“Eun Ri. Eun Ri, please, wake up. Please, don’t do this to me. Can you hear me? At least try to move your finger, or something. Just please wake up.”

You can feel two things: cold fingers around your wrist and on your face and hard ground under your back. You open your eyes sluggishly to an image of Taemin crouching beside you, his face worried sick, scared. He’s almost invisible at this point, his silhouette barely visible, and you can see the furniture right through him. He’s misty. He’s disappearing.

And yet he’s still here.

You realize that his hand is on your skin, on your cheek, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. It feels like a bag of ice is held by your face. It feels like getting hit with a snowball.

“That is such a cliché. I can’t believe that’s actually how it feels for a human to be touched by a ghost,” you mumble. Taemin lets out a strangled chuckle and leans forward, placing his head on your right shoulder, where it oozes coldness further.

“Does that hurt?” he asks you, letting go of you and sitting up.  

“No, your hands are like ice,” is all you can bring yourself to say. You sit up slowly, just inches from his face, and a pang of pain grabs your heart. You reach out towards him, but Taemin jerks back, stands up. You follow his movements.

“You saw,” he says. It partly sounds like a question. You just nod. Your legs feel wobbly; you don’t trust your strength enough to stand up yet. Taemin clenches his fists. “How much?”

You swallow hard, trying to recall something else beside the whole pregnancy deal, but it’s painfully making its way into your head. The exact feelings Taemin had at that moment, betrayal, anger and guilt.

“I died,” you say. “With you.”

The memory of this makes you shiver in pain and pure fear. You could feel the exact thing Taemin did – coldness, never-ending pain. So many things ran through your – his – head, thoughts of unfinished business, dreams that he had that didn’t come true, regrets. In the last moment he remembered Ae Sook, Jonghyun and his parents. He remembered that he was supposed to become a professional singer or dancer one day. That he had a whole list of books he wants to read before he gets old. That he forgot to tell his mother that he loves her in the morning.

Your whole body seizes in pain and you bursts out crying, curling into a ball on the floor and just lying there, your limbs in spasms. Your stomach, heart and throat hurts. Everything hurts. Your body isn’t enough to contain all the pain and sorrow you feel. Your feelings mix with Taemin’s, creating a ball of tearing agony inside you.

You’re crying your eyes out, not paying attention to your surroundings. You’re crying for him and for yourself. You’re crying because he died without telling Ae Sook that he doesn’t hate her, that he wants to have that kid with her. You’re crying because he had aspirations and dreams and because he’s left so many people behind. You’re crying because he’s been living in that sorrow for twenty three years now and you haven’t seen him cry even once. Not a single tear. Not a single sob uttered.

It takes a long time for your body to calm down. Your head is throbbing with dull pain, your eyes are puffy, red and itchy, the skin on your cheeks raw from tears and constant rubbing, your fingers are twitching. You feel cold and shaky. Your throat is clasped to the point where you can’t let out anything else than a broken-off sob.

You go from loud sobbing to soft whimpers that seem to completely fill you up. Then come the hiccups as you try to breathe deep and slow. You’re still curled, still raw, still hurting.

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. You can’t say anything more. Pain seems to wrap its fingers around your neck and stomach. Cold, sharp touch. The words come out in gasps and weird hitches, probably not understandable for the boy, for the boy that lost his life, leaving behind so many dreams and people.

Taemin is quiet. You know that he’s there, but he doesn’t say a word. At some point he goes to the kitchen, then to the living room. You don’t know why, but he just walks. Hovers around like a ghost he is, in that painful reality of his.

You feel like the most egoistic person on the world. You feel like you’ve overlooked so many things. You feel like you’re drowning, because all this time you only cared about yourself. You didn’t think about his pain, about all the things he’s lost, about his loneliness. You thought that you’d be alone once he leaves, but he was alone all this time.

Because you didn’t really mean anything special to him.

You probably were like a sister. Someone he can talk to about idiotic things, someone he can bicker with, give lectures to.

You didn’t understand his pain and you were pushy. So he didn’t share his secrets. He didn’t want to. You meant nothing but a companion to him. Someone he can open up his mouth to.

You snort at your own ignorance. It’s a bitter sound that pains your throat. You realize that now that you know how he died and why he died, even when you know how awfully he feels, you still think about yourself. About his opinion about you.

