Jinki established early on that he couldn't afford a romantic relationship. He drew the line, and it was understood that nothing was for free. The contacts were exchanged for ‘business purposes’, and they both went about their own lives, hooking up occasionally and sending each other dirty texts when in the mood. It was typical for Taemin to disappear for a week or two and then pop up on Jinki's phone, ready to play. Whenever they met, he was just the same careless, potty-mouthed, sometimes boring flirt he had been on their first meeting – only the hair color changed periodically.
That is, until he had his first breakdown. On a bed. In a cheap motel. It wasn't too bad, but he sat there in his clothes, sobbing and mumbling something about his ‘ of a mother’ going on and on about the internship at his dad's company (of course, his dad had a company) which he apparently didn't want to do.
“She is always telling me what to do, what to hope for, who to be friends with, what to eat, what to wear, when to sleep… She's driving me nuts, I can't…”
He lay down curling up, turning his back on Jinki.
The other didn't know what he was supposed to do. He was capable of sympathy, but didn't know how to express it, or even whether he should.
Taemin was actually crying now, his shoulders shaking.
Jinki cleared his throat, feeling awkward.
“Mothers are always like that, right?” he tried.
“If I don't do anything, it's because I'm useless and have always been a disappointment,” Taemin went on. “If I do something, it's never enough and I must try better... She was pressing me so much at school, “Make it to the top of the list, make it to the student council, be every teacher's favorite, do this, do that” … Thought it would end after high school. Little did I know, dammit! … I hate her… I really ing hate her!”
Jinki had had no idea what a wet mess Taemin could turn into when he was upset. New facets were opening to him on top of that slippery synthetic blanket.
“What about your father?”
“My father... well, my father never gave a and never pretended that he did. Whenever we meet he tells me that I look gay and that I must study harder, and then he leaves and she runs after him like a yappy dog.”
“Have you ever tried... you know... talking to her?”
“Whenever I try to call her out on her manipulative , she plays the victim and guilts me into doing whatever she wants... She always wins. It's hopeless...”
Jinki sighed. He didn't know the people, the places and the reasons, and whatever was tormenting Taemin so much was all but a blur to him. Random pieces of someone else's story that inexplicably found their way into his head, already full of problems and concerns that were actually relevant to his own life.
“I don't know what to do... What should I do, Onew? What can I do? Kill myself?… That could be a solution.”
Jinki put his hand on the other's shoulder.
“I'd say, you hang in there and learn to stand your ground. Gain independence and cut the ties when you're ready.”
Taemin's sobbing quieted down.
“I don't know if I can do that, though,” he said, calmer than before. “I only know the life I've had so far. Mom keeps saying that I can't survive on my own, and maybe she's right...”
“Go out there and learn, like everybody has to. And you'll survive.”
Taemin turned to lie on his back and looked at Jinki.
“I guess I can survive if you are there.”
The other turned away.
“You should be able to survive regardless of whether I'm there or not. ”
“Would you care if I killed myself?”
Jinki looked back at the crying boy. He was shocked a little. Not even by the idea that Taemin might actually do it (not a narcissist like him), but by the matter-of-fact delivery.
“Why should I care, you're just a client,” he mumbled.
Taemin cocked an eyebrow.
“Not even a little?”
Tears hadn't dried on his cheeks yet, but his mood was different already, taking a turn from helpless and desolate to almost quizzical.
Jinki frowned.
“You're weird.”
“Come on, imagine a world without me. We will never kiss each other again, never fool around again, never talk like this... Never roam the seediest streets at night… Like that time in Itaewon? Wouldn't it be lacking, that world?”
Taemin took Jinki by the hand.
“I guess I could live without watching you puke on the ground after running from a taxi driver you didn't pay because you had lost your wallet.”
The boy laughed, and Jinki jerked away, but his wrist was caught again.
“Wouldn't you miss me?” he Jinki's palm with his thumb. “Just a bit?” he added softly.
