When Jinki got out of the shower on the next morning, he found Kibum standing in the middle of the room in his peach-colored “summer” silk pajamas (really, those shorts were tiny), one hand dragging the hose of the vacuum cleaner back and forth and the other gripping his phone, into which he was staring intently.

“You're killing your rug,” Jinki noticed, rubbing his freshly washed hair with a towel.

Kibum snapped out of it and shifted his eyes from the screen of his iPhone to the floor. A corner of his beloved panda-shaped rug got into the nozzle.

“Oh, .”

He hurried to turn off the device and rescue the rug from being devoured.

“Why, hello there,” he said, glancing up at Jinki.

“Haven't we met today?”

“I'm greeting your torso.”

“My one-pack says hi, too,” the other answered, taking a critical look at his stomach.

In his apathy, he'd been neglecting the gym, and it was beginning to show.

“At least, it's flat.”

“Or I'm just good at holding my breath. What were you looking at?”

Kibum pursed his lips, switching the vacuum cleaner on again.

“Reading about the signs of a toxic friendship.”

“Well, if you are Hydrogen and your friend is Sulphur, it's definitely a sign,” Jinki joked, and his boyfriend gave him a death stare. “I'll get out of your sight now,” he murmured, retreating to Kibum's room to put his clothes on.

Normally, Kibum would've considered it a wise decision, but it was one of those situations when he both needed an audience and someone to agree with whatever he was saying. He was determined to involve Jinki in his inner fight.

“‘Sign one: they're always negative’!” he read aloud, shouting over the noise of the vacuum cleaner. “Isn't that true?! He always rains on my parade!”

“Example?” the other asked through his shirt.

“Well, he always teaches me how to live! And that time when I finally got that Bulbasaur toy from the claw machine, he just said that I could have bought three of those for the amount of money I put in, instead of being happy for me, like a real friend would have!”

“Mathematically, he's not wrong,” Jinki argued.

Kibum ignored his remark.

“‘Sign two: they're quick to point out your flaws.’ Check! I mean, when is he not pointing out my flaws?!… Next: ‘They only talk about themselves.’ Hm, he certainly thinks about himself too much, judging by his actions!”

“You've always said he was a good listener, though.”

That conversation was not going according to plan, and the lack of agreement on his boyfriend's part was frustrating to Kibum and his agitated nerves.

“But what if he listened only to point out my flaws right after?!” he cried, placing himself in the doorway, one hand pressed to his side.

“He still did listen,” Jinki sighed.

Kibum propped himself against the doorpost and narrowed his eyes.

“How many s do I have to give you until you're actually on my side?”

Jinki zipped up his jeans and sat on the bed, putting his elbows on his knees.

“I'm on nobody's side. Once you pick a side, your judgement is affected,” he explained, rubbing his head. It felt heavy on his shoulders.

Hell, I'm not even on my side...

Kibum pressed his lips into a thin line.

“‘They're not happy for your successes’,” he continued reading, stubbornly. “Isn't that like the whole essence of him?”

Jinki looked at him.

“And what about all those times when you had some good news and we had to wait for him to arrive so that you could tell it?”

That threw Kibum off for a second, but he seemed to recover quickly and, as expected, opened his mouth to argue. Jinki broke him off before another demonstration of his selective memory began:

“Bummie, I'll say this only once.”

Kibum crossed his arms on his chest, but listened as his lover asked in a deep, meaningful voice:

“If both of us are here right now, who is vacuuming?”

A confused pause that ensued was followed by an aggravated groan coming from Kibum, who rushed to the abandoned cleaning device still humming in the living room all by itself.

“He was not happy for us when we got together, and if that's not being unsupportive, then I don't know what is!”

Jinki put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment.

“He didn't tell us to break up, did he?” he argued, again.

“I'd love to see him try!” Kibum cried. “Just because he didn't say it directly, it doesn't change the fact that he probably thinks it!”

“As a friend, he wants what's best for you, and doesn't have to approve of all of your choices.”

“You know what, although I believe that his manhwa was the worst freaking idea ever, I can't deny that it gave me a pretty good insight into his rotten personality. And after all the stuff he wrote, I can't understand how you can bear it so qui-”

Jinki, who was tired of shouting from another room, came and switched the vacuum cleaner off himself.

“You don't have to be mad at him for my sake,” he said seriously. “You've known each other for a much longer time than you've known me. You have a history together, and the last thing I wanna do is break up your friendship. I don't want to stand between you, so don't put me in that position.”

Kibum's eyes flickered.

“I thought... he's still responsible for how you're feeling, and I don't know what kind of boyfriend I'd be if I kept hanging out with him as usual when...”

“A sensible one. An adult that can distinguish between his business and not-his one.”

The younger man gripped his phone tighter, his intensified inner struggle manifesting itself in a deep crease between his eyebrows. He wasn't one to run out of counterarguments fast.

“What he did to Taemin wasn't great either. If the guy actually did what he wrote, then it's just... tactless.”

“Well, it's not like he killed him himself.”

Kibum's eyes rounded in shock at the harsh joke.

