Kibum put his glass on the table and hiccupped.

“Let me tell you what,” he began, waving his finger at Gwiboon. “You keep giving, and giving, you ask for nothing in return and you break your back just to please the other person – and you end up with nothing. No matter what you do or have – it's not enough. You are not enough. Trust me, I've been through all of that and I know how it feels.”

The girl grimaced as she refilled the glasses in a seamless motion.

“Literally none of that applies to my situation. But if you wanna vent, be my guest.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kibum retorted, and she felt like his all-knowing eyes peered right into her soul. “None of it at all?”

Gwiboon sighed, running her hand through her red hair. Her long nails, sparkling with jewels, looked out of place in the ensemble of her overall untidiness.

“Yes, Minho takes care of me a lot,” she admitted, her usually sharp voice sounding dull now. Her gaze fell.

Kibum sniffed before taking another shot.

“Damn right he does. So, I wonder…” Another hiccup. “What does it feel like? To take, and take all that love and that energy, and that effort? To let the other bear the burden of wondering what's going on and what can be done to make it better, worrying about choosing the right words, taking all the important steps? The burden of getting jealous without any good reason, and regretting everything they say or not say, and always ending up feeling like an inadequate fool? A fool who cares too much, feels too much, loves too much...” Perhaps he stopped just to take a breath, but it sounded like he put all of his strength into trying not to cry.

Gwi knew that he was merely talking about himself, but she had feelings, too. Something in the young man's bitter words made her own blood boil.

“Yeah, I keep hearing what a lucky girl I am to have a boyfriend with a six-pack and a heart of gold to match. Every friend of mine keeps commenting on our relationship like it's their goddamned business. They see him coming to get me at the club and say, ‘Oh, Minho is such a nice guy’, and they smile at him, but their eyes give away what they really mean: ‘What's he doing wasting his time on a useless like you?’, and they're waiting, the es are waiting for me to slip up, to slide right beneath him.”

“He is an attractive guy,” Kibum shrugged.

“Yeah,” Gwiboon chuckled dryly, narrowing her eyes at him.

“‘Yeah’? What is that supposed to mean?”

Kibum got up to get a pair of chopsticks from the drawer – he was tempted by the girl's snack, too. He and Jinki had never gotten around to making lunch that day.

“You would know about it, that's what,” she grumbled as she reluctantly let go of her pickle jar.

He would've argued with her, but he also knew that she was right. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

“Well... Do you realize that he loves you very much?”

“I hope he does. We're engaged, after all,” Gwiboon quipped sarcastically.

“Do you love him?”

The girl gasped at the audacious question, wondering if her fiancé's roommate was joking, but nothing in his look suggested irony as he chewed on one of her pickles.

She slammed her little fist down on the table indignantly.

“Did it occur to any of you people that you don't know the inside dynamics of our relationship? Do you know what we talk about when it's just the two of us alone?”

Kibum tilted his head.

“Sometimes I hear you through the wall. But quite often it's not talking.”

“What do you know of his weak moments?” Gwiboon went on. “What do you know of my strong moments?”

“In my humble opinion...”

“Your opinion is never humble, honey.”

“Okay. In my non-humble, but usually correct opinion, you're trying to sit on too many chairs at once. When you snatch an all-around great guy like Minho, people are gonna be jealous and they'll dream about pushing you down the stairs every time they see you together. The reason why you're lucky...”

Hearing the distasteful world ‘lucky’ again twisted Gwiboon's pretty features.

“Wh-”

“The reason why you're lucky,” Kibum repeated firmly. “Is not that he has a beautiful and holds your hair back when you're vomiting outside the club. The guy really, really loves you. He's seen what you're like when you're wasted – you should, too, by the way – he's accepted the fact that he'll have to smell your uncle's farts twice a month for the rest of his life because the man's a father figure to you, and he knows that you're a shameless face mask stealer, and he still wants to be with you? Do you even realize how rare and precious that is? You don't have to pretend to be stronger or better with him! You can just sit back and enjoy all the unconditional love he gives you! Oh, some mean people low-key hate you because your romantic bliss and hot model body remind them that their own lives are miserable?! Boo-hoo! , it up and own your damn happiness.”

“You dog,” she muttered, shaking her head. But even if that movement conveyed disbelief, she wasn't really surprised by the young man's blunt manner of speaking – she knew his ways too well.

“Yes, I'm a dog, because dogs are full of natural dignity and put too much faith in men,” Kibum retorted, unshaken. “But you, you are sitting here and whining like a pathetic hot mess because you didn't get booked for a show and your model groom was! Girl, are you, like, super dumb, or are you simply incapable of any kind of gratitude at all?!”

“What?!” Gwiboon cried, the bottle in her hand freezing midway to the soju glasses.

“Is there any other explanation?”

Kibum didn't look like he believed there was. Gwi, in her turn, finally looked surprised by what she was hearing.

“I'm bitter because I'm jealous that my boyfriend passed the casting?! Where the hell did you get that from?”

No, it was not surprise. It was shock, indignation and even a pinch of disgust.

“From the fact that you look like Hamlet's dead father while Minho's rocking his six-pack in Japan,” the young man replied, giving her unkempt appearance an evaluating look.

“Does he think that too?!”

The earnest shock written all over her countenance held Kibum back for a moment. Was his bluntness working against him this time?

“I'm... not sure? If he does?” he replied, his eyes flickering.

Gwiboon's unevenly lined eyes drilled him for a few seconds.

“Pretty ing great,” she concluded gravely before slumping back in her seat. “On the other hand… Eh.”

“‘Eh’?”

