“Ah, finally.”

Taeyeon heaved a deep sigh of relief as she finally crouched into the warm shelter of the tent and let herself drop on top of the blanket, patiently waiting for her like a well-deserved reward after the stress, embarrassment and discomfort of that long day. Being a good Catholic girl (well, in her mother's eyes, at least) from a proper family, she couldn't hold her liquor at all, and those few gulps of soju that Dungwoo had practically poured down in spite of her limp protests made her chest burn and her mind spin around and around in an endless carousel.

“Zip up the door,” Eunsook said sternly.

Eunsook.

Taeyeon made an indefinite, but far from unhappy, sound to acknowledge the request – or maybe it was a reaction to the very sound of her best friend's velvety voice. It felt like they hadn't seen each other for ages.

She smiled, her heavy eyelids dropping. They were together. Life was amazing.

My Eunsook.

Her Eunsook cut her no slack for her lightheaded, almost blissful state.

“You want us to freeze?”

Her voice always became lower when she was annoyed, but trying to hold it together. Taeyeon could feel its vibration in her own throat, somehow, felt it move down to her lungs and ripple inside her chest.

Eunsook hit her with a book, and the other girl complied, even though her limbs obeyed her poorly and the whole operation took too long.

“See? I won't let you freeze,” Taeyeon assured her with some kind of heroic swagger.

She hiccupped.

Eunsook was reading, the nerd she was, her humongous glasses on, her long hair laying loose and voluminous around her shoulders. She had changed into a white long-sleeved cotton shirt, her face, clean, makeup-less as usual, emitted a silky glow in the light of the camping lantern she must have borrowed from her dad.

Taeyeon was spending the night by her side, which she had done many times before – only never had even the thought of it created that wonderful tingling in her stomach until now...

But Eunsook was frowning, which didn't happen often, so there must have been a good reason.

Taeyeon took off her battered denim jacket (and denim on denim was nothing unusual in those days) and began changing into her night clothes. A burst of laughter came from the outside world: Michiko was having a fun time under Soohee's care despite her fresh injury. They turned the volume of their portable radio up and began singing along to a Japanese pop song in their tent. Without being aware of it, Taeyeon hummed along to the catchy tune.

Eunsook sighed, turning a page over.

“What a shame,” Taeyeon began, struggling with her socks – the carousel in her head showed no sign of slowing down. “A cruel twist of fate separated you from your lovely little friend and you're stuck here with me instead.” She laughed, grunting. “Twist! See what I did there?”

The other girl mumbled something – probably a curse.

“Look, it's not my fault that idiot Dungwoo didn't bring two tents as promised,” Taeyeon began explaining through the shirt that she was putting on the wrong way. “Unless he meant that one of them would be in his pants, because in that case he kept his word.”

Eunsook didn't appreciate her friend's humor.

“No, it's your fault for not bringing your own.”

Taeyeon stared at her chest in confusion. Why the picture that was supposed to be on the back of the shirt was now on the front?

“I told you that the tent that we have in the garage leaks like a . I would've been swimming in rain water by now! My dad's a miser and you know that.” She pouted as she took her shirt off again. “Do you hate the idea of sleeping next to me so much?”

And if Eunsook suddenly did, it would be strange, considering how many sleepovers they had had together.

“It's not that I hate,” she answered, her voice a bit strained, as if she was trying not to let a certain emotion out. “Do you honestly believe that he could just ‘forget’ to take a spare single tent for you, but still brought one for two people?”

Eunsook finally turned to look at her maudlin best friend, who blinked in return. She sniffed the air.

“And have you been smoking?!”

“Just a couple drags, for the convivial spirit,” Taeyeon assured her. “Look, Dungwoo is too dumb to lie to me.” Eunsook raised her eyebrows incredulously. “What, you think he actually wanted to trick me into getting into his tent and opening my legs up? Like, he really expected me to do that?”

The very idea of her lanky, clumsy boyfriend whom she had taught how to kiss (she had had to swear with her life that his friends would never find out about that), concocting a whole plan to seduce her among the trees and smuggled soju with their professors snoring some feet away, seemed so ridiculous to Taeyeon, it made her hoot with laughter. Indeed, if her etiquette-loving mom had heard that sound, she would've probably taken her girl to the priest.

Normally, she and Eunsook laughed together, and they had an abundance of inside jokes to derive joy from, but this time her friend and partner in crime wasn't amused.

“I think he did,” she said seriously. “He did and he lied to your face about having a spare tent for you in the first place.”

“Kudos to him for being a smart sausage, then,” Taeyeon responded with a chuckle, putting her hands beneath her head as she lay back. “Only I'd never sell myself so short. I'm not cheap when it comes to maintenance, and even less so when it comes to my body. I was raised to be a chaste bride first and a trophy wife next.”

“And when are you supposed to be a person?” Eunsook asked.

“When everyone's dead and I'm all alone sitting on my pile of gold in peace.”

“Like a dragon, only old and wrinkly?”

Taeyeon giggled.

“Exactly.”