“Speaking of tactless, what the hell is wrong with you?! Is cynicism contagious?”

Of course, Jinki's arm was slapped as a disciplinary measure.

He retreated to the couch and took a breath before making his confession:

“I saw Taemin. He's fine now.”

The expression of shock on Kibum's face gave way to that of mild concern.

He tossed the silent hose away and walked over to sit by Jinki's side. He gently took his boyfriend's hand in his and said very calmly:

“Jinki, honey, I can only help you if you tell me exactly what you took and how much. It won't be easy from now on and recovery may take a while, but I want you to know that we can walk through this tog-”

It was Jinki's turn to give him an incredulous look.

“I didn't hallucinate him on drugs, I saw Taemin because I went to meet him and I talked to him because he's alive! Jeez!”

He shook his hand away.

The other needed to process what he'd just heard.

“Okay... I mean, what? You went to meet him? When?”

Jinki looked away.

“Last night. Before coming to the club.”

“But why?”

“Just to see if he's alright, that's all. He was performing at his academy and I dropped by... I saw him on the poster at my uni,” he added to prevent further questioning. “We talked briefly and that was it.”

Kibum's fingers were fumbling with the hem of his pajama shirt while he stared at Jinki's mouth.

“And… are you gonna meet him again?”

“What for?”

Kibum shrugged.

“I don't know. More talking?”

“Why would I want to?”

“I'm just asking. Why are you so irritated?”

Jinki stood up.

“I'm not irritated! I just don't understand what the point of these questions is when I already told you that I only talked to him once.”

“I just asked because I wanted to, that's it,” Kibum replied.

“I'm not gonna meet him again. It was just a talk.”

“Did I say otherwise?”

Jinki didn't want to continue talking in the same manner and he had no clue how the conversation had ended up in that place. His eye fell on the opened package on the table.

“You want to give that present to Jonghyun. I know you do. So, just go and meet him. That's the only point I was trying to make,” he concluded.

Kibum reached for the package, tore the brown paper away and gazed at the book wrapped in plastic film for safety pensively. It was an album of black and white artistic photography and Jjong's belated birthday present that was supposed to have arrived by post four weeks ago, but had only done so a day before.

“It took me weeks to find this book,” Kibum mumbled into his hand. “I had to order it from France, and I had to figure out how PayPal works, and even Google translate my messages to the seller into French, can you imagine?”

“You've worked hard,” Jinki agreed.

“It's super rare and exclusive, and on the scans, I saw pictures of old people riding buses, and apples with worms in them, and some saggy hairy buttocks, too.”

“He's gonna love it,” Jinki assured him.

Kibum gave him a doubtful look.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Who else will take such pains to make their friend happy? I mean, you even tied your card to your PayPal account all by yourself.”

Kibum sighed, putting the book down.

“You're probably saying that just because you feel guilty after shouting at me for asking about your former lover, but I'll take it because it's pure truth.”

Jinki knew he hadn't shouted, but that wasn't important now.

He patted Kibum's shoulder.

“Come on, don't let that hard work be in vain. Meet him.”

“Only if you come,” Kibum interjected quickly.

Jinki shook his head.

“Nope, sorry. You'll have to do it without me.”

In the end, Jinki had to go with Kibum, because that's what the latter wanted. They made an appointment to meet at the department store – a “neutral” territory – and hang out there. When they reached the destination, Jonghyun had already arrived – he was rarely late.

After a few minutes of initial awkwardness as well as instant regret that he'd come at all on Jinki's side, they managed to order some coffees and take their seats at a table without accidents.

Jinki accepted through the course of his life that a certain degree of awkwardness was an inherent part of him that he would never fully get rid of, and gave himself some slack for it, because more often than not there was someone around who balanced it out with their normalcy. But when everybody else was acting like a bunch of loner kids at the sandbox – that was unbearable. And somehow both Jonghyun and Kibum were doing exactly that – pretending they weren't seeing each other despite sitting face to face, and saying nothing. He looked at his boyfriend. The young man was studying the remarkably uninteresting interior of the cafe, gazing absently at the couples at the other tables and gently rubbing his neck – the very picture of a beautiful young lady in a movie who had come to a fancy restaurant on a date and was now giving the male lead a perfect opportunity to admire her stunning features. He even sighed as he smoothed his paper tissue, his eyelashes fluttering softly – the only thing missing was perhaps a string of pearls on his neck for his slender fingers to brush along lightly.

Jonghyun, his hair freshly bleached, was staring at the wooden tabletop as if he was casting a spell on it.

Jinki coughed. That didn't work.

“How's… er, life?” he asked, exhausted.

The sleeping kingdom came to life. Jonghyun changed his posture in his chair and put his palms on the table.

“Cool, cool,” he answered, nodding to himself. “Been drawing and writing a lot. You?”

He shifted his eyes between Jinki's sleepy Sunday face and Kibum's reserved mien.

“Studying. Tutoring. Same stuff,” Jinki replied, because his boyfriend didn't condescend to.

“And you, Kibum?” Jonghyun asked, his voice kind of cracking in the middle.

Kibum made a point of clearing his throat before speaking.

