with a yawn. The air in the room felt cool on his arms and feet, while the rest of his body was covered by the thick warm blanket – he liked that feeling.

Taemin rubbed his eyes and then froze, listening. Silence. Absolute, perfect, crystal clear silence. The corners of his mouth lifted. He was thankful for those noise-proof windows.

He could stay in bed and sleep some more, but it was the D-day and he had no interest in resting. He jumped out of the bed, yanked his jacket from the back of the chair and threw it right on his sleeping clothes. Then he slipped his phone into his pocket, grabbed his purple yoga mat and left the room to climb on the roof and meditate there. Because one thing he was sure of: if he didn't do it right after waking up, he'd inevitably forget.

This time Taemin did a bit better and ‘let his mind wander’ only two times and a half – which, for him, was a success. As he sat there, looking down on the boring gray buildings and garbage trucks crawling down the sleeping streets like bugs, he wrapped his fingers around the cigarette pack in his pocket. He'd reduced his nicotine intake to 3-4 cigarettes a day, partially thanks to the word ‘NOPE’ he'd scribbled on each of them with a black marker, because through the years he'd gotten desensitized to the grim warnings on the box.

He lighted one and rummaged in his pockets a bit more: they were full of little scraps of paper such as tissues, post-its and gum wraps with words written on them. Those were his reminders to do the tasks that Dr. Lee had given him. She praised Taemin for finally doing his homework, but she would be rather puzzled if she had known how unsystematic his ‘writing important stuff down’ habit was, not being done neatly in a special copybook, but on random papers that could easily be forgotten, carried away by the wind, dropped on the ground or simply thrown into the trash – which did happen a lot. He just found it hard to care about so many things at once.

He took out a crumpled green post-it on which he'd written: ‘Pay self a compliment’. Ah, yes. Dr. Lee had said that he had a self-esteem problem and needed to recognize his own good points in areas that weren't as obvious as his physical appearance and dancing abilities.

Taemin puffed out some smoke, thinking. He took out his smokes again and peered into the box, shaking it. While it would make sense to praise himself for having smoked way less in the last few weeks than he had done before, he focused his attention on the helpful ‘NOPE’s instead.

“Man, I'm ing meticulous,” he remarked, taking another drag.

When his mother called in about an hour, Taemin was putting his street clothes on to go to the academy and practice. He put her on the speaker.

“Did you have enough rest, though?” she asked, sounding worried. “You shouldn't exert yourself too much before the performance.”

Taemin chuckled.

“In high school, you'd be at my door at 6 o'clock, worried that I wouldn't have enough time for my French and Latin before going on stage and dancing in front of a few hundred people.”

Mrs. Lee sighed.

“At least, now you have the consolation of never letting me live it down.”

“As well as being at French and null at Latin.”

When Taemin was finished buttoning his shirt, he went to the kitchen to drink some water.

“Well, that's nothing to brag about.”

“Je m'en fous.”

“Taemin, it's enough that you swear in your own language...”

He laughed.

“Just showing you that I do remember some French. Will you come?”

“Of course, I'll come to see you dance. But I'll have to meet my lawyer first, and then...”

He returned to the bedroom to put his jacket on and extracted another crumpled paper from his pocket:

‘Say smth nice to smb else’.

Taemin thought hard while his mother recounted her plans for the day. He cleared his throat when she was done and said:

“Good luck with the lawyer. Hope you get all of the wanker's money and stuff.”

“I don't think so, but thank you, darling,” Mrs. Lee said softly, and the sentimental tremble in her voice was a cue for her son to withdraw.

“Anyways, see you later.”

He finished the call.

Director Seo – his Director Seo – had sent him a few messages in Kakao, too.

‘Don't skip breakfast. You need to hold out until the evening’

‘I'm sure you know it anyway, so is just a reminder’

‘*it's’

‘See you’

Taemin smirked. He imagined the man sitting in the kitchen with his wife, rocking a kid on his knee, and hurrying to make an unnecessary correction for a tiny mistake he'd made in a message to his most problematic student.

Sweet, sweet man.

He took a brief look at himself in the mirror and headed out.

People kept asking if he was feeling nervous before the performance, and Taemin knew that it would be polite to confirm their assumptions, so he nodded and said that “he hoped not to let his teachers and elders down”, but inside he wasn't really feeling that way. He knew he was going to nail it (hadn't he been preparing for it obsessively for many weeks on end?), and didn't feel himself indebted to a bunch of old people. If he was feeling anxiety, it was only because crowds didn't excite him in general. He just wanted to go on that stage, lose himself in the dance, release that pent-up energy – and go back home and stare at the wall with a feeling of both fatigue and completeness.

Director Seo – or Hyeonsu, as Taemin called him out of everyone else's hearing – asked him the same thing, watching him apply his stage makeup (some contouring and dramatic shadow around the eyes – black with a bit of red).