The other girl pushed a stray hair away from her friend's eyes. Taeyeon's short ponytail was quite ruined by now and she took her hairband out.

Eunsook removed her spectacles and shut her book. She sat upright and looked into the air in front of her. Something was boiling inside of her.

“Why are you with him?” From her firm tone it was evident that it must have been something she had waited too long to ask.

“He buys me stuff,” Taeyeon replied with a shrug.

Pause.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You tolerate his grabby hands, his immaturity, his Axe and his goddamned laughter because he spends money on you?”

“I need clothes and makeup, and I want to take you to cafes, too,” Taeyeon argued.

“Please, don't worry on my account!” Eunsook cried in indignation. “I refuse to be the reason for my best friend to be dating a... fool!”

She was pretty laid-back in general, and someone had to really try to get on her nerves so much that she would work herself up like this. Taeyeon, on the other hand, while being constantly repressed as a result of growing up in a home of people who spent more time counting their money than taking care of each other, could blow up from littlest things when run out of patience. But this time the roles were reversed, and instead of Eunsook trying to calm Taeyeon down, it was the latter watching the former lose it.

She cares about me. She really freaking does, Taeyeon thought with an out-of-place smile.

But the other girl was looking at her with in agitated expectation, and Taeyeon cleared .

“I thought you were cool with him ‘tagging along’.”

“Well, I lied, okay?” Eunsook gave up, throwing her hands up. “And I didn't know him that well then. Now I know that he spits on the ground and laughs along when his inadequate boyfriends make derogatory jokes about women. To think that he kisses you with that mouth...!” She twisted her lips.

“And he doesn't do it well, either,” Taeyeon murmured.

“Tae, be serious! Not only is he not up to your level in every way, but you're dating him for his money – and that means you're using him, and-”

“He uses me, too, though. If women are required to be pretty, men must bring something to the table as well, no?”

“Like a genuine desire to love you and help you feel safe and appreciated?”

Was she always this passionate, this expressive, this... beautiful?

Eunsook looked so eager to help her understand, and it was sweet.

“Do you think men are even capable of that? They're all the same. If you've seen one, you've seen them all, and I don't know where I can find any better.”

Eunsook shook her head furiously.

“No and no!”

“If you're thinking about your brother, remember that he also wears women's clothes sometimes, so he's already an exception from every rule.”

The older girl let out an exasperated groan.

“You're driving me mad!”

With that, she excluded herself from the conversation by throwing the blanket over her shoulder and lying down with her face turned to the wall. Michiko and Soohee were not singing, but they could be heard playing a game together with some other third girl.

Eunsook shut her eyes, but the noise together with her irritated state of mind wouldn't let her sleep. The lantern needed switching off, too.

“Do you wanna play a game?” Taeyeon's voice suggested.

“I can't, I'm too mad,” Eunsook declined, burying her nose under the blanket, too. It was kind of chilly despite the hot water bottle which played the part of a heater for them.

She heard a strange noise coming from the other half of her small tent and frowned.

“What?”

Taeyeon was laughing.

“Nothing, it's just...” she wanted to continue, but couldn't do so in her pangs of amusement. And instead of abating, the attack only grew stronger as moments passed.

Eunsook turned around with her brows knit together to see her friend still laughing with tears in her eyes.

“What?” she asked again.

“I... I...”

“You?”

“I... Oh, dear, my tummy hurts.” Tae coughed to make herself stop. “I broke up with Dungwoo and I just remembered his stupid face.”

“What?! When?!”

“I don't know – like, twenty-five minutes ago?”

Eunsook's plump lips opened and closed again by themselves. Everything was happening too fast.

The other girl finally explained:

“We were making out, and I wasn't feeling it anyway, and he ran to grab more alcohol, when this guy Haejeong came out. He offered me a smoke, we started talking and joking around, and the idiot made such a scene over it, as if he'd caught us with our pants down... There was actual spit flying around! And he was like, ‘If you ever talk to another man again, I'll – I'll-’” Here, she was interrupted by another wave of laughter making it hard to talk. The confused, surprised Eunsook listened without a word. “…‘I'll make you feel the power of my wrath’! As if he's some kind of supervillain, you know?” She laughed a bit more. “Anyways, I told him I could never risk it and, since I can't just stop talking to my dad and about a half of our professors out of the blue, there was no other way for us but to break up, and he was so confused. I knew he was regretting it already, but, to hell with him... I'll let no man shout at me, no matter who he thinks he is.”

Eunsook was looking at her with wide eyes.

“But you looked so happy when you came back...”

Taeyeon grinned.

“Don't you think I had a reason? No more cafes for us, but no Axe and grabby hands anymore, too! It's just the two of us now.”

She took Eunsook's hand lying on top of the blanket and pressed it to her face. Warm and soft.

“Y-you should've told me right away,” the other girl reproached her, her cheeks blushing just a bit.

“I love arguing with you, I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

Because I love doing everything with you.

“Because it's you,” the drunken girl answered, her eyes glistening for a whole different reason now.

Eunsook's eyes smiled back at her, even though didn't.