“Let him think that. Maybe it's better this way. Yes.”

Knowing Gwiboon well enough to be sure that she didn't belong to the type of people who would just ‘let it be’, Kibum was both intrigued and instantly alarmed.

“What's going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Are you gonna pretend that my straightforwardness has hurt your feels?”

He meant for that question to sound sarcastic, but secretly he wondered if he'd been too harsh on her.

The girl chortled.

“Sure, you know how sensitive I am.”

Kibum poured the girl and himself some soju, successfully emptying the first bottle.

“So, what's the matter?” he asked after they clinked the glasses and took a swig of the strong liquid.

Gwiboon shook her head, scrunching her nose.

“I can't tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It's pretty important to me.”

“Well, knowing you, ‘important’ could mean anything from a free burger you didn't enjoy to an actual Armageddon...”

“It could pretty well be the Armageddon for me. And it's a secret. There will be no way to backtrack from that, once it's out. None.”

They sat in silence for a while. While reason was telling Kibum that he should leave her alone, the feeling of alarm intensified. No matter what Gwiboon was saying, it seemed that the weight of carrying her secret, whatever it was, alone, was taking its toll on her. The way she looked now spoke for itself, didn't it?

And there was another thing, too. Notwithstanding the habitual animosity between them, Kibum imagined that he knew the way her mind worked. And when he thought about it – about that cockiness, that sharp and invincible facade, and then the private chaos and weakness that he didn't feel comfortable showing to most people he knew – he felt that there were many similarities between them, indeed. And if that intuitive conjecture was correct, underneath it all, Gwiboon's tired soul was yearning to share her secret burden, like his would have done.

He took a paper napkin and began smoothing it down with his fingers.

“I'm an excellent secret keeper, you know... People have entrusted me with so many secrets that I could make my living by blackmailing them, until my dying day. So, spill it out.”

“Even Minho doesn't know it.”

“Then you should absolutely tell me. Because he's my friend and I'll do anything to protect him... Don't tell him I've said that,” the young man added when an image of his friend's smug and contented face flashed inside his mind.

“Even if that means telling him to break up with me?”

“It's that bad?”

Gwiboon looked him in the eye.

“Yeah, it is.”

Kibum put the napkin away and moved closer, resting his elbows on the tabletop.

“Did you cheat on him? I mean... I'm not sure what your ual policies as a couple are...” he said carefully.

“We both believe in monogamy and I swear I've never cheated on him since we got together.”

Thank, god. That would be awkward to deal with. He tried his best not to look too relieved, however.

“Then you really should tell me.”

“You might still tell him to break up with me. And he'll listen to you, because… you don't know how many times I've heard him say, ‘I need to ask Kibum about that. I wonder what Kibum would say’. He'll listen and he'll break up with me and I... I'll be done. He's my everything.” Gwiboon's voice trembled, a tinge of red touched her eyes.

Kibum tried to sound as soft as he could when he assured her:

“I promise I'll do nothing of the kind. No matter what your secret is.”

“You should tell me yours first, then.”

Kibum blinked.

“What, my secret?”

Gwiboon, who had managed to push her tears back down for now, was looking at him with eyebrows raised expectantly.

“But I don't have one,” Kibum argued, throwing his hands up. “I'm pretty open. Even when I have diarrhea, chances are my coworkers get to know.”

“Everybody has a secret.”

Gwiboon was obviously serious.

“Okay, let's see...” the other murmured, tapping his chin with his finger. “I... Sometimes I don't go to church on Sunday.”

“What a loss for the church.”

“Hey, I feel pretty bad about it! When I think about it at all. There's this hot pastor...”

But Minho's fiancée was not amused.

“You really can't trust a person, can you?” Kibum said with a sigh.

“‘Trust no ’ is my motto.”

“I respect that. Well... I paid for the deposit on this place with sugar daddy money.”

“Is he married?”

“Yeah. Has a kid. Is a crack addict, too. I got rid of him for now, but he can come back in the future.”

Gwiboon rubbed her chin with her manicured fingers, thinking.

“Is he capable of destroying your life?”

Kibum shrugged.

“I can do that myself perfectly well.”

As soon as he finished talking, a Kakao Talk notification sound was heard. Muttering an apology, he reached for his iPhone, and Gwiboon watched him as his eyes ran over the message, and the look on his face changed: enlivened for a moment by a sense of mystery and intrigue, and possibly by the potential success in helping the girl open up to him, it now settled back into the expression he'd had when he had first walked through the door that day. A sorrowful, static mask of detachment. She saw how he began typing something in the answer field, then his finger hovered above the screen, he bit his lower lip and pondered a little. He then proceeded to delete all of the text he'd put in and put his phone away.

When he looked up again, his eyes were those of an old man.

“Here's a good one: my boyfriend doesn't love me,” he confessed in a fallen voice.

“What? You two always look disgustingly in love.”

“I believe that I'm the one providing the ‘disgustingly in love’ part.”

“But are you sure?”

Kibum nodded.

“Yeah. There's no use in trying to hide from that... It's not like he's not trying. He's trying really hard. But, the irony is... seeing that reminds me of the truth.”

“Maybe you're just going through a rough patch?” Gwi suggested.

The young man smiled bitterly.

“Our whole relationship can be called that, then.”

“Is there someone else?”

“Yeah. I know that he thinks of him a lot. Sometimes he grows quiet and stares off into space, and it's like he stops existing for a minute. He's no longer there, he's with that guy. And each time it happens it's like... he slips further away from me. And I'm afraid to shake him out of it. Because he might look back at me and his eyes would show that he no longer sees me.”

