Slowly, Taemin put his hand in his pocket.

Empty.

No, it can't be.

He checked his other pockets too, his jeans, his shirt, everything. And even though he knew for a fact that he had never taken the little envelope out of the pocket and couldn't have possibly replaced it, he kept searching for it frantically.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Taemin muttered, springing up to his feet and looking around – sand, water, shells, sand, sand...

He walked in the same direction as he had before to have his imaginary dialogue with Jinki and back, but found nothing. 

The blade was gone.

He screamed out, clutching at his hair, as a wave of desperation and hopelessness hit him, and sank to his knees.

“Why does nothing ever go my way?!” he cried. He hit the sand with his fist. “I just want this to be over...”

His shoulders shook and he started weeping again. All of the strength was gone from his body and he lay, face down, not trying to stop the tears.

He had never been so alone.

All of a sudden, Taemin felt someone's hand glide over his hair gently. He couldn't tell whether it was real or imaginary in his state.

“I know what you're looking for,” Mr. Kim's voice said with quiet sadness. “I found it in the car.”

“Can you give it back to me?” Taemin asked, sniffling.

“No. You almost made the worst mistake you could have ever done.”

“You don't understand. I can't take it anymore.”

“But I understand what it's like when your child tries to take their own life. There is no worse nightmare.”

“You do?”

“My daughter is like you. She never took any interest in men... Someone at her university kept telling her that people like her deserve to die, and she tried to… to end it all.”

Taemin quieted down, listening.

“She never told me and her mother anything, never even tried to explain...  Because she was sure that we wouldn't accept her. If Mrs. Kim hadn't found her in the bathroom on time...” the man's voice broke.

Taemin didn't want to know. Because he could hear the pain in Mr. Kim's words, and it added to his own suffering. But, at the same time, he clung onto those words as if they were a life-buoy. Deep down, he wanted to hear something that would change his mind.

“…We kept pushing her, because we wanted a good life for her. But we forgot to let her know that she can trust us, that we love her...” Mr. Kim put his hand on Taemin's shoulder. “You've suffered so much, my dear boy. I know. After all this pain, you don't deserve to die. Not like this, no... So, you've got to hold on.”

“I'm too tired,” Taemin said in a distant voice.

“Yes. She's been so hard on you... But if she knew the depth of your pain, she would change her behavior, I know. Just because your close ones have been unkind to you, it doesn't mean that you should be unkind to yourself, too.”

The man helped the boy to sit up. Taemin stared at the sea in silence, sand and tears stuck to his face. He didn't know what he was doing there, why he was still there. Not that he minded at the moment, either.

“How is your daughter now?”

“Well, she's working at LG.”

“Is that good?”

The man laughed.

“It's good, very good... She's going to be a CEO one day, I'm sure. She has a girl, too. We haven't met her yet, but I hope she's a good one.”

“Cool.”

“Promise me you won't hurt yourself anymore, Master Taemin. Please.”

Mr. Kim's warm hand squeezed his.

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“And you should tell your mother about the way you feel.”

“She won't understand.”

“She will if you give her a chance, I'm sure of it. She loves you.”

Taemin looked at the driver with hazy, bleary eyes.

“How thin is the line between love and plain old insanity, though?” he wondered, addressing either the man next to him or the vacuum in his head.

“For some people, there is no line at all,” Mr. Kim murmured. “The best you can do is try and not go off the rails yourself.”

He looked around.

“Ho, it's getting dark already! Now, let's go and eat that ice-cream like we did in the old times, shall we, sir?”

Taemin shrugged.

He might as well.

They came back to Cheongdam at about nine. The lights were on in the house, and a pearly white Lamborghini was parked on the driveway.

The Blue Beard is home.

It was cold, so much colder than it had been at the sea, or maybe Taemin had caught a cold. Still, after he got out of the car, he didn't hurry into the house and stood in the orange light of the street lamps, soaking in his detachment, instead.