She lay back down, and Taeyeon wrapped her arm around her, spooning her – it was much warmer this way. Eunsook put her glasses back on and opened her book – a Stephen King novel – again, in peace. Taeyeon gently put the strands of her long black hair away and pressed her lips to the girl's neck lightly.

“Don't,” Eunsook said calmly.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm sober, and you are not.”

Taeyeon sighed, but she knew that her friend was right.

She fell asleep before the light was turned off that night.

She was awoken, to her displeasure, in what seemed like a few minutes' time by her friend, who said she had to show her something.

“But I just closed my eyes,” she croaked, stretching her aching limbs.

“No, you didn't,” Eunsook insisted as she pushed the blanket away. “Come on, get up.”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can. You open your eyes and move, no time to dawdle.”

Taeyeon made a long wailing sound. Just because her best friend was a ball of infinite energy, it didn't mean that she was one, too.

She yawned incessantly as she stumbled at the heels of her friend across the clearing, hugging herself for warmth in her denim jacket. They entered the woods again.

“If you wanted to show me how you pee, you could've waited until the planet is awake.”

Eunsook chuckled.

“No, that's not it. Patience.”

At first, the forest got thicker, then sparse again, and something glistened between the branches. Taeyeon, who was at last intrigued, raised her eyes – only to trip over a root and be caught just in time by Eunsook.

“Careful.”

But the girl didn't care, as a fascinating view opened before her when she stepped out of the woods and unto the slope of the hill, covered in brown autumn leaves, at the foot of which a river was flowing. Light morning fog was hanging over the water and the trees, green and bronze, clustered on the other bank. Further back, the mountains rose solemnly into the blue and yellow sky, welcoming the first light of the new day.

“We're just in time for the sunrise,” Eunsook said, taking a roll of newspaper out of the back pocket of her jeans.

“The river! The skies!” the mesmerized Taeyeon cried, her sleepiness gone and forgotten at the beautiful sight. “The mountains! And I thought there was only mud and insects here.”

Eunsook laughed as she lay the paper on the ground for them to sit on.

“Yeah, we found the river yesterday when you went off with Michiko. I...” she rubbed her nose as if suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I wanted to show you when there's no one else around.” Taeyeon, her eyes puffy after her nocturnal adventures, gave her friend an affectionate look.

“Um, you can sit,” Eunsook muttered, and they both plumped on the ground.

She extracted something else from the pocket of her coat – a small tumbler filled with freshly made ginger tea. Taeyeon held two plastic cups up as her friend poured the hot liquid into them.

“Ouch.”

The tea was burning her fingers through the thin plastic.

“Uh, sorry.” Eunsook put the tumbler away, and this time a few paper tissues appeared, which solved the problem.

They watched the red and orange sun emerge from behind the mountain tops far away, shining through the fog and giving a new life to everything its rays touched. Taeyeon looked and marveled, but she also couldn't help thinking about her own situation and the scrapes she'd gotten herself into, and the fact that the girl sitting next to her, with her wide smile and kind eyes, had done more for her that morning than all of her boyfriends put together, did not make it any easier. Eunsook's chubby hand was lying next to hers, and even that she couldn't take for granted anymore.

I've never loved you as much as I do right now.

She sighed.

“Eunsook.”

“Hm?”

“Yesterday, before Dumbwoo kidnapped me, I think you wanted to say something. What was it?”

Eunsook swayed hesitatingly.

“I... you noticed.”

“Please, tell me,” Taeyeon pleaded.

“It's just a stupid thing...”

“Just say it.”

The other girl pursed her plump lips in defeat.

“I was going to... I wanted to say that... that... um, er...” Right now, it was hard to believe that this stammering was coming from no other than Lee Eunsook, who was devastatingly excellent with her presentations and public speeches, making even the professors laugh with her saddest puns. “That you're a very kindhearted person and that your boyfriend is very lucky to have you, and that I feel that you underestimate yourself in so many ways. And that you're… very... pretty, even with dirt in your hair and all.”

Taeyeon, who was tearing up despite making every effort not to, asked:

“And was that just because I didn't leave Michiko to die in the woods? That's setting the bar a tad too low.”

“No, it's just... for no special reason. You know? And I'm not gonna see you during the vacation, so... Being away from you is... And then he dragged you away... But then you said you broke up with him, and you gave me that kiss on the neck, but you were drunk, and... I don't really know how to explain. I don't. Just can't.”

Eunsook shook her head vehemently, and her friend's heart was aching from listening to that incoherent cry of the soul.

“You're a girl. You're my friend, and you're a girl,” she concluded in a trembling voice. “I'm sorry, I'm just happy that you're free at last, because I was worried, and your mom is gonna get mad at you, but… Look, all I want is you to be fine, and safe, and good, and I'll always be your... whatever...”

That ended in full blown crying with her face turned away and wiping her wet nose with her sleeve.

Taeyeon gave Eunsook her tissue and hugged her, putting her head on her friend's shoulder.

“I'll never be fine without you,” she said quietly. “When I'm not with you, it's like I don't exist, and it makes me feel scared.”