Kibum needed to take a breath after that surge of honesty that had come over him. It hurt him, but laying out the simple and terrible truth to someone felt right, too. Gwiboon was a lot of things – unpredictable, self-absorbed, outrageously ignorant about boundaries, kind of wild, but at least she wasn't judgmental, and her not being overly sympathetic somehow comforted him right now as well.

“Did you talk to him about it?”

Kibum chuckled and looked down at his fingers, playing with the chopsticks like Jinki often did.

“We talked about it all right... He's an idiot. An idiot who can't face the obvious. He's pining over him and doesn't even realize… Like, someone has to slam his face against the truth so that he can see what's going on. That, more than anything, he wants to be with him... And I don't want to be the person who will break it to him. I shouldn't have to. It , and I don't deserve it.”

“You could be wrong,” Gwi said.

“And rain sometimes falls backwards, honey.”

The chopsticks were tossed away and Kibum sniffed.

“And what are you gonna do?”

“What I always do – my best to not show anyone how weak I really am for as long as I can and when it's over, pretend that nothing happened.”

Gwiboon didn't say anything for a minute, and Kibum raised his moist eyes at her. There it was. Sympathy. “Uh, don't look at me like that. You wanted a secret, and there you go. And since I'm here to help you, let's get it over with. What's going on?”

It was Gwi's turn to look away.

“I've also had a sugar daddy.”

How not at all surprising.

“You know that I lived in Japan for a while, right?”

“Trying to be a dancer, yeah,” Kibum remembered.

“‘Trying’ is a good way to put it. Anyways, I finished training and auditioned at some obscure entertainment company that's been bankrupt for a while now. They rejected me, and I was out of money, so there was nothing left to do but off back to Korea. It was a tragedy for me, because I wanted to stay, and with my visa running out, there was no way around it. Then…” The girl's eyelashes fluttered. “…this Korean guy who owned a part of that company calls me and says that, although I didn't make it, he's seen ‘potential’ in me and that he can lend a hand with my dancing career, and, for now, he can use his connections in the fashion industry and secure me a job in Tokyo.”

It wasn't too hard to guess where this was going. Kibum felt a sickening sensation in his stomach.

“And all out of simple kindness of the heart, right?”

“Sure. I began a part-time job dancing at the club he co-owned, and he started coming there more and more, until I basically became his and his personal . I was telling myself a lot of things and making lots of excuses then, but that's what it really was. I even agreed to do a tape with him, Jesus... It's just really boring vanilla stuff, there's nothing to it, but... What a moron I am, right?”

The girl hid her face behind her hands. She was sobbing now, and Kibum felt his own eyes prickle again. He passed her a paper tissue and patted her arm, waiting for her to pull herself together.

“He's back now?”

“Kind of.” Gwiboon blew her nose heartily. “He's fully in the fashion industry now. I did get booked for that ing show, I just didn't go because that is involved, and I didn't destroy my mental health in trying to get away from him to go and fall into his trap again.”

“It's been a while, though. Are you sure he's still...?”

“A big-time freaking maniac? Yeah. Recently divorced, too – I don't think that helped his anger issues... He's found me. I don't know how, but he has. I've switched my phone numbers a few times now, and I keep getting the phone calls.”

Kibum frowned.

“Do you think he's gonna blackmail you?”

“Yeah, he will. I've seen him do worse stuff to people... Sooner or later, he'll find out about Minho, get his revenge by telling him everything and that will be the end of me.”

He sighed.

“You know what to do, then.”

“Pack my stuff and get out?”

“Just tell Minho yourself so that there's no surprises.”

To Kibum, it was really obvious, but Gwiboon looked at him with rounded eyes.

“How can I possibly tell him something like that?! He's a clean, perfectly decent guy, and after everything he's had to put up with me...”

“What, he won't be able to handle a little more?”

“A little more?! Kibum, I was as good as a e!” Gwi cried, sounding quite desperate.

“Look around you – people date and have for money all the time! It's the culture! If everyone starts throwing the word ‘e’ around...”

The girl groaned, slamming her head down on the tabletop.

“I was an ‘’ for a number of his friends, too. It was a very dark time, and what I was then fits the definition of ‘hooker’,” she confessed in a low voice. “Minho is a very kind guy and more understanding than most, but I'm not so delusional as to think that he can take everything. This is the end.”

Her shoulders quivered again, and Kibum pinched his nose in frustration. How could he help her understand?

He really didn't want to tell her the exact reason why she shouldn't be so pessimistic about the limits of her future husband's patience. How could he tell her that Minho's own past was messed up in similar ways? That, while being more or less ‘pure’ at heart, he wasn't really ‘clean’ the way she meant it? But he, Kibum, was the one who'd been pushing her to be candid, and he had to tell her something before she packed her suitcase in shame and made what would be the biggest mistake of her life.

“I can tell you for a fact that he has a friend who has a, um... a similar history.” Very recent, too. “And Minho has never judged them or stopped being friends with them.”

“So, what? Maybe it's not that hard to brush off that stuff when it's a friend, but when it's the future mother of your kids, the stakes are higher.”

“And the love is stronger, too,” Kibum reminded her, feeling both sympathetic and weary at this point. Why is everyone so damn unhappy lately?

“A part of the reason why I love him so much is his principles, and how earnestly he follows them,” the stubborn girl answered. “And he can't compromise them for me.”

