The rooftop was our favorite hang-out. Even when Onew-hyung was still here and even now, I would, for five days a week, diligently cross over from the other building just to be with them. I didn't mind though, because the only time I felt like myself was when I was with the five of them.

I was free, I was happy, I was all that I ever wanted to be when I was with them.

I’ve spent my entire life being "the son of your mother's neighbor," a Korean expression used to describe the perfect son: the one who gets the highest grades, exhibits the most refined etiquette, and treats everyone with affability and respect. They said that I was the boy whom every mother just hoped to have; my mother, meanwhile, relished in the fact that she had such a good son, and pampered me to bits, making sure that I was fed with the most delectable cuisine, bathed in the finest tub, and studied with the most intellectual tutor.

I was the rich, genius kid whom everyone grew jealous of, basically.

But the wealth, the expectations from my mother and from everyone pressured me sometimes, and I started to lead a double life come junior high.

I did not tell my mother that dancing was my passion. And I still haven't.

Of course, all I showed her and her friends was the perfect son, the one whom they envied my mother for. But it wasn't that bad; I love my mother--she's the only one I have. Even if it was a bit suffocating at times, I had to be the perfect son for her.

Life continued to be like that: in the day, just after school, I would be the dancing machine of a local street performing group, while at night, I would be mama's boy.

It was a good life, really, but somehow, it was empty and I wasn't satisfied.

And then I met Noona.

Shortly thereafter, I also met the four boys who surrounded her, laughed with her, and had whirlwind adventures with her.

They accepted me into their little group, even if I was in junior high, and even if, as Key-hyung had mentioned, Noona 'hated kids'.

And since then, I've never felt so...

Right.

Like everything was going well, and I was just so happy. I could be whoever I wanted to be, and they wouldn't judge me for it. They didn't expect anything from me, except for me to be the self that I would like and be proud of.

The rooftop was our favorite hang-out, and I just loved it here, because I was guaranteed a tranquility, a sense of belonging that I wouldn't get anywhere else.

The rooftop was my favorite place because that’s where they would be.

"You're here early, Taeminnie," I hear Key-hyung's high-pitched, orotund voice, as the door closes. Footsteps approached me.

When I first saw Key-hyung, I had formed an image of him being an arrogant brat; the way his eyebrows cocked up as he looked at me in a condescending manner, the way his eyes always sparked with some form of hostility or security, and the way that he crossed his arms and held his chin up so that he can stare down at everyone. True enough, he was the haughty person I thought him to be, but he was also motherly, and worrisome, and responsible. He took care of me like I was the little brother he never had, and was always on edge whenever I did something troublesome.

Key-hyung's voice was another thing. He spoke in a country accent, and Minho-hyung did say that they fought because of a little misunderstanding caused by that accent. Key-hyung's voice was a mixture of something both pleasant and ear-piercing. It was shrill, and it became even more so when he was angry and would scream a 'Yah!' But it was also melodic, because Key-hyung could sing, and he knew it; he did join and play the lead role in our school musical.

"Is something bothering you?" Minho-hyung asked me, his tall frame casting a shadow on my form. When Key-hyung wasn’t there to panic over me, Minho-hyung was.

He looked down at me, and I remained unmoving, lying down on the concrete floor with my eyes closed and my hands placed over one another on my stomach.

The breeze felt nice.

"Nothing is. Just enjoying the nice weather," I told them. I don't see it, but I know that they smiled at each other, and then sat down, one on each of my side. I felt them lie down beside me.

"It sure is pleasant," Key-hyung said.

"What's your lunch today, Minho-hyung?" I asked him.

One thing to know about Minho-hyung was the fact that he always had the best packed-lunch. Everyday, it was different; and not just different Korean food—no, it was a different cuisine from a different country everyday.

All right, maybe I was exaggerating a bit, but really, seriously, Minho-hyung’s lunch was the best; I didn’t need to go to those fancy, foreign restaurants that serve not-so authentic Mexican, Chinese, French, Indian, Japanese, and Spanish food, because each time I took a bite of his kimbap, his quesadilla, his ratatouille, his tamagoyaki, his rogan josh (whatever that is; he said it was this popular lamb dish in India), his dimsum, or his paella, it was like the United Nations had come and dined in my mouth.

Now, just imagine the shock we all received when we found out that it was Minho-hyung’s Appa, and not his Umma who cooked for him. According to him, his father was a nutritionist by profession and a sports-enthusiast by his own volition, so naturally, health was everything to him. Plus, when he saw how shy and scrawny Minho-hyung was, his father decided to take it upon himself to expose his son to all sorts of leisure activities and sports.

Maybe that’s why Minho-hyung was so competitive, despite his beautiful doe eyes and his reticence?