“Stupid,” you say. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

You don’t know how much you spend on that floor by the stairs. You don’t know how long it’s been since Taemin walked off, but he’s not around anymore when you try to sit up. Your shoulder hurts from being pushed against the hard ground for such a long time and you can’t feel your left foot. It’s completely numb because your ankle crossed it and blood stopped flowing there. You know that it’s gonna start prickling soon.

Selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

You go upstairs to take your phone. You leave the ring on your bedside table. You change from your pajamas, grab your coat and go out, even if it’s already past ten pm.

The streets are mostly empty, the air is cold. You make your way towards the bus stop and hop into the first one that comes by, anxious to get out of this neighborhood, to just drive off to somewhere in the city. You know that your hair is still damp from the shower you took earlier and you’re shivering violently because of the cold, but also because of shock. You look to your right to see the streets passing by, orange street lamps illuminating in the darkness. You also see your reflection in the glass and you let out a quiet whine at your own, awful expression and overall look, your hair in a complete mess and your eyes like two pink pillows.

The bus stops and you hop out, heading to the mall. You close yourself in the restroom, flushing your face with cold water and wondering if coldness will always remind you of Taemin now. Of his touch and his presence.

You fill your palms with freezing water and let your eyes rest in it. The swelling around them is a bit smaller when you look up at the mirror, but you’re still incredibly red.

You have to wipe your face with paper, which makes it even worse because your skin is now aching from rubbing. It’s over-sensitive. You wrap your scarf tightly around your neck and up to your nose, looking down as you head to the drugstore. You easily find the cosmetics section and use all the tester products they have to make your face look at least a little bit more like a human’s.

You stare into the mirror for a beat too long, shamelessly comparing yourself to Ae Sook. Your face is smaller, more childish, your hair straight. Your eyes are bigger, but you’re nowhere near as pretty as she was. Your lips are small. Hers were almost seductive, curved in a sweet bow when she smiled, and full.

You pull out your phone from your pocket. As you walk out of the shop, the cashier gives you a filthy look, probably judging you from using all the testers and not buying anything, but you have no cash on you. You find your pseudo addresses book, which is merely a little note in your phone, and scroll down to the lastly written name.

Park Ae Sook.

You have no idea what drives you to going there. You don’t even take a bus, you just go on your own, your feet hurting by the time you find the right neighborhood. It’s past eleven pm already and you realize that it’s too late for a visit, but you feel too numb. You simply don’t care.

You walk around the houses and blocks until you find the right number – 116. It’s a rather small but very charming house with a well-maintained garden with a single swinging set in the back that you only see once you tiptoe over the fence. There’s a dim light shining in one of the windows on the first floor.

You walk towards the wicket gate and your finger stops in front of the little button that’s there. Your heart is thundering in your chest, it’s the only thing you can hear, and you wonder, idly, if it’s going to wake up everyone in the neighborhood, because to your ears it’s incredibly loud.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow audibly, your throat once again unable to move, to utter words or work for that matter. Your own saliva stops mid-way, you can’t even swallow it properly, and it makes you feel completely useless.

You push the button. Intercom lets out a soft buzz. You wait for like twenty seconds, during which your legs become so numb you have to grab the black wicket gate. Something rustles inside the tiny device.

“You’re early,” a male, sluggish voice speaks up. “Forgot your keys?”

That’s it. You need to run away from this place. You need to get out—

“Mom?”

You let out a gasp and a silent, “Good evening.” Your voice sounds broken. It’s barely there. There’s silence after that.

“You’re not mom,” the voice says in a weird tone. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for…” you say, leaning forward until your face is practically flush against the stone pillar and your mouth right beside the intercom. “Miss Ae Sook,” you finish.

“That’s my mom,” the boy – man? – says. “She’s not home yet, he’s working. Why are you here so late?”

“I’m sorry,” you say. You almost hiccup right after. “I know it’s late. I—“

Your voice stops in your throat. You try to make yourself talk by clasping your hands together and squeezing, by triggering your own body to do something, but no matter how hard you try to squeeze, how deep your nails go into your own skin, you can’t talk.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” you say.