Kibum combed his hand through his hair with a sigh, and used the last argument he had left in him:

“It all comes down to this: do you really wanna spend your life with a person from whom you have to hide such important fact about your past? To live in constant fear that he will somehow find out and be disgusted? He is my friend, but if he's that kind of person, then you need to move past him as soon as you can and not waste the time you could use on finding someone who would suit you better. Also, it doesn't look like you have much choice at this point, anyway.”

Gwiboon straightened up and hiccupped. She directed her teary eyes to Kibum, and he could see that he had reached her.

“Right. There isn't much choice... He'll find out anyway, and it's better if it comes from me... Whatever happens after...” She gave up.

Unexpectedly for Kibum, she put her hand on top of his and smiled a little sad smile. “Thank you. Really.”

“No, it's fine,” he chuckled nervously. In theory, he didn't mind gratitude, but when actually confronted with it, he usually wanted to escape. And it got even worse when the drunk girl moved closer and trapped him into a hearty hug.

“Uh, okay,” he muttered, patting her back awkwardly. He was thankful when his freedom was restored, and was already looking for an excuse to retreat, when Gwiboon said one more thing:

“You know, in my also not very humble opinion… I believe that you deserve to be with a person who won't have to try very hard to love you.”

Those were kind, very painful words that reached into the very core of his wound. He knew that he didn't really succeed at hiding the tears that fogged up his eyes for a moment, and was relieved that Gwi either failed to notice, or pretended not to. It was one of the rare moments in his life when he wanted to give in to his feelings without witnesses, and he left again to wander about the familiar streets, alone. Only how could he be alone when so many memories crowded his mind at almost every turn?

He walked all the way to the manhwa cafe and stood across the street, gazing at the window on the second floor – the one that had been witness to some of his greatest and worst moments. And the greatest times had been, as he distinctly felt now, not when his wallet was loaded and he had a new hot boyfriend to brag about – but sitting on that couch, his head leaning on Jjong's shoulder as he read his endless ty manga, and Jinki sat at his usual table with his books, and there was so much boredom, and freedom, and jealousy, and love...

He missed Jonghyun desperately.

Where was he? Why weren't they seeing each other anymore?

Yes, they had had their differences, quite serious ones, he had been angry and protective of his lover and that had clouded his judgement at some point, but, right now, it all amounted to one simple fact: he needed his friend, and their jokes, and their comfortable silences, and their long and bumpy history.

Kibum knew that he'd likely change his mind afterwards, so he pulled out his phone and wrote his messages on one breath:

“I miss you so much”

“Idk what's going on anymore”

“I'm sorry”

And somehow that turned out to be the last straw keeping him from falling apart: tears started trickling down his face and on his shirt in what seemed to be an endless flow, and he squatted on the ground, slumping his face in his hands.

It won't be forever. I know it won't.

He didn't know how to answer Jinki's message from before: he just didn't have any more words left for him today. He'd bared his soul to him, and he couldn't see how he could do much more than that.

His phone started vibrating in his back pocket, and he groaned out loud – couldn't Jinki understand that it was his turn to be left in peace right now?

But when he held his phone up to decline the call, he saw that it wasn't his boyfriend calling, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah?” he answered, sounding quite tear-sodden.

“Kibaem,” Jonghyun's soft, pensive voice said. “Where are you now?”

And, strangely, Kibum heard himself laugh. It was laughter of relief, for, somehow, he knew he was safe now.

“What would you like to drink, sir?”

“Um...” Taemin faltered, studying the titles in the bar menu. To tell the truth, he had no particular love for alcohol and treated it simply as a means to get drunk – a sort of anti-medicine that one gulps down without thinking. Unless it was wine, that is – red, dry wine that created a somber, quizzical haze inside his head. It was a drink that had a personality of its own, and it shouldn't be ‘wasted’ on trifles, he thought. So, he usually got soju, sometimes whiskey or gin tonic. But his mind was clearer today, and he was suddenly aware of the vast palette of flavors that existed in the world, and he looked at the same laminated page he had seen so many times before, with new eyes. “Um... ginger ale?” Taemin looked up at the bartender like a child in need of some parental guidance. The rather bored-looking young man, who was cleaning a cocktail shaker, didn't look eager to help him. “Do you have ginger ale?” His tone was almost apologetic now.

“I guess we have a bottle,” the bartender groaned and walked away – apparently, to perform the order.

Maybe I should've just gone with gin tonic, Taemin mused, pushing the menu away.

His mind drifted away, and by the moment when the drink was set down before him, he had somehow managed to forget what he'd ordered, and for a few seconds he eyed the pre-opened dewy bottle and the glass that accompanied it, in mild surprise. The intimate lighting at the bar filled the liquid inside the bottle with warm golden glow, and Taemin was mesmerized by that little detail.

“Wow, tastes like ginger,” he thought aloud when he actually tried the drink.

“You ordered ginger ale,” the bartender grumbled, not being secretive with his judging.

“Right,” the client replied with a smile.

Taemin had no intention to get laid tonight. He sat at the counter with a notebook he had bought the same evening, and consistently ignored all attempts by the local clientele to strike up a conversation or get him a drink. Not that there were many – it was a weekday, and most people were busy either working or getting drunk at the obligatory office get-togethers.

He wished he hadn't thrown all of his therapy-related notes, as he felt like the important bits were slipping away, and it had become obvious that he couldn't achieve much progress if he were to constantly start over. So, he was sitting there with his Pikachu pen and writing in his merry star-patterned notebook that clashed terribly with the sleek, somber style of his attire and the sophistication that his blue hair, along with his silver earrings and rings imparted to his general look. He didn't know why he had picked those two items in particular: it was an impulsive choice, and the experience of waiting in line behind flirting couples and giggling girls, surrounded by what could be christened the paradise of ‘cute’ and sometimes ridiculous and useless items (he'd never been to Artbox before) had been so amusing to his gloomy mind that he didn't regret the wasted time and energy.