“I've been busy working.”

“Still at Uni Qlo?”

“Is it so surprising that I haven't been fired yet?” He could look really intimidating when he lifted his eyebrow like that.

“No, but I thought that maybe an agent spotted you and now you're starring in some high-budget historical drama.”

Kibum snorted, and Jinki cringed mentally at such obvious attempt to up.

“I don't need to be on TV to star in a drama,” Kibum said, and Jjong smiled.

“True.”

Then he remembered something.

“I went to Japan for a few days, by the way. I got you, um...” he dived under the table and retrieved a bright yellow bag with cartoon characters on it, “…a little something.”

Kibum stared at the cheerful bag coldly.

“If it's some last-minute, good-for-nothing duty-free souvenir, you'd better not,” he warned.

“It's not that, I promise.”

His mistrusting eyes narrowed.

Jjong laughed.

“It's food,” he explained.

Kibum opened the bag immediately and took out a big white box.

“Banana cakes!” he cried, forgetting to be cold for a second. “I love them!”

Jinki was torn between being happy for Kibum, desperately lusting after his banana cakes and maybe slightly wanting to kick Jonghyun in his self-satisfied grin.

Thankfully, his boyfriend alleviated at least a part of the torment by deciding to open the box right away. He noticed Jinki's puppy eyes and gave him a cake, his palm lovingly as he did so, and grudgingly tossed another one in his friend's direction.

“Thank you,” Jonghyun said with a polite bow.

“So, your life has been more exciting than you let on,” Kibum observed, unwrapping his cake.

“Yep. Hate to brag, but I had an interview for an online newspaper yesterday, too.”

(Jonghyun didn't really look like he hated to brag.)

“You got a job there?”

“No, I was the interviewee, having gotten the ‘New Author of the Month’ spot and all.”

Jonghyun rubbed his nose, waiting for a reaction. Kibum's eyes grew wider and he burst with:

“Oh my God, that's amazing!”

“Congrats, man,” Jinki said soberly.

Good to know that the public destroying of me served a purpose, a wounded voice inside him quipped sarcastically. He bit his tongue before his mouth uttered the same.

“Thanks. It really came out of the blue.”

Kibum teased Jonghyun:

“You're like a celebrity now, then. How did you even find time to meet us mere mortals?”

The other chuckled.

“I was able to fit you into my busy schedule. Actually... life of a celebrity isn't that easy. I got my first hate mail

recently.”

“From other authors of gay ography?” Jinki muttered into his green tea latte.

“No, from a girl that got mad at me for killing off ‘Taehyung’,” Jonghyun explained readily. “She said she hoped I'd choke on my lack of writer's talent and Satan would press my face into burning coals a million times and play bowling with my balls.”

“She flattered you there,” Jinki pointed out.

“Yeah. Actually... she should be happy that Taehyung didn't die after all, then.”

“Really? You changed your mind?” Kibum asked.

Jonghyun smiled coyly, glancing briefly at the other two before fixing his eyes on the unwrapped banana cake he was still twisting in his fingers.

“Maybe my mind changed for the better. Or maybe that was my idea all along.”

“Good for you,” Kibum said graciously, offering another cake to his boyfriend. “Have another yummy, boo.”

“I'm turning thirty in three years, FYI,” Jinki reminded him, slightly embarrassed to be baby-talked to in public, but nevertheless pleased deep inside – Kibum had that strange quality that allowed him to make someone feel at home just by doing and saying little sweet things. He wasn't too soft with people he didn't care about, but Jinki was special to him.

Jinki frowned at the thought. Why would anyone think of him as special?

“Now, give me my present!” Jonghyun demanded cheerfully, as he could feel that the ice had now been broken.

Kibum ‘tsk’ed.

“You forgot the magic word.”

“Um... ‘quick’?”

The other rolled his eyes as he reached for the gift bag he'd brought along with him.

The present was duly gasped at (when had Kibum managed to wrap it up so prettily?), carefully examined and passionately thanked for, and its giver finally relaxed, seeing that his efforts were appreciated.

“It must've been hard to find,” Jonghyun guessed, carefully turning the pages full of pictures the value of which Jinki found beyond himself to understand.

Kibum brushed it off modestly:

“Nah, it's not a big deal.”

“He spent weeks looking for it. And started a PayPal account,” Jinki said, because he felt that Kibum probably wanted him to.

“The lengths you went, oh my!” Jjong cried half-jokingly, and Kibum slapped him.

The two laughed about it, and Jinki checked the time on his phone on impulse, feeling inexplicably out of place.

There was a strong temptation to fall into thinking that nothing had changed among the group of friends brought together by earning their living via having with strangers for money, and Kibum seemed to dive straight into it; Jinki was right, and he had been missing his friend the whole time when they weren't talking. Circumstances could alter, tensions rise and fall, and conflicts threw their temporary shadow even on the most solid friendships, but life isn't like a river that you can only enter once – the storyline doesn't have to be linear, as its full of turns and twists and tangles... As long as everyone is alive and well, and the connection is not lost, there surely is some way to come back and pick up where you started. Or is there?