Taemin's eyes, dark, not easily readable, were glistening and drawing Jinki further into the gloom.
“I want to punch you.”
“Not a tiny bit?”
Sigh.
“I'd think of you sometimes, I guess.”
It was enough for Taemin, because he smiled and pulled Jinki closer, wanting him to lie down next to him. He put his head on Jinki's arm.
Time passed, and neither of them said anything. Jinki was wondering if Taemin had drifted off, when the boy spoke:
“I don't wanna go home. Can I spend the night with you?”
“We're supposed to leave this room in… fifteen minutes.”
“I meant your room. Can we go there? You don't have to do anything, I just wanna be near.”
Of course, not. That would be like breaking every single rule at once.
Taemin intertwined his fingers with Jinki's. His hand was soft and warm.
“Okay,” Jinki said quietly.

It was his first breakdown in the course of their acquaintance, but far from the last. Taemin confessed that he didn't have any close friends who could help or with whom he could be completely open. So, he chose Jinki – the very person who was open and vocal about his wish to keep their relationship impersonal – as a friend with whom he would share his pain.

He didn't have enough money on his card and had to rummage his pockets for change. The bus was empty save for a couple students staring at the windows with their headphones on.
Thankfully, he found a 500 won coin – a life saver when you don't have much change.
The bus stopped at an intersection and he plopped on a seat by the door. He looked at the red light through the dirty glass. Everything was stuck. Time was stuck.
Jinki leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.
There was only one thing he truly wished at the moment – he wished he had never met Lee Taemin.

Their phone conversations became longer, fuller in meaning, and Taemin was hiding his fears and emotions under his mischievous mask no more. Jinki was telling himself he had nothing to do with that – he was just following, and he could stop and take a different direction at any moment. Even when Taemin's calls woke him up, even when he was coming to get him at some remote subway station because he hadn't been able to catch the last train. Even when Taemin was telling him that his loneliness was over, because he had found him. And when the first words of love were whispered in a moment of drunken sentimentality, too.
He was sure he was in control.
Yeah, right.
He'd been drawn in deep enough when that other thing happened. He was in class at his college, but Taemin was messaging him, and seemed to be in a bad shape. Jinki was annoyed, but also worried. He had already gotten used to wondering from time to time how the other was doing. He'd been drawn in.  
He wrote to him that he should breathe and try not to think too much. Then his phone started vibrating in his pocket, he took it out quickly and held it under the desk, not wanting the professor to see. To be sure, Taemin was calling him even though he knew he was in class. He would hang up, of course.
But for some reason, Jinki was staring at the screen, his thumb hovering over it, hesitantly.
Taemin was writing sad, intense words. He was suffering and needed help.
“Excuse me,” Jinki muttered, shuffling out of the class room, phone in hand. He picked up.
Taemin wanted to disappear, he said. He couldn't bear it any longer. He was having a panic attack.
Jinki had a few more lectures that day – important ones, as he needed to turn in his homework, and the exams were coming... If only Taemin could wait a few hours.
But he needed him.
In a few minutes he was running towards the subway, zipping up his vest on the way.
He burst into the cafe Taemin had sent him the location of to find him… perfectly comfortable in an armchair by the window, looking at his phone.
“The Wi-Fi is here,” he said as a greeting.
Jinki, panting, sweaty, was standing in some kind of stupor, taking it all in – the anguished messages, the dull voice on the phone, the opened sugar bags on the table and the fact that nothing was permanent, or nonelusive, even.
“Why, sit down,” Taemin offered casually.
Jinki didn't move.
“You're fine,” he said instead.
Taemin shrugged.
“I'm feeling better now, I guess.”
“You said you wanted to die.”
“That's what I was feeling. I guess I needed time to come to my senses. Onew, why don't you s-”
“You told me. To come. As soon as possible,” Jinki insisted, feeling the heat of anger slowly rising up to his head.
Taemin was perplexed. What was wrong?
“And you did. Thank you.”
Jinki put his hand to his forehead.
