With another waiver whisked away, Taemin left his table and made his way into the familiar elevator then out to the pavement. Just another bad day in the office, Taemin realised and nursed the hot tea, knowing he was not in power to fix what had happened anyway. The least he could do was to hope that nobody triggered the havoc ever again for the rest of the day (because to say life would be meaningless.)

But luck, as always, was never on his side. Just as Taemin breathed out that mental wish against the rim of the plastic cup, he felt himself crashing into someone, causing the cup to tilt over and spew the contents onto the other person’s white dress shirt.

“Christ! What the hell is wrong with you?!” The man groaned, his voice was so loud that it could be mistaken as a harsh, half-stifled yell.

“Oh my God,” Taemin jerked away in surprise when he caught some droplets of the hot liquid on his own shoes, the heat diffused fast enough for him to register the entire scene. It didn’t matter much then, because the wrath that awaited him was beyond inescapable. “Oh my God, I’m extremely sorry.”

“Think your sorry can clean this off? Now I need to cancel the dinner.”

Even without looking him directly in the eyes, Taemin could tell that the man’s face was turning red. Molten anger rolled through him and, judging from his attire, this person must be someone important, someone prominent. The prospect of considering himself ed for being blind professionally was just off the charts at this point.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it - in fact, I felt like you were the one who collided into me - but never mind that. I know the suit must be expensive and you’re in a rush. My place is just two blocks away from here. I can’t provide a change, obviously, but maybe you can get yourself washed and come back out spick and span. You can go on with your day and-”

He was rambling a mile a minute; words just slurred together in clear urgency as he tried to brush a drop of tea off the cashmere suit that was easily draped over the man’s forearm. Then, Taemin forced himself to look up but as he tried to speak, the words just stuck in his throat.

“Taemin?”

Minho.

Taemin inhaled a staggering breath, silently wished the ground to just split into two and swallow him alive. He should have just avoided this accidental collision. Why did someone like Taemin - the tired, barely functioning Taemin - choose to walk down that particular side of the road in one shambolic evening and think it was wise to hold the cup so freely high in the air only for him to end up stirring a problem with the wealthy, currently enigmatic Minho?

Choi Minho, out of all people.

He didn't know how to react, how to even deal with the consequence of his or Minho's recklessness. Ten seconds passed, and then thirty and sixty, and finally Taemin decided to break the silence. There was no reason for him to endure it any longer as if people were not giving them weird looks for creating a scene on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

But Minho was quick to wave his hand dismissively. The anger seemed to seep out of him like a slow tide as he crouched down to take the crumpled cup and threw it right into the dustbin. Taemin kept quiet, disoriented from the combined emotions of meeting Minho in such a bizarre way after their dissolution. The spoiled shirt, especially.

“No, it was partially my fault,” Minho interjected, a cold glare meeting every pair of eyes that landed on Taemin. It was a good thing that Taemin ducked his head because if he ever caught Minho acting as such with his own eyes, he might have flattered himself by thinking Minho was just being blatantly possessive. “But I’d appreciate it if I can still go to your place and come back squeaky clean.”

Now that only got worse.

Taemin had little reason to refuse. Since they were freshly divorced, any sign of discomfort should work fine as a friendly remonstrance for Minho to retreat the request. They promised that they would never breach the boundary; instead, making it perpetually clear that there was a line to be protected, a burning image of last marriage catastrophe to be avoided.

Because, in between the end of a life together and the rebirth of another, there must be one person to suffer.

And that person, in this analogy, was Taemin.

“Of course,” came his answer in resignation, tone heavy and unwilling. He could just refuse - but he chose not to. “Let’s go.”

The entire journey back home was as awkward as Taemin had imagined it to be. He felt like he was nowhere between believing and denying, and he kept on shifting between the two as time passed by. Neither of them said anything because words were cheap and there was absolutely nothing to chatter about anyway.

As a matter of fact, Minho was the expressive one in the relationship before. Taemin hardly knew what to say most of the time - less when he was promptly told to do it on his own. One of the reasons why he never strayed away from the interview sheet; practically memorised each and every word so he could deliver it smoothly.