Not long after Jinki furtively checked the time, Jonghyun did the same thing – openly – and said that, to his regret, he was now expected elsewhere, as his other friends had invited him to hang out. Kibum ‘oh’ed, somewhat caught off guard, his smile drooping a little as he watched Jjong finish his caramel macchiato with one last sip and carefully put his present into the gift bag it had come with, preparing to fly off.

“I thought we'd have ice cream... Since it's your second mini-birthday and all,” Kibum mumbled, not much of his usual brass attitude showing now.

His friend flashed him a warm smile.

“Let's do it next time. I'll treat.”

Kibum frowned.

When Jonghyun offered to go down together, he declined: he wanted to try on a jacket at Top Ten. So, Jjong left with a nonchalant wave, and Kibum's reproachful stare followed his figure, scurrying briskly down the escalator.

As they stood side by side, looking down at the department store's colorful insides, Jinki wrapped his palm around the nape of his boyfriend's neck and rubbed it gently. He wasn't sorry that only the two of them remained now, but he didn't want Kibum to be so crestfallen.

“Wanna go and sing some?” he suggested.

Kibum shook his head.

“I'll try on that jacket first.”

Right, fashion comes first – but maybe not always accompanied by a heavy sigh.

The beige linen jacket that had caught his eye sat on his slender frame perfectly, giving him a sunny summer look that was fresh and light, and it went well with the blue shirt he was wearing now. His heart is just not in it, he replied absentmindedly when Jinki asked him if he liked the jacket, yet he didn't hurry to take it off.

“Maybe you should buy it.”

“No, not today,” Kibum sighed, taking another shirt from the rack – not to try it on, but to turn it around and put it on the hanger the right way – now that he was in retail, he couldn't bear the sight of clothes hung incorrectly.

The fact was, Jonghyun had never abandoned him so abruptly to go and see someone else before. But when Kibum opened his mouth again on their way down, he touched on a whole different subject.

“Why did you go to meet him at all, though? I don't understand.”

He wanted to talk about Taemin after all.

“I wanted to see if he's alright, I told you already.”

“And you saw the poster for his concert where – at your uni? Wasn't his presence on it enough proof that he's doing fine?”

Jinki tensed up, starting to feel cornered.

“Maybe it was, but you were working last night and I had nothing to do anyway, so I went.”

“I just don't get it,” Kibum insisted after a long pause when they took the next escalator down. “You didn't finish on nicest of terms, and he was obviously bitter, so it's baffling that he agreed to meet you, either. I mean, judging from my uncomfortably vast experience I can tell you that the only times I agreed to meet my exes were when I either still had feelings for them or wanted to make them regret breaking up with me by showing them how well I'm getting by.”

“He's not -”

“And the only reasons why my exes ever asked me to meet would be them wanting to shag, needing money or wanting to stay friends – sometimes all three simultaneously.”

“I don't need his , money or his friendship,” Jinki argued. “And he's not my ex.”

Kibum groaned.

“I'm not saying that you are that type of person, I just wanna say that this kind of reunion is useless even if you just wanna check on someone,” he insisted despite everything in his lover's body language betraying his discomfort with the topic. “Because at least one side is never gonna be honest. Look, when Jihoo the boy broke up with me and then we met up again because he wanted his laptop charger back, do you think I said, ‘Oh, I've been crying for you day and night because you broke my heart and ruined my self-esteem when you called me clingy and controlling’? No!  I dabbed concealer all over my tear-streaked face and put on my purple sweater, and even wore my silver faux leather shoes for the first time, and they hurt like hell, and I said that in fact I was seeing a foreign guy from the gym and...”

Kibum's voice trailed off as Jinki, who was standing with his back turned towards him now, gave him a telltale look over the shoulder.

“…And maybe I kind of overdid it and came off desperate in the end as I realize now as I speak, but, fact is, someone's gonna lie.”

They finally got outside where the air was dusty and the crowds noisy. Jinki slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and Kibum got hold of his arm.

“I don't think he's been crying over me day and night. He's been doing his dancing thing and he said his life is better now. That's what I heard and I think he meant it.”

“Yeah, but what if he lied, like I did to Jihoo? Then, the only thing you did by meeting him was open up his scars again. And even though my personal opinion is that your life's turning out quite well, since you don't have roaches in your new room, you almost no longer wear shirts your mom bought for you in 2008, and you have a fabulous boyfriend full of wisdom and glow from within, I bet that you didn't tell him that you fell into an alcoholic slump where you didn't go outside or uttered any complex sentences for days, very recently.”

A sharp pang of pain shot through Jinki's spine. Was it mental pain or was it physical? Why did he feel such lack of oxygen on a bright Sunday afternoon? It was hard to tell. He couldn't just tell Kibum to shut up – he'd take it personally. He needed to drown him out.

“…And then it makes the two of you, and I really, really don't understand the need to –”

“Wanna see a movie?” Jinki interrupted, stopping as they passed the doors of a CGV theater.

“Huh?”

“Let's see something, I'll pay.”

Kibum blinked.

“‘Fifty Shades Darker’, then?” he offered quickly.