His mother, meanwhile, was a geologist, and because of that, was never home. She was usually out of the country, studying volcanic activity in the nations that belonged to the Pacific Ring of Fire, and only came home once every three months. His brother was currently studying abroad, in London, specifically, and often sent them postcards that showed photos of Big Ben, the London Bridge, the Buckingham Palace, and all the magnificent landmarks that made London a beautiful, grand city.

And because it was just the two of them at home, Minho-hyung and his Appa were close, almost like brothers.

I heard Minho-hyung sit up and get his lunchbox. “You’d like this, Taemin,” he said, “It’s fried gyoza, stir-fried vegetables, some macaroni salad, and Japanese rice. How about yours?”

So it was Japanese today, huh?

I opened my eyes, momentarily blinded by the light of the clear blue sky, and I blinked a few more times before lazily sitting up, stretching my arms and yawning without inhibitions.

“Taeminnie, you should cover your mouth when you yawn,” Key-hyung gently reprimanded.

I rubbed my eyes. “Sorry, Hyung; I won’t do it again. I was just really sleepy.” I grabbed the small, black bag beside me, and looked inside. “Umm…Just some kimchi, a beansprout sidedish, galbi-gui, three kimbaps, and banana milk.”

Even though we had all the riches in the world to hire a chef, Mother loved traditional Korean food, and would cook for me everyday. She had told me time and time and again that the best thing about being a mother is cooking for her family—in this case, me. I had no complaints, of course, because mother’s cooking was good (although, truthfully, Minho-hyung’s father’s was better), and I wanted to make her happy.

My mother was a strange woman: her personality was a cross between—or among, rather—a high-class socialite, an old-fashioned housewife, and a variety show character. She was both hated and loved in our community; the first because she often boasted about me, and the second, because she was just a pocket full of sunshine, and loved to gossip with the women.

My mother was a strange woman, and I just loved her so much.

Now, she always had a butler following her, but it wasn’t for safety reasons; it was so that I had a father figure to depend on. Don’t get me wrong: mother and he don’t have a thing together. He is her loyal servant who’s been with her since I was born. And he did her every bidding, and because I was her child, my every bidding as well. Whenever mother donned silly costumes and cheered for me when I would almost fall asleep on my studies, he would be there, doing the embarrassing things that my mother would do to keep me awake. And whenever mother had a meeting to attend to and could not personally pick me up from school, he would arrive, driving our shiny, black car, and fetch me instead.

He was a loyal servant, and I am glad, thankful for his existence.

“Your mother gives you so much food,” Key-hyung commented, as he sat up and smiled at me.

“Well, she just loves me so much. Anyway,” I craned my neck to see Key-hyung’s magenta lunchbox behind him, “What’s yours, Hyung?”

“One kimbap, some kimchi, and sea food tofu casserole,” he recited, not even bothering to look in his lunchbox. He didn’t need to, because Key-hyung cooked his own lunch. Because Key-hyung lived with his grandmother who has grown weak over the years, he had no choice but to learn how to make and eat his own food. And his granny taught him well, because Key-hyung was an amazing cook. And whenever we hung-out, he would always be the one who packed snacks for us to munch on, and would bring a liter of water, sometimes tea, to quench our thirst.

Key-hyung was such an Umma.

I stood up and adjusted my position so that we sat in a circle. Key-hyung took out a small picnic mat he stored in his lunchbox, and spread it in the center for us to put our lunches on.

It was always like this: sharing our lunch, and eating together. Call it peculiar, but each time we tasted each others’ food, we discover something new about that person; like, we felt how it is to be in his (or in Noona’s case, her) home, because homemade lunch was just so nostalgic and representative of that person’s life with his/her family.

In our little group of friends, food can say so much.

“Where’s Jjong-hyung, and Noona?” I asked, scanning the entire area of the rooftop.

“I’m here!” Jjong-hyung came bursting in (or out, rather, because this was the rooftop), carrying a small blue canvas bag with a cute, dinosaur illustration printed on it. He dashed towards us, his grin growing bigger with each step, and when he was a few steps away from us, slid down, landing beside Key-hyung.

“Hyung, don’t your knees hurt?” I asked him. The sound his knees made as he slid against the concrete floor made me cringe.

“Friction is no match for me!” he exclaimed proudly.

Key-hyung rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Hyung, you do that some more, and you’ll end up having bruises and scratches on your knees!” he scolded him, punching Hyung’s arm playfully.

“I’m a man of steel!” Jjong-hyung said, sticking his tongue out at Key-hyung. “And look at my biceps, dude!” he lifted his right arm, and curled it, showing us his toned muscles that took years of hard work and endurance to produce.

I sometimes find myself asking whether or not Jjong-hyung really was older than Key-hyung, because he was just so childish and mischievous—and short.