It was weird to see those houses around, so expensive and so uniform, and think that there were people inside, going about their everyday lives and maybe even feeling like they belonged there. And he stood in their midst, a broken element in the scheme, watching instead of living his part. How aren't they bored? Do they love all of this?

A big dog – a bobtail – came running towards him from the gates of the neighboring house, barking gleefully. Taemin watched him run, tongue out, ears flapping, and a spark of anticipation lighted up somewhere in his stomach. He leant forwards, opening his arms with a smile.

“Run, big boy, run!”

He laughed as the dog bumped into him in agitation and stood on his hind legs, putting his paws on the boy's arms.

“Taemin, don't give him anything!” the dog's owner, a small woman on very high heels, shouted from afar. “He's on a diet!”

Taemin crouched and growled, burying his face in the bobtail's furry crown.

“Poor old Minsoo. You're a prisoner just like me, aren't you?”

They chased each other around the driveway until a whistle came calling the dog back home. Taemin gave him one last pat on the head as a goodbye.

He was sorry he left.

“I don't think I'm a nice person. But Minsoo makes me feel like I am, because he hates my dad and likes me.”

“You should be kinder to yourself, Master Taemin.”

“Can you please not tell her about what I was going to do today?”

Mr. Kim sighed.

“I'm afraid I have to. For your sake.”

“Tell her tomorrow, then. I don't have the energy for drama tonight. Please.”

The driver nodded understandingly.

They bid each other goodnight, Taemin went in and Mr. Kim stayed behind, watching his back. There was an anguished look on his face, and doubt was tearing at his heart. But in the end, he decided to keep his promise.

Mrs. Lee, who had heard the car approaching, was walking down the stairs when Taemin came in. She was wearing a sparkly blue dress.

“You're back! How was the sea?”

She was really trying to give a good start to the conversation by sounding overly enthusiastic.

“Big. Blue. Breezy,” Taemin answered, throwing himself on the couch. He didn't turn the TV on, but watched his mother descend. He wished he was back at the seashore.

“I'm sad I couldn't come with you.”

“You should've, then.”

For once, he didn't sound sarcastic, and the very fact that he was talking to her gave Mrs. Lee some kind of hope, to which she clung tightly.

“Mrs. Hong cooked a chicken soup for you. Also, she can make you a fruit salad for dessert.”

“Good. Thanks.”

She mustered courage and sat on the side of the couch instead of keeping distance when she came down.

Taemin didn't show a sign of protest.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

“There's a party at the Kims'. A mom thing. Oh, your dad came home today.”

“Yes, I saw his car.”

“Do you want to go and say hi?”

She asked that question carefully, in case he blew up like had done so many times before. But she still felt like she had to.

“I don't want to,” Taemin answered simply, and she didn't insist.

“Are you alright, darling? You look so pale.”

“I'm okay, mom.”

Mrs. Lee opened a message on her phone and sighed.

“My taxi's here... Somehow I don't want to leave you today.” She reached out to smooth her son's black hair.

“I'll be fine. Go and have fun at your mom thing.”

Mrs. Lee smiled. She kissed his cheek before leaving.

He waited until the house became quiet again and went upstairs, to his mother's bathroom (she and Mr. Lee didn't share anything anymore). There he opened the secret case behind the mirror and took out a pill bottle tucked furthest away in the corner.

When he shut the case, he saw Jinki's reflection standing next to him, looking worried.

“Tae, are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

He turned off the lights and went to his room.

“But you don't wanna die,” Jinki argued, catching up with him in the corridor.

“Nobody wants to die, Jinki. They just want peace, and have to settle with the option closest to it.”

The other blocked the door with his body.

“What's the point of peace that you won't even be able to feel?”

“My feelings hurt me. So, for me, not feeling is peace.”

He pushed Jinki out of the way and entered his room.

“Tae, you're saying that because you're suffering now. But it's just a moment in time. It will pass. The world is full of beautiful things, you know it! And there will be a time when you will look back and be glad that you didn't end it.”