“She’ll be around noon—“

You don’t listen to the rest. His words are eaten by the cold wind as you turn back and start jogging.

You stop some time later, having no idea where you are until you find a familiar booth with sweet buns. It’s already closed, of course. The coldness and darkness of the night makes you very aware of your surroundings, of the time and of the dangers that can wait for you around the corner. You head towards the bus station, not sure if there are any buses at this hour. A cat runs in front of you, scaring the living crap out of you, and you let out a whimper right after, clasping your mouth shut with your own hands and pulling out your phone as you walk towards your destination.

The sight of lights and people at the station makes you feel a little better, although there’s not many of them. You go to check if there are any buses left that can take you home and find none. So you just head in the direction of your home, knowing very well that it’s more than three kilometers ahead and that it will probably be well past midnight when you reach it, since your legs don’t seem to get the memo of running.

The way back home is long and scary but you don’t regret it. Your legs ache from walking and running, your head is still throbbing and you’re hungry but you don’t regret it.

It makes you awake. It makes you think. You try to remember all the things Taemin taught you, all the things he’s said and clues he gave you about his life and you realize how stupid you were. Stupid, ignorant, selfish.

You stop walking at some point and you sit down on the pavement, exhausted and sad. Too many things are happening all at once and you hate the feeling of utter loneliness that dawns at you.

And then is starts raining.

Out of all the awful things that could possibly happened to you, you didn’t even consider raining. You look up at the black sky, sticking your tongue out to catch a few droplets, but they all end up on your forehead or cheeks, avoiding your mouth. You almost want to pout at the damn sky. Even rain doesn’t like your company.

You stand up, crossing your arms on your chest and turning to see if your is wet, and then someone walks to you and covers your head with an umbrella. The sound of rain hitting the elastic material is soothing. You look up to see a middle-aged man in a suit, frowning down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The reasonable part of your brain tells you not to get too close. The other part, the sad, lonely and wet one, makes you shrug. The man raises his brows.

“It’s late,” he says. “You shouldn’t be out all alone.”

“Missed the bus,” you lie, keeping a safe distance. But the man doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you, he just holds his umbrella up and stares.

“Do you live nearby?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you lie again. His eyebrows shot up. You want to laugh at all the words he’s uttered at you with his eyebrows alone. He’s constantly raising them and frowning down at you in different expressions.

“You’re lying,” he notes. “So a long way back, huh? Maybe you’ve got a friend nearby that you could visit?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you say with a light bow and get out from under his umbrella. You walk off in a quick pace, but the man joins you by your side with a huff of exasperation. Your heart starts beating hard in your chest.

“I’m not going to you,” he says straightforwardly. That word makes a shiver run down your spine. “But I’m also not going to let you walk around alone in such weather.”

You do a double-take at him, eyeing him carefully while he’s looking straight ahead. You grab your phone just in case and then you remember that Kyungmi lives nearby, actually.

You dial her number, knowing that she’s not asleep yet for sure (she’s the kind of girl that goes to sleep at two am, even on a school night) and wait until she picks up.

“You home?” you ask after a quick exchange of sleepy greetings.

“Yeah.”

“Can I, uh… Can I come?”

“What, now?” she asks, surprised. “Uh… Yeah, I guess. Just be quiet, send me a text once you’re there, I’ll open the door. I don’t want to wake up my parents.”

“Everything settled?” the man asks when you finish the talk. You just nod. Then he walks you back to Kyungmi’s house. You bow at him.

“I promise I won’t stalk you tomorrow,” he says once he makes sure you’re under a little roof in front of the house and that he can lower his umbrella already. “Goodnight.”

You bow at him, not saying a word. Your hair is damp again, but at least you’re not completely wet. Kyungmi opens a few seconds later, lets you in, makes you tea. Then you cry on her shoulder, even though she has no idea why you’re upset.

*

You don’t go to school on the next day. Kyungmi borrows you her clothes and you eat breakfast with her and her dad, who keeps cracking really lame jokes. Her mom left them pancakes before going to work. You find out that Kyungmi likes them with butter, and it’s probably the first time you see anyone eat pancakes like that.

You smear yours with enormous amounts of Nutella and you don’t even feel sorry.

“So what are your plans for today?” Kyungmi asks you. “You don’t seem like you’re going to go to school.”