“But you have to be fine. You are a strong, independent woman,” Eunsook wailed. “And you shouldn't let your family bring you down.”

“I'm telling you the truth. If you ever leave me, a part of me will die, perhaps forever. But if you reject me, or hate me, I'll let you go.”

The older girl raised her head and gazed at her friend in surprise. She had never heard Taeyeon say anything like that before, in that earnest, passionate tone.

“I want to be more than just a friend to you. It's wrong, and it's not something you should say out loud, but I'm not patient and can't keep quiet anymore. I'm sorry.”

They looked at each other in silence – two weeping, pink-faced girls who had already stepped into womanhood, but still had their heads in the clouds.

The corners of Eunsook's lips trembled, and they stretched into a smile.

“Thank god you're not patient,” she murmured, and cupped Taeyeon's small, doll-like face with her gentle hands.

She kissed her on the mouth, her wet cheeks, her eyes, even her nose, and the terrible suspense was over, and there were no secrets left to keep.

Time flowed by fast after that, as it does after every happy ending. In a blink of an eye, the two lovers were reunited after the holidays, Michiko was weeping with her colorful suitcases around her and waving as she walked to the passport control at the airport, and the Chinese New Year’s Day arrived, not long after which the spring came with its contrasting temperatures and cherry blossoms everywhere.

Decades after that, sitting on the heated floor in her son's apartment, Taeyeon's eyes lighted up as she recalled those events, letting the precious memories engulf her. Many details came up, and she savored them, letting herself open up about the romance of her youth, for the first time, perhaps, after years of silence and self-repression. But when recollections of those brief happy times were over, and the part where everything had fallen apart began, Taeyeon's voice became detached, emotionless, and she stated facts simply as they had happened, as if she was reporting news on the television.

“Mother found out about us, and it only went downhill from there. She was hysterical. Wouldn't let me out of the house. Slapped me a few times.”

“You didn't think about running away?” Taemin asked, thinking that that was exactly what he would have done, but then remembering his own numerous, delusional attempts to break away, doomed to failure from the start.

Is that why he hates me? Jesus... No wonder.

“I did, but they watched me. And it wasn't so simple,” the woman replied, and her son wordlessly agreed with her. “I don't know what future we would've had if I did. She had big hopes and perspectives, with her academic record, and I had no money on me, zero experience in life... And regardless to that – a lesbian couple in Korea, in the eighties... I can't even imagine. Hiding all the time, having no protection from the law. We would've been crushed.”

“Damn,” Taemin said. He understood.

“Yes... I broke up with her over the phone. I still remember that night... Sitting on my bed, crying... And my girlfriend was crying, too. It was awful.”

“You broke up over the phone?”

Taeyeon nodded.

“It's not the best way, but it was the only option. She asked me, begged me to meet her for the last time, but I refused. I couldn't bear it.”

It felt like an icy hand gripped Taemin's heart as he remembered the night on the backseat of Mr. Kim's car, swallowing eagerly every bitter word that Jinki's weary, listless voice – the most desired one, still – uttered in his ear. He knew he'd ed up big this time. He'd crossed the last line there ever was. His lover had almost forgiven him, and he betrayed him again.

“Why?”

Mrs. Lee gulped.

“I knew that, if I saw her again, I'd never be able to leave her. She'd say all the right words, and even one more look at her face would make me change my mind, and ruin us both. I didn't want that for her.”

“Is that what it was?”

“Such was my reasoning at the time... We saw each other again, obviously, but not in the same way. Her mother was ill, and she was going back and forth between her hometown and Seoul, so she was absent a lot... When we did run into each other, she would avoid looking at me. I had hurt her a lot... At some point all I wanted to do was to forget everything we had had together and get on with my life. I was constantly tired because of the misery and pain.”

Taemin understood that, too, all of it.

His mother continued:

“But I had to allow myself one last weakness before moving on... We'd had a plan to go to Busan on summer vacation together, booked a hotel and everything. And I still went, alone, to get all that grief out of my system. I remember crying on the train...” She gave a deep sigh. “And then I ran into one of my ex-boyfriend's friends who was on the same train, going to Busan to meet his family, and he took care of me. Bought me a cup of chocolate, gave me back rubs, told me not to hold it in... We ended up drinking together in the city, he brought me to my hotel, and I thanked him for everything. It was not far from the beach, and we took a walk before parting, I guess I was even smiling in the end... But I just wanted to be alone, really.”

Her voice quieted down to a murmur. Taemin clenched his jaw, anticipation of the rest of his mother's tale making him tense somehow.

Mrs. Lee, who had begun telling her story with her head held high and her eyes shining with nostalgia and even excitement, bowed her head low again in shame.

“My room was on the first floor, right in front of the entrance, and I thought he would leave, but he followed me inside instead. He sat me down on the bed and said that he knew what was going on with me and that if I relaxed and lay very still he'd turn me into a real woman.”

Taemin bit his lip, his vision fogging up as it did when the heat began rising in his chest.

“And what did you do?”

“Lay very still and let him ‘turn me into a real woman’. I couldn't do much anyway, the alcohol made me so weak.”

