I’ll have to be more careful from now on, was all Taemin could think as he watched Minho walk by in his tight jeans and fitted shirt. It had been years now, years of living together and suffering the anxious glances and awkward smiles, the grazing of hands and impromptu embraces. He’d always been to shy to admit he preferred it—looked forward to it, was jealous of others like Nichkhun who obtained similar attention...

         Hyung-: that’s what the fans were calling him. Taemin blushed at the thought of the meaning—he shouldn’t even be aware of that kind of stuff, right? But he couldn’t resist reading fanfictions lately. At first it was nothing but simple curiosity, but now—now it was bordering obsession. He had his favorites. It started as fun, honestly. He’d even read some “JongKey,” which was more amusing than anything, though it did seem weirdly perceptive of things he could occasionally pick up on for real. Now... now it was every day that he’d look up “2Min” in the index—sometimes two or three times a night—he just had to read them, had to imagine Minho the way that that their fans did; had to see him get hard, get off, get wet with pleasure—

         No no, it wasn’t right. He wasn’t gay, so if anyone ever hacked his computer he would have a terrible time explaining it... they’d think he was weird, was erted, was—God, what would they think? He didn’t even know what to think himself. What the hell was he obsessing over anyway? Raging teenage hormones was all—this was what he tried to tell himself. ion could only satisfy for so long. He was a forever-, after all—Korea’s “forever baby.” But that’s not what he wanted. Taemin wanted to get laid. He just needed a girlfriend to get all these weird feelings out of his system. That’s all it was... 

        Still, he could never bring himself to openly confess these feelings, or confide in anyone, even Kibum, who was always asking if he was okay in that intuitive umma way of his.

        “What’s wrong with you lately?” he'd asked several times over. “You’re so down—what’s going on in that head of yours?”

        “I—I really don’t want to say, hyung...” was his reply the day before.

        “What? What do you mean you don’t want to say? Are you keeping a secret from umma?”

        But it was far too embarrassing, far too confusing—still, was he imagining it, or did Minho feel these things also? For all his flirting, all his liquid piercing stares, Taemin was at a loss. It seemed that he liked him—he’d see girls look at him that way before... did it mean the same thing? Minho’d never spoken on it, but others must have noticed this weirdness too, because rumors were spreading lately—people were picking up on feelings and emotions that he’d naively suppressed for so long. Just thinking of it, Taemin felt embarrass