“No. You are,” Taemin answered.

“Why, though? Are you worried I'm gonna mess up?”

The man stopped pacing around the room.

“No, of course, not, I'm just… I don't know. I guess I somehow feel like I'm also going on that stage with you.”

“You must be really empathic if you have that emotion after all these years.”

“I am pretty empathic in everyday life, for better or worse… But it's not only that. I don't really want to tell you the reason.”

Taemin glanced at his reflection, shadow brush at work.

“Why?”

The other smiled.

“I'm not sure it will do you any good if I do.”

“Don't worry, I can't be any more spoiled.”

Hyeonsu leaned his head to the side, pursing his lips in disagreement.

“I'd say that having courage to come back after a long absence and putting up such strong and beautiful work from scratch is not typical behavior of a spoiled person.”

Taemin shrugged.

“I'm a special spoiled person.”

“You have a tendency to be too hard on yourself.”

“Maybe I'm just trying to impress you.”

Hyeonsu took a step closer and placed his hands on the back of Taemin's chair.

“You don't have to try much,” he said softly.

“It disgusts me how sweet you are,” Taemin muttered, making him laugh. “Anyways, you already said that my work is strong and beautiful, so you might as well spill the rest.”

“That is the reason. Your work is so powerful it makes me nervous.”

The young man turned around and raised his eyes.

“Really?”

Hyeonsu nodded.

“It's like you have a demon inside your body that moves in superhuman ways.”

Taemin chuckled, pleased.

“You know how to make a boy blush.”

“You're not blushing, though.”

“In a very tiny part of my mind, I am.”

“How tiny?”

“Almost nonexistent.”

They studied each other's faces. Hyeonsu's eyes glistened, like they always did when he fixed them on Taemin's features. Their gaze moved to his plump lips, bearing just a light tinge of red now, he leaned closer, very slowly.

They were interrupted by a group of three men coming into the room, talking to each other in amused, assertive voices. Men of some importance.

Hyeonsu stepped away at once, and Taemin stood up from his chair.

's sake.

“There he is,” the eldest one said. “Director Seo rarely parts with his pet,” he explained to his companions.

Taemin could see the expression of discomfort flash across Hyeonsu's face and couldn't help feeling sorry for him and his paranoia. The man gritted his teeth, hiding one hand in his pocket like he did when feeling anxious.

“And here's the prodigy himself.”

Taemin bowed to the newcomers, repeating formal greetings for each of them.

The social torture didn't last long. After his looks, age and family ties were all commented on, the men quickly lost their interest and left the room, leaving a ringing silence behind them.

Taemin sat back down and Hyeonsu retreated to the couch, instantly drained. He took out his phone.

The makeup was almost finished.

“How's your daughter's tooth?”

The man gave a sigh.

“It got pretty bad, her cheek was swollen. Had to rush her to the doctor at night.”

“They took it out?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, and it turned out to be more painful than they'd promised. We cried all the way home.”

“Did you console her?”

“I made a story about a very bad Mr. Tooth who held a kingdom in terror. It was defeated by the brave Knight Doctor, and everything was good again.”

Hyeonsu rubbed his nose in a flush of embarrassment.

Taemin laughed.

“I envy your girl. When a similar thing happened to me, my father promised to give me a thousand won if I shut up and stop wailing.”

“It must've hurt your feelings.”

“It did. So I went on until he raised the sum to ten, and then I shut up.”

“That's terrible.”

The young man shrugged.

“Yeah, but in hindsight, it explains a lot. I grew up confusing things that must be bought and those that are supposed to come free. What is it like to have kids?”

Hyeonsu thought a little.

“Tough, but wonderful, too.”

“I always thought that there aren't that many people who really love us, so people just make their own.”

“It is true, in part… But it's also that there aren't many people we love, so we make our own.”

Taemin was done now. He turned around and rested his arms on the back of his chair, looking at the man. He liked his melancholic eyes, and liked the amiable way he raised his eyebrows when someone addressed him with a question. It would make sense if he balanced out his own introversion by sticking to more open types, but he was drawn to quiet people nowadays – those who would let him shine or slip into the shadows, depending on his mood, without questioning his behavior. It was easier to be understood by the loners.

“Is love so important that it's worth dealing with people for the rest of your life?” he wondered.

Hyeonsu put his phone away and looked back at him.

“You have to deal with people anyway in your lifetime. Might as well fall in love once or twice while you're at it.”

“I already have, and it didn't turn out well. It wasn't good love,” Taemin answered, his face clouding over as some troubling memories came forth.

“I don't think you can divide love into the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’ one.”

“Still, I believe that the quality of love you get is determined by your quality as a person,” the young man insisted. “Like, all some people can get is a bad copy that wears out fast and leaves a bad taste in your mouth, like some cheap rip-off cologne, and maybe they don't even know how mediocre it is, because they've never touched the real thing.”