“I have something to do,” you admit, nodding.

“You seem very determined,” she notes. “Can I help you somehow?”

“You’ve helped me enough,” you say, shaking your head. “Thank you.”

She eyes you carefully before wrapping you in an awkward hug, “You know you can always come here if you feel lonely, right?”

That makes your heart hurt. You nod, her hair tickling your cheeks and nose, and she pats your back a few times before pulling away and grabbing her backpack.

“I’m trusting you with house keys,” she says, throwing you a bundle of them. You catch them on a reflex. “If you’re hungry, make cereals. There’s never any food in the fridge where mom has her morning shift.”

You nod silently. Once she’s gone and her dad is also out of sight, the house gets quiet. You’ve been here just one time before. It’s a big house, very light and clean, but well-lived in. You lie down on Kyungmi’s bed, curl into a ball and let your thoughts drift.

You know what you have to do. You know that you’ll go to Ae Sook. You need to visit here. You need to ask her about her feelings.

Just this once, you need to think about other people, and not about yourself.

A very disturbing thought occurs to you: what if Taemin will be gone when I go back? What if he’s already disappeared? What will I do then? What will I tell Ae Sook?

You try to push it all away.

Somehow, you end up thinking about that man who helped you disinterestedly yesterday. Why did he do that? Because he pitied you? Because he’s kind? Because he wanted something out of it? Because he’s a creeper?

It was hard for you to believe that people actually did something just to be nice or helpful.

After what happened yesterday you had a very clear goal in your mind: talk to Ae Sook, find out more about Taemin and then go back to talk to him and apologize to him.

For everything.

And that’s how you find yourself in front of Ae Sook’s house at noon, just like the boy yesterday informed you. You’re staring at the building in broad daylight now and it looks a little bit less menacing than it did yesterday, but your knees still go incredibly weak as you buzz the intercom again.

This time no one picks it up, but the door open up and you see a young man standing there.

You feel as if lightning just struck you.

He frowns at you, opens the door widely and then goes to open the wicket gate as well, and during that time you just stare at him. At his slender form, long legs in black jeans, wide, muscled shoulders and the way he walks. At his eyes, messy, dark hair and pouty lips, at the oval of his face, and your heart stutters in your chest so hard it actually makes a splashing sound, which is disturbing.

He opens the little gate and sends you a tight, unsure smile.

“You the girl from yesterday?” he guesses. You can’t do anything besides nodding and he seems truly confused. “My mom is in now. Want to come in?”

You nod again and only then you realize you’re staring.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly. He looks around twenty, maybe a bit more. You bow at him. “My name is Eun Ri.”

“Jongin,” the man introduces himself. “Come on in.”

Before you enter the house, though, Ae Sook appears in the doorstep. You know it’s here – you would recognize that nose of hers everywhere. Her hair is still curly. He’s wearing a thin dress and shivers right away at the cold air.

“Damn, it’s cold,” she mutters. You almost want to smile at that.

Then you realize that this is the woman Taemin fell in love with. Just a bit older. With soft wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead, with a dazzling, warm smile.

“Hi there,” she says and gestures for you to enter the house. You wonder if they’re so open for every stranger that randomly comes by. “Make yourself comfortable. You don’t need to take off your shoes. Are you here about the assistant job?”

You do a double-take while slipping off your shoes anyway, raising a brow.

“That would be a no,” she says, chuckling. “Jongin, go boil some water for tea.”

The boy grunts in response. You take off your coat, Ae Sook observing you closely.

“Then you must be here for a meeting,” she says, raising her brows questioningly. You finally face her, wondering where she works and what she likes, and if she still thinks about Taemin.

“Green or black?” Jongin asks suddenly, his head appearing behind the wall and you get lost in his eyes for a beat too long because…

Because he reminds you of Taemin so much.

“Black,” you answer with an awkward nod. They’re both staring at you at this point, similar expressions of confusion and worry on their faces. “I’m sorry, rough night.”

“So you want to talk after all,” Ae Sook says then. “Come on, let’s go to my office.”

