For perhaps the fourth time that week, Taemin takes a sip of his hot tea as he stares out of the living room window at 4 in the morning, arms marrying his legs to his chest with his mug snuggly ensconced in both hands. The darkness and silence in the middle of the night is strangely calming to him; the hypnotic tug of the curtain of black, like an abyss, drawing him in. 

Somehow, while the rest of Korea is sleeping away—leaving only empty streets and streetlights in the dead of the night—he feels like he’s the only one living on Earth. It shouldn’t be comforting to him, but it is. 

His mind wanders easily while staring at the darkness and he starts thinking about the people close to him—his family members and friends. They haven’t been smiling as much lately, he realises, mind weighing heavy as he looks down at his mug and fiddles with his pyjamas with feelings of slight unease.

He doesn’t like that at all—the fact that they’re looking more and more tired as the smiles start to wean.

“Why don’t you smile as much anymore?” he wants to ask them, especially his hyung, Kibum and Jinki. He’s so tempted, but in the end, he doesn’t.

“Why don’t you smile anymore, Taemin?” they might ask in return, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t know the answer and trying to force it out of his head gives him splitting headaches every single time. Their pressing gazes make it hard for him to look away but eventually he does, because the feelings of shame are hard to shake off. His apologetic words are stuck in his throat and no matter how much he tries, he can’t get them out.

He drops back to reality and away from his thoughts as he gently sloshes the tea around the mug, transfixed on the sight of the liquid as a funny feeling settles on the pit of his stomach. He suspects that it’s the tea but even he knows that he’s just trying to deceive himself. So instead, he tries thinking about happier things—things such as travelling the world, or owning a luxurious mansion—but it doesn’t seem to be working.

It’s impossible, because Taemin has forgotten how.

To laugh, to cry, to joke, to smile—all of those things. He has locked them in a box and thrown them away.

Taemin lets out a soft sigh of relief at the end of the school day just as the obnoxiously loud school bell puts a screeching halt to the chatter within the class, leaving only the sounds of notes being hastily kept, bags clicking and zipping shut, and soft voices echoing within the enclosed space.

Taemin is always the last to leave. The way he handles his stationery, notebooks and textbooks with much care inevitably takes up time to the point that he’s the last one to be done packing. He doesn’t mind, because he dislikes noise anyway. The more people there are, the more noise there is, and he always makes the extra effort to ensure that he won’t be anywhere with too many people.

He slings one side of his haversack on his shoulder and trudges out of the classroom, passing the other classrooms while on his way out of school and stops in his tracks when he spots the school principal walking towards him. For a short moment, his eyes dart around to scan for any possible hiding spots, but he knows that the principal has already seen him and that hiding is no longer a viable option. He valiantly continues walking straight, even if he’s just so tired, both physically and mentally, and doesn’t have the energy to handle this.

“How’s school?” the principal asks like she always does whenever she sees him, a bright and charming smile painted on her delicate face. Taemin dislikes smiles as well, and he can spot a fake one a mile away, though her’s is genuine.

“Fine.” The answer stays ambiguous and monotonous. Taemin’s sure that if it isn’t, she’d know it anyway, courtesy of his homeroom and subject teachers. Asking is merely a formality for their youngest scholarship student.

“That’s good to hear, especially from our top student. I have the absolute faith in you that you won’t let us or the school down.” 

He receives the same few comments from different teachers everyday and he should be conditioned to it by now, but it doesn’t make the blow less painful each time.

She leaves him with a gentle, almost affectionate pat on his shoulder, but it’s nothing gentle to him. He feels like he’s struggling just to breathe and it’s funny how he’s not even close to being asthmatic. One simple pat and two short sentences, instead, feels like a million tonnes weighing down on him and he doesn’t have the strength to carry it, so he stays rooted at the spot until he feels he can carry on with the balancing act.

He doesn’t show any expressions—he can’t cry, he can’t smile, he can’t laugh, not even to do so hysterically, and simply tells himself to do what he does best; move on and pretend that everything’s all right. It doesn’t always take a short time, but he manages to handle it somehow time after time.

A hand softly lands on his shoulder and he quickly turns to see who it is; he dislikes sudden touches. 

He looks to see Jonghyun behind him and he finds that it’s easier to breathe now. The hand moves to his neck and squeezes affectionately, as if telling him that he’s here for Taemin and it comforts him even if it’s clear that Jonghyun saw the interaction with their principal.