“While I agree that different people experience love differently, I don't think there are such rigid rules for that... There are so many variations. Using your analogy, sometimes you wait until you get your hands on the ‘real thing’, and you have those expectations, but all you get is disappointment, because it's still not what you imagined. And maybe that first thing that you thought was mediocre was only such because your senses were dull, and the bad taste was left by something else. Or maybe it was what you thought it was, because some things are... what you think they are.”

Hyeonsu dropped his palms on his knees, not looking as certain as he had been when he first began his tirade.

“I think your wording betrayed you at the end,” Taemin pointed out, smiling.

“Yeah,” the other agreed. “But it didn't take away the meaning.”

Taemin suggested taking a smoking break before the big fight.

“I thought you were giving up,” the man reminded him as they climbed the back staircase to the roof.

“Well, you can't be giving up something you're not doing,” Taemin argued.

“This kid,” Hyeonsu sighed, putting a cigarette between his lips.

Director Seo's friend had helped Taemin with his costume by sewing strips of black and red silk to his black jacket so that they made flame-like waves and flowed following his movements. When he put it on and looked at his reflection, he felt both protected and stark – after all, he was about to bare his soul to a bunch of strangers without saying a word.

His number was approaching, and his mind was quiet. Serene, almost. And the more time passed, the more he felt the liberation of his spirit approaching. Finally, he wasn't feeling like he was supposed to be doing something else.

The detached look on Taemin's face as he watched the other performers didn't surprise Hyeonsu, because he was familiar with his character, but he still found it fascinating: Didn't he compare himself to others? Wasn't he just a little afraid to come out after them?

Before he walked onto the stage, they exchanged glances. Hyeonsu gave him an encouraging nod, and Taemin returned it. His eyes were laughing. But in a moment the laughter was gone, and he became a part of the storm.

He danced to a Japanese song, a story of two lovers parting, one calling out to the other to tell them about his pain and his fruitless hopes for a future meeting, as well as to say goodbye, and Taemin's dance, with its frantic highs and tormented lows, perfectly conveyed the torture of the soul and the feeling of helplessness in the face of inescapable doom. The ‘demon’ inside his body possessed him completely, giving almost supernatural plasticity to the physical form it inhabited.

There was something anxious about the dance, something unresolved, as if it was a cry in the dark, not meant to be heard, but desperately needing to be. It was like a love letter to someone who was never going to get it, and knowing that, the writer stripped himself of his pride and set his pain free. It was like the wind, and the fire, and the secret kiss of the forbidden lover.

The audience watched, transfixed, and when those three minutes were over, it was a sudden awakening for everyone. Taemin got back to his feet, bowed to the public applauding him a bit louder than all the previous performers – and disappeared behind the curtain, as if it all had only been a dream.

“How was I?” he asked, bringing a bottle of water to his lips.

Hyeonsu was looking at him as if he'd just descended from Heaven and spoken the language of outer space.

“Otherworldly,” he answered, offering the young man a towel: his face was glistening with sweat.

“Just what I was aiming for,” Taemin joked, out of breath.

He didn't have the desire to see the rest of the show, but had to stay until the end, because Hyeonsu had responsibilities of his own and they were going to a barbecue restaurant later as he had promised.

Instead of going back to the concert hall, Taemin found himself a bench in the corridor and waited, lounging on it with his phone in hand. It wasn't arrogance on his part: he'd devoted so much time to reaching a clearly defined goal, he'd let it go, and the fulfillment he'd felt at first was rapidly giving way to emptiness. He needed a moment of solitude.

His mother, dressed in a formal suit for her afternoon meeting with the lawyer, came to see him.

“You danced beautifully,” she said, her dark eyes welling up beneath the curled lashes. “Thank you.”

Taemin hugged her and they stood like that for a minute under the heavy yellow light, in perfect silence.

Mrs. Lee was weeping, and he wanted to cry, too, without knowing why. When they were together, each of them was alone, as if they were only two mirrors facing each other, but now he realized that it did create some sort of unique connection.

“Thanks, mom,” he murmured into her perfect hair.

She held her palm to his face to express the rest of what she couldn't put into words and, again, took him by the hand before leaving. Taemin almost wished she offered to stay for dinner, but it was okay that she didn't: he wanted to be alone with Hyeonsu and listen to his soothing soft voice before he would go home and collapse on the bed.

To his disappointment, the tête-à-tête that he'd been anticipating was delayed when one of the elders approached Hyeonsu with an offer to commemorate the successful showcase of his academy's talents with some grilled beef and soju. Hyeonsu tried to mumble something about having to go home earlier, but was ignored with a benevolent, if a little rough, pat on the arm and a suggestion to bring his ‘dancing genius’ Taemin along. He had no choice but to give up their quiet dinner for the sake of propriety.

