Taemin fidgeted with the collar of his polo tee restlessly, eyes taking in the details of the bustling pizzeria. He noted the checkered prints on the table and took in the sight of waitresses with cheeky little caps on their heads, serving customers with dour expressions that stood a stark contrast to the cheery colours in the restaurant. Taemin frowned, positively disgusted by this place. He tapped a steady rhythm on the plastic table, hating the sound his nails made against the artificial material but unwilling to stop either. This pizzeria could be construed as the anti-thesis of his hometown and Taemin wondered if there was any subtle messages being sent to him by this choice of location. Minho, was that the name? Taemin had a feeling that this boyfriend of his half-brother was going to be just as frightful as his choice of eatery.

An , most likely. Taemin’s gut feelings were never wrong, he was sure.

Dissatisfaction never leaving his face, Taemin rummaged around his small satchel to retrieve his phone, wanting to check the time (he was sure the couple was late. They most definitely must be. Taemin felt as if he had spent at least 30 minutes in the restaurant, and that was 30 minutes way too long.) Instead, a thin leather wallet fell out of his bag, opening to reveal a white identity card with Chinese characters. A pimply Taemin peered from the card, and Taemin was quick to pick up the wallet and snap it shut.

He hated the picture, he did. He hated the Chinese characters on the card too. They were such a chore to learn—no wait, that wasn’t what he was supposed to think.

At this moment, Taemin was the bastard son of a man named Lee Tasuk, fathered in China, and dumped in China. Half-American, half-Chinese, he was the unwanted byproduct of a one-night stand, a sad lonely existence who had never seen his birth father till a month ago, when he was forced by circumstance to leave his hometown and travel to this terrible land where everyone spoke in a language stripped of grace and fluidity. It was a vulgar place and he never felt as pathetic as he did then, but there was nothing he could do, because just like the protagonist of an unimaginative tragedy, Taemin’s mother had died, leaving him only with a handful of cash sufficient for a ticket to America and the address of the man whose blood flowed in his veins. And so, he came, only to discover that his birth father had migrated to Switzerland for retirement, leaving him in the hands of an unfriendly man who was supposedly the legitimate son of the man who fathered him.

He hated that man too. It was unfair how he got everything Taemin was denied just by virtue of his birthright. Taemin positively despised that man--his half-brother, Onew.

But Onew was kind to him at times too. Even though there were quite a few vulgarities and heated long-distance calls the first few days, Onew eventually came to terms with the situation and treated Taemin reasonably well. He provided for him and made sure his necessities were met, and even though there might have been some misunderstandings due to cultural conflicts, it was evident that Onew held no ill intention towards Taemin despite the fact how he was the physical proof of his father’s infidelity.

So, Taemin kind of liked his half-brother too. And those whom Taemin liked, Taemin was unafraid of showering affection upon. He might have been Chinese by birth, but his attitude was that of the French. Hugs and kisses were part of his daily routine, cuddles and petting his special vices, and did he mention earlier just how much he adored Onew?

And Taemin was kind of possessive too. It was rather irritating how Onew was getting more and more taken by his superior at work, so much so Taemin was starting to feel neglected. It was all kinds of ironic, the master falling in love with his protégé, and Taemin had warned his brother countless times how that man probably had ulterior motives up his sleeves. Their relationship was probably a fling to him, something to while his time away while he waited for the appearance of the perfect princess for him to sweep her feet off. But Onew wouldn’t listen, which was the reason why Taemin now had to sit in this dratted restaurant, awaiting the arrival of his beloved brother arm-in-arm with the terrible, manipulative, conniving bastard—

“Taemin! you, Taemin, do you hear me?” a piercing voice interrupted Taemin’s thoughts. Frown deepening imperceptibly, Taemin sunk into the red cushions of the chair, taking out a book to hide his face behind.

“Jonghyun-hyung! I was finally getting into my character!” Taemin hissed in annoyance.

“Well, you should stop getting into character so much then!” the all-too-familiar voice snapped, “Can you stop whipping your hair about, you little brat! The earpiece is showing!”

“Really?” Taemin’s hands immediately went up to his hair, smoothing it down self-consciously.

“Hey! Don’t ing mess it up! I spent hours gelling it for you this morning, you better not come home with mussed-up hair, I’m warning you.”

Taemin ran his fingers through his hair, wincing in disgust when he felt the sticky mousse coming off his hair onto his hand as he worked his way through the clumps. “Hyung, you put way too much gel.”

“Just be honoured I bothered doing your hair for you this morning, and don’t complain so much brat.”

“Jonghyun-hyung, have you ever taken candies away from babies?”

“What the ?”

“I think you are mean enough to do that.”

A short pause and an oddly calm voice, “Lee Taemin, that’s it. I am gonna tell on you to Jinki-hyung. I am—“

“, Jonghyun-hyung, I was just joking! Can’t you take a joke?”

“ you, Taemin.”

“Hyung… why are you always so vulgar to me? I am hurt by the coarse language you always use on me…” a sad little voice, trailing off into nothingness.

“Don’t try and use that on me, brat. It’s not gonna work. I’m immune to it unlike Jinki-hyung.”

“You mean Onew-hyung, my awesome half-brother whom I love dearly.” Taemin replied cheekily, undeterred.

Jonghyun snorted, “With the script you came up with, it’s almost as if you are having an uous relationship with him.”

“Which is precisely the point!” Taemin replied brightly, “If not, how would meddling Kim have gotten his hands on that compromising photo?”

“Anything you say,” Jonghyun sounded terribly unconvinced, “Just try not to embarrass Jinki-hyung too much later on. I don’t think I can deal with any more of his angst.”

“Is this what you interrupted me for, Jonghyun-hyung? Just for this?” Taemin asked incredulously, “I was just about to get into character, Jonghyun-hyung! Do you know how long it takes for me to get into character?”

“You’re a genius, remember? Isn’t that what you always say?” Jonghyun said flippantly, “Anyway, I called to tell you that Jinki-hyung and Choi just finished parking their car.”

“Just?”

“Well, they just finished parking their car when I first started speaking to you. Right now, Choi is pushing the door to the pizzeria open.”

Smoothly straightening his posture, Taemin schooled his expression into one of bored disinterest and annoyance. He turned the page of the book he had not a read a single word on, all the while patting down the sides of his hair. The thin leather wallet laid innocuously on the table, and Taemin managed a look of pleasant surprise when he heard his name being called out.

“Taemin!” Onew shouted. Taemin’s face beamed brightly for a moment before his eyes wandered over to the man next to Onew. Slim and tall, impeccable in a suit, that was Choi Minho, a white-collar crim—the nasty man who was lusting for his brother. Taemin, from China, Taemin, with a Chinese accent, hated him with an intensity that matched the Sun’s.

He was the thief who stole his brother’s heart. Choi Minho, that bastard.

And... I am back! Haha, so sorry for the unplanned hiatus, I have no excuse for it other than mid-terms and unending projects getting in the way. And it has been ages since I last wrote a SHINee fanfic, so I hope everything still flows.

Sorry for the long wait! ><