Jinki's face contorted at the thought.

“Bummie, I said a ‘movie’.”

“But you said you'll pay and I don't wanna spend my own money on it.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't watch it?”

“You made me see ‘Lights Out’!” Kibum cried defensively.

Jinki shrugged.

“Wasn't it fun?”

“Yeah, for a movie built on a really bad metaphor of mental illness! What is a couple of plugs compared to that?”

“Are you referring to the main characters?”

Kibum poked his side.

“Let's see it and laugh our asses off.”

“Oh, okay,” Jinki gave up, letting a suddenly enthusiastic Kibum pull him to the doors.

Anything to stop the noise in my head.

He knew that Kibum wanted the same thing, too, that he was hurting and couldn't understand why, and just wanted the feeling to go away and the intrusive questions splitting his head apart to stop. He held his hand a bit tighter, as if telling him that, while being a much less outwardly emotional person than Kibum, he knew what was happening. The pain of the first signs of inevitable change – it was so familiar.

They didn't laugh that much in the end. They lounged in the comfy cinema chairs, Kibum's head resting on his boyfriend's shoulder, their hands grabbing caramel popcorn from the couple-sized bowl sitting on Jinki's lap mechanically. At one point they looked at each other and put their lips together in a sweet-flavored kiss. A girl sitting behind them gave a breathy gasp of surprise, but that signal prompting them to adjust their behavior to the expectations of the heteroual world around them was left somewhere on the periphery of their minds. That semi-darkness, that melancholy, that brief moment of affection – they were only theirs.

“I don't want you to think I got mad at you for meeting Taemin or something. You met him because you're a sympathetic person, it's fine,” Kibum mumbled on their way home down the park not far from the Hongdae subway station. The darkening street was lined with trees and lights and a soft breeze brushed over their faces as they walked slowly to their quarter.

“I'm sympathetic?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, you didn't know?”

“I never thought about it, but according to Jjong's masterpiece, I'm a selfish .”

Kibum sniffed.

“He's a selfish . I noticed your compassionate side from the very beginning.”

“Really? How?”

“You don't remember that time when Shiro the Japanese guy found himself a hot beau way out of his league and brought him to the club, and you saw that I was upset, so you agreed to pretend to be my lover? Not everyone would do that!”

Jinki chuckled.

“You kind of stuck your tongue down my throat, so I didn't have much choice... You got really wasted that night, I remember you trying to take your pants off on the street and me trying to stop you, but it was hard because I got stomach ache from laughing so much.”

The other blushed.

“Yeah, I do have a vague memory of chilly air kissing my buns.”

Jinki laughed, and Kibum locked his hands around his arm and lay his head on his shoulder as they waited at a big crossing.

“It worked that night, you know,” he said pensively. “Not showing Shiro that I was doing better than him, but in terms of actually doing well. Because when I came home all I could think about was you.”

They looked at each other. Kibum's eyes were full of sentimental affection (the mint mojito he had grabbed after the movie could have helped, too), and Jinki's gaze was soft, too.

His lips broke into a big grin.

“Is it because I came home with you?”

“Er... you did?”

Jinki nodded.

“We stumbled into your place and we were saying goodbye, but then you were somehow on top of me and asking where I'd got my Spiderman underwear because it was so ‘luhrvleh’.”

His boyfriend broke into laughter.

“I would argue that I have no recollection of that, but that's just too me.”

Kibum was going to sleep late next day before returning back to the ‘Hellhole of consumerism’ on Tuesday, so they said goodbye that night, and when they did, Jinki pressed him hard against his chest and held him a bit longer than usual. For everything he had told him was true, and yet everything had a hidden side. For some things that were over in his mind, were still burning inside his heart in a suffocating, all-consuming flame. For there was a shadow over everything he touched, owned… loved... A shadow that danced and writhed in flashes of red and blue, to a goodbye song that had no end.

Taemin wasn't in a stellar mood.

Hyeonsu had taken his family on his business trip, so he told him in an altered voice on the phone that he'd ‘address the matter’ when he returned to Seoul. And it was obvious that he'd write some kind of sheepish apology later – when he had nothing to apologize for, to be fair – and it bugged him even more. He wanted to be angry, but there was no other deserving vessel for his anger apart from his own withered, worn-out heart.

“Have you thought about the reasons that are causing your anger?” Dr. Lee had asked him that very morning.

“I've thought of nothing else,” he'd told her.

Personally, Taemin was of an opinion that his eternal troubles stemmed from the fact that he wasn't stupid. He called himself names in his down moments, called himself the biggest damn fool on the planet and all kinds of other things, but even if everybody he knew gathered around him and chanted all together that he was, indeed, dumb, he'd shake his head with a sigh, because, no – he knew that he was smart and that was the real problem. How could an uncomplicated mind be so tainted, twisted, so confused, lie so well, play such appalling games with itself? How could it be so self-destructive and with all of those things – incredibly naive?

Oh, god.

“You have said that you're angry with everyone. But who are you most angry with?”

How is it even a question?

He had lingered before saying in a defeated half-whisper:

“Myself.”