By right, Taemin should dislike Jonghyun with his noisy personality and demeanour but it’s strange how he doesn’t. Jonghyun lightens up the mood wherever he goes but when he’s with Taemin, he seems to know not to say a word and what to do, even if they are simple gestures—things like gently squeezing or rubbing Taemin’s neck—the little things.

Jonghyun doesn’t mention about the “studio”, the one where he and Taemin first met, a place where they could chase their dreams together and be themselves—Jonghyun as a singer and Taemin, a dancer.

But Taemin doesn’t go there anymore; he doesn’t dance anymore. Like he walked away from dancing, he walks away from Jonghyun as well.

Once again, Taemin’s up too early in the morning for his own good. It’s 4am and oddly enough, Taemin feels like doing something he hasn’t done in a long time. So instead of drinking tea and watching the empty streets from the living room, this time, he decides to sit up on his bed and sketch. 

He isn’t great at drawing and all he knows about it was from the few classes he took on sketching on a whim fancy a long time ago, but his drawing skills manages just fine when he draws the outline on the sketchbook quite decently.

He draws mindlessly because he always seem to be so drained, perhaps from the lack of sleep, and he doesn’t have the energy to do so with full concentration. When he’s done, he’s surprised to find that he just drew out his dream. 

It’s nothing much, just a black and white drawing of a car crash with the black dominating the white as if the paper was dipped in black ink. His hand is slightly aching from the rigorous hand movements from the sketching and he realises that the side of his palm is completely black. 

He gently tries to rub the lead off of his hand as he stares at his drawing in deep thought, eyebrows furrowed. It’s only when he stares at it long enough that he realises that he’s been dreaming in black and white, and it’s been going on for a while now. 

The drawing doesn’t differ much from the actual dream. 

It probably hasn’t been very long since it started, but the dreams are enough to feel like a lifetime. He used to think that it was because of him, but it’s not him, it’s his dreams. His dreams wakes him up in the middle of the night every single time, not from nightmares, but from the feelings of extreme loneliness and desolation he feels in the dreams and they feel so real to him. The emotions that are so vastly different from the emptiness he usually feels and it bugs him so.

That early morning, he goes to sleep with his sketchbook and pencil on his bedside table, close to him.

Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday during lunch, Taemin makes his way down to the gated entrance of his high school to meet Kibum and Jinki. It feels like a prison visitation every time they meet, but that’s the only way they’re able to overcome the fact that they’re in different schools—Taemin in the prestigious private school, and Kibum and Jinki in the public school just down the street.

As the routine goes, Kibum will always be the first one there, followed by Taemin and then Jinki, who has Class President duties. Like separated lovers, when the two are the first to arrive, Kibum and Taemin leans on their respective side of the wall, making conversation while waiting for Jinki, the iron gate their only roadblock to a tear-filled reunion.

Kibum asks the standard questions like the mother hen he is to Taemin.

Are you being bullied in school?

Are you eating well?

Taemin knows that Kibum’s only being worried about him and patiently answers them every time.

No, he doesn’t get bullied in school. They wouldn’t possibly dare.

Not after Kibum, who had dragged Jinki along, stomped into his classroom one day during his first week of school, bringing with him about 20 rooftop tiles and breaking the bulk of them with his bare hands at one go.

“This will serve as a warning. Bully my favourite dongsaeng, Lee Taemin, and you’re dead. Don’t think you can get away with it just because he is younger than you,” Kibum had said with narrowed and calculative eyes, the venom that overflowed from his words leaving a lasting impression as both his first and last words as he left the room.

Yes, he has also been eating well.

And just as Taemin says that, Kibum brings out the bento box he usually prepares for Taemin and passes it to him through the gate. Taemin doesn’t need to open it to know that it’s filled to the brim with delectable food of various colours and nutrients, all prepared with tender loving care. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are his best lunch days.

Taemin looks up at him and mutters a “thank you” but doesn’t say or does anything after expressing his gratitude. Many times he thought of faking a smile just for Kibum, but he doesn’t want to give his hyung anything that’s not genuine, and Kibum understands that as he gestures to the bento with his head, telling Taemin to quickly eat it, and Taemin’s grateful; not just for the food, but for everything that is Kim Kibum.

And Lee Jinki, Taemin adds, when he sees Jinki approaching.