Taemin still struggled with ‘organizing’ his mind as Dr. Lee called it, and instead of trying to set up a system by principles of which he would be putting those disappearing important bits down, he simply kept writing down, leaving spaces in between, the things he had used to know, as they were coming back to him in random order, and as his mind had interpreted them.

‘Get outside more.’

‘When you talk to people, try to care about their crap.’

‘The relief after you hurt yourself is temporary.’

‘You’…

The tip of the Pikachu pen hovered over the page as Taemin struggled with the continuation of that point. He bit his lip, telling himself that it didn't amount to much, that he could be noncommittal about putting that down, but his mind knew that it was important. He took a deep breath.

…‘deserve to feel better.’

He did want to believe in those words, and he had told his counselor that he knew that they were true, but when he was alone, with no one to guide him through the dark tunnels of his being, he wasn't sure if he could trust them. Maybe I'm just not ready yet.

That led to another thought that was infinitely easier, if a little frightful, to accept:

‘Nothing is permanent.’

Really – that impossibly long night when everything had crumbled into pieces, was gone – even in his mind he replayed it no more. The prison of his room had vanished, he lived by himself in solitude, and he only saw the familiar intrusions into his privacy in his anxious dreams. He had control over his body, and only sometimes his ‘demons’ seized the reigns and he chased the bittersweet refuge of pain. No longer Jinki's darkened eyes, altered by anger, reproached and burned him. No longer did he, Taemin, had any questions for him. No need to wonder. No need to wait. No possibility of change, of a closure… of a kiss...

He breathed out and brought the cool glass to his lips again.

This drink would be good for winter, he mused as the ginger warmed up his throat.

It was even harder to write the next bit, which wasn't a guideline or a self-help note. It was a confession, an irreversible admittance of guilt.

‘I'm not over him.’

‘I'm just not.’

In his peripheral vision, some intoxicated guy stumbled, hitting himself on the stool he was trying to climb on.

‘Nothing he has is for me, yet–’

“Hey, bartender. I'd like a, um...” a soft burp was heard.

“A taxi home?” was the ever sarcastic, levelly toned answer.

There was a confused pause.

Taemin shut his eyes, trying to focus on his own world, but the outside one was just breaking through the gates. Maybe it's enough for today. He closed his notebook and pulled the pen through the spring to fix it in place.

“Um, no, not yet... I'll have... Do you have… ginger ale?”

“We don't have it,” the bartender answered coldly.

“Wh– But he's drinking one?!” the disgruntled client protested, and all three followed the direction of his pointed finger.

Taemin looked up from his notes and saw Jinki, perched on the stool right after the empty one next to him. Spectacle-less, his dark brown hair somewhat disheveled, he was wearing a green sweatshirt and his old blue jeans that just refused to die. His lips parted in surprise, and it took some moments of shifting his focus from the bottle to Taemin's face, back and forth, for him to put down his finger and mutter:

“.”

“That's a nice way to greet someone,” Taemin observed, looking back at him. The bartender, whom no one was taking any notice of at this point, huffed in agreement.

“Didn't expect to see you here is all.”

“Same.”

“Do you come here often?” Jinki demanded, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Every week.”

The short answer somehow provoked a wry chuckle.

“Been lucky to avoid seeing you this long.”

Taemin may not have told him that he was an idiot with his lips, but the message was clearly readable in the expression of his eyes.

“Why should I care exactly?”

“It's my bar,” Jinki replied, blinking slowly.

“No, it's not,” the instantly offended bartender remarked, his hand stuck firmly to his hip.

“It's really not,” Taemin agreed.

“It was the last bottle,” the guy informed Jinki, who hardly cared anymore.

“Then get me, I dunno... A Bloody Mary?”

The guy shook his head.

“We're out of tomato juice.”

“What!? How can you be out of that too? … Just fix me a mojito or whatever.”

The bartender cocked an eyebrow, not hurrying to fulfill the dismissive request.

Jinki tried to smooth his hair down.

“Please,” he mumbled with way less attitude, and the other man approved by nodding.

Taemin, who had made up his mind to leave, faltered. There was nothing for him to do there. I should go. He cast another glance at the man who was his personal walking catastrophe: Jinki was scratching the back of his neck, seemingly looking in front of him, but his eyes were actually turned to where Taemin was sitting.

The younger man gave a sigh and poured himself another glass of the ale. Okay. This is the last one.

He didn't know what force was blinding him to that stool, why he couldn't walk away right now. Nothing good could come out of them being at the same place at the same time – it never did – but other things came into play. They'd been lovers, they had touched each other, they'd brought each other pain. It was as if an invisible rope bound them together, and even though by now Taemin was sure that he was the only one who believed in its existence, he felt its grip around his neck very keenly. So, he couldn't move. He couldn't look at Jinki, either – and wasn't sure if he wanted to. But his body needed to stay there.

He closed his eyes and brought the drink to his mouth.

“I'm sorry,” Jinki said after taking a few sips of his cocktail.

“Huh?”

They turned toward each other again.

“I'm sorry for what I said that time.”

Taemin blinked.

“You said a lot of things.”

Jinki pressed his lips together, his gaze falling.

“Yes... Though, to tell the truth, I don't remember most of them. It's hard to reconstruct who said what. For the most part.”

“You didn't look that drunk to me, though.”

“But I was. And I apologize for... all the weird stuff I said.”

Taemin gave a dry chuckle.