“And why is that?”

In a nutshell...

“Because I wanted too much and gave too much, too.”

Dr. Lee told him with professional kindness that responsibility for the way things had turned out was not only his, and he needed to understand that before he could begin to move on. He said he knew that the pain was not forever. He'd be able to wade through it, he claimed - and how could a brief conversation over cake and hot chocolate change anything? In the end, he said he'd be alright – he knew he had control over his own mind.

Those were all lies. He wasn't wading through – he was drowning in the mud of senseless ire and confusion, the blood of his spirit gushing out of the hidden wounds that had been pried open, again.

Should he have said something else? Had he let him off too easy? Would he have felt better had he given him a taste of the crippling anxiety he'd been left with?

He'd allowed him to have an easy escape, sure. It was also possible that there was no right way to deal with this, too.

Taemin just wished his clever mind wasn't concocting those tricks where it put together sensible speeches designed to fool both the person whose very purpose was to help him recover and himself into ignoring the fact that he hadn't moved that far away from the bottomless pit he'd forced himself out of with such difficulty.

He made himself go outside once more and wander aimlessly through the streets and alleys that offered little escape from the cage of his thoughts and emotions. The weather was getting too hot for his beloved black clothes and he didn't like that, but he needed to take breaks to keep the wall-staring from getting boring with time.

The evening brought a breath of relief – the darkness was more forgiving than the blinding sun of May afternoons: in the shadows, the brave face could be taken off. The breeze brought a feeling of clarity, too: by the time Taemin pushed the door of the CU market on the first floor of his apartment block, he'd let the classical music in his ear buds distract and relax him to the point where he could daydream, undisturbed.

He walked straight to the instant noodles' aisle at the back of the shop and grabbed three spaghetti ramen cups – there was a ‘3 for the price of 2’ offer on them, and though he wasn't in desperate financial need of saving one thousand won, he liked the feeling of savvy-ness that came with being aware of those little things. He stopped by the refrigerator to survey the soft drinks, his eyes instinctively searching for the ‘2 for 1’ tag: today it was ‘Sprite’ that was on discount – not the best option, but still something.

The cashier was a lanky college boy working night shifts. He was wearing a cheap pair of glasses that were too big for his face and reflected so much light that his eyes were barely visible behind the lenses, his natural black hair stuck up ridiculously on his crown, making him look like a little bird. Taemin had taken an instant liking to him on their first encounter.

“Three thousand eight hundred, please,” the young man said almost apologetically. “Do you need a bag?”

“Sure,” Taemin replied, handing him his card – not the golden one, which his father discontinued upon realizing that he wanted nothing to do with his post-suicidal son, but a regular Woori Bank card that so many ‘normal’ people had.

He felt rather tired of his room, so he decided to eat one of the ramen cups he'd just bought right there in the shop and took his favorite spot by the window.

Instant noodles were a crude alternative to the linguine with white clam sauce he'd eaten habitually at home fresh out of the kitchen, and did nothing to contribute to his health, either, but there was something personal, something soothing to the easy process of preparing and eating them by himself while the world outside of the window was going about its business without bothering him.

Two high-heeled, long-haired girls whose colorful outfits and rich makeup screamed ‘party!’ came into the shop to buy some band-aids for their blistered feet, an exclamation of recognition was uttered, and the taller girl in a tight-fitting orange dress struck up a conversation with the cashier, ‘It's been so long’s, ‘How have you been?’s and all – apparently, they had graduated from the same high school and hadn't been in touch ever since. Taemin watched the whole interaction reflected in the window, and saw the obvious, if a bit self-conscious grin that spread over the lanky boy's face as he talked to the girl, while her friend was busy treating her battle wounds. He even tried joking – “tried” being the key word here – and the pretty customer laughed graciously, which undoubtedly gave his confidence a boost.

Taemin smiled, too, as he stirred his noodles to mix the sauce in. Calm down, son, she's way out of your league. He checked himself, however. If the delusional cashier was not allowed to make puppy eyes at his high school crush, then what was he, a solid 9 (or 9.5 without the dark circles below the eyes), doing sitting there alone, bitter over a married man being too busy to send him generic texts and pissed off at a guy whom he'd used to pay to spend time with him? What a bloody mess.

The mini high school reunion was over when a boisterous twenty-something male in a suit crashed the party by swinging the door open and telling his girlfriend to cut the chat because he was ‘pissing himself’ in the car.

“Oh, and where's the nearest toilet?” the orange-dress-clad girl chirped, because she was, of course, the girlfriend.

Meanwhile, her friend was done with the band aids, and was standing by her side, checking her reflection in her phone.

“M-McDonalds, I think,” the boy stuttered, his skies shattering.

“Oh, thank you! It was nice seeing you, Yoonjae. Bye-bye!” With a cute clappy wave of her manicured fingers, she disappeared, tugged away by her silent companion, taking away the joyful ring of her laughter that had enlivened the soulless atmosphere of the supermarket for a minute.