When they'd finally left the building and were walking through the empty, dark parking lot to Hyeonsu's car, Taemin frankly told him that dining with some old people he didn't care about, but had to be polite to, was the last thing in the world that he'd like to do at the moment.

“I know.”

Hyeonsu looked weary, too.

“We should've left earlier.”

“It wasn't possible.”

The older man was carrying a few sumptuous bouquets of flowers he'd been presented with as a token of recognition, and his younger companion had received a single red rose from his mother, too.

Taemin held the flower up to his face while Hyeonsu was rummaging his pockets for the car keys with one hand – the fragrance was heady, sweet and hypnotizing. He'd hate watching it die.

“Everytime we make a plan to spend time together outside of the academy, something happens,” he observed impassively.

“We have busy lives.”

Hyeonsu clicked on the remote to unlock the doors and asked Taemin for some help, because he was really struggling with the flowers.

The young man didn't move, his gaze firm and a little resentful now.

“I'm not busy. I'm always alone.”

“I have a family and you know that,” Hyeonsu reminded him with that tone of voice that kind, timid people use when someone else would've lost their patience.

Sometimes Taemin wished he was a little cruel, as if being treated nicely when he was acting up was more humiliating than deserved punishment.

Now he had to help with the damned bouquets.

Reluctantly, he walked around the car to open the door for Hyeonsu so that he could lay them on the backseat.

“You don't have to go if you don't want to, of course. I'll tell them you had another appointment,” the man said, shutting the door.

Taemin was glaring, arms crossed on his chest.

“And then I'll see you in, what – two weeks?”

“Business trips are a thing,” the other said, still unperturbed.

His skin was smooth for a man his age, and that cold white light made it easier to see. He had plump lips, which he would bite on when he was nervous. Taemin didn't know what he was doing standing there and making this good man uncomfortable: he didn't have anything to do with his problem, whatever it was. He'd had a true moment of Power earlier that day, and all he was feeling now was nauseating, stupid restlessness. He couldn't say it out loud, and how could he?

This is not working. It just isn't.

He looked away, because there was too much patience in Hyeonsu's eyes. Too much understanding. And all he wanted to do was to break things.

He didn't want to go home and face the darkness alone. He didn't want to stay and pretend to be fine at some dull social affair. It was an impossible choice to make, so there he remained, stuck on the spot.

“I know you're hungry, though. And personally, I'll be glad if we go together,” Hyeonsu pushed gently.

Well, he wasn't wrong. Taemin could feel his stomach rumble. He'd forgotten about his breakfast, too.

He faltered.

“I don't know...”

“Please.”

Taemin felt an impulse in his body to walk back to the other side of the car and comply, as if it was a natural reaction. The thought evoked one cold, impossibly long night when his mother's red manicure glistened in a similar white light as her voice was giving him a much simpler option than the one he'd foolishly chosen for himself. He was, in fact, quite obedient.

“I'm not alright. I thought I'd be, but I'm not. And I don't understand why,” he heard himself saying as both anger and any sense of clarity in his brain began simmering down.

He was being left behind. He needed to hide in his room upstairs, needed his metallic box…

He felt a hand press on his shoulder.

“Taemin, you've worked really hard during these months, first to catch up and then to put up a whole project by yourself. And today you released it all, in front of hundreds of people you don't know. I've been through the same thing many, many times, and I know what you're feeling right now. It's mental and physical overload... And the only thing that can help you now is rest. It will pass, trust me.”

As if pulling him out of the deep blue shadows of his mind, Hyeonsu's face came into focus, a look of concern furrowing his brow.

“I can just take you home if you want to. And I'll go to the restaurant right after.”

“Yes, home is good,” Taemin responded, his lower lip.

Hyeonsu raised his hand and the young man's chin with his thumb lightly, but stopped, as if he also came back to reality.

In the car, Taemin drank some water and it revived his spirits a little. He was buckling up when he realized that he'd forgotten his phone backstage. It was a surprise to no one.

“In the olden times, I'd just buy myself a new one, but I think I'll have to get it now,” he said, getting out of the car. “Sorry.”

The man checked his watch. He was supposed to have left earlier.

“It's fine.”

It didn't take long to locate his neglected property, as some kindhearted person had already brought it to the Lost & Found.

Taemin checked it briefly, thanked the old man who knew his face by now through having handed him back his umbrella and wallet before and hurried back outside.

I won't see him for two weeks, he realized, his quick stride sending echoes across the empty halls. So what if that dinner is gonna be dull? I can always leave early, but at least I-

At the main entrance, he ran into someone coming in – or rather they ran into each other, since the other person had been walking fast, too.

They raised their eyes – and froze, apologies broken off mid-word.

Taemin's eyes rounded, his lips parting in surprise. His hand slid off the wooden door handle, allowing it to close.

“Jinki,” he whispered.

“Tae.”

