“The air had a bite. I breathed deeply, remained in one spot, waiting to feel the peace that is supposed to descend upon the dead…. The power of the dead is that we think they see us all the time. The dead have a presence. Is there a level of energy composed solely of the dead? They are also in the ground... asleep and crumbling. Perhaps we are what they dream.”

- Don DeLillo, White Noise

*

                I guess I always knew the truth about Taemin. I think that was why I kept giving him the third degree when it came to relationships. I don't know exactly when I figured it all out: I think it was when he mentioned his folks to me. I had a feeling then, a hunch; but I was too stupid for too long to put it all together. 

                We laid there awhile after in a kind of reverent shock about how things panned out, but we didn’t talk. About it, or about anything really. I didn’t know what the hell to say, and I think, for the first time since I’d met him, Taemin really didn’t either. A situation like this can be either as important or insignificant as you make it—I mean, I’m not an overly sappy man and I don’t believe in romanticizing things that needn’t be, but there was something about attaining this connection with this person that was satisfying on an emotional level that I cannot explain. That's as far as I took it though; I didn't think too much longer on that, just let the feeling of satisfaction linger without diving into the definition of its sources.

                 We didn’t touch each other after. I mean, I didn’t hold him or coo words at him like some hyper-romanticized movie or drama—I think I actually spent the majority of the time staring straight at the ceiling, wondering what the just happened and what the hell it all meant, while the kid next to me slept like a baby. But me? I couldn’t sleep at all. Just couldn’t. Not with the tsunami of thoughts and questions swirling around in my head.

                  By the time the sun was high enough for me to snap out of it, I finally turned my head to look at him critically. And by critically I mean more that I was forcing myself to examine him in a serious, heteroual way. He was sleeping peacefully, on his side, facing the other way, so that I could study his silhouette unhindered by his perception of my focus—the way the sheet draped over the curve of his small hip, exposing the silky skin of his back while covering the rest of his body. His back was lean and somewhat frail, though I could make out the slight form of definition in his bicep if I tried; his hair—he’d been growing it out since the last I’d really seen him—fanned over his shoulder like a veil, but suddenly I saw between the light strands a small mole or freckle, very faint but for some reason I was compelled to touch it. I don’t know why but I did, and as soon as my finger rolled over the stained skin I felt a sensation inside my chest not unlike shock. I swallowed hard then pulled my hand away; touching a person this way—feeling a person this way—was more than I knew how to handle. I’d spent far too long with myself to know how to deal with the addition of someone else…

                  I heard Taemin’s breathing pattern change suddenly, and I could tell that he was waking, most likely a result of my touch. Nervous, I quickly rolled back against the mattress, looking up at the ceiling once again. “Morning, Minho-hyung…” he said quietly, a smile on his face. Not a creepy one, just a small one. A kind one. Maybe slightly nervous as well. 

                  I swallowed again and forced some kind of acknowledging noise like, “hm” or “yo” or “yeah,” waiting for his next response, which would dictate the entire future of our exchange. I’d had a few experiences before my wife to know what happened next. Either this was gonna turn into some kind of thing—like, Taemin was gonna be all sappy and cling to my arm and make it some uncomfortable situation I wasn’t ready for, or we were never gonna talk to each other again. With women, they usually took a sudden, impulsive midnight to mean oppa loves me and we’ll be together forever. That, or oppa, I’m so ashamed of myself; I can’t believe what we just did! Usually the former though, and I had no idea how a man reacted with another man in the same kind of situation. Especially, a sober one. One-night stand or one-sided interest: these were our only choices, so I waited to see how Taemin would play his next move…

                  “Did you sleep well?” he asked. “You look tired.”

                  “No. I didn’t sleep.”

                  “You should have left then. If you didn’t sleep, you should have went home.” 

                  I didn’t expect indifference. This was not one of my options. “Er—there’s no trains in the middle of the night, you know that.”

                  “There’s taxis.”

                  . He was right. He was right. So why didn’t I leave then?