Jinki arrives shortly with jumbled up words of apology and proceeds to sit on the picnic mat that Kibum had meticulously slipped underneath the iron gate so that Taemin has a space on it as well. And just like that, the three of them have lunch, with the iron gate as their third party while Kibum glares at the loud and giggling group of girls walking by, gushing about the hunky top model that will be coming to their school.

Taemin doesn’t pay much attention to them—he doesn’t even see why a top model will even come to their school—but he catches the name ‘Donghae’.

As time passes by, Taemin finds himself inevitably inching closer to the edge.

“I have the confidence that you won’t let us down. You’re our top student!” Instead of a million tonnes weighing down on his shoulders, it’s weighing down on his heart. Breathe in, breathe out, Taemin.

log₄ (3x - 7)² = 10

“Even without studying, he’ll top the class anyway.” Taemin wants the complete extinction of sound, if it’s possible. 

In (x - 2) + ln (2x - 3) = 2 In x

“You make us proud, Taemin.” Taemin can’t stand their smiling faces. He finds it easier to look away instead.

log₅ (x - 2) + log₈ (x - 4) = log₆ (x - 1)

Kibum, Jinki and Jonghyun starts asking him more questions than they usually do—about his health, if he’s been sleeping or eating well His answers to them are predictably all lies. I’m sorry, he apologises to them in his mind. He doesn’t want to worry them either.

cot x cos² x = 2 cot x

“You got a B+ for the test. Did anything happen at home?” A concerned look, a look of disappointment. “What happened?”  Stop, just stop.

4 sin² x + 2 sin² - 2 sin x - 1 = 0

He’ll never admit it, but sometimes, he stares out of the window and wonder how it feels like to just jump out and leave everything behind. He never does, because all he does is studies. 

Studies, studies, and studies.

It doesn’t help that he’s still dreaming in black and white. More dreams of car crashes, of faulty electronic items, of falling down, of being chased, and of being trapped.

|x| = x² + x - 3

Studies,

studies,

and studies.

“Please don’t crash the car,” Taemin murmurs. He doesn’t know why but that’s his first concern; to not let the car crash no matter what. 

The figure turns to look at him, about to say something, but Taemin quickly plants his hands on both sides of the stranger’s face to make sure that it continues looking straight. His own face is in wide panic and he finds his body awkwardly pressing against the man’s.

Everything’s all quiet for a while, except for the whirring engine sounds, and suddenly his hands start vibrating. He notices that the car comes to a slow halt. Low chuckle sounds take the place of the whirring sounds and the stranger’s body is shaking.

Is the man laughing at him? Taemin is incredulous.

“Don’t worry,” the stranger’s voice is low and smooth like satin and it seems so easy to believe him. “You’re in good hands. I’m the best driver you will ever find.”

Taemin wakes up that morning feeling... different. He can’t seem to put his finger on it but it doesn’t feel like any other ordinary day. The day seems brighter, warmer physically so, and—

Taemin’s eyes widen as he abruptly sits up to look at his alarm clock—he doesn’t use it anymore ever since he started waking up at 4 or 5 in the morning—and sees that it’s already 7:30am and that he’s going to be late for school.

He rushes through his morning routine of brushing his teeth and showering, and hastily puts on his uniform, scrambling for his school items scattered around his room. It’s nothing enjoyable like a treasure hunt and he dashes out of the house, trying to catch the bus.

It’s only when he gets on the bus and finds a seat does he realise that he accidentally brought along the sketchbook with him. It’s big and rather bulky but he eventually opens it again, pencil in hand as he sketches. His dreams are the only creative resource he’s able to use at the moment.

Again, it’s in black and white. But this time, the car is fully intact and free from damage; it didn’t crash. 

Taemin doesn’t draw any more other than the interior of a car; he’s forgotten most of the contents of his dream, even when he reaches school slightly late to everyone’s surprise and gets laughed at for his ridiculous bed hair.

As the class continues buzzing, talk about a model agency coming to their school for a photoshoot generating excitement in the school while Taemin is left wondering why he didn’t wake up at 4 like he usually does.

And just like that, life goes on as usual for Taemin. The normal routine everyday. 

Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays—lunch with Jinki and Kibum. Talking to Jonghyun everyday in class. After school classes. Nothing much has changed.

They go sky diving.

The taller male holds Taemin’s hand. “Before we die- I mean, if we die. I want you to know that I love... Strawberries.” He looks into Taemin’s eyes in all seriousness and Taemin wants to roll his eyes and yet wants to laugh.

