Maybe it was a sign. A sign from above telling Taemin to let an innocent guy go and just live forever alone.


 

Or else how in the heavens was it possible for Jongin to have walked in on Taemin at such an unbelievable (and ing-retarded-and-screwed-up-dammit-god-totally-hates-me) timing?


 

Taemin pulled at his own hair and muffled incoherent grunts in self-hate. Taking a short glimpse at the clock, Taemin sighed as he recalled the entire day as being a mind-disrupting blur. His brown hair sticking out wildly in different directions, Taemin looked out the second floor window to witness two guys in gray soccer uniforms on the track field. They were coming out from the back building that was connected to the soccer field, and Taemin froze. It was Jongin and another guy from the soccer team. 


 

The other guy was there to assist Jongin walking, while Jongin had his right arm around his teammate’s shoulders and limping with difficulty as he barely made his way across.


 

His ankle… Of course he wouldn’t have gone to the hospital…


 

His breath almost stopping, Taemin numbly stared down at the two disappearing figures. He didn't know that Jongin's ankle had been hurt that badly. 


 

According to their conversation yesterday, Jongin wasn’t supposed to care whether a curtain pole, let alone a steel anvil dropped on top of Taemin’s head. Taemin wasn’t supposed to matter to Jongin anymore. Yet Jongin still threw his body in order to protect him, putting his soccer-career on a thin thread.


 

And Taemin knew the enormity of what soccer meant to Jongin.  


 

.

Kim Jongin.

Jongin-ah.


 

Taemin dropped his head into his palms. He was blinded, blinded to the answer he couldn’t grasp. Taemin didn't know what to do. 



...How could he not like Jongin? How was Taemin supposed to stop liking Jongin if Jongin was like this?... 

It was impossible. And quite unfortunately,  it was out of Taemin's control.




Taemin buried his head even further into the nest of his arms. 

***




 

It was late and the road was dark. Yet Taemin paced around his neighborhood back and forth, and back and forth again. Luckily the neighborhood was deserted, and the only other movement aside from Taemin was his own shadow. Jongin’s house was exactly sixty-three steps away from Taemin’s house. Taemin was sure of it, for he had walked the distance at least five times this afternoon. Clutched tightly in his hands was a plastic bag of grapefruit juice and an electric massager.


 

The very first thing Taemin did when he got home was search for the electric massager he bought a long time ago through the home shopping channel. He had tossed it in his closet after the first ten minutes of trying it out, but as he found it chucked in the back corner behind all his clothes, Taemin thought he almost saw the object glow. He wasn’t sure how this could help, but an ankle was beyond important to a soccer player. Taemin absolutely refused to become the reason for crushing Jongin’s dream.


 

Though Taemin almost flew over to Jongin’s house after school, he had pathetically lingered in front of the gates, unable to gather up the courage and making no progress. Staring at the brightly lit window, Taemin reached for the bell (for the seventh time). His fingers trembled, and Taemin dropped his hand, plopping down on the cold floor.


 

“…., Lee Taemin you’re so stupid why are you even alive…” He muttered to himself. “Why did you have to be so stupid and kick that stupid pole? …Ugh why did that stupid pole even fall so stupidly on top of stupid Kim Jongin..”


 

“What are you doing?”


 

Taemin’s head shot up at the familiar voice. Jongin was standing in front of him with a duffel bag over his shoulders. As if he just came back from practice, Jongin's hair was wet. Taemin jolted up to his feet.


 

“…What are you doing here?” Jongin asked again as he approached Taemin closer.


 

“Huh?.. Oh, urm.., I went home… and uh- I just happened to find this on the floor!” Taemin stuttered, lifting up the bag to show Jongin the electric massager. “Oh, and this grapefruit juice… it, it was on daebak sale!  And uh, I just thought I would-”


 

Without waiting to hear the rest of Taemin’s incoherent mumbling, Jongin briskly walked past Taemin. Feeling the cold air whipping into his face, Taemin stared at the lamppost in his view as his insides filled up with icy regret.


 

“It’s me, mom.” Jongin said into the intercom, and the door opened with a mechanical melody.  


 

“Come on in.” Taemin heard Jongin say. 


 

Surprised, Taemin turned his head but Jongin had already gone inside. With an overwhelming relief, Taemin hastily rushed in after his friend.


 

It had been a while since Taemin visited Jongin’s house, and Jongin’s mother warmly welcomed Taemin as if he was her other son. Asking trivial questions about Taemin's health and studies, Mrs. Kim rubbed Taemin's cheeks between her hands until Taemin couldn't feel his face. After a long period of politely refusing Mrs. Kim’s offer of preparing him a warm meal, Taemin managed to get himself out of her grip and followed Jongin up the stairs.


 

Jongin’s room was messy… like it always had been.


 

The floor was cluttered with his soccer uniforms and soccer magazines, while the walls were covered with Park Jisung soccer posters. Taemin soon realized that the floor was actually fairly clean, compared to Jongin’s bombarded desk.