He was also short.

“Hyung, you’re such an egotistic man,” Key-hyung laughed at him, to which Jjong-hyung scowled deeply, and proceeded to setting down his lunch instead.

“You’re just jealous,” he muttered, glaring daggers at Key-hyung as his hands fiddled with his lunchbox.

“And Noona?” Minho-hyung spoke up, consuming a few pieces of macaroni.

“A teacher called for her.”

I instantly grew worried, and dropped the beef I was just about to put in my mouth. “Did something happen? Is she all right? Should I go to her?” I asked frantically.

I knew that Noona would never get into trouble because she was such a decent, young woman, and even though she loved to fight and hurl fists at offenders, punks, and douche bags, Noona wasn’t reckless. She only played rough when the circumstances commanded her, forced her to. So, for her to be called to the faculty meant that something must have happened to her family, or to one of her relatives, and that would cause her unnecessary stress that only I could alleviate.

I was her favorite, after all.

“Calm yourself, Taemin,” Minho-hyung said. His suave voice always soothed me, but it was third only to Noona’s (Onew-hyung’s voice was second, by the way).

I pouted, “I’m worried, Hyung. What if Noona needs me and I’m not there for her?”

And just as I was about to stand up and run to her, the door opened, and out came Noona, her hands behind her as she held something away from our view; her lunchbag was slung over her shoulder. I jolted up, and sprinted to her, automatically wrapping my arms around her waist, and settling my chin on her shoulder. “Noona! Noona! Are you okay? Are you all right? Is your family—“

“Whoah, Taeminnie,” she said, unable to move because of my tight bear hug, “Let go, dude. You know I love you to bits, but if you hold me any tighter, I’m going to die.”

“Sorry!” I squeaked, and released her.

She looked at Jjong-hyung, “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I only said that a teacher called for you!”

She turned to me, and smiled. “Then why are you panicking, Taeminnie?” she asked me, her tender voice made my heart flutter. She patted me on the head with one hand, the other still behind her.

“Because,” I sniffled, “I was afraid that whatever you were called for would stress you out.”

“Aigoo,” she cooed, “Thank you for worrying, Taeminnie, but Noona is fine. See?” She poked her cheek, “All good and stress-free!”

“Yay!” I cheered, throwing my arms in the air. “Noona is fine!”

“I’m more than that, Taeminnie.”

“Huh?”

She grinned, and finally showed us what she was hiding: an envelope with a familiar seal on it.

“Is that—“ Jjong-hyung began.

“Yup! I got in the university I wanted!”

The four of them immediately shot up, and ran to us, rejoicing and shouting “Congratulations!” and “Awesome!”. They swarmed to her, fist-bumping with Noona, because she would kill all of them if they even tried to hug her or pat her head.

A hearty laugh escaped her lips, “Haha! Thanks you guys!”

And as they continued to say their kudos to her, I stared at them, not knowing what to feel at the moment.

I was happy, of course I was happy, because my one and only Noona achieved something she’s worked so hard for.

It was a tough university to pass because it was, after all, one of South Korea’s, and even the world’s most prestigious universities that only accepted the best of the best. Every year, thousands upon thousands of hopeful third year students applied, but only a few of them were chosen and granted the privilege of having to attend such a world-class university.

Those who were rejected had their dreams crushed, to say the least, while those who passed could finally scratch something out their bucket list.

That university was a tough one to pass, and Noona successfully did that.

I was happy, of course I was happy, because my one and only Noona was happy.

But, it dawned on me that the end was nearing.

She would be leaving soon.  

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone! 

Now, I know that some of you (especially those who read my latest update in Roommates) are wondering, "Just why the hell did she update? I thought she wasn't going to?" Well, I know that I did say that because I wanted to spend the last few days of vacation being all happy and shopping and shizz, but I realized, "Hey, I can't just make a new story and leave it at just a foreword." 

So, yes, I present to you, Week 1!

This is a very messy chapter, with Taemin's thoughts swirling at every direction possible, but I wanted you guys to know that it is intentional; I wanted to try out stream of consciousness where thoughts just continue to flow, and there's no transition and explanation for everything. :)) If you compare this to Roommates, Roommates is more direct, while this focuses more on the feelings and history of the characters. 

Something like that.

It's kind of like going inside Taemin's head while he has internal monologues :-) And if you've noticed, I based his description of his mother on his mom in THJ, where he played Junsu. That was during his Juliette days, and god, I loved his hair there <3

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the pilot chapter, and will patiently wait for the next one! Like I said, updates will be painfully slow because I want to concentrate on Roommates. 

Thank you for reading and subscribing!

If you have time, drop in a comment or two! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Till next time!