Taemin dropped on the bed and looked at his lover.

“You're a pretty thing and I love you, but you don't know . You're a piece of nothingness, and the way you talk so laughably out of character proves how little grip on reality I have left.”

Jinki gulped and dug his hands into the pockets of his vest.

“It doesn't matter what I'd say if I were really here. What matters is that you don't wanna do it.”

Taemin became serious.

“Just because I'm afraid, it doesn't mean I don't wanna do it. Fear never stopped me anyway.”

Jinki fixed his glasses like he did when he had something to say, but Taemin spoke first:

“Now, shut up, please. You make my temples pound.”

He fidgeted with the bottle, biting his lip.

“How many are there?” Jinki asked when he finally opened it.

“Let's see... About ten.”

“Do it fast, then. I can't bear watching.”

He washed the pills down with the orange juice he had forgotten in the morning. It was quite gross.

At first, nothing happened. Then the ceiling started spinning gently above his head, and he saw his mother lying next to him. She was younger, wearing a summer dress and a lot of make up to cover up her black eye – he remembered the day he had seen her like that. The day they had gone to the sea and almost set themselves free.

“Don't worry, love. I won't blame you for this,” she said, taking his hand in hers.

Taemin's eyes closed by themselves, and the fall began.

Mrs. Kim's table was full of well-dressed, well-groomed women in their forties and early fifties, many of whom had maintained their youth with the help of plastic surgery and other expensive procedures. Mrs. Lee was naturally beautiful and youthful-looking, and no all-women party ever started without people commenting on her looks. Then followed some backhanded compliment on her marriage that was accepted stiffly, and then the most torturous part – the questions about her son. She was proud of him in her own way, even though he wasn't accomplishing anything she wanted him to – mostly due to the blind love of a zealous mother. But the questions were worded in such a way that she felt the need to defend him, and invent lies, and couldn't help comparing him to her friends' more successful and neurotypical offspring. Because, after all, it was nothing but a competition.

“When is Taemin starting the internship at his father's company?” Mrs. Kim asked, cutting her salmon steak.

Mrs. Lee faltered.

“Er, we haven't decided yet. Maybe next year.”

“I thought he was supposed to start this September.”

“I don't think he's ready yet. There's no hurry, really.”

“What's he doing now, then?”

“He's... he's attending his dancing classes.”

Mr. Kim chuckled.

“And what does he think he's going to do with it after? ‘Art’?”

A few women laughed.

Mrs. Lee felt her palms sweating.

“He is still young, he has time to explore. And... I'm already pushing him too hard.”

An older woman, Mrs. Im, who was known in their circles to be quite blunt with her words, remarked:

“Oh no, dear, you don't know what discipline is. My children are decent people because I never bothered with cuddling and cooing over them. If my adult son had tantrums in public and talked to me the way yours does to you, I would've banished him from the house and seen how he manages without everything handed to him on a silver plate. Or better, I would've sent him to the army the same year. I wonder how enthusiastic about dancing he would be then.”

Mrs. Lee wished she could focus on her food instead of listening to the dreadful lecture, but suddenly she had a weird feeling in her stomach, and she knew that she would probably get sick if she tried a bite.

“He... he wasn't feeling well then.”

She couldn't possibly tell them that her son had a condition and it was way more complicated than simply having a bad personality, but that would have the same effect as if she confessed that he was confined in a padded room at a psychiatric hospital. It was a conservative society.

“You're saying he wasn't well, I'm saying search his room for needles.”

Mrs. Lee's breath hitched and she put her hand to her forehead.

“Oh, my God, Taeyeon, are you alright?” Mrs. Kim inquired apprehensively.

“I'm, yes... I just need to breathe.”

She rose and left the room promptly, giving the others the opportunity to discuss her behavior and private situation behind her back all they wanted.