                  I sat up and looked for my shirt, aware as soon as I touched it that it was still damp. Like an idiot, I’d never even got around to hanging up my clothes; my pants, for sure, would be even worse. “I gotta go to work,” I said, for lack of something better.

                  “Oh, you’re back, that’s good. Working days now?”

                  “Well, you know I’m married to my job. I’m always there.”

                  He nodded. “It’s probably better you spend your day there, around people. The nights are lonely for you.”

                  “I don’t get lonely,” I lied.

                  “Ah~ of course not. Definitely not last night…”

                  “I wasn’t lonely.”

                  Taemin shrugged. He seemed entirely unimpressed with everything I had to say. Not mad, more like unconvinced. “I get it: you must have been a good two months at least, given your stalking record.”

                  ? For some reason, that didn’t seem right either. That’s what he thinks this is?

                  “Taemin—this… I—this was just a really weird thing that happened that I can’t explain. Okay?”

                  “Okay.”

                  “I gotta go.”

                  “Okay.”

                  “I—”

                  “It’s fine, hyung. I’m really not expecting you to say anything or do something specific. I made my own choice for my own reasons.”

                  For some reason this disappointed me. I was getting zero reactions from him, at least the ones I expected. I really thought he’d break down emotionally and tell me he loved me... ask me to stay, ask me back over—something. But he didn’t even get out of bed as I dressed. Just looked at his phone and started checking messages like I wasn’t even there.

                  I felt unresolved so I tried again: “I didn’t know you had a cellphone…”  

                  Taemin looked at me, puzzled. “Of course I have a phone, hyung. This is the 21st century.”

                  “Um—give me your number then. You know, in case I have some leads on a job opening…” The way he looked at me made me nervous, so I redirected all of a sudden: “I mean, did you find a job already? Why did you leave your internship anyway?”

                  “I thought you had to go...?”

                  Back to being the strange creature I remember… “Oh, are you—like, waiting for me to go?”

                  “It’s just I have someone coming over in about an hour. I didn’t know if I should prepare an explanation now, or if I had a little more time…”

                  “Someone… like a someone someone?”

                  Why the hell did I even care?

                  He nodded as easily as if I’d asked him if he were hungry. “Yeah, my boyfriend.”

                 Boyfriend! “Boyfriend? Taemin, I—” I felt a mix of both sleaziness and anger, with a slight bent towards jealousy. It was a really weird combination I’d never felt before. “You should have… you should have told me you were seeing someone…”                  

                 “Why? I didn’t cheat on you.”

                  “But you cheated because of me. I feel terrible—”

                  “Don’t feel terrible. I'm an adult; I'll deal with the consequences in my relationship. You don’t have to feel bad at all.”

                  “But you said you’d never—you know…”

                  “Just because I’m inexperienced doesn’t mean I haven’t had relationships.”

                  True. He’s obviously got standards, I guess… save for someone like me coming over and ing it all up— 

                   I was still standing in the doorway of his bedroom, fully dressed in my wet clothes, feeling like a pitiful excuse of a person. Why was I even leaving this way? Why was I in such a rush now, after all was said and done? And why was I feeling like I wanted to be asked to stay...? “Well, let me meet this guy. I will explain; I’ll tell him it was an accident. I’m not even—”

                  Taemin put his phone down back on the nightstand. Of all the things I said, this finally seemed to get at him. “You should go now, hyung.”

                 What else could I say? It was hardly suggestive, so of course I had to go—had to go anyway, so that’s what I did. But when I left his apartment that day it was as very confused, slightly irritated, and yet strangely happy person. I also left there with his number in my phone. It wasn’t the night I had planned on having, sure, but I couldn’t say that I necessarily found it disappointing either. 