Instead, eyes crinkling, he replies, “I love them too.” And then he kicks the male out of the helicopter, laughing. The taller male will no doubt try to murder him later but he has no regrets.

Kibum and Jinki stares at him incredulously one Monday afternoon when he smiles after hearing one of Jinki’s many puns.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious as they stare a little too long. Kibum and Jinki are smiling, more genuine than the other smiles he’s ever seen on their faces.

“Nothing,” Kibum says after a while but the both of his best friends continue smiling until the end of the lunch period.

Taemin doesn’t realise that he’s smiling until he makes a conscious physical effort to bring his cheek muscles down.

“Why are you guys smiling?” he wants to ask.

“Because you are,” they might reply.

They’re watching the sunset on the beach.

“This is a cliche place to be in,” Taemin smiles while they’re sitting on the beach mat.

“Cliches are underrated,” the older male says. “Hmpf,” he turns away from Taemin and lifts his head, pretending to be offended and not wanting to talk to Taemin. “The sand feels like a combination of snow and silk, there’s no one else here, no unnecessary noise, there’s no trash scattered all over the area, the sea’s a translucent blue. It’s the best cliche place to be in.”

Taemin simply laughs, but it sounds half-mocking.

“Learn to be grateful.” Taemin feels hand ruffling his hair. Warm hands, Taemin thinks as he smiles.

Taemin realises that he has stopped dreaming in black and white.

His dreams no longer look like the drawings in his sketchbook. The drawings are missing colour and the feelings of loneliness and desolations that his dreams used to have gradually decreases with each passing sketch; they grow in colour each day.

He no longer wakes up at 4 anymore. No sipping tea in the living room while staring out at the streets. He doesn’t remember much from his dreams but he doesn’t forget the large doe eyes, low chuckles or warm caresses that linger, even when he wakes up.

Even shockingly, he wakes up with a smile on his face.

Taemin hears the girls in his class gushing about an up-and-coming model who’s famous for his intense charisma one day.

“Choi Minho,” they’re squealing his name.

Too loud; he still has a certain dislike for noise.

This time they’re playing soccer, living in a video game.

“Show-off,” Taemin mutters when the older males scores another goal for the Arsenal team while Taemin is sad and scoreless in the Liverpool team.

“Yes, I am,” he doesn’t deny Taemin’s accusation and he gives Taemin a smirk instead, which quickly becomes a bright smile as he scores another goal. 

He better be glad that he’s handsome, Taemin thinks, because the smile is what stopped Taemin from throwing the soccer ball at his face.

Everyone knows that Taemin is a gracious loser.

And he would never actually throw any sort of object—hard or otherwise—at someone else’s face.

“Can’t we play something else?” Taemin pouts.

Taemin arrives in school with much difficulty. The bus was excessively and unusually crowded, and the journey too long. Taemin thinks he might’ve gotten bruises from being shoved and tossed around the bus like a rag doll. Even getting past the school entrance serves to be a huge obstacle course to him, with the huge group of both young men and women crowding the school premise.

The noise and the sheer number of people there unnerves him, and he decides to go by the back entrance. Not even some of the school students know where it is because of the sheer size of their school, some places left unexplored.

Taemin walks towards the back entrance and cautiously sticks his head in to check if the coast is clear. It seems childish and it’s been a while since he acted this way but he sneaks in, bypassing the vans parked in the wide area near the back entrance. It is no doubt from the supposed modelling agency as people pass by him in a hurry, carrying a load of clothes, cosmetics or photography equipment.

Taemin almost feels like he shouldn’t be there at all but he’s not there to meddle around, nor is he screaming or crying for a autograph or picture. But as expected, no one pays much attention to him. 

He finally makes it to the one of the many school buildings, opening the door, until he bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters an apology, and for a strange reason, he’s looking into familiar brown eyes. The male stares at him for a good while and Taemin wonders if the stranger has anything to say to him if they’re just standing there and not moving.

“What do you think about strawberries?” the man finally manages.

Taemin doesn’t know why he’s answering but he replies, “I love them”.

“What’s your name?”

“Lee Taemin.”

And Taemin sees the most breathtaking smile ever.

Taemin only finds out later that he just met the popular supermodel the girls in his class were talking about.

Choi Minho.