She threw her coat on and went outside to have a smoke and try to pull herself together, but the alarm intensified. Her fingers were trembling so bad she couldn't even light a cigarette.

Something was wrong.

She didn't want to bother her son and ruin the fragile state of peace they had reached that evening by talking calmly for once, but the unexplainable anxiety took over. She needed to hear Taemin's voice.

He didn't pick up.

The woman started calling Mr. Kim instead, but luckily a taxi came, bringing a late visitor to the party.

The guest had barely got out of the car when Mrs. Lee jumped in, shouting the address at the driver.

“Oh, Taeyeon? How are y-? Wait, where are you going?” the confused lady wondered, but all Mrs. Lee could do was apologize and tell her that she wasn't feeling well.

“Say ‘hi’ to the kids!” she shouted through the window of the speeding car.

Without knowing why, she started crying. She knew that Taemin had done something.

No matter how much he tossed and turned, and wrapped his pillow around his ears, Kibum couldn't block out the bumping noise coming from behind the wall. In the end, he gave up and lifted his sleep mask to check the time. It was barely midnight.

Goodbye to trying to fix my sleeping schedule.

He yanked the mask off, groaning, and the light. He was thirsty.

On his way to the kitchen, Kibum couldn't help sighing about his own single status. Just why couldn't he meet a sweet, gorgeous guy who would fully reciprocate his feelings and make idiotic jokes from time to time? ‘Surprisingly’, Jinki came to his mind. He wondered what he was doing.

Not being in love with you, that's what.

He activated his phone while drinking his water and found a series of new messages waiting for him in Kakao Talk. They were all from an old (literally old – he was about fifty) client of his to whom he referred as Donkkaseu because that was the guy's favorite food. Naturally, he wanted .

“Kimbab-a, Donkkaseu wants to play~~~”

(That was Kibum's professional nickname. Not very imaginative, true, but he didn't want to put much thought into it.)

“Come on don't make daddy wait ㅠㅜ”

“Daddy wants his Kimbab where are youuuuu”

“Sugar !!”

He rolled his eyes.

“Where is my tasty boyyy ㅠㅠㅠㅠ”

“Daddy will buy you something shiny”

The last one had come ten minutes ago.

Kibum replied:

“I'm not working today”

The answer to that arrived immediately:

“Oh don't upset daddy ㅠ just tell me where to pick you up”

“Nowhere because I'm not working”

“Come on, you're self-employed”

“Yeah and I take my nights off when I want to”

“Daddy will take you to the IFC Mall and you can choose whatever you want”

Kibum washed his glass, turned off the lights and went back into his room.

“Nice. Take me there when I'm working”

“Are you with someone else?”

He groaned as he threw himself on the bed.

“No. And even if I were, it would be none of your business~”

“What the Kimbab”

“Where would you ing be if not for me”

“I'm sure I'd be somewhere, don't you worry~”

“And you know that I have other clients too”

“Don't get sassy with me Kimbab”

“Or do you wanna give your deposit back?”

“How the hell am I gonna give it back when the landlady has it?”

“You're upsetting me Donkkaseu”

“Do you want mama to be sad?”

“No daddy is sorry  ㅠ”

“Daddy can make it better”

“So can I meet you now?? It's an emergency!”

Kibum cussed.

“Yeah that emergency is called ‘ old on a Friday night’~”

“I need to sleep now and you go finger your wife or something~~~”

“!!!!!”

Kibum laughed, closing the app. He knew that Donkkaseu was probably really pissed at him at the moment. He also knew that the guy had no self-esteem and always came back. Too bad he never kept his promise to take him to the mall: he was full of crap.

Since the party behind the wall was still in full swing, he lay on his back, opened Youtube and started watching random videos on his phone to practice his English.

Soon enough he got distracted by his own reflection in the screen. Naturally, he opened the camera and began taking selcas to update his profile picture on Tinder. He was in the middle of his y lip-biting routine when the phone started ringing.