* * * 

                  The boyfriend thing. Ah, yes. I really did have boyfriend. Well, sorta. It was this guy I’d met at the coffee shop—he was two years older than me but interested. I liked him okay enough, but it wasn’t, like, love or anything. I think I was just lonely in a way, lonely and curious. We’d been on a few dates and seemed to connect well enough; he was a good friend, a good person to talk to. We hadn’t done anything though, and once I realized that I made it a point to not talk about the things, or the people, who really mattered to me most—well, our conversations were left kind of lacking.

                  He was coming over soon, I’d just read the text on my phone while Minho was talking. It wasn’t worried so much but definitely didn’t know how it would look if the two met. It was a little too much for even me, so I didn’t try to stop him from leaving. I knew he wanted to anyway. There was probably a real crisis happening inside his brain at the moment, this I was sure—it was a real crisis in his brain that lead him to my door to begin with, so I was sure that it had only gotten worse.

                  After all, it was simply a ‘weird thing’ that could not be explained. An ‘accident.’ And little more. That's what he said, so that's what I had no choice but to believe.

* * * 

                  I couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. All through that day, I couldn’t stop. I would blush a little when I did, then—try really hard to ignore the physical response I was having at the memory alone. This definitely wasn’t normal, and this definitely wasn’t what I expected to happen. To be honest, I don’t really know what I expected when I went over there, when I came inside, when I kissed him. I guess because I didn’t really have any expectations to begin with, or maybe I just wasn’t thinking things through. One thing I did know: I was, for the first time in a long time, happy.

                 I felt bad that he had a boyfriend though. After all this time of feeling like I was having an emotional affair, I had been the reason for Taemin’s very physical one. And of course, no one ever feels happy about that. Which is exactly why I asked via text, “Are you free to talk…?” once I was off work. I didn’t wait much long after; I didn’t even get out of my office before I pressed the send button. There was something about the idea of talking to him again that left me feeling anxious. I couldn’t explain it, but it was almost the equivalent to giddiness in a way. I’d been restless all day since I’d left his apartment and now, even the act of texting this message excited me. I’d used the phone this time instead of stalking—to stalk him now, after all the things we did, only seemed creepier than it already was.

                  By the time I reached the subway my phone chime went off and I fumbled with it quickly to check his answer. “What’s up, hyung?” the message said.

                  I found a seat and thumbed: “Can I come over? I’d like to talk to you,” and waited quite awhile, nervously and slightly set back, for his response.

                  Finally: “I’m not at home right now.” Of course. I should know better than that—I was pretty much accustomed to his schedule now, but for pitiable reasons. “Is everything okay?” a follow-up text quickly came after it.

                  I smiled. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t help it. “I’m fine. How are you?”                 

                  “Busy.”

                  “Oh. Am I bothering you? Sorry…”

                  “No, hyung.”

                  “You’re not upset with me or anything, right?”

                  “It’s fine. You’re never a bother.”      

                  “Okay.”

                  “I’ll call you later, if that’s okay. Okay?”

                  “Okay.”

                  “Later, hyung.”

                  “Later.”

                  The whole way home I wondered what he was doing and what he was thinking. I couldn’t help but wonder who he was with, why he seemed so preoccupied on the phone. Was it preoccupied? Hard to tell with simple text messages. All I knew was that I wanted more.

                  I waited and waited. My home was already so boring and lonely, but now that I was waiting for someone’s call, those things only seemed amplified. I made a little dinner of instant raymun, sat down on the couch and drank a beer, watching absently as the KBS news anchor continued on about this, that, and the other, my phone sitting patiently—and inactively—beside me.

                  At some point I fell asleep, I don’t know when, but when I woke again it was well past three a.m. in a frenzied daze; I checked the face of my phone, only to find that there were no messages and no missed calls. Nothing. My heart sank. Had he forgotten about me? Was he upset, for real? I had no way of judging, aside from what my insecurities were telling me. But I decided still to give him his space. The last thing I wanted to do was scare him or piss him off, so I resisted the urge to text him, to call him, to show up at his door… yes, the best thing to do now, even though I didn’t want to, was to just go to bed and hope to hear from him tomorrow.