“You said you'd rather ‘die’ than touch me ever again. Dramatic much?”

Jinki scratched his nose in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that was a bit much... I regret what happened that night.” His voice was way softer now than when he'd first stumbled into the bar.

Taemin was supposed to feel better on hearing that, apparently... But he didn't. The last memory we've shared only belongs to me, then.

“That said,” Jinki continued, his lip, “we shouldn't see each other anymore, ever.”

Taemin's face twisted in painful confusion.

“Are you implying that we're ‘seeing’ each other now?”

“I mean...” the other young man suppressed another burp. “…I'm glad that you're alright. But seeking you out again was a mistake. And what happened before, too. All wrong, all of that.” He sliced the air with his hand for finality.

Taemin opened his mouth to respond, but his ex-lover was not done yet:

“…I just don't wanna see your face anymore. You know?”

The younger boy stared at him in disgust and disbelief. He had no smart answer for that flow of unwelcome honesty.

“My face?” That was all he could say.

“Yep,” Jinki replied into his glass. “But it's your personality, too. Like, who you are as a person.”

Of all things he could do, he followed that up with a dumb-looking grin.

“I know what ‘personality’ is,” the other quipped, sounding very cold now.

“Anyway, you understand. You are not for me, and I am not for you. As a person.”

Taemin snapped:

“Agreed.”

They grabbed their respective glasses and swigged them off simultaneously. Taemin, who didn't really feel like talking anymore because he was starting to get angry, couldn't resist adding, however:

“‘I'm so sorry, I don't like you’ – is that what your message is? What the hell?”

Jinki's hazy eyes flickered.

“Don't take it to heart. Look, maybe the word choice was wrong...”

Taemin's eyes widened.

“Oh, really, yeah?!”

“Well, you s–”

“Hello, beautiful.” A tall guy with gelled hair plunked on the seat between them and peered into Taemin's face with bedroom eyes.

The blue-haired boy gave him a soul-bruising glare for an answer. While that should've been enough to scare a more sensible person off for good, it did nothing to deter the playboy in question – if anything, it added fuel to his interest.

“I say, why don't we take it to the bedroom, huh?” he suggested in a well-practiced sultry tone as his hand trailed along Taemin's back. The man's eyebrow arched lasciviously.

Jinki's soft-lined face didn't exude friendliness at all as he, craning his neck, observed the movements of that naughty hand.

Taemin stuck his tongue in his cheek, casting a glance at the ceiling in annoyance.

“Take what to the bedroom, dude? There's literally nothing between us except your Taco Bell breath.”

The guy grinned, drawing nearer.

“Why don't we find out together, huh?”

Meanwhile, his rather muscular arm wrapped tighter around the young man's back.

The man's casually loosened tie was grabbed and pulled down sharply, causing him to gasp.

“Listen,” Taemin said ominously, looking him directly in the eye. His hand, gripping on the tie, was keeping the guy from straightening himself up. “I'm pretty fed up with you now. Just because we did it once, it doesn't mean it's gonna happen again. It's not gonna happen again.” He pulled harder, bringing the man's neck even lower. “So, ing stop asking me every damn time.”

“So, that's a no?” the man said in a stifled voice.

Taemin released the tie, and the other coughed, rubbing his neck.

“Get lost.”

The guy smiled as he got up.

“Call me”, he mouthed before sauntering away, nonchalance embodied.

Jinki watched him leave with clenched teeth.

“Him, really?!”

Taemin shrugged.

“He's fun.”

“You must've been pretty desperate.”

“Not as much as I was when I met you.”

Jinki chuckled.

“People like you should avoid desperation, then.”

“No, people like me should avoid people like you,” Taemin said in a low voice, shaking the last drops of the ale into his glass.

“What was that?”

“I told you to mind your own business.”

That seemed to amuse Jinki, too.

“Mind my business, indeed,” he repeated, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “My life would be quite different if I had, yeah... Especially the last few months... I hope that the parallel universe me has made some better choices.”

Taemin finished his alcohol and was overcome by instant regret: his head began aching. He'd rushed into it at first – the beat-up routine of exchanging passive aggressive comments and getting increasingly angry as it progressed, but, instead of further losing his grip under the influence of the booze and his numerous grudges, he suddenly had a moment of clarity. It's useless. He didn't feel it at all. He didn't want that. He saw Jinki (who knows – maybe it was the last time?) sitting some inches away from him in his bizarre combative mood, and he didn't want to hurt him. There was no room for wanting revenge in his heart, either.

But he didn't have any good or useful words – he never did, truly. “You can't fix everything” – that's what one of his memos had said, and he remembered it now. Their shared past, their confusing codependence in that past, the hurt, the aftermath, Jinki's bitterness – Taemin wished that he could do something about it, but he just couldn't. It was beyond his power. All that was clear was immense regret and the realization of his own follies.

When he turned his face in Jinki's direction again, he did so with melancholic eyes.

“I'm sorry.”

Jinki's expression was impenetrable now, but he had hardly expected anything of that character.

“I should've never existed in your timeline.”

That got another cheerless chuckle out of the older male, but no words.

“I'm sorry that you had to worry about me. I'm sorry that you wasted time on trying to find me. Maybe it would've been better if I'd just disappeared.”

Jinki drew breath sharply and practically jumped to his feet, as if he'd had enough.

“Don't you ever dare say anything like that, you goddamned –” He didn't finish that phrase, probably because there was not enough patience left in him even for that.

Darker than the night itself, he stormed off – to the restroom? outside? Who knew.

He'd misunderstood Taemin's words, and the latter knew that the mistake was his. But...