The cashier boy's lips dropped, he slouched again, and there was something defeated in the way he plopped back on his chair. No doubt, he was already going over his awkward humorous attempts from two minutes ago and cursing himself for being so stupid – as if it mattered at all. Taemin felt sorry for him in the end. Don't meet the person you worshipped in the past – in fact, don't try to meet anyone from your past, unless they owe you money – they're not in your life for a reason.

The door opened again, and a cold-ridden voice asked for a TheraFlu and mumbled something about a USB charger.

“We have a few cables, I think,” the cashier said, putting the medicine on the counter. “You'll find them right next to the-”

“Er, no, I've got like four of them at home... I was wondering if maybe I, um, could use yours to charge my phone just a bit...”

Taemin was paying more attention to his food now – the place was becoming too people-y and it was time to get away.

“M-mine?”

A long, confusing explanation followed. The poor fool of a customer couldn't get into his apartment because he'd changed the lock code, forgotten it, and needed his completely charge-less phone to call his friend for help.

The boy didn't have a charger or a cable of his own.

“Why did you change your lock code?” he asked, perplexed.

A reluctant answer followed:

“Because the previous owner's ex-girlfriend came in while I was in the shower and I found her stark in my bed, and let's just say there was a lot of screaming involved on both sides.”

Taemin cracked up and masked his laughter by a fake cough.

What kind of idiot doesn't change the password after moving in?

He raised his eyes to the window and the amused smirk faded from his lips. Without even seeing the whole face of the newcomer, Taemin could tell that,

only half-surprisingly, Lee ing Jinki was the idiot.

The cashier boy's lips quivered, but he managed to sound polite when he cleared his throat and apologized for not being able to help at all.

“You could try 7-Eleven across the road, perhaps,” he suggested.

“Yeah, thanks...” Jinki sighed.

Taemin saw him turn around and think for a while, biting his lips. His hair wasn't as sleek as the last time he'd seen him. It was shorter, too, but the glasses were still nowhere to be seen. He was wearing a crumpled Star Wars T-shirt beneath his jacket.

Taemin, his chopsticks frozen mid-air, forgot to keep eating. He'd been angry – his mind was a vacuum now. He barely blinked.

“Don't forget your medicine,” the boy reminded Jinki as he prepared to leave.

“Ah, yeah, thanks.”

He walked to the door, opened it, Taemin let out a breath – and then he shut it again and turned around to walk in Taemin's direction.

“Um, sorry, pal, do you have a phone charger I could borrow?”

‘Pal’, indeed. You, ludicrous moron.

He put his chopsticks down, wiped his mouth with a tissue and turned around to face his ex-… ex-what? He didn't even have a word for it.

“No, pal, you'll have to ask elsewhere.”

Jinki's Adam's apple jumped, because apparently that was the ritual when Taemin's presence was detected nearby.

“Your hair is blue,” he observed, stating the obvious.

“I hope it is. I paid for it to be,” the other retorted impassively.

Jinki blinked, his eyes fixed firmly on the face in front of him.

“How are you?” he asked simply.

Taemin didn't know what to say for a moment. He was ready for a brief exchange of insults, but this was just weird.

“I'm... I'm alright. Perfectly. And you?”

Jinki didn't hurry with his answer.

“I'm also perfectly alright. You live nearby?”

“I do.”

Taemin was the first to look away: not knowing what the other was thinking, staring at his face so intently, was discomforting.

He raised his eyes again when Jinki's audacious assumption prompted him to:

“You have a charger at home, right?”

“Only for iPhone,” Taemin said, not sounding eager to help.

“Good. That's what I need. Can I drop by for a minute?”

“What, by my house?”

Who the hell does he think he is?

The other nodded.

“Yes. By your house. I'd appreciate your help.”

Taemin began cleaning up, his mind struggling with the bizarre dilemma: should he say no and feel bad about it or should he say no and feel something else?

“Blue looks good on you.”

He frowned. This is so wrong.

Taemin grabbed his bag of ramen and soda and said goodbye to the cashier as he pushed the door to leave. Outside, he stopped.

“My home is not that near, I didn't plan to go there right now and I wish I could help you, but I can't.”

Granted, his dryly spoken words would have sounded more convincing without said bag of ramen and soda in his hand, but Jinki would just have to deal with it.

“Lee Taemin, is that you?”

The two young men turned and saw an elderly woman across the street, a few thick grocery bags bursting with food resting on both sides of her. She was standing on the sidewalk and taking a breather with her hands on her hips.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Jung,” Taemin greeted her with a bow.

Okay, this is beginning to be even more wrong.

“You have such... interesting hair color now!”

“Um, yeah... You're, er, out so late.”

“It's the best time to buy the fresh vegetables - what can I do! Is that a friend of yours?” the woman asked with a smile.

Far from.

“Ah, yes. He's my... friend...”

“And I'm Taemin's neighbor!” Mrs. Jung yelled cheerfully.

Both wrong and awkward.

“My name is Lee Jinki, nice to meet you, Mrs. Jung,” the older young man replied politely, also bowing.

“Well, well! Isn't it lucky that we all met just when I was dragging these beasts home all by myself?”