Jinki looked different from the time of their turbulent last meeting: although he was wearing the same old blue jeans, he'd ditched the habitual lumberjack shirt for a sharp-lined black jacket on top of a tee shirt of the same color, his dark brown hair slicked back and parted on the side instead of forming a fluffy mass that occasionally obstructed his view, and his spectacles were nowhere to be seen – the contact lenses made his eyes look glassy. Jinki, as he knew him, was gone, and this new man looked almost like a stranger wearing a familiar face.

“What are you doing here?” Taemin asked, the pounding in his temples gradually slowing down.

Jinki's chest was heaving up and down as if he'd been running, he was taking in the small changes in the other's appearance, too, his eyes wandering as if not sure where to rest. His own expression was flustered, doubtful.

His Adam's apple jumped.

“I-I left at first, but I thought that I needed to see you, so I came back and...” he rambled.

“But how did you...?”

“I saw a poster at my uni, and you were on the picture, so...” Jinki's voice trailed off and he touched the ridge of his nose instinctively – as if he, also, still needed to get used to the absence of the glasses on his face.

Taemin had thought that Hyeonsu's voice was soft, but no one he knew spoke the same way Jinki did. He could be placing an order at Subway, or telling him that he didn't want to see him ever again, or trying to come up with a dumb excuse for his actions, but no matter the context, it was music. There was harmony in that voice, and it was so easy to get lost in. Jinki, the fool, had no idea.

But Taemin had places to go.

“No, Jinki. Why. Are you. Here?” he demanded with unexpected firmness.

The other blinked.

“I needed to see you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Taemin didn't know what to think, how to feel.

“Is there anything left for us to discuss?”

“I think so, yes. We could... we could go to a coffee shop nearby. Or something.”

Jinki was speaking so quietly now, his words almost drowned in the distant noise coming from the street.

Taemin bit on his lip.

“Someone is waiting for me, I can't.”

“You can go back to them later.”

“Can't we meet some other time?”

The other cleared his throat, his eyes shifting to the floor.

“If I leave now, I might never come back again.”

He was probably telling the truth, but, “Is it important?”, Taemin wondered. Was it even a problem if the phantom of his past shame never came back? He was exhausted as hell. He'd felt and said too much that day.

Jinki reached out and touched his hand. He flinched.

“Blood,” his former lover observed, his fingers warm on his own.

Taemin followed his gaze and discovered the red rose he was carrying with him for no reason still clasped in his hand. He must've gripped the prickly stem too tight in his tension, and the thorns dug deep into the skin.

Jinki opened his palm carefully. A bit of blood was visible on his fingers and rings, crimson on silver.

Taemin looked on as the other fished a paper tissue out of his pocket. Jinki's hand froze mid-air. They both knew what he was about to do, as similar incidents had taken place in the past – when Taemin wasn't careful and the other played the older brother, instinctively, as if he'd been programmed to – and compensated for it by being unreasonably cold afterwards. They both thought it inappropriate now.

Taemin grabbed the tissue and wiped his hand himself while Jinki held the rose for him.

“Still stealing tissues from coffee shops?”

Jinki rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I'm not stealing, I put to use what would've been thrown away otherwise. Who's gonna need a tissue who someone else has taken and never used?”

Judging by how well-articulated explanation was, he must've already been asked about his tissue-hoarding habit.

“Or you could, you know, just grab only the amount of tissues you will actually need?”

“You steal sugar,” Jinki retorted somewhat defensively.

“I actually use it,” the other argued.

“And I actually use the tissues. Later.”

Taemin crumpled the bloody tissue into a ball and put it in his pocket, where it immediately got lost somewhere in between his notes and unopened bags of sugar that had been lying there for weeks.

“Thanks.”

“I suggest you rinse your hand with water, too.”

“Yeah.”

Both fell silent. Jinki was waiting for Taemin to decide, Taemin was waiting… what was he waiting for? There were too many people wanting him to make a choice, time was crawling by so terribly slow and he couldn't trust his own judgement.

His phone rang.

Hyeonsu.

“Taemin, where are you? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm at the doors.”

“Are you coming?”

Taemin faltered. Jinki was looking at him expectantly.

He turned away, took a few steps to the other side of the hall.

“I ran into someone, a friend... I think we'll stop by a coffee shop and talk,” he said in a low voice.

Hyeonsu didn't reply right away.

“So, you're not coming to dinner?”

He didn't sound resentful, he never did. But there was a tinge of disappointment in his voice. No matter what he had preached at him about having a family and business trips being a necessary part of life, he wanted to see him once more before leaving... And that man he was ditching for someone who'd abandoned him in a motel after stealing his pay from his coat pocket.

“I'll see. Maybe it won't take long.” In the corner of his eye, Jinki coughed into his fist. “And if it does, well... have a nice trip. Hope you can sleep on the plane.”

They said goodbye and he turned to Jinki, standing there and fidgeting with his rose. That new hairstyle looked good on him.