“But what did you do after that? Did you go to the police?”

Taeyeon raised her head again and looked at her son, her eyes welling up.

“No. I married him. It was Haejeong. I married him because all men were the same to me and my mother thought it a good match.”

Taemin took a deep breath.

“I almost wish I was surprised...” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I'm sorry. It's awful.”

His mother needed a minute to recollect herself. She got up and walked over to the couch where she had left her black leather bag. She sat down and took out her compact to fix her makeup, and maybe she was worried whether she'd revealed too much in her disturbing narrative that had hit too close to home for her child.

“I didn't tell you all this to scare you or make you feel guilty in any way. Nor did I want pity,” she clarified, patting her face with a cushion puff. “I wanted you to know that you can survive anything, even when it's unbearable and so much more than you can comprehend. And even when you feel like you've had enough and your latest injury was the last drop, as long as you go to bed and wake up the next day, you'll still be here, and time will never stop passing. Bad days, happy days – it's all a moment in time.” She looked at Taemin over the mirror. “Don't regret that you haven't had enough good experiences so far. Because many years will pass, and if you don't crumble, you'll still be alive, and the past will be just that – the past. It won't matter anymore if you were happy or not. And if you keep living inside your memories, you'll waste your youth, your health and your soul. Trust me.”

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Taemin was looking at his mother, observed her slender, petite figure and her pale girlish face, and a realization came to him: she was actually quite strong. Merely surviving what she had had to go through in her life, could be called an achievement.

“Would a happy person put it the same way?” he wondered with a sad smile.

“I wouldn't know,” Taeyeon answered.

Taemin felt like going to bed, and she didn't stay for the night. She called a taxi, and they had a smoke on the roof before saying goodbye.

“Have you seen your girlfriend since then? Do you know what became of her?”

Mrs. Lee smiled, thinking of their latest encounter. She told him about the meat shop in Gwangmyeong – the ultimate outcome of the bright perspectives Eunsook had had in college.

“She is a widow now, and her son is studying at Yonsei.”

“Is she still hot?”

The woman laughed through a cloud of smoke.

“Years have been kind to her. Looks-wise, at least.”

“What stops you, then?” Taemin asked only half-jokingly.

With a nervous chuckle, his mother repeated what she had said about the past being the past. And although it sprang to his mind that she was trying to convince herself in the first place, he said nothing to that. He had enough thoughts weighing on his mind, too.

When he woke up next morning, he decided on a spontaneous impulse to go to the local cinema and see some not overly intellectual flick. And while he was exercising, taking shower and putting his clothes on, Taemin was reflecting on his mother's story and especially how it all could be applied to his own situation. There was a lot to take in, a lot to arrange. Only yesterday Jinki, the man from his past, had broken into his space uninvited, to accuse and berate him over the things that they both should have moved past by now, and left as soon as Taemin showed him what lay beneath his scars – having done as much damage as he could with words only.

Whether it was the effect of venting to someone who cared, or the absence of any physical evidence of yesterday's confrontation around him, or a simple emotional numbness that sometimes served as an airbag for him after another blow of fate, Taemin's head was much clearer now. He was able to analyze the situation rationally enough to conclude that he did not understand Jinki and his motivations, and when he had told himself otherwise in the past, it was just him trying to justify his inflated feelings for someone who was scared to open up.

He had thought he was doing well with his treatment and his dancing, and then life decided to shake him up once more, but what had changed since then, truly?

Okay, I'm not over him yet. Maybe.

But he would be in the end. His mother was right: he had a long life ahead (or he should), full of mistakes and falling for strangers he would draw wrong assumptions about, and Jinki could not be the only one. These were the growing pains, inevitable and yet different for everyone.

He wanted to see him again, and he confessed that to himself. But that was only because all that was unmanageable and painful was attractive to him, and when he saw an open flame, his first impulse was to reach out and get burned.

That is all.

When Jinki came to his house that tumultuous night, he wasn't able to think straight. Everything got so mixed up in his brain, it was already hard to tell what had been said by whom, and what his own expectations and motivations had been. Not everything got muddled, of course – some things remained clear in his memory now, and he knew that they would remain there the next morning, and for an infinitely long time afterwards. It was a shame.

But he shouldn't let his mind rush ahead. There was a more urgent problem pending – the lock code that he needed to remember if he wanted to get into his room tonight.

A few combinations that he tried didn't work.

Standing in front of the door as the rain water dripped off his nose and jacket onto the floor, Jinki stared dumbly at the number panel, as if its lifeless sight could help him in any way. He didn't want to call anyone.

‘And oh, trust me, if I'd never wanted to help myself, I would've been a pile of ashes in a jar by now.’

He pressed his forehead to the door and sighed. The metal was cool, sobering against his skin. But being sober was the last thing he wanted to be right now.

Jinki pulled himself together one last time before he would give up. Since he couldn't remember the number itself, he closed his eyes and made an effort to recreate the movement of his fingers when he had used that code last time.

He pushed another set of four numbers in, and the lock clicked at last. It was his mother's birthday date.