The hint was more than transparent, and after a momentary exchange of glances, both young men crossed the road to help the old woman with her bags.

It was no longer a secret that the house where Taemin lived was not only ‘nearby’, but in the same actual building where the CU market was located, and in addition, the energetic Mrs. Jung insisted on taking the stairs to the sixth floor, prolonging the torture. She needed to ‘keep her old bones in shape’, she said, and they had to follow her.

“Taemin has been a wonderful neighbor,” she proceeded to tell Jinki, inexplicably. “And so not like other young men his age. They throw parties and bring girls to their rooms and do nasty things, you know. They have no shame at all.”

“But Taemin doesn't?” Jinki guessed.

“Oh, no, never. I've never seen him bring a girl over, not even once. He only brings his male friends – and they're all so good-looking!”

Jinki threw a quizzical look at Taemin, who sped up, having received an energy boost from his embarrassment.

“I do have to point out that sometimes I hear them play – what is it you play, dear?”

“Er, ping-pong,” Taemin panted from the upper flight of stairs.

“Ah, ping-pong! And sometimes it does get a little bit noisy, but it's nice to know that young men still have passion for sports nowadays!”

“Not only that, but the stamina, too,” Jinki agreed. “It takes a lot of energy to ping-pong passionately with a lot of different people.”

Shot out like a poison arrow, a hard stare hit him from above.

“Oh, and by the way, Taemin, dear, I have a niece who also wants to become a dancer, I told her all about you! She is a very pretty girl and clever as well. Loves sports, and I'm sure she can play ping-pong with you, too! When will you be free to meet her?”

“I... I don't know.”

“Ah, don't be shy – I know you'll get along so well!”

“I'm not sure if I'll have time soon.”

Finally, the group reached the sixth floor. Taemin's shoe tapped on the floor impatiently as the old lady fumbled with her keys.

“Don't be like that, Taemin, she's an excellent girl,” she insisted, taking her time. “What do you say about next Thursday?”

“I'm busy next week, I'm afraid.”

Mrs. Jung tutted.

“Saturday, then! I'll call her and give her your number!”

“No!…” Two pairs of eyes stared at Taemin, but with different expressions. “I mean, I'm... I'm sure your niece is a lovely girl and I apologize, but...” Perspiration was visible above his upper lip. “…it's really, really not a good moment right now.”

His face didn't change color, but his ears were turning pink. Jinki could only imagine what it took a person prone to hold none of his emotions inside to remain so calm under persistent pressure.

“When will you meet her? You must, I promised her!” the woman probed, again, ignoring everything he'd just said.

Taemin was at a loss of words, and Jinki decided to step up.

“Mrs. Jung, I'm sure he'd love to meet your niece, but he has to help me with an art project and it's going to take a while… weeks, maybe...” he specified, reading the silent plead in the other's eyes. “It's my fault, really, but it can't be helped.”

“Yes, nothing can be done,” Taemin confirmed quickly.

Something got in him and Jinki added, making an effort to sound earnest:

“…I'm not sure he'll even be able to bring anyone over for ping-pong this month, either. So, at least, you won't hear any noise.”

Taemin's eyes that had almost been softened by a touch of gratitude, filled with ice again.

Nevertheless, the intense lady seemed to buy it all, and, for now, the moment when he'd have to start avoiding her and her entire family and maybe change his phone number, was postponed.

He heaved a deep sigh as he opened the door to his apartment.

“May I come in?” Jinki asked calmly, but with some kind of determination in his intonation.

“Do what you want,” Taemin muttered exhaustedly, walking straight to the kitchen to take his medicine with a glass of water. “Charger's on the table.”

The guest took off his shoes and placed them out of the way. He breathed in. Fresh, melancholic scent. Ocean-like.

The walls were white. No clutter anywhere. Big spaces, tall ceilings...

It's so quiet here. So peaceful.

He plugged the cable into his phone and put it on the glass top of the small coffee table in the living room. Just as he wanted to ask about the air conditioner, Taemin walked in and switched it on. After taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair, he threw his slender body on the couch. He was wearing a white shirt and black jeans with rips on the knees. His nails were painted black, too.

His head resting on one arm, he was looking at Jinki through half-parted eyelids.

“May I sit down?”

“Go ahead. Unless you charge me for it later.”

Jinki froze mid–process, but then allowed himself sink into the comfy armchair.

“No, I came on my own accord.”

Taemin chuckled.

“Good to know.”

They locked eyes. Jinki felt strange, felt his mouth run dry. But maybe asking for water would be too much.

“You might wanna plug that charger into the wall as well,” the other reminded him, and he did.

Then he leaned back in his chair and sat there motionlessly, not really resting, as his muscles were tense.

He heard tapping on glass. Must be rain. But none of them turned to look or commented on it, because all of the phrases, all of the words were lost for the moment. They were impossible, obsolete.

Maybe they didn't need them, or maybe they both had the same premonition – that one more uttered word would make the quiet, fragile air between them burst into deadly flame.

A/N: Hi, everyone! This chapter took a while to complete... As always, thanks for reading! I hope to hear from you. Hope you're all safe and in good health~ L. <3