“Jinki-hyung says to go along with the plan,” Key called out after reading the text message on his phone. “They’ll be here in about an hour, so let’s get everything ready.”

            “What else is there to do?” Jong asked. “You’ve already done so much.”

            It was true: Key had been working nonstop all morning to not only get the house clean, but prep a whole authentic Italian dinner also: pasta puttanesca with meatballs—all which needed time to simmer and marinate to perfection. The caper, anchovy, and garlic based red sauce had been sitting on low heat all day, growing more potent and flavorful with each passing hour. And after sautéing the spinach and dicing the onions, olives, and mushrooms, he tossed the sausage with panko, egg, and seasoning, then rolled the mixture into perfect-sized balls, which he set carefully on the pan in the fridge until it was time to bake them. And he had to time cooking the penne just right, but it was far too soon to start that…

            “There’s always something to do,” was Kibum’s busy reply. “We got to make sure the kids are taken care of.”

            “What about me? When are you going to make sure I’m taken care of…?” he said with a sort of pout.

            “Haven’t you been serviced enough lately?”

            “Ani.”

            Key smiled. “There’s no time.”

            “There’s always time for me and you.”

            He started rolling the handle of the ladle in the palm of his hand, a nervous reaction to his lover’s request. He’d honestly been putting off their “next time” on purpose—they had to be careful with these newfound perks. Kibum knew how he felt about Jonghyun for a long time now, way before Jonghyun seemed to know himself, and as happy as he was that they’d had some sort of confessional breakthrough and a series of fulfilling ual encounters, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would mean for them as idols. They couldn’t get too carried away with their sentiments for each other—they could easily be fired over any misstep. They'd have to continue to file any moments of public affection under the "fan service" umbrella, but that would only cover them so far. Besides, it wasn’t as if they’d actually ever end up together for real… this was all just a temporary thing, a dirty naughty secret thing, a—

            A what? I don’t want it to be any of those things… I want this to be real…

            “Bummie?”

            He’d spaced out a little while thinking. “Sorry, Jong,” he resigned to say. “But I’m just… not in the mood. Okay?”

            Lies.

            Key watched as Jonghyun’s face sunk a little, obviously disappointed but also very respectful of the tone in which his intentions were spoken. “All right. I’m sorry if I pressured you, or anything—”

            “You’re not pressuring me,” he managed in reply, offering a reassuring smile. He took a second to consider the irony of his words and then retuned the ladle back into the saucepan, hoping that the repetitive, mundane, and cyclical motion would somehow help alleviate the tension between his legs before Jonghyun noticed it. 

* * *

             It seemed the very minute they opened the door to the dorm that Onew “forgot” something he had to do across town. He didn’t specify what, but mentioned he’d promised to meet the other guys somewhere and that Minho and Taemin shouldn’t wait for them.

            “See ya!” he called out with a wave before they’d even removed their shoes in the doorway.

            Minho’s facial expression said everything that he couldn’t place into words, aside from a deep “Bwo?” and Taemin just stood there, an ominous feeling in his gut. He was nervous about being alone with Minho in their own place—they’d lived together for years, but suddenly they seemed like strangers; strangers due to “meet” in some way for the very first time. It was an introduction that he wanted desperately to avoid as much as he longed for it; the air was now more awkward than ever as the door closed, leaving them with the silence of their private thoughts and inhibitions.

            Taemin chuckled nervously. “Hyung,” he started, “your ‘welcome home’ is somewhat lacking.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “There’s only me here to welcome you,” he smiled at first and then suddenly felt his chest seize. The words had come out all wrong; he didn’t mean it like some weird, ual invitation, and now he wished that he could rewind and try again.

            Thankfully, Minho didn’t seem to pick up on his discomfort as they finished untying their shoes on the step. “Hm, that’s okay,” he said. “It’s really no big deal that I’m back anyway.”

            It is to me…

            Taemin watched as Minho stood up first and made his way down the hall to the room he’d left vacant for so long, his duffel bag hoisted effortlessly over his shoulder. In fact, Tae spaced out a little as he did, mind burdened with many thoughts and questions, the unshakable easiness growing all the more.

            Minho was in there awhile, or at least that’s what it seemed like, and in the meantime Taemin eventually recovered himself and headed for the kitchen. That’s when he saw it—the table in the dining room set with plates and covered pots and glasses… wine? Who drank wine, and why was it sitting there? Why was any of it there? And only two place settings…

            Oh, my god... This was all his brain could push into complete thought as he went in to get a closer look. He lifted one of the lids and saw the red sauce inside, still steaming, and knew immediately what was going on. Key-umma… only he would make Italian food, his favorite…

            “What’s all this?” Minho asked, taking Taemin by surprise so that he nearly dropped the lid.

            He managed a slight shrug. “Dinner?”

            "In the afternoon?"

            "Lunch?"

            “Oh,” was his simple reply, before adding: “But… I thought the guys weren’t coming home till later?”

            Tae gulped now. Come on, hyung, piece it all together… I don’t want to have to say it out loud… 

            “Wait—is this for us?”

            His cheeks turned red. He turned his face so that Minho wouldn’t see. “That would be kinda weird, wouldn’t it? I’m sure it’s just Key’s way of saying he’s glad you’re back…”

            Minho smiled slightly. “But Minnie… there are two plates here.”

            “Well, we were locked up in a bathroom over night—” He stopped himself from going any further. They hadn’t said anything about the night before, not even remotely. Taemin had taken great care not to instigate it either; he wasn’t ready to discuss anything that happened between them.

            Thankfully, Minho did not push the subject, only grabbed a plate and handed it to his donsaeng, saying, “It looks good. You first.”

             Since when did even the smallest gestures carry so much significance? Honestly, Taemin had started to notice anything any everything now—he couldn’t help it. After all, he was in love…

            “Th-thanks, hyung,” he managed, taking the plate from his hand, accidentally touching Minho’s index finger as he did, causing them both to respond shyly to the touch.

             “Er—” Minho attempted, but soon failed. He grabbed a second plate, watching as Taemin spooned a portion of the pasta on his plate. “Key went to a lot of trouble for no reason.”

            No reason at all…

            When they both had their food they sat—rather uncomfortably—across from each other at the table, even though Key’s place setting would have had them sitting side-by-side.

            “Do you want some?” Minho suddenly said, pointing to the wine bottle in the center of the table. He must have felt stupid asking it, because his words came out all at once in a rushed, awkward tempo.

            “Hyung,” answered Taemin, “it’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

            “Minors can’t be choosy.”

            “You’re a minor too—”

            “Exactly.” He shrugged, then poured himself a glass and drank it. Fast—really fast. Then he went for a second round.

            Oh, no—you’re not leaving me the only sober one…

            Immediately, Taemin stood up and brought his glass over. He didn’t mean for Minho to fill it for him, but he did anyway, purely out of politeness. Tae didn’t even like the taste of wine, had no interest in it—but it certainly was a way to relieve some of the awkwardness.

            I can’t believe he left alcohol for us… It was very unlike Key, but very sensitive. A little too sensitive? What does he know? Taemin wondered. What did Jinki-hyung tell him…?   

           “Feels kinda like a date,” Minho chuckled between small bites as Taemin sat back down again.

           “Um… yeah...” Taemin was thankful it wasn’t spaghetti; he was terrible at using a fork as it was, but at least penne was easy to eat by stabbing it with the prongs. Still, the need to focus on his portions gave him a good excuse to drop his head; he could feel Minho’s eyes on him. 

            “Kinda weird…”<