“It took me almost an hour to get here.”
“Onew.”
“I'm so ing stupid.”
He shook his head and turned around to leave. He was by the door when Taemin caught his arm.
“Where are you going?!”
“Back to class,” Jinki replied, shaking him off.
He left and swore to himself that he'd had enough.

After that, he blocked Taemin in Kakao Talk for the first time, didn't pick up when he called, and avoided the manhwa cafe for as long as he could. Not that it was effective.
Taemin found him in a bar, drunk and bitter, made a scene like he always did and they headed to a motel. He gave Jinki some money on top of what he owed him.
“Buy yourself a new pair of shoes or something,” he murmured then, leaning closer to kiss his cheek.
“You can't run away from me, you know,” he added with a smile.
Was he right? It seemed so...
He started talking more and more about running away, his mom. Complaints, complaints...
But he was good-looking, his smile was hypnotizing, and Jinki thought of him when he wasn't around. Too often, maybe.
Then there was that other time when...

He was caught mid-thought when his phone started ringing. He didn't budge. Just looked and looked at the cars running by, at the trees, at the people heading home from the supermarket. The phone bothered him.
The ringing stopped after a while. Jinki gave a sigh – a tired, apathetic, maybe a bit relieved, sigh – and relaxed in his seat a little.
Then it started again. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering mental strength before fixing a dislocated limb, and then punched it – by taking the restless cellphone out of his pocket and putting it to his ear.
He wanted to say something, something harsh, something that would convey the mixture of different emotions he was feeling, but whether it was the weariness or apathy or something else, no sound left his mouth.
He gulped and just listened.
“Where are you? Why didn't you wait for me?” Taemin's voice demanded.
Jinki didn't reply at once.
“Are you home?” he asked in return.
Pause.
“I'm in the car,” the other answered with a note of reluctance.
Of course.
“Good.”
“Jinki, where the hell are you?!”
“Are you with your mom?”
Pause.
“Yes, I am, but-”
“Very good.”
There was no sarcasm or hidden anger in Jinki's voice. He himself couldn't tell why he sounded so calm considering everything that had happened in the course of one night.
“Jinki, we need to talk.” Taemin was also trying to sound composed, but his voice quivered.
“It's okay, it's over.”
“What's over? Us? It's not your decision to make!”
“It's okay, everything's okay,” Jinki repeated, almost whispering, as if soothing himself.
“What's okay?! What the is that?! You left when I told you to wait; nothing is okay!” There was a mutter, and he could hear the irritated Taemin saying: “Would you shut up, mom?! I don't care about swearing right now!.. Jinki! What the are you doing?! You must let me explain what happened! I don't know what it looked like, but the truth is-”
Jinki broke him off with a sigh:
“The truth is, none of that matters now... Your side of the story, your reasons, your explanations… I always thought that the problem was in your lying, and I was mad at you, but still wouldn't stop believing... But it's not even your fault. The problem was that I was lying to myself, and wasted time on doubts and overthinking while everything was painfully obvious.”
“I wasn't lying! If something didn't go as planned, it's because every time-”
“Don't. Please.”
Another pause.
“Jinki, I was always open with you. I never…” Taemin cursed, exasperated. “Didn't I tell you that I love you and want to be with you?!”
“You did, many times.”
“Then why are you acting as if you don't know who I really am?!”
“That's not true,” Jinki argued. “I know who you are. You are someone I can't trust. And that's the only thing that matters.”
Taemin had nothing to say for a while.
“You're wrong,” he said at last. “You must meet me and talk properly.”
“No.”
“No one says ‘no’ to me.”
“I can tell.”
He heard Taemin breathe, as if he was trying to suppress his emotion.
He was strange. So cold, almost unavailable, but only a spark, only a small objection to his will was enough for him to burst into flames.
“You must meet me.”
“No, Tae. I must take better care of myself.”
“Can't you do both?”
“No.”
“So, is this it? Us and everything?”