Even the ever fussy Kim Kibum semi-approves of him as a supermodel, Taemin remembers when they’re having lunch on the rooftop instead of the at the gate instead.

While there’s discussion about the newly popular model, Taemin is lost in his thoughts as he thinks about how he sees, hears and feels more and more of the doe eyes, the low chuckles and the warm caresses, and yet he still doesn’t remember any of his dreams.

They’re living in another video game world, fighting zombies.

The zombie in front of Taemin coats him with its zombie brain as the pink matter explodes upon meeting the bullet’s impact. It’s dangerous but his adrenaline is on an all time high and he’s laughing while holding on to his treasured assault rifle.

This is the most fun he had in ages.

“You sadistic child,” the older male appears and shakes his head in mock disapproval and disgust at Taemin.

“Well, you’re stuck with me in this zombie apocalypse.”

“...Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

On that Thursday afternoon, Taemin receives his first C.

The world crashes down on him.

“What happened?”

“I hope there will not be any more repeats of this, you’re our top student. Just imagine our reputation if anyone catches wind of this.”

“There is a whole list of students just waiting to take your scholarship away from you.”

Taemin’s numb, completely numb. 

He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t throw a tantrum or fling items at people, he doesn’t even react. He just sits at the bench and stares at the fallen leaves.

“Hey.” A voice snaps him out of his reverie and he turns to face the unknown voice. He didn’t notice the figure sitting next to him.

“Hey,” he greets back softly when he sees that it’s the supermodel he bumped into a few days ago. He isn’t sure when the photoshoot will end. Soon, he hopes. The school’s too noisy for him at its current state.

“How is it going?” the voice is genuine, low, soothing and yet Taemin detects a sense of caution in the model, Minho’s, voice. He doesn’t know why but this gentleness flicks a switch within Taemin and more than anything, Taemin wants someone to confide in.

“It just... hurts,” Taemin starts. “Sometimes I like to think that I can’t feel a thing anymore and it’s so much easier to pretend, but I’m running out of fuel. My engine’s empty and I don’t know why I’m doing this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Taemin doesn’t need to say anymore because his new friend envelopes Taemin in a hug and Taemin’s pressing his face on Minho’s chest, hands ruffling his hair.

Warm hands, Taemin thinks, and this familiarity comforts him. He feels a light kiss on his head and Taemin clings onto the man even tighter.

Strangely, he likes it.

The entire room is silent and his parents are looking at him, not knowing why he has gathered them in their bedroom to “have a talk”. A million different scenarios play out in his head and they all don’t end with a happy outcome. Some end up with him being disowned, some end up with him being chased out of the house, and some end up with him not talking to them for the rest of his life.

But more than just being angry with him, the thing he can’t handle the most is disappointing his parents. 

He doesn’t want his dad to drive the taxi from 7am to 8pm anymore. He doesn’t want his mom to do the housechores and yet also work part-time at the convenience store just to supplement his dad’s income for the household. They’ve done so much for him throughout his life and he doesn’t want to disappoint them or to pour all of their hard work and money spent on him down the drain.

He wants to do them proud so badly that it hurts.

His heart is pounding and he feels that he hasn’t gathered enough courage yet. He opens his mouth just to close it, and he closes it just to open it.

“I... had a C,” he says in a shaky voice. “I’m sorry, I’ll study even harder I promise. I’ll stay up till 4 this time to study. Just, just... I’m sorry, Appa... Umma..”

He doesn’t dare to lift up his head to see their reactions—shock, disappointment, anger. But instead of any of those, he feels a hand on his chin, bringing his face to meet theirs. His mom’s fingers are so cold, he realises.

“It’s all right, Taemin,” his mom’s voice is too reassuring. “We know how much you’ve been studying, and we just want you to know that we’re proud of you no matter what. It’s not about the grades.”

“Besides,” his dad continues. “You’re smarter than both your mom and I combined. We never had a proper education, and like they say, ‘the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree’. You’ve already made us more than proud.”

There’s silence in the air and Taemin doesn’t know if they have more to say.

A confusing mix of emotions fills his chest and when their words to him finally sinks in, he chokes back a sob. His heart is aching so much, but it’s aching in a good way. He hears the faint sound of the door closing and suddenly, his hyung is beside him, knocking his head lightly with his knuckle for being so silly.

“You’re an idiot,” his hyung says to him affectionately.

And for the first time in a long time, Taemin cries and breaks down in his brother’s arms.