So, no. He didn’t find it necessary to talk. 

Rather, he took that shared moment to observe the distinct changes in each other’s manners.

Their dynamic was insane as a couple, no doubt. Minho had always been the protector, while Taemin was more of the opposite - calm and composed and always giving. Minho often brought back home piles of work and heavy burden of stress (despite promising that he should’ve never ever done that), and Taemin always offered the warmest of hugs and many soft kisses as the reward.

Things could never go wrong when they were together, Taemin insisted. Until they decided to wrong themselves for loving each other.

Still. Minho had this habit of ensuring everything was alright for Taemin. Back then, whenever they went on a date, Minho always made sure that Taemin didn’t walk on the nearest edge of the sidewalk. It was a gesture full of care and too much affection, and Taemin just loved it to the bits.

Now, however, Taemin couldn’t help but notice the slight tilt of demeanour. As Minho his heels, he absentmindedly occupied the furthest spot from the edge, thus making room for Taemin to walk right beside the road. Whether he already got over that particular habit or just simply didn’t care anymore, Taemin couldn’t tell. It was one of those unbelievable moments where Taemin felt like he was committing a cardinal sin in Minho's name and the offender was completely oblivious of that reality.

, Taemin’s mind supplied as he looked away, hands balled into fists that his knuckles turned pale. being the only one hoping for a miracle to happen.

Confined in the cubicle, Taemin impatiently waited for the door to ding open and leave first, seemingly uncaring if Minho had decided to stay in the elevator instead. He was already drowned in his own painful thoughts to surrender to another litany of similar emotions.

“Come right in, if you will,” Taemin said in an undertone, meaning the words more seriously than they sounded. 

So many things happened in a day. First, Taemin screwed up at work and almost cursed everyone and their mother out. Second, he allowed Minho to follow him to his own pad - a place that he held sacred after moving right back in as a single man.

A part of him regretted that act of kindness so much, despite knowing it would be an entirely different case if the one he so humbly spilt his hot tea over was anyone but his own ex-husband.

And that was simply because Taemin went through an insane cycle to get rid of the gloom in that apartment of nothing but antiseptic disreputability. He had to shove aside his feelings and force himself to remove anything quintessentially Minho in that house, just so he could provide himself with a route to move on. 

The route that will never lead him to Minho anymore.

But now, bringing in the actual person into the said sacred place felt crazy. Minho was invading his privacy, even when Taemin was the one who offered it in the first place. 

“Wow,” Minho was toeing his leather shoes off casually, just like old times. “Your house looks different.”

Taemin closed the door and stood on the same spot, “Yeah,”

What was he supposed to say, even?

Yeah, I rearranged stuff because your touch, smell and presence remain ingrained in everything that I own. Every corner of this house yearns for the same heavy, coordinated footsteps that only you could bring - that only you could ever recreate. I moved it all because I can still see you sitting on the sofa; I can still picture you with your Macbook propped on your lap while you proofread documents, day in, day out. I can never erase that memory even for a split second and it’s killing me. 

“I thought redesigning my apartment would do my world a lot of good,” Taemin lied through his teeth then padded to his own bedroom to retrieve a new, clean towel. 

Standing so close to Minho awakened something in Taemin that he didn’t want to acknowledge, something that he had not felt in a while. In fact, he didn’t dare give that something a name, afraid that it could be love or hope or both.

It was irrelevant, because those two could never coexist when Minho was involved. 

Taemin came back after a while, extended an arm to offer the towel and met Minho’s gaze squarely, bouts of nervousness creeping back up his throat almost making it impossible for him to speak at all. “The bathroom is on your left,” then a pause. “The essentials should be there; body wash, shampoo and the like. Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be in the kitchen heating up the water.”

“I remember,” and Minho loosened his necktie. “Your bedroom is on the right, and the storeroom is on the side. Your makeshift office is in the corner of the said spare room,” he had added while ing his stained shirt, the action that caught Taemin by surprise.

Was Minho undressing there, in the middle of the hallway? Did he really think it was normal to strip in front of his former husband?

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