So she has an office. Where she talks to people. And she’s also looking for an assistant—

She leads you through her house. You take in all the subtle details of interior, paintings on the walls that seem to melt with the furniture and overall look, and you feel kinda in awe. When you enter her office – a big room with two huge windows and two armchairs in the middle, a stereo and a little desk in the corner – she points at the seats.

“What’s your name?” she asks, sitting on the opposite one. You stutter a little before bowing and introducing yourself. She smiles – it’s soft and not forced.

“Nice to meet you,” she replies and bows as well. “How did you find out about me?”

At first you’re so confused and utterly terrified that you can only stare, wide-eyed. She knows about Taemin? She knows I live with him?

Then you think that no, that’s impossible, and swallow hard.

“Jonghyun-sshi gave me your address,” you say, your whole body feeling deeply uncomfortable. Her expression changes a little, from a soft curious one to a smiley, surprised one.

“Oh? Who would’ve thought!” she laughs. “Are you his student?”

“Uh, no,” you mumble. “I—I’m not here to talk about myself.” Then, after a beat, “I have no idea what I’m here for, actually.”

She blinks a few times, taking you in, and then hums in wonder.

“Well, you must be here for some reason,” she says. “No hurry.”

You look around the walls to see Gustav Klimt’s “Kiss” and a few more paintings you don’t recognize, all showing landscapes or abstract images of flowers. They all look really pretty on the chocolate brown walls.

Then you spot a little frame with a certificate inside and you open your eyes widely.

“You are a therapist?” you ask, surprised. Ae Sook raises her brows, looks at the certificate, back at you, and then chuckles and outwardly facepalms.

“See, that’s why I need an assistant,” she tells you, still chuckling. “I’m sorry. Apparently you’re not here to talk about your problems, are you?”

Partially, you almost say, but you bite your tongue. You shake your head.

“I’m… Lee Taemin’s relative,” you say. You want it to be soft, but it comes out stumbling between your lips. The woman’s face softens immediately, her eyes becoming hazy, and you know that glimpse in them. Your heart seizes a little and you feel sick.

Guilt.

“A relative?” she asks, as if to make sure. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” you answer. “I found out about him on an accident. I found an old photo, had to ask my grandma—he’s a cousin of a cousin, not… no one close. I mean, I’m sure that he was an amazing person and we’d probably be close, just, not—“

You start babbling so you pinch your own thigh to stop. Ae Sook follows the movement with amusement.

“And I gather that you want to know more about him?” she asks with a smile.

“Yes.”

And you spend two hours just like that.

Ae Sook tells you the story of their first meeting. First date, even first kiss. She tells you how often he’d get in a trouble, what a little he was (not in these exact words, and it’s not like she needed to tell you that anyway, you knew). She tells you about their dreams. That he wanted to become a musician or a dancer, or both. That he wanted to change the world a little.

“He used to say that one word can influence a person. That person can change another person. And so on. A never-ending circle.”

“He was a er for banana milk and kittens.”

“He loved to watch TV shows.”

“He had every Hemingway’s book.”

“No matter the time, he was always betting over something with Kibum. There were polls going around between the two. It was usually Taemin who’d lose.”

“He hated me when he died.”

Her voice breaks a little. You eye her carefully, your stomach twisting in sorrow. I’m sorry, you think, but you can’t let it out.

I’ve lived with Taemin for so long while you had to continue on living thinking that he hates you. I’m so sorry.

“Jongin is his son,” she says, a bit more cheerful. “You probably noticed, they’re pretty similar, aren’t they? Have you seen Taemin’s photos?”

You nod.

“Yeah… They’re similar.”

You nod again.

*

When you come home that evening, your whole body is shaking again. When you open the door you see Taemin sitting by the wall; he stands up as soon as you enter.

“Where have you been?!” he demands, approaching you. “I was worried sick—“

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. You grab him by the collar and pull.

And then his lips are on yours, freezing cold but soft, and your right hand lands on his cheek. Before he can react, before he can push you or shout at you, you pull away, meeting with his shocked expression and completely lost, sad eyes.

“Eun Ri,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Why…”

“We’re gonna sort out your life,” you say, determined, not letting go of him, no matter how much it hurts.

Whoops?

I don't really think that Kai and Taemin are THAT similar but I love them both a lot and I decided to make it so. And they are a bit similar. 

Thanks for reading cuties! And sorry for possible typos ugh