Taemin's wrath had dissipated. There was something pitiful about the way he asked that question.
“Yes. This is it,” Jinki said slowly.
None of them was saying anything for a while. They were lost in thought, both listening to the humming of the traffic in two different parts of the city, the blinding flows of lights and steel taking them further away from each other, pulling them apart.
“I love you,” Taemin murmured.
His voice was so distant and quiet that Jinki couldn't really make out the words. He didn't hear them, but he felt them, distinctly – he felt their burden, and looked inside them, and for the first time, it seemed, he saw the truth of their meaning. They were the space between four walls, empty and bleak, frozen in time. There was nothing there, but some desperate force was struggling to pull him inside.
The words were a mirror. Jinki looked, and the reflection was not his. Taemin was there, seemingly staring back at him with both longing and distrust, but actually looking inside himself, seeing himself only.
Jinki ended the call.
The next bus stop was his, and all the other passengers had gotten off, save for an old man humming something under his breath.
He caught his own reflection in the window. Pale, worn-out, sort of despondent. But, together with that… liberated?

On his way upstairs Kibum tripped and spilled a bit of his instant coffee on his shoe.
“ing hell,” he grumbled, shaking the hot liquid off his hand.
“Here he comes,” Jonghyun greeted him from behind his manga.
Kibum was going to walk in and plump on the couch next to him, but for some reason he stopped and looked around. The endless shelves with dusty, shabby little books that had been fondled by so many sweaty fingers. The white, cold light coming from the half-broken lamp on the ceiling, making everybody look like they hadn't slept for days (which wasn't entirely untrue). During the day, when the sunlight streamed through the unwashed windows and made the dust dance, it was fine, but now it was unpleasant, because that light came from a wrong angle, creating an atmosphere of a low budget office at best and a warehouse at worst. Jonghyun was sitting there in his black turtleneck, his nose buried in his superhero stories, and his old clothes, his all knowing look complemented the overall atmosphere in a way that made Kibum feel blue. Hopelessness enveloped him.
“Thought you went home,” Jjong said, taking a sip from the plastic cup he had clearly forgotten about.
Kibum just knew that the tea his friend was drinking was cold, and twisted his mouth.
“No, I didn't.”
“Where have you been, then?”
He exploded suddenly:
“What's it to you where I've been?! Can't you just let me be?!?”
Jonghyun raised his eyes.
“You don't need to be angry. He's not here,” he said calmly, and the open, peaceful look on his face made Kibum look away.
He didn't say anything at first. Just grabbed a bunch of tissues from a side table, wiped his hands and shoes clean and walked to the coffee table where Jonghyun's cup was standing. Pouting slightly, he started cleaning the glass top.
“Oh.” Jjong raised the cup, revealing a dried-up water ring for his friend to rub off – which he did with sulky diligence.
Some surfaces were cleaned, a couple of dusty plants sprayed with water, a bunch of magazines arranged on the table, and when there was no other environmentally productive, but not very timely activity left for him to hide behind, Kibum planked himself next to his friend and said, sighing:
“Sorry for lashing out. I don't know why I shouted... Grandma always said that I'm bad-tempered, and here you go.”
“Not really bad-tempered, no,” Jjong argued, looking at him with a smile. “It's just that sometimes your emotions get the best of you.”
Kibum thought of Jinki and rubbed his face with his hands.
“I'm pathetic, right?”
“Come on, look at all of us here. We're all pathetic.”
“I always wanted to kick him, 'coz he's so annoying and stubborn.” Kibum went on. “And today I did… twice...”
“And how did it make you feel?”
“Like trash... Oh my god, I'm a violent person.” Kibum's lips quivered. “And the stuff I said to him before I left... It was complete bull. It's not even my business – like, why would I even comment on that?! But I said it all, and he went to him...”
His voice broke and Jonghyun looked at him. Kibum's eyes were glistening and his face was turning pink. He finally put his manga away and threw his arm around the other.
“Don't beat yourself up. He would've gone anyway.”