“Let's go,” Taemin said simply and pushed the heavy door.

“Welcome to Angel-in-us Coffee, may I assist with your order?” a chipper girl at the counter sang readily when she was finished serving the previous customer.

Jinki fell into a mini-stupor, despite knowing exactly what he was getting. There was something in that need to be urgent that those quick, forced social interactions created that actually slowed him down, every time.

He needed a moment to recollect his thoughts first, and the girl's cute pointy face smiling at him expectantly didn't help either.

He cleared his throat and recited mechanically:

“One green tea latte, large, and one hot chocolate with whipped cream on top, medium, please. For here.”

In the middle of handing the girl his debit card and Kibum's coupon (his boyfriend said that getting that free americano after buying 25 drinks he actually liked helped him beat capitalism, but something was telling Jinki that he just liked getting stuff for free), he became aware of Taemin standing by his side with an amused expression.

“You do want a medium-sized hot chocolate with whipped cream on top, right?”

Taemin smiled.

“Thought you'd never ask. Yes, I do. Actually, since it's your treat, I'll also have... ” he leaned over the pastry case, tapping his chin with his finger as he inspected the desserts behind the glass. “…This.”

“Do you mean that carrot muffin on the right?” Jinki asked, scowling at the prices.

“No, I mean this strawberry cake I'm pointing directly at.”

What he was pointing directly at was, indeed, a big piece of creamy goodness with whole fresh strawberries on top, and the price matched the view.

“Looks delicious, don't you think?” Taemin asked innocently.

“It sure damn does,” Jinki muttered below his breath and turned to the girl, waiting for his verdict. “One of that, too, please.”

“Okay!” she chirped, tucking a rebellious strand of hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear as she added the cake to the order. She's really pretty. “Would you like anything for yourself?”

“Huh?” Jinki suddenly looked like a dazed, girl shy teenager.

The girl's heart-shaped lips, filled with pink gloss, smiled wider.

She rephrased her question:

“Would you like anything else, sir?”

“Um, no, tha-”

“He'll have a bag of ginger cookies, too, thanks,” Taemin intruded.

“No, he won't,” Jinki argued, glaring at the younger guy.

“I was talking about myself. In the third person.”

The girl's smile faded a little as she tried to make sense of what was going on.

“So, would you-”

“Add the cookies and that'll be all. And stamp my coupon as well, thank you,” Taemin underlined, thus putting an end to the confusion and the impatient murmurs of the customers waiting behind them.

“Do you really need that coupon?” Jinki asked, stuffing the cards back into his wallet.

“No, I just like getting free stuff,” Taemin replied, going to grab some sugar bags.

“You wanted a piece of that,” he remarked as he placed the tray on a table by the window that was luckily empty.

“No, I'm not hungry.”

Taemin gave a quiet laugh.

“I'm talking about the girl. I think she wouldn't mind, either.”

“Really?”

Jinki's eyes rounded, his hand crawling up to the back of his head for the awkward scratch again. His new, casually sleek hairstyle might suit his face, but when it came to his personality, Taemin wasn't so sure. Jinki threw a discreet look behind him.

The pretty girl was repeating the standard greeting to somebody else.

“Yeah, why don't you go and get her number?”

Jinki rejected that tempting suggestion.

“Nah. I'm taken.” He took the lid off his green tea latte and took a big sip. “Nice, but Twosome is better.”

Taemin turned his face to the window, showing that he didn't care for banter anymore. That was a really dirty window – a contrast to the squeaky clean wooden panels and curly golden cherubs around. He didn't say anything for a minute, maybe longer, statuesque with his chin resting on the palm of the hand he had cut earlier.

“So… how have you been?”

“I've been good.”

Jinki was looking into his cup.

“I'd never seen you dance before...”

“And how was it?”

“It was pretty great,” Jinki answered, nodding. “The song, too... I forgot my Japanese, though. I know that in the chorus he sings ‘goodbye, my love’, and then there's something about loneliness and then about smiling in the grass… shop? Cool, anyway.”

Right. Taemin had almost forgotten that Jinki was a joker: he hadn't seen much of that side of him in the late stage of their doomed relationship.

His eyes shifted from the window to his plate, skipping the face of the man sitting in front of him. His body was persistently reminding him to eat something: it felt like a black hole formed in his stomach by now.

Taemin rolled the sleeves of his black shirt and stabbed the fork into his dessert.

“There's nothing about a ‘grass shop’ in the lyrics, but I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

He could feel Jinki watching him as he ate. He wasn't sure if agreeing to come to this place was a good idea. There was nothing left to be resolved, and there was something so artificial about their conversation. It's like every question and every word put a lump in his throat.

“Have a cookie or two before I get to them,” he offered through a mouthful of cake.

Jinki didn't need to be invited to the feast twice, and popped the cookie bag open.