 

Jongin tossed his duffle bag to the side and fell on his bed. Skipping over Jongin’s soccer magazines on the floor, Taemin awkwardkly looked around the room before placing the electric massager on the floor.


 

“…What is that?” Jongin asked, nudging his chin towards the questionable machine.


 

“Oh, this?! It’s an electric massager…” Taemin answered nervously. “Um, the lady on TV said it’s pretty useful when you snap your wrist or ankle and stuff… you know, kind of like physiotherapy…”


 

“A massager?”


 

“Yeah, look. I'm not entirely sure but it’ll help with your ankle…”


 

“It’s fine.” Jongin answered coldly. Taemin’s face fell and Jongin opened his mouth after staring at Taemin for about good ten seconds.


 

“Hand the juice over.” He said, and Taemin quickly passed the drink. Without a word, Jongin gulped it down with his eyes fixed on Taemin. Jongin’s eyebrows twitched as he lowered the drink.


 

“The house isn’t going to collapse, sit.” He said, and Taemin obeyed. He took the nearest rolling chair of Jongin’s desk and sat down, within the farthest distance possible from Jongin’s bed (It was still within an arm’s reach of Jongin because Taemin couldn’t get anywhere with so many things on the floor). Unable to endure the awkward tension, Taemin flailed his head wildly about, pretending to be fascinated by Jongin’s painfully ordinary room. Taemin’s eyes met with Captain Park on the poster, and he quickly turned his head to find Jongin staring at him.


 

“What the are you doing right now?” Jongin finally let out, his eyebrows soaring to the fringe of his bangs.


 

“…Why, what?”


 

“Stop pretending, you look so ing restless, trying to stay as far away as you can from me.” Jongin said. “You look as if I just sentenced you to death.”   


 

“Ha… Haha, what are you talking about?” Taemin smiled, in a lame attempt to prove him wrong. “I am so comfortable right now, you…”


 

“Comfortable my .” Jongin cut in, and leaned forwards to pull Taemin’s chair closer. The chair glided across the floor until it hit the side of the bed. Taemin’s failed attempt of a smile was long gone, and he in his breath.


 

“How is… your ankle?” He managed to breathe out.


 

“Coach said I might’ve pulled a ligament.” Jongin replied as he reached for a soccer magazine. “I haven’t gotten it checked yet.”


 

“You shouldn’t have-”


 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”


 

“How do I not worry,” Taemin responded indignantly. “You would be practicing fine right now if I hadn’t been so stupid…”


 

“So you’re aware that you’ve been stupid.” Jongin glanced up at him, and Taemin nodded limply. Studying Taemin’s remorseful face, Jongin asked rigidly.


 

“……You hurt anywhere?”


 

“Me?” Taemin voiced idiotically.  


 

“Yes, you.” Jongin rubbed his temples, as if Taemin’s unusual jumpiness was irritating him. “Are you okay?”


 

“…Yeah, I’m fine of course…”

 

“Good.” Jongin nodded. “Play piano then.”


 

“Huh?”


 

Taemin frowned at the random interjection of topic at hand. Jongin was flipping through the magazine indifferently, but Taemin knew how much Jongin was trying to ignore this uncomfortable and edgy air wrapping around between them.


 

“…Your homeroom teacher asked me to convince you.”  Jongin said, the force of turning the pages getting more aggressive by the second.


 

“She… did?” Taemin blinked.


 

“They all know. That we’ve been friends for ten years, coming from the same elementary and middle school.”   


 

Friends for ten years. The words engrossed Taemin’s heart quite differently than it used to.


 

Taemin nodded wordlessly, and Jongin threw the soccer magazine to the side. “She asked me if I knew why you were refusing to play and nearly pleaded me to persuade you.” Jongin straightened up. “Your teacher is a bit whacky but she seems to really care.”


 

“Oh.”


 

“…She let me out of her class so that I could convince you… Although I never got around doing that.”


 

Jongin finished and the image from the ridiculous incident from earlier floated above Taemin’s head. His head started throbbing. It seemed stupid to suddenly explain that it wasn’t what it looked like, but Taemin didn’t want to just shut up about it and mislead him of anything either.


 

“Just play if your fingers aren’t broken.” Jongin said curtly.




“I’ll take care of it.” Taemin sighed, but Jongin didn’t let go of the subject.


 

“Just perform at the festival. You’re good at it, why aren’t you playing anymore?”


 

“I’ll tell her that you-”


 

“ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! I'M ASKING YOU WHY YOU STOPPED PLAYING RIGHT NOW!!” Jongin shouted, and Taemin jumped at the sudden rush of anger.


 

“Why are you mad…?”


 

“You’re always like this, avoiding the complicated matters.” Jongin shot in a fury. “I never asked you what you were going to tell her, I’m asking you why you don’t play piano anymore!”


 

“Because I don’t want to! Do I have to explain any further to you?! I-”


 

“Don’t I deserve a bit more than that?!” Jongin yelled in exasperation.


 

The words evaporated on Taemin’s tongu