‘Nerd ❤’

Somehow, he was so surprised that his fingers opened – and the phone fell square on his face, extorting a cry of pain. Nevertheless, Kibum pulled himself together and sounded quite cool when he answered:

“Yes?”

“Hey,” Jinki's voice mumbled.

“Wow, you're actually calling.”

“Is that shocking?”

“Well, I haven't seen you in the cafe, I haven't seen you at the gym, never got any messages...” Kibum did his best not to sound needy, but something was telling him that it wasn't working. “I thought you were either going to keep your distance until I stop ing in my pants at the mention of your name, or maybe, like, forever?”

“Do you in your pants at the mention of my name?”

“No, but I guess that's how you see it.”

Pause.

“Your openness is overwhelming.”

“Your closed-ness is confusing.”

Jinki sighed.

“Come on, of course I was going to contact you... I've had a lot on my mind, that's all. What are you doing right now?”

“Trying to ignore the .”

“Whose ?”

“Mine.”

“What?”

“Minho and Gwiboon's, of course.”

“Is it the post-fighting ?”

“Unfortunately, yes. So, they're gonna be at it for a while.”

Jinki laughed.

Kibum could hear a female voice announcing something through the speaker.

“Where are you? Seems noisy.”

“I'm at the bus terminal, waiting... I'm going to Gwangmyeong.”

“You talked to your mom? That's great!”

“Um, no. I couldn't bring myself to call her... talking is too stressful. So, I decided to just go there for the weekend.”

“Because giving the old lady a scare on a Friday night is much less stressful, of course.”

“At least I'm giving her a chance to say what she thinks of me to my face... ”

Jinki sounded defeated.

“I'm pretty sure she'll be happy to see you. It's gonna be fine.”

“Thanks...”

“I know you'll be busy, but... Don't go completely off the radar, okay?” Kibum said after faltering a bit. He still didn't want to be clingy, even though that's what he was, pretty much.

“Sure. You too. I have to go now. Talk to you later, bye.”

Kibum put the silent phone away and gave a long, long sigh. Jinki always hung up so quickly. He couldn't even tell him the news about Jonghyun.

The streets were deserted for the most part by the time Jinki arrived to his hometown. He didn't wait for a taxi to pass. Instead, he threw his bag around his shoulder and went to his mother's house by foot.

On his way there, he passed by so many places from his childhood – his old school, the cinema, his mother's meat shop and others. Many new shops and supermarkets he didn't recognize – they always changed so fast. Before coming here, he'd felt anxious about facing the parts of his past, afraid of the shock that the contrast between his long gone self and what he was now would bring, but he strangely felt none of that. The houses were just bricks, and the memories were just an old film reel running through his mind in random cuts whenever his eyes fell on something familiar. No, he couldn't be young and innocent again and ride his bicycle around the neighborhood with a bunch of Pogs in his pocket, but in his present situation, with his present state of mind, he didn't even feel like he wanted to.

Kibum had asked him that night if he was claiming that he was alright because he was pretending to be ‘dead inside’. But what if he actually was dead inside? That, and not the faded recollections of his teenage years, was what truly unsettled him for a minute – before he turned that thought off.

Yes, his mother could easily be mad at him. Yes, that was the hardest part. But what did it matter on a larger scale? He had brought it upon himself, therefore it must have been his choice, too.

There was a new electronic lock installed on the main door. Jinki put the number of his mother's apartment in and pressed the bell button.

He hoped it wouldn't wake her up.

“Hello? Who is it?” Mrs. Lee's voice asked through the speaker.

“It's me, mom.”

“Jinki?”

“Yes.”

“My son Jinki?”

“Do you have a daughter with that name?”

“No, but sometimes I wish I did. Girls are generally nicer people, you know.”

Jinki rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He had done a lot of running around that day and there was no part of his body that wasn't sore.

“Mom, I'm sorry I didn't call for so long.”

“How long?”

“About nine months...”