“What if he doesn't come back this time?” Kibum sniffled.
“He always comes back... Also he forgot his battery on the table.”
“That's my battery. I forgot it earlier.”
“Oh. Anyways, he'll come back. He needs the money, like us.”
Jonghyun patted Kibum's shoulder before releasing him.
“When was the last time you had a client, though? Whenever I see you, you are sitting on this couch, reading and being wise.”
Jjong thought a little.
“About five weeks ago? Six?”
Kibum reached out for a tissue to blot his eyes.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“What's the point of coming here again and again if it's not for work?”
Jonghyun shrugged.
“I don't know. I guess I just enjoy reading... for free. Maybe I found an effective way of not spending money instead of going out to earn it.”
“So... you don't do anything else?”
Jonghyun nodded.
“Looks like it, yeah.”
“But do you wanna do something else?”
“Let's go back to you instead. You've got to stop worrying about Jinki and the things you say to Jinki, and whoever Jinki is banging.”
Kibum rolled his eyes.
“Don't even remind me. That bratty kid looks like some... evil mop in designer clothes. But he's also hot... And damn, I wish I had designer clothes! God, when will this poverty end?!”
His voice quivered again and he buried his face in his palms.
Jjong chuckled.
“I've seen him and he's honestly nothing special. And the money... Well, stop obsessing over other people's lives and earn it.”
Kibum gave a muffled groan through his hands before putting them away.
“Damn it, I know. You're right... From this moment, I'll become my own man. Yes, that's right.” He nodded to give weight to his words.
Jonghyun was listening with a somewhat concerned expression.
“Really?”
“Yes, yes, I'm good... I'll be my own man, and although Jinki is clever, funny when he's in a good mood, and his smile makes me feel like home, and when he wears those big glasses he looks just like Chicken Little…”
Jjong frowned a little, looking even more concerned.
“Get to the point,” he urged softly.
“Well, the point is, he can do whatever he wants and I'm not going to...”
“Your phone's ringing.”
Kibum ignored that remark.
“…and I'm not going to care anymore, and I'm definitely not buying any more honey butter crisps for-”
“You might wanna pick up.”
“Yes, I can hear it!” Kibum cried, annoyed. “I'm not buying that honey crap for him with my own money when he doesn't even ask for it or even think of me…” He fished his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and looked at the screen. He gulped and finished his sentence: “…at all.” He looked up at Jonghyun. “It's him.”
The other just raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, what do I do? I don't know what to do!” Kibum pleaded.
“You don't know how to accept a call?!”
He stared at the screen, breathed in and tapped the green button.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Bummie. It's me.”
“I know it's you. And someone's been drinking.”
“How do you know?” Jinki mumbled.
Kibum sighed.
“I always know... Also, I can hear the music.”
“Yes, right... I was gonna ask if maybe you'd like to join me for a drink, but... Ugh... I know how you hate going out in cold weather, and it's late, and...”
“Where are you?” Kibum interrupted.
“The usual place.”
“Okay, stay there and maybe take it slow from now on. See you in twenty.”
He ended the call and started zipping up. Then he grabbed the forgotten battery, put it in his pocket and looked around to see if there was anything else.
“Do you know what's better than being someone's rebound for the weekend?” Jjong asked, scratching his nose.
Kibum shrugged.
“Anything?”
“The joy and pure simplicity of a sincere friendship. But yes, anything... You can tell me to off if you want. Just thought it needed to be said.”
“My friend is sad, drunk and alone somewhere on a really cold night. And in that quality, I'm going there – as a friend. So yes, please, off.”
Jonghyun laughed.
“Alright.”
“You know that I love you anyway,” Kibum murmured, checking his hair in the mirror, and the other nodded. “Also, sorry about what I said about your choices. There's nothing wrong with reading and being wise if that's what you wanna do.”
“Yes, yes. Go already.”
And in a moment, he disappeared, leaving Jonghyun, who shook his head wearily and turned another page, in peace.