Kibum was working, and a big part of Jinki's being felt his absence sharply. Listening to his boyfriend talk, one would think that he was quite self-aware and was always ready to give himself credit for his many accomplishments, but Jinki was sure that Kibum had no idea about his true genius, which was coming to any place and turning it into a part of himself for as long as he stayed – bringing something warm, clean, bright, scented with citrus and cinnamon, and a sense of ease and comfort that he generously imparted to everything from his own soul.

The other part of him craved to be brooding in the dark without having to explain himself to anyone, and Jinki let it get over. He hung his wet jacket on the hook by the door and sank into the armchair without turning a single lamp on. He wiped some water off his face and activated his phone, where he opened the gallery and scrolled down, digging deep into the archives of memories crystallized in little colorful squares, where there was something he wouldn't let anybody else see, and yet made no special effort to hide. It was out of the periphery of his mind for the most part.

Jinki almost scrolled past them.

There were a few pictures Taemin had taken of himself at a coffee shop last summer, while he waited for Jinki to come back with his cup of hot chocolate. His hair was blond, and he was looking into the camera with a bored, somewhat complacent expression that brought out the handsome features of his young face perfectly. There was no pain in his eyes. No mixture of disappointment, reproach and anger. No deep, desperate misery.

Jinki had told him he would delete those photos right away, and Taemin had laughed in his face, calling him a bore.

He had no idea why he hadn't deleted the photos: he'd never looked at them anyway. Not once. But now he felt like he ought to. Maybe he owed it to Taemin. Maybe it was time.

Jinki erased them all, and sat for about an hour deep in thought. Jonghyun sprang up to his mind for some reason, and he laughed at him. He thought it a shame that a man who knew very little about anything got so much praise for his very subjective interpretations of other people's lives. But Jjong had been right in some things, too, and, as much as Jinki hated to admit it, he'd been right in those very assumptions that had made him so angry when he first read his friend's manhwa. Jonghyun could see something that he hadn't, and Jinki would give him that.

He washed the dishes left from that morning and yesterday's night and threw away a few empty bottles as well as some leftovers gone bad – he knew that the mess would break his boyfriend's heart. And he did it all with some new kind of calm, feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he was being honest with himself and saw his own actions and words in the light that they truly deserved.

As much as he tried to put himself into the customers' shoes in order to understand the importance of all the rules and regulations that he had to follow at his workplace, Kibum still found it annoying that he had to hide behind the racks (or worse, retreat to the storage room) to put the eye drops in, which was a perfectly respectable thing to do, since that allowed him to see at the end of the day… Okay, maybe people didn't need to see him do it, but he reserved himself the right to be annoyed – in case his tiredness wasn't enough justification in itself.

But, really, by 8-ish p.m. Kibum's eyes would get so dry he could barely see what he was doing, and all the linen shirts, pencil skirts and whatnot just blended into neutral-colored spots of nothingness. He even thought about getting glasses, and took a quick look in the mirror in the men's section to imagine himself wearing a pair, but, for some reason, the first option he visualized strongly resembled Jinki's monstrous glasses from a few months ago that – dear Lord, forgive me – had luckily been destroyed in the bloody fight for Kibum's honor. They didn't look that bad on his face, Kibum reasoned in defense of his hypocrisy.

That's what he did while his hands folded, and hanged, and ironed those overpriced pieces of fabric – engaged his mind in innocent and useless fantasies that helped him stay sane. He had even come up with a name for that brain–preserving stream of consciousness: Radio Sanity he called it, and that was the wavelength he was on when a tall and handsome man about his own age entered the shop and directed his steps straight to Kibum, past immediately interested female assistants and customers, who sent longing, subdued looks his way. A visit from a beautiful stranger was a sure remedy that could brighten even the darkest of days for Kibum, and if that stranger was sporting a black motorcycle jacket (Was it that cold outside? Who cares!) and his dyed brown hair looked effortlessly soft, those bonuses would be the icing on the cake and a healing balm for his soul. Normally.

But this was one of those extremely rare occurrences when all such appearance elicited on Kibum's part was a disgruntled frown. It was turned, however, into a polite smile as soon as he caught himself, and with that forced welcoming expression he waited as the splendid apparition strode towards him on his long legs.

“Welcome to Uniqlo! May I help you, sir?” he asked loudly enough for the other workers to hear, so that they would mind their own business from now on.

“Kibum, I need you to-” the visitor began, but the young man interrupted him by firing a somewhat aggressive “Are you looking for a shirt?”, because one girl was still staring at them.

“No, I've got loads of them,” Minho (because that was, of course, him) answered with his simple directedness, and Kibum his heels, and, exclaiming, “Let's look what we've got!”, led him to a less busy area of the store.

Once they were out of the public eye, the mask of helpfulness slipped off Kibum's face, and he hissed under his breath:

“Dude, you can't just come in here to have personal conversations unless you want me fired!”

But Minho was likely aware of his own audacity, because the handsome features of his smooth and manly face assumed an apologetic look. That and the way the tall man's white shirt stretched on his muscular chest pacified his unhappy friend's feelings a little, and he added in a more amiable tone:

“Or if you wanna tell me you're gay again...”