* * * 

                  That night I had three dreams: first about my wife, then about Taemin shortly after, or maybe it was all the same dream just rolled into one. I remember talking with her—we were shopping for the baby that never was, the child I never got to meet, but I could tell that something was wrong. I was distracted. We weren’t quite getting along, but mostly because I was too preoccupied to put forth the effort. This wasn’t too unlike the argument that we had the day she died; had I been more sensitive—had I listened to her and tried to stop her, I wonder if it would have changed it all. She would have never went to the park, at least alone; never died that horrendous way. Never… never brought Taemin into my life.

                  This was where the dream shifted. The room that my wife and I were preparing for someone else—well, in the dream I now saw that Taemin was ripping down the center wall that divided this room from the rest of the condo. When I asked him why he was doing this he said, “Because you don’t need all these walls in here. You should live more open, more free.”

                  I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but I remember I was slightly upset with him for demolishing that part of the house. He threw out everything along with it, I mean the boxes in the closet and all the decorations that were never hung—again, I asked him, “Taemin, why are you doing this? Why are you throwing away things? They are precious to me.”

                  He said very easily, “I’m not throwing them away, hyung. I’m making room for new things. Let’s put these in a better place, ne?”

                  I woke up from this dream suddenly, aware that I’d been tossing and turning on the couch all the while, then checked my phone once I got ahold of myself. Still nothing. I forced myself to fall back asleep, my last thought the way his face looked when he first saw me standing in the rain; the way it changed when we kissed, when he—

                  My second dream took a more turn for obvious reasons: we were in the cemetery though, that was the disturbing thing. I had brought flowers for my wife and daughter, only to see that Taemin was there beside me, a separate bouquet in his hand. He sat down with me and held me hand—then I turned to kiss him, right in front of my wife’s headstone.

                  “Hyung, why are you doing this?” he asked me this time.

                  And I said, “Because she can’t see.”

                  “She can though,” he said.  

                  “Let her watch then. Let her watch…” I took his head and forced another deep kiss on him, our tongues now lacing together, and as I did this I reached down with my other hand to touch his thighs at first, then his groin, which I began to rub with strenuous effort. I felt like it was weird and wrong in my dream but not because of the setting or circumstance as much as the fact that I was defiantly bent on taking what I wanted, regardless of the conditions.

                  The next thing I knew I was in bed; a new dream now, the third and final dream that was very sensual and explicit—we were in bed, me and this mystery lover. I couldn’t see their face; I had this person in my arms, their small frame engulfed in my passionate direction—and it was very arousing for even me I must admit—but my body was constantly in the way as I continued to watch ‘us.’ , on my side, I slowly my hips into this other person, also and on their side as well, my muscles tightening with each rhythmic motion, and our breathing intensifying into a fever pitch before long. I remember the ‘S’ shape of their curves, the delicate view of their back, that soft soft skin, and the crown of hair that was seductively tangled with sweat and heat—I remember this view. I remember, but I couldn’t tell much else, only that I was having with this person. 

                  This beautiful, beautiful person—I remember the feelings I had in the dream itself, feelings of… love and adoration. Lust and passion. I was convinced then that it was not Taemin at all, but my wife. It had to be her—I couldn’t see her front though, and her face was now a blur. I remember saying then, “I want you, baby. You’re mine forever, okay…” but the dream-girl did not reply. I think I said her name, but I don’t remember. I think I did, but she did not reply to this anyway. I her back a little, rubbing her shoulders as I drove deeper inside, letting out a pleasured exhale as her body engulfed mine. I swept back her hair to kiss the back of her neck then—and that’s when I saw it. I saw, suddenly and surprisingly, the mole sitting inconspicuously between her shoulders, right at the base of her neck... 

                  And that’s when I knew.

                  I knew.

                  She never had a mark like this. This wasn’t my wife...