‘You can't fix everything’.

“Goodbye,” he murmured, yet again.

A splash of cold water did little in terms of helping sober him up, but it did take away a bit of the irrational anger that was raging inside his mind. Jinki shut his eyes and breathed deeply for a while.

The restroom was empty and, illuminated by a single working neon white lamp above the mirror, mostly dark. The music from the bar vibrated through the walls, its melody was barely distinguishable here, and only the drum beats came steady and hard, making it sound like Jinki was trapped inside a giant beating heart.

He raised his face and looked himself in the eye as the water dripped down the tip of his nose and chin. It was the same face that had stared back at him from the reflections in the doors of the passing buses in winter – he saw no change in it. No wisdom gained. No confidence. He was still the same, and he was doing the same things over and over. He was fooling no one.

“I should've never existed in your timeline.”

He saw Kibum's beautiful face, tear-streaked – and so understating. Was anything a surprise to him, ever? He wanted to ask him what it was like – to observe certain foolish people in his life waltzing around the same landmines over and over, their eyes firmly closed, and, while never losing awareness of the imminent disaster, still choose to walk down the same path of fools, his heart wide open. His impossible, selfless friend...

But the thoughts that were tearing Jinki's mind apart at the moment, were not of Kibum. The mist parted, and like the trembling, scorching sun rising in the crimson skies, Taemin's features appeared, his eyes inviting him into the dark, his lips forming unpredictable and yet typical words, and Jinki's heart began to race in an unmistakable tension.

“Maybe it would've been better if I'd just disappeared.”

His hands gripped the edge of the sink and he leaned his weight against it, exhausted.

What was it in Taemin that invited all that harm? Was it the passiveness hidden under that very thin veneer of brash, obnoxious attitude that he carried to the outside world? It somehow seemed that he had constantly suffered from the actions of other people, even his flaws and wrongful actions seemed to be rooted in the influences that had come from without... Surely, he must be at fault for not being tough enough, for being so unguarded from the pain? Yes, it was his fault that he hadn't learned on time that fire was dangerous and got burnt. It must have been.

No.

Of course, it wasn't his fault. None of it was...

Perhaps Taemin thought that the source of Jinki's relentless coldness and cruelty was in his pride. Jinki himself wished that was true, too. He wished it was pride that had made him lash out at Jonghyun and fling unjust accusations at him. He wished the pride was the reason why, when he wanted to say something sensible, messy, hurtful words came out. His friend had only written him in his story as he was – indecisive, shut-down, seeking the comfort in the void, and... a coward.

For it was fear – the fear that always stood in the way of his true intentions, that made him vitriolic when he meant to be understanding and took words away when he craved to be understood. And the worst part was that Jinki didn't even know what he was scared of.

What am I doing?

Taemin was there.

Or had he left already?

Jinki needed to go back there and be his true self. He needed to express his compassion, his remorse. But, mainly... he just needed to see him. One last time, before their ways parted for good.

He rushed back to the bar, the door swinging back and forth behind him… and froze in his track, overcome by disappointment. Taemin was gone.

It was a warm night, and Taemin carried his jacket folded over the arm as he strolled past the crowds of exuberant students pouring out of the barbecue restaurants to dive straight into the hof bars, past the buskers crooning English ballads, standing with their acoustic guitars no more than six feet apart from each other, adding to the cacophony of sounds – and past the lovers, who would stop by a singer they particularly liked and rock gently, the girl's head resting on her boy's shoulder, to ‘Lost Stars’ or some other bittersweet hit that had been haunting the night scene of Seoul for the last year or two. Taemin couldn't hear the music. The emotions in the lyrics didn't reach his heart. Every step, every singing figure, took him a little farther away from his favorite mistake. He'd been there before.

He'd tasted the anger, feared the goodbye, counted the seconds tearing them apart. He'd fallen into sick slumber, resting on the lap of the sad, secretly broken woman whose incredibly static face was so similar to his own, enveloped by woe and the ironic, suffocating scent of luxury.

Inside, he shuddered at the thought of what he'd been then. He hadn't really dwelled on it much before, but he had changed, truly. He had learned that the desperation was situational, that the trivial joys of life were real, and the boring bits, too – they took up most of the time, actually. It wasn't all black and blue, life was banal and it was okay. It was okay to be mildly dissatisfied with every other thing... And the pain, with its delicious, distorted release, lied – it gave no answers, and it took away his time, bits by bits.

But when will the loneliness end?

He stopped behind one such tender couple, not for the musical experience, but for a glimpse into someone else's little paradise. She was clinging to his side, her bare arms hugging his elbow, as if they'd been born to find each other in the maze of life and turn into one being. Sometimes she would lean up to his face and whisper something, and he would turn to her and listen with a smile. The evening lights were reflected in the lenses of his square glasses.

He would bet that Dr. Lee didn't have the answer to that question. Everyone has to find their own path through the jungle...

But, at that particular moment, he felt that she, that girl who had to raise herself on her toes to put a kiss on her boyfriend's cheek, had all the answers. She knew the mysteries that he didn't, and it was maddening. Her time was slow and blissful, and she took the indolent romance for granted – the way it was meant to be taken. Because you needn't suffer for love. A love that makes you suffer…

She must have sensed the gaze of a stranger on her back and it shook her out of the song. She turned around. Her features were concealed by the shadow, and Taemin only saw the soft outline of her face, illuminated by purple neon light. But he could feel her puzzled eyes scanning his face looking for likely reasons for that prickly sensation that one gets on the back of their neck when watched by a stranger.