The cake was disappearing at an alarming speed.

“Someone's very hungry.”

“I can't eat when I'm nervous.”

Jinki cocked his eyebrow.

“You were nervous? It didn't show.”

“I'd be a lousy performer if it had.”

“You should've told me, we could've grabbed some fried chicken.” Taemin gave him a look. “And then you would've puked, probably,” Jinki added sheepishly.

“It's fine.”

Jinki pulled his chair closer and placed his elbows on the table, getting ready for whatever he was going to say next. Naturally, he needed to fidget with something, and his hand wrapped around the stem of Taemin's rose for that purpose.

“So, are you... are you doing the internship thing at your dad's company?”

The strawberries were a little too sour for Taemin's taste.

“No, I was lucky to be freed from that obligation.”

“Oh, really? Your folks changed their mind, then?”

“They kind of did, yes.”

“They seemed to be pretty keen on the idea, as I can remember...”

“At first, they were, and then they weren't.”

Jinki’s index finger brushed over the thorns that had injured Taemin before.

“Did something… happen?” he asked softly.

Taemin looked at the rose, and then back at him. Their faces were closer to each other now. He could see the shadows under Jinki's eyes: that wasn't unusual, as his sleeping schedule had always been a mess. He allowed his eyes to linger on his lips for a second. Those were fine lips, still. If something got into his head, it wouldn't take much to put a kiss on them – he'd only have to lean forwards a few inches to feel their curve on his mouth. It used to be so easy. Weird. He wasn't going to punish himself for that idle digression – the body is stupid and it should be allowed to have its animalistic impulses in peace.

Taemin furrowed his brow, focusing on the question: what had happened, indeed? His memory helpfully offered a montage of the dried sand sticking to his hands, vomiting all over his bed, his mother sobbing, him pressing his hands to his wet cheeks at the therapist's neutral-colored office room, pills, pills...

He leaned back in his chair, creating a distance. He didn't put any emotion into his answer:

“They're divorcing, that's all.”

“Oh. I see... So, you really are okay?”

Jinki kept twisting the flower between his fingers, and Taemin was getting a headache from watching that.

“Perfectly, yes. You know… these questions are so unlike you, they might give me the wrong idea... Like, that you suddenly care about my well-being.”

Jinki took a breath as if he was ready to say something, but then he didn't, and his eyes flickered.

Taemin would not give him time to make an excuse.

“Jinki, why are we here?” he asked, again.

“I... I wasn't fair to you in the past...” the other stammered. “More than once. But especially at the end. I knew that you weren't feeling well, so denying you that last conversation...”

He was really forcing those words out – so it seemed.

Taemin brushed it off:

“Oh, don't worry about that. I believe it was for the best.”

“Really?”

The other nodded.

“Sure. You drew the line from the beginning, I stepped way over it and that's why the hit the fan. We would've met once more, I would've humiliated myself again, and what good would come out of it? Walking away from it was a wise decision, to be honest.”

“But, you were hurt...”

“I ing was, so what? You didn't hurt me. I did. My expectations did. You were nice to me on a few occasions, I took it personally, and idolized you. I don't know if it's my religious upbringing, but I guess I needed some kind of Jesus figure in my life... minus the beard, but with puns, you know? Someone who'll love me, accept me and who'll always be able to see what kind of person I really am, even when I do some stupid ? And being good in bed is a bonus, too… But if such person existed in reality, they'd be a mind reader, a saint. It's not possible. You're only human, and I failed to see that. And, come on... no good relationship starts with a sloppy in a public place. It's bound to be a mistake.”

Taemin was surprised to hear himself saying all that. Those ideas were in his thoughts, but it was as if someone else was speaking with his mouth, because some of those conclusions were new – as if, while he'd been living his life and going through his daily routines, his subconscious had been constantly reflecting on the past and analyzing it in ways he wasn't rationally aware of.

The flower stopped spinning in Jinki's hands. He was looking at Taemin as if he'd never talked to him before. His words took him by surprise.

They were obviously what he needed to hear, too.

“You're wrong,” he said calmly, a faint laugh on his lips, as he put the rose back on the table. “It was a pretty decent .”

“Anyways, you have nothing to worry about. Since your life has obviously worked out.”

“Yeah, it's all cool... totally stress-free.”

Jinki looked way more comfortable now, when the relief from something Taemin had told him had melted the ice. His manner was more like an old friend's now than a former lover.

Taemin was not feeling the same way.

“You're not going to the manhwa cafe anymore, right?” he asked.

“Oh no, I've taken up tutoring.”

Taemin nodded. He didn't care about that.

“And you're seeing someone, too,” he remembered.

“I am, yes.”

“Good for you,” he said quickly and stood up. He took his wallet out.

“I’ve got to bounce now. Thanks for the drink. And this is for the dessert.”

He put a bill next to Jinki's cup.