                  I woke up sweating and my heart, racing. For a seconds I lay there stunned I really couldn’t help it, reviewing the ual scene I’d just watched, almost in disbelief. Taemin, it was Taemin… I repeated, owning up to the dream and all the things my subconscious had created. It was still dark outside; I was still stuck between a sort of sleep-waking limbo, my body fully aroused after what it had just ‘seen.’ Immediately, I dropped my right hand to the stiffness between my legs—I couldn’t help it—it was begging for some kind of release. Begging. Especially as the images kept repeating in my mind, paired mercilessly with the memories of the night before...

                  I was too tired to deny it or myself. It didn’t take long; I massaged faster and faster, even faster faster faster, expelling the dream out of my system in liquid form with my tireless hand until, at last, it was ejected completely. I let out a slight sigh then, catching my breath and checking my phone one last time after wiping the wet dream off my skin. But after I saw the disappointing answer of a blank screen, crashed back against the couch and fell asleep again. 

* * * 

                   Nothing had changed by the next morning. My phone was still as vacant of messages as it was when I fell asleep. I went to work trying not to think too much about it, though by the time my lunch hour came around, I was back to texting him: “Hey, you okay?” but I never heard anything back from him.

                   By nightfall I was still really curious about why I hadn’t heard from Taemin and slightly worried. Was he all right, had something happened? It only made it worse after the next day and night passed the same. But I was afraid to contact him after that; I mean, by the time forty-eight hours had passed I realized that it seemed Taemin was avoiding me. He had become the girl who was ashamed of what had happened, while I—I seemed like the girl who thought that our connection possibly meant something more…

                  “Hi, hyung,” was his eventual reply, though not much more.

                  “Can you talk soon?” I wrote back, quicker than he probably expected, and straight to the point.

                  “Sorry, I’m really busy.”

                  “I want to see you.”

                  “I’m not at home…”

                  “Still, or again?”

                  “I’m sorry. I’ll have to call you later.”

                  That’s what you said the last time—that is what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Instead, I settled for “Okay.”

                  When he failed to call me within the next three hours, I was sure he was blowing me off. I just didn’t know why. This didn’t seem like the same Lee Taemin I’d met a few months before; it didn’t seem like the same person I’d—that I thought I knew. I started to get slightly angry over it, honestly, though my anger was misplaced and the origin of it, hard to define. Defiantly, I called him—I mean, in my head I was thinking this isn’t a boyfriend or someone I’m dating. This is one guy to another guy. What the is wrong with making a damn phone call.

                  My fingers hovered over the keys for a good thirty or seconds, maybe more, before I finally pressed the right combination, and I have to admit I was rather shocked when he answered. Shocked, yet relieved. “Hello, hyung,” he said. He seemed genuinely happy to hear from me, but equally distracted on the other end.

                  “Hey.”

                  “What’s up?”

                  “How’ve you been? How are you?” I blurted chaotically; it had been so long of me waiting to hear his voice again that I got excited the minute I finally did, my speech reduced to shy babble.

                  “I’m fine. Are you all right?”

                  “Yes. Look, Taemin—I wanted to do this in person, but we…” I tried to gather my thoughts and try again: “I called because we have to talk about what happened…”

                  “Why?” was his short response. There was some strange clattering in the background on his end, and I couldn’t help, yet again, wonder where he was and what he was doing. And who he was with.

                  “Because—because we… we had—”

                  “We had…?”

                  “You know…”

                  Taemin chuckled a little. “We had . We had , hyung. It’s not so hard to say.”

                  To hear it from him, like this, suddenly made me self-aware. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

                  “Should it? You weren’t bad at it, or anything. In fact, I’d say you were rather… good.”

                  My cheeks flushed. I was thankful he couldn’t see this. “That’s—that’s not what I meant.”

                  “Ah, but you’re flattered, aren’t you, Minho-hyung?” he teased; I imagined a sly grin on his face. “So how was I~?”

                  “This isn’t the conversation I intended on having.”

                  “Didn’t intend on talking about it, or didn’t intend on doing it?”