Minho sighed, putting his designer luggage bag on the floor.

“I have to go to Tokyo tonight.”

“Yeah, you do,” Kibum remembered. “Why aren't you there?”

“I'm on my way to Gimpo. Look, Gwiboon is...”

“How about this one, sir?!” Kibum cried, because one of his colleagues appeared from around the corner with a girl she was helping. He whisked a random shirt from the rack and pressed it to the other's marble chest.

“A bit too flirty for me,” Minho said impassively, and Kibum looked at the item he was holding – a semi-transparent woman's blouse with a flower pattern.

He hanged the blouse back where it belonged and pushed his friend towards the men's section (Minho had to go back to get his bag). When they were alone once again, the taller guy explained that his girlfriend was mad and not talking to him because he'd been booked for the show in Tokyo and she hadn't.

“But I can't just not go. It's my job, and that money is for both of us.”

“Yeah, but what can I do?”

“Talk to her. Please.”

Kibum scoffed: his relationship with the young lady in question was heavily on the strained side.

“You're taking your phone with you, no?”

“I'll be busy, you know now how fashion shows are.”

Kibum turned away to realign some cardigans.

“I would've, but I never made it past the casting stage,” he grumbled.

Minho gave a sigh.

“It's a dirty, cruel industry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Kibum, I really need your help. You have an amazing ability to empathize and understand what other people need, you are my only hope.”

That was obvious flattery, but it was also obviously effective. It made the grumpy young man turn around and face his doe-eyed friend's pleading look.

Kibum pursed his lips.

“I'm not sure I know how to talk to women.”

“Well... It helps if you remember that they are people.”

Kibum shrugged, not thoroughly convinced, but he didn't argue.

“Just please explain to her that me accepting this offer does not mean that I don't love her or don't care about her wounded feelings, okay?”

Minho opened his eyes even wider than usual, which betrayed his inner turmoil. Kibum had to give up.

“Okay, I'll give her a call, I guess...”

He was done with the sweaters and walked to the jeans racks now just to look busy.

Minho followed him there.

“No, that's not enough. You need to go there and ensure that she doesn't do anything destructive.”

Such as getting -faced without you? Figuring that Gwiboon's drinking habits (and drinking was in her habit indeed) were not his business, Kibum chose, however, not to bring it up.

“I'm staying at Jinki's tonight,” he said instead.

“Then go to her tomorrow morning.”

“I need to help him with his groceries.” And in other things that just go better when there's a partner. Seeing his roommate's sceptic countenance, he explained: “He's got social anxiety. I think.”

“Are you sure it's not something else?”

Kibum sighed, re–folding a pair of jeans on the table (he just thought he could fold it better).

“Well, another explanation would be ‘ing lazy’, but I'd rather remain on the positive side.”

He threw a discreet look around just in case someone had heard him swearing and saw his coworker Hwayeong emerging out of the men's changing room. But there was no need for panic: she walked past with the zombified look of a person in desperate need of about twelve hours of sleep.

Minho smiled, leaning his buff arm on the jacket rack.

“You need it like the air, don't you?” he asked suddenly.

“Need what?”

“Remember what you were like when you were single? You couldn't even lift your to throw away the empty milk cartons, and now you're in full nanny mode.”

Kibum rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Carry-her-drunk-from-the-club.”

“I'm not judging! Everyone's got their own limits. Although it's good when there are some limits...”

The young man groaned. He himself was an avid lecturer, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to his friend's wisdoms.

Kibum looked the taller guy straight in the eyes.

“Minho. Are you sure it's not just you being paranoid? I don't think she'll go and bang some random guy just to get back at you. She loves you, and she's a big girl.”

“It's not about me being possessive,” Minho argued earnestly. “I just don't want my girlfriend to be crying alone at home when I'm away and not able to help her.”

Kibum almost teared up: he imagined Jinki's voice saying those things about him (“girlfriend” ditched for “boyfriend”, obviously). And the fact that it was so hard to imagine that only added to the tear-up'y feeling.

“Uh, screw you,” he replied, avoiding Minho's hopeful eyes.

His friend, being familiar with his sometimes-puzzling language, was visibly relieved.

“You'll pop in for a couple of hours, okay?”

“I said, ‘Screw you’!” Kibum barked as he began stomping away.

Minho scooped him into his arms unceremoniously.

“Thanks, man, love you!”

With that sentiment, he grabbed his bag, and his long legs carried him outside in big, energetic strides. Quite like some muscly and aromatic dream, he was gone, as if he'd never stepped through those glass doors at all.

Kibum hoped he'd heard him when he cried his touching words of goodbye:

“You'd better bring me something!”

When his shift was finally over, and the yawning workers of the store waved goodbye to each other before parting their ways, Kibum wrapped his jacket tighter around his body (Damn temperature difference!) and practically flew in the direction of his boyfriend's dwelling.

But gradually his steps slowed down, and the spring in his gait was gone. He sighed to himself.