“You don't h-” the other began in protest, but he broke him off:

“Even I know that ten thousand won for a piece of cake from the fridge is too much for a student. Just take it.”

Taemin took his rose and they walked outside. April would be over in a few days, but the mornings and nights were still chilly, and the wind passed freely through his thin jacket.

Jinki offered to have a smoke before parting. He was also giving up, he said, but it had to be done gradually. Taemin was going to take his own cigarette pack out, but remembered the ‘NOPE’s and asked for one of Jinki's. He didn't want him to see his secret coping mechanism.

“You're meeting that person on the phone now?” Jinki asked, lighting the younger man's cigarette.

“I think so. You?”

“Oh, I'm… also expected… at a club.” He gestured indefinitely – probably, in the direction of said club. “My boyfriend wanted me to come, so...”

“I see.”

That marked the ultimate death of their conversation. The thick, poisonous smoke passed through their lungs and into the night air, as they stood wordlessly at a secluded spot by the trees, where groups of white collars usually gathered for smoking breaks. But this was the weekend, and the two of them were alone – two people who had a jumbled, difficult history together, but no words for each other. Not anymore.

Taemin took the last drag, breathed out the last puff of smoke, and said:

“Have a fun night.”

He wasn't sure what kind of goodbye was appropriate for them now, because a kiss was impossible, a hug too personal and a handshake just stupid (he disliked them anyway). There was also the sometimes-inescapable bro hug, but he was not in the mood for taking the piss out of the social customs of the regular public.

He figured out that it didn't matter after all.

“You too,” Jinki murmured, and their quests took them in the opposite directions of the street and maybe even life itself.

However, none of them did what they had claimed they were going to do after their meeting was over. Taemin skipped the restaurant and headed directly to his house, and Jinki didn't even consider going to join Kibum at the club as he did the same. Both stopped by a 7-Eleven on the way, both bought themselves a cup of ramen, as the former was still hungry, and the latter had lied about not being hungry to begin with.

As they ate, they their respective TV sets and skipped over the channels before settling on the same shopping channel offering a set of super knives “at a Super Price”.

They both picked up their phones.

There was a series of messages from Director Seo on Taemin's phone, asking him whether he was going to come, looking through which he wondered how he had managed to forget all about him and that goddamn dinner in the course of the last two hours. He replied with a half-assed apology and a repetition of his sincere hope that Hyeonsu would have a good trip.

Jinki called Kibum to tell him that he was too exhausted to go to the club, which prompted his boyfriend to reproach him for turning into a total hermit, but he wasn't too hard on him.

“People your age need more rest,” he agreed, understandingly.

Both of them tried to fall asleep, but neither succeeded, as their minds were too full. Eventually, Taemin the bedside lamp on and got up again to find a vase for his mother's present: he'd forgotten to take care of it when he just came home. It had already begun withering away.

Taemin discarded the contents of his jacket's pockets, including the unused sugar bags and his notes – he only rescued the cigarettes. One paper, however, escaped the collective fate and missed the trash can, falling on the kitchen floor.

‘Gain your energy from what you love’, it read.

“But what to do when everything you love, crumbles?” he mused aloud as he got rid of it, too.

Since he and his bed weren't getting along that night, he put on his clothes and left the house once more – not to wander the empty streets with heavy music screeching in his ear buds, but with a simple and clear objective – to get his mind off everything his life had been in the past, and whatever it was now. One way to do that was to get laid, and for that reason Taemin went to a bar club in Hongdae where he'd picked up a few one-night stands before.

He didn't waste time on getting into the mood by observing and soaking up the atmosphere and dived straight into the search instead. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and this time it didn't take him long to pick a target: his attention was caught by a slightly older male, brown hair, about his own height, chatting with his friend by the counter, his eyes turning into merry slits as he laughed at his own joke – and the choice was made.

They went to the guy's place, because Taemin preferred it that way. He knew he'd want to leave early after the deed.

And Jinki tossed and turned for about an hour before giving up and breaking every rule for “people his age” by getting out of bed to go and join his drunken boyfriend's dancing night after all – at least, he'd have some fun instead of lying alone in his bedroom on a Saturday night.

It was the same club that Taemin had walked out of a mere ten minutes ago.

“I knew you'd come!” Kibum shouted in his boyfriend’s ear, leading him to the counter to get him a drink. “Reverse psychology!”

“No, it's not.”

“Huh?!”

“I said, ‘You're right’!” Jinki shouted louder.

Kibum rolled his eyes.

“Duh!”

His lover laughed, because Kibum's smug expression was always inexplicably funny. He laughed too, the dimples showed on his cheeks, they kissed – and everything else simply ceased to exist.

A/N: Dear readers! This is the longest chapter in this story so far, and it also was the hardest to complete. It's a tough time to be a Shawol, and I want to thank everyone who chose to stick around. Have a great weekend, everyone~ L.