                  I felt like a bug writhing under a magnifying glass reflecting the sun. My body was burning, but in a different way than the night before; I was burning with embarrassment. Embarrassment and… something else I could not define. I felt so exposed, vulnerable. “You were—you were my first…”

                  “I know. You mentioned that. You were mine too.”

                  “It—”

                  “Yeah.”

                  “Yeah…”

                  I didn’t know what else to say. All I knew was that I didn’t want to stop seeing him. I’d spent the past two months watching him—how could I now go to seeing him not at all? But, if there was nothing else to talk about, then how could there be anything else between us? Our lives, though thrown together frantically at the start, had little to do with each other now. He was living his life, and I was attempting to live mine. “Why, Taemin? Why did you…? I mean, you have a partner and—”

                  “He’s not my partner. He’s a guy who confessed to me a few weeks back and asked me to date him.”

                  “Do you… love him?”

                  “How can I love someone I’ve only known for two months?”

                  This struck home. Yes, it did seem unlikely that love would come about so quickly. I’d only known Taemin for the same amount of time after all; how could I believe that the things I was feeling for him were anything but a collection of needy, lonely lusts and a need to feel close to another human being? It was little more than that… little more—

                  “What’s his name?” I don’t know why I asked this. Something about the thought of Taemin having another person—having some other person coming over, to see him, to be with him. For whatever reason, I just didn’t like it. I wondered then why I had never seen him before; after all this time watching Taemin’s apartment, I’d never seen another man come over. It was a small consolation, at any rate. For whatever reason, I didn’t like the idea of sharing him, even if I didn’t understand why.

                  “Hyung, you’re really so curious. I find it kinda funny.”

                  “Funny, why?”     

                  “Because you’ve spent so much time resisting me when we first met, only to now want to know all these things about me—ah, it’s just unexpected.”

                  “Unexpected…” I repeated softly, slightly disappointed.

                  “Unexpected, but nice.”

                  Finally the ice was melting and the conversation was flowing good again. Charged by this change, I took a chance and added: “Well, I… I miss you kinda.”

                  Taemin laughed a little into the receiver, as if he understood. “I miss you kinda too. Kinda.”

                  “Yeah? Need someone to boss around and nag?” I knew he’d hear the smile in my voice even though he could not see it.

                  “Well, it’s a lot less gloomy when you’re not around. You know, given that you like to sulk and throw around death-threats…”

                  “I never threatened to kill you—” I am not always the smartest person when it comes to things; it took me a second here to catch his meaning. “Yeah… well, we met under very strange circumstances.”

                  “Yes. But I don’t regret it, hyung, because you’re still alive. And doing much better, it seems.”

                  “Bwo? You think so?” I scoffed. “A grown- man sitting in front of your apartment door, soaking and sulking in the rain? That’s hardly an improvement.”

                  Taemin was laughing comfortably now and it made me smile on the other end.

                  I got braver then: “So you never answered me. What’s his name?”

                  “Why does it matter, hyung?”

                  “It doesn’t.”

                  “Then why do you keep asking?”

                  “Did you… tell him?” I redirected, my many questions all coming up at once.

                  I guess I pressed too far. He breathed deeper in the line and said, “I gotta go, Minho. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Take care.” 

                  But before he gave me the chance to reply he’d hung up the phone; I knew he wouldn’t call again, and I didn’t expect anything less than what I already knew. Especially after I saw it with my own eyes the following night. I couldn't help it. I found my way back easily enough. Another feeling, another hunch: the man leaving his apartment that I did not recognize but could not misinterpret even if I tried. Yes, after I saw that—I knew exactly why he was avoiding me. Exactly why. I just didn’t know how I felt about it, or if he would even care.

______________

A/N: Taemin's working some stuff out in his own emotions, but Minho's getting a pretty good handle on his own. Will he be able to step up his game and confess his feelings for real, or is it too late? We'll have to see soon!

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Look at this really great collage done by my bestie and yeobo, Sam. Isn't it perfect!? (Taemin looks so handsome...)