“Oh, really? I didn't even notice,” the woman chirped. “I was so busy living my life. Working at the shop and stuff. Keeping myself busy. So, how have you been?”

Jinki looked around. He felt awkward standing on the street at night and chatting through the intercom. There was just one drunk guy banging on the door at the other end of the apartment building.

“Um, studying... Just as usual.”

“Oh, good, good…”

“Er, will you let me in or...?”

“Ah, sure.”

Finally, the signal bleeped and the door unlocked.

When the young man came out of the elevator, his mother, a small, plump woman with a kind face, had already opened the door and was waiting for him on the threshold. Before letting him come in, she gave him a suspicious look and asked:

“Are you here because you impregnated a married woman and now her husband is threatening to kill you?”

“What?!”

“Answer the question,” Mrs. Lee urged calmly.

“No!”

“Are you here because the spies from the North recruited you and now you're selling them our motherland's secrets undercover?”

“Of course, not, who the hell would recruit me for anything?!” Jinki was indignant, but still tried to keep his voice low so that the neighbors wouldn't hear. “Someone has been watching too much TV.”

“Why are you here, then?”

The woman crossed her arms on her chest.

“I came here to spend some time with my mother whom I haven't seen for a year.”

“And why haven't you seen her for a year?”

Jinki's eyes shifted to the floor and he rubbed his nose in embarrassment.

“Because I'm a coward.”

“You don't need to be brave to come and visit your old mom, Jinki.”

“I know. I'm... I'm sorry.” He didn't know why his voice trembled.

Emotions had been so confusing for him lately.

“Come here,” Mrs. Lee sighed, pulling her son into a hearty hug. She his hair with her free hand while they stood in the door way, her grown up son almost hanging on her like a big meek baby, his face buried in her shoulder.

“There, there,” she said, gently patting his with the small frying pan she was holding in her other hand.

“Why are you holding a frying pan?” Jinki asked, his voice muffled because he was still clinging for dear life.

“To fry an egg, why.”

“At night?”

“Don't tell me what to do and I won't tell you where to go.”

“Okay.”

“Are we ready to let go now?”

Jinki made a noise of agreement and, slowly, set his mother free. His eyes were wet behind the glasses.

Mrs. Lee studied his face for a minute.

“Your eyes look older,” she said softly.

“I am older.”

“How are the aliens?” she asked in the same sympathetic tone.

Jinki sniffled.

“What aliens?”

“I'm sure you can see them through those two telescopes sitting on your nose.”

“Wh-”

“How many times did I warn you not to stare into the computer so much? Were all those dirty videos worth it?!”

She slapped his shoulder with her palm lightly. “So young and already as blind as your grandpa!”

“Mom!”

“What, do you think I don't know what young people are up to these days? Come, don't let the draught in.”

Mrs. Lee finally let her son enter and locked the door behind him.

She had redecorated the kitchen, but the old family photographs on the wall were the same. Jinki felt a lump in his throat. It was almost like he was a man who had come home after a life-long exile. If expressing his emotions wasn't so difficult, he would've told his mother about it. But he just couldn't.

He opened his bag and fished out a crushed box of chocolate waffle sticks.

“This is... for tea,” he said, placing it on the corner of the table shyly.

“Oh, dessert is always welcome,” she chirped nonchalantly, going back to her cooking.

But Jinki knew that she was pleased. Those were her favorites.

“Are you cooking your ‘special Gyeonggi-do ramen’?” he asked, fixing his hungry eyes on the steaming nickel pot on the stove.

“Yes. And if you want some, you'd better run and wash up quick while it cooks, because mom needs to get up early tomorrow to earn her living.”

Needless to say, she didn't have to repeat twice.

After he took shower, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, fogged up with steam.

“You're not bad for not having your together,” he whispered to himself, repeating Kibum's words. “You're not a terrible son.”

He couldn't say that his faith in those words was complete – not under the weight of the secrets pressing him down, but he did get a bit of spiritual strength from them.