It wasn't usual for him to be suddenly so aware of – and interested in – the people around, when they'd used to be meddlesome shadows hovering far off, unrelatable and forever distant.

But now, with every inch of his skin, he sensed that he was making her uncomfortable. His lips stretched into a smile for no discernible reason, and he left her alone.

Taemin could feel her gaze on his back as he strolled away.

A love that makes you suffer… is bad love. And it seemed that ‘bad love’ was all that he had had. For the closest he'd got to the transcendental mystery that any two common people mutually in love knew all about, and he was so far removed from, were the moments that had taken him closer to the edge of the precipice, bit by bit: combing his fingers through Jinki's full messy hair in the dark, warm lips that tasted like home and cigarettes, clashing against his own, the two of them rambling through the sleeping streets in the serene hours before dawn, calling his name, just having him near...

.

Taemin halted.

The musicians and crowds were now left far behind, and he was standing at an empty crossing, just a few buildings away from his home. His heart was pounding against his ribs in futile distress. It didn't make sense. None of it.

He had forgotten something. He needed to go back. Sure, he had his jacket and phone, the starry notepad and his Pikachu pen were safe in his pocket, but... Something was lost, and he just couldn't get by without it. He needed to...

Taemin whipped around, determined – for no good reason – to rush back to where the indifferent hordes of strangers were, but, having made just a few firm paces, he stopped dead in his track. He saw him.

Jinki was panting a few meters away, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his face twisted in regretful fatigue. Their eyes locked, a certain question filled the air, but before anything else happened, Jinki doubled over, looking ready to collapse.

Taemin looked on as he pressed his eyes shut, hands on knees, completely exhausted.

“I didn't even walk fast,” he said flatly.

Jinki raised a finger, signaling him to wait until he was able to speak.

“At first I...” he wheezed. “I went in a different direction… twice... Then I remembered where you...” He gulped air, straightening himself up. “…live.”

Taemin crossed his arms silently. He didn't say anything, nor did he make a move toward the other guy.

Jinki cleared his throat and came closer, mustering energy. He was still breathing hard, but trying not to show.

“I was, er... I wanted...” he tried.

Taemin's blank stare provided zero help.

“Um...”

The older male his lip.

“I found this at the bar, and I thought it was yours,” he managed, pulling a plastic orange lighter from his jeans pocket.

Taemin took the lighter and dropped it into his own pocket without looking.

“Okay.”

Jinki pressed his lips together, scanning him up and down. He didn't seem to know what to say for a moment or two.

“I said a bunch of crap again. I apologize.”

“Okay.”

He raised his hand to the back of his neck, trying to form more words, but failing at first. Then he looked up at Taemin's dispassionate face, and his gaze softened.

“Taemin, I... I would never shame you for being scared... If I'd been there,” he said in a thoughtful, deep voice that he hadn't used with Taemin for a very long time, if ever, “I would've done what I could... to help. And I'm really, really sorry.”

Taemin exhaled and broke eye contact. He turned, took a few steps away along the sidewalk and froze. With his back to Jinki, he stood with his head bowed, pulling at his rings compulsively.

“Tae,” Jinki called softly after letting him have a moment by himself. “Should I leave you alone?”

He heard something that sounded like a faint sniffle.

“It's okay.”

“Do you wanna have a smoke, then?”

Taemin shrugged and turned around again. His eyes were a little moist, and he mulled over something while he pulled out a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of his jacket and offered one to Jinki. He passed him his lighter, too – a metallic one, monogrammed with his father's initials.

Jinki's eyes grazed over the letters ‘NOPE’ scribbled in black marker along the body of the cigarette, but he didn't comment on that.

“Why did you take the other lighter?” he asked instead, handing the fancy metallic rectangle back to its owner.

“'Cause you gave it to me.”

“But it's not yours.”

Taemin blew smoke out of his nose.

“I didn't say it was.”

Jinki let out a smoke-filled sigh, and the other looked at him.

“What, was it yours?”

He didn't really want to answer, and Taemin laughed.

“Why did you give it to me, then?”

“Because I didn't think you'd actually take it!”

“Stupid.”

With a chuckle, he tossed the lighter back to Jinki.

They both knew that Taemin had suddenly changed his direction to walk back to the bar. There was no denying it, and he'd been caught red-handed. But each of them chose not to mention it for their own reasons.

Taemin's chilly exterior relaxed a little, and he was no longer putting his arms in front of his body to shield himself.

“Are you up for another drink?” he offered, sounding somewhat more alive than before.

Jinki pursed his lips, thinking.

“I would, but I'm out of cash…” he replied, and hurried to add: “But I don't want anything bought for me.”

“Well…” Taemin flicked some ash on the asphalt, checking his shoes. “I happen to know a place where you can have some wine for free... If you behave.”

They looked at each other, both unsure, even tentative, no longer knowing what was right or wrong, as if Taemin couldn’t really tell which answer he wanted to hear, and Jinki – which answer he actually wanted to give.

About ten seconds passed in waiting, and he nodded. And, instinctively, they smiled at each other.

“Lead me,” Jinki said, although he already knew the way.

A/N: Hello, dear friends! It's been a while since my last upload, and a lot of things have happened since, including the Dome concerts... I miss Jonghyun terribly, and think of him every day. I'm also grateful to Jinki, Kibum, Minho and Taemin for sharing their light with us once more. The spring his started, and although it's still cold where I am now, I hope that it will bring some warmth and peace into everyone's lives. I'm sorry it took so long, but at least this chapter is super long! Thank you guys for subscribing and upvoting - you helped me finish it. Love you all x L.