That was what he'd been waiting for, wasn't it? To finally break free and run straight into the arms of the love of his life and let his body tell him how much he needed his healing touch. And he wanted to do all that, so why did he feel anxious for no reason? And the stronger his desire for affection would grow, the deeper that anxiety spread.

Of course, like with everything else, there was a reason – one just had to dig deeper to find it, and Kibum, with his habitual clarity of mind, was aware of it. He was aware of everything.

He almost reached for his pocket to whip out his phone and call Minho to vent to him, like in the old times. Because Minho would listen and say something soothing, albeit not practical in any way – it would make Kibum feel like he had a right to feel whatever he was feeling. But his friend was most likely waiting to board his plane, and he shouldn't be selfish.

Jonghyun? He wished he could call him, and somehow transgress from sobbing into the microphone on his earphones into grabbing some pizza with extra-cheese together, and Jonghyun would call him ‘child’, but never belittle him for his vulnerability... But he... couldn't? If he hadn't consciously directed his thoughts that way, reaching out to him wouldn't have even crossed his mind.

It was no longer him and Jonghyun against the whole world – it was him and Jinki, and an endless space between them, growing each day.

Kibum had told his boyfriend that he understood what motive had brought him to his former lover again, and told himself that it was alright. Jinki said he wasn't going to see Taemin anymore, and what could he do but believe him? What's the point of being in a relationship if you can't trust each other?

But what had he felt when he'd seen Taemin dance? Without meaning to, Kibum imagined his lithe, slender body slither and curve with impossible agility, full of darkness and enticing mystery, among the flames – and in that vision, the other one was infinitely more beautiful than he actually was, and full of inhuman grace – and the overall intensity of his presence would surely be enough to remind Jinki of the warmth of his young body, and the soft pressure of his lips, and everything in the world that was intriguing, unexplored, misunderstood – that by far exceeded the dismal daily experience of having someone accessible and faithful by his side, someone who couldn't hide how hard he was trying...

They needed to talk – that one fact was not up for debate. Kibum must tell his lover about his fears... And he could talk so well, too! He always said he thrived on conversation! And yet... he was scared. Because the most important words were very few, and they held the power to change everything before they were even uttered or fully understood – they were in the air, and in every furtive glance, and every kiss that didn't feel as affectionate as the last one.

‘You'll worry yourself to death,’ Minki had told him recently, without even knowing the specific nature of his distress. Kibum needed to pull himself together if he was going to have the talk... And he would have it tonight. Yes, tonight.

Kibum held up his head as he approached his boyfriend's house. His window was dark, and the young man almost hated himself for the momentary relief he allowed himself to feel. It's late now. He could be sleeping.

But they would talk in the morning for sure: ‘Jinki, love, I lied to you. I hate the idea that you sought your ex-client out and went to see him behind my back, whether it's my business or not. Because you've been so distant since then, and that's what my feelings are, and I'm entitled to them. You cut me off last time, but now you'll have to talk to me,’ – that's exactly what he would say tomorrow as soon as they opened their eyes. Honest. To the point.

But heavy conversations were not made for sunny mornings, were they? They both had had a hard week, and starting their day like that would be such a waste, Kibum mused as he waited for the elevator to come down. They would talk after the grocery shopping... only he was supposed to go and check on Gwiboon right after, and there wouldn't be enough time to calmly discuss such important issues as mutual openness, and trust, and whether or not there was enough love between them to keep them afloat… He felt a lump in his throat so severe it made him nauseous.

What if he wasn't sleeping? What if he was sitting in front of his laptop with the lights off, watching some boring science videos? Then they'd have to talk now, because he couldn't bear it...

Kibum noticed that his finger was slightly trembling when he pushed the lock code in. I've been working too much. That's it. Yes. Maybe he should've gone to his own place instead?…

Jinki was asleep, wrapped in his blanket despite it being warm inside, his brown hair ruffled, because he just couldn't sleep without some good tossing and turning first. A bedside lamp had been left on – for Kibum to find his way in the dark.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed to look at his boyfriend's face, or the half of it that wasn't covered by the blanket. He was right there – everything he needed and everything he looked forward to. Kibum wanted to kiss those sleeping eyes, and he was scared – not of the discomforting thoughts from before, but of the fleeting nature of everything.

Maybe if I don't close my eyes tonight, it will last forever, he thought naively as he nested quietly by his lover's side after switching the lamp off. And so, he lay, sleepless, both fearful of the next day, and grateful for his love and the little moments like this when the present held the promise of an eternity. But an hour came when the curtain was dropped, and that scene was gone to make way for the next act.

A/N: And here I am with some Friday angst for you, dear readers! ^^ How have you been this week? Collective congrats to us all on our Son's taking over of Tumblr and collective hugs to us all and especially MVPs (guys... argh), because I believe it is needed and well-deserved... Thank you for still being here on AFF (and on Earth), and I hope you like the story - please, remember that by subscribing and sharing your feelings and thoughts you help keep 'em alive! Take care and stay safe. One day we'll see OT5 in full glory~ L.