II. Realization

Bring back my memory.

“How about this one then, Minnie? Look! It has brown hair just like Taemin’s!” his mother tried again to appease her son’s frantic searching for his lost doll. She had taken the boy, yet again, to a toy store at the mall and tried to find him something that could possibly replace his beloved Taemin. But so far, every doll, every robot, every action figure and every toy car she showed him was ‘not good enough’ for him. He only wanted Taemin.

She knew just how much Taemin doll meant to Minho, but she didn’t know that he would be this upset. Especially after two weeks. Mrs. Choi expected her son to get over it by then, but apparently, the little boy was nowhere near 'getting over it'.

Minho looked up at her with a heartbreaking, tear-stained face and shook his head without even looking at the doll she was holding. He didn’t want anything else. If he couldn’t have Taemin back, then he’d rather have nothing at all. He didn't mean to be such a naughty boy and cause trouble for his umma, but he just couldn't replace Taemin in his heart. Only Taemin deserved that special place.

Mrs. Choi sighed. It was neither a disappointed nor a frustrated kind of sigh. It was just a sad sigh; an exhalation of breath to show that she was sad that her son was so upset by it. Any mother would hate to see their own children cry—whatever the reason may be.

“Umma, let’s just go home,” a four-year-old Minho muttered sadly. He took his mother’s hand in his own small one and tugged her away from the toy store. He wanted nothing from there. They had nothing that could replace Taemin; the most beautiful doll that he had lost at the train station.

Mrs. Choi nodded and picked up her little boy. She’d tried everything to make him forget about Taemin, but it seems that Minho was not like any other child who moved on from a toy so easily when presented with a shinier one. After all, Minho was different in many ways as a child. She shouldn’t be surprised that he would be so attached to a doll like this.

As a good mother, she then decided that it was time to stop trying to replace Taemin, and instead, she should try to guide her son in getting over his loss. It would be the last resort that she turn to.

“Umma, I miss Taemin,” the depressed four-year-old muttered against his mother’s shoulder. The way his voice quivered and sounded so uncharacteristically sad broke Mrs. Choi’s heart. She hugged her son tighter and rubbed his back in comforting strokes.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Will I ever get him back?” he asked in a timid voice, like he, himself, was doubtful of the possibility of anyone returning Taemin.

Mrs. Choi nodded instantly. No mother would want to diminish a ray of hope in a child’s heart.

“Let’s pray for it, Minnie.”

Minho awoke from the unusual dream with a start. For a moment there, he was so confused with his existence, that he thought that he was still dreaming while he tried to regain his senses. It took a few moments for Minho to realize that he was in his room, and it was still a few hours before daybreak. Minho scratched his messy bed hair in confusion. He didn’t know why he’d woken up so suddenly; he didn’t remember his dream being a nightmare.

Minho yawned and stretched his limbs. He took a glance at his bedside table and realized that it was 3:44 in the morning, still a few hours before he had to wake up and get to work. Although, he knew there was no way he'd be able to fall asleep again. It was just his biological clock's doing; it couldn't fall back asleep after being woken up in the middle of the night. 

With that in mind, Minho just tried to pull his mind and body into a functional state, so he could go to the kitchen and make himself and Jonghyun an early breakfast. When his sleep-fogged brain cleared and he remembered the reason why he was awoken at such an ungodly hour of the night, Minho’s mind started recalling the dream he just had. Like every dream, he did not know what it started with, but he remembered clearly what he had dreamt of.

He had watched himself, as a four-year-old child, in a toy store back in his hometown.

It wasn’t just a random conjuration of his subconscious, that, he knew. How he was sure of it, he didn't know--but he knew it wasn't justsome dream, but a much deeper 'something' than a fabricated image created by his mind. He just didn't know what...

Minho furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Was that dream just a 'dream'?... but it seemed so familiar, felt familiar... like a memory.

The tall, built young male kicked the covers from his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. A glance to the right and he saw that it was still dark outside of his window. The tired man rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. He was still so tired, but his body wouldn't allow any more sleep for him. Minho didn’t even need to try for he knew he would just end up tossing and turning restlessly in bed, so he sat in his bed and tried desperately to remember what that dream was; what it meant.

Minho thought hard, as hard as his hazy, sleep-deprived brain would let him. In his dream, he remembered hearing himself say the name, ‘Taemin’. From the bits and pieces he could remember from his dream, he got the idea that ‘Taemin’ must’ve been important to the four-year-old him. But why?

Wait, Minho froze as the realization hit him like a bucket of ice cold water being poured down on his head. Suddenly, he wasn't so sleepy anymore, Could it be where I got the name for my Taemin? The Taemin that I have now?

The sudden realization sent his mind reeling with terribly foggy memories and images of the small, ball-jointed doll from his childhood. Minho did not know where the sudden memory came from, or whatever the hell triggered it, but he was nowhere near just ignoring it and moving on. He needed to know what that dream meant, and why he had dreamed of it.

"Umma, appa, what is it?"

"It's a ball-jointed doll, Minho-ah. It's pretty, isn't it? His name is Taemin, and you need to take care of him well from now on."

Heart pounding and mind reeling with questions, Minho's head was filled with unclear images of the 'Taemin' doll he had when he was a little child. Among the other foggy fragments of memories he had, he sort of remembered a small doll he carried all the time with him; the little thing dressed in a bright green hanbok and had hair the color of a sunset sky.

"But aren't dolls for girls?"

"Ani, son. Taemin's a special kind of doll. He's a boy, isn't he? Boy dolls aren't for girls, but for little boys like you."

As each memory was recovered, Minho started to piece everything together in his head. He forgot about that doll among the other childhood memories of his--and now that the memory had resurfaced so suddenly, he didn't even remember having that doll before. It was so very long ago, and he didn't even know what it looked like anymore... but... 

 Jumping off of the bed with lightning speed, he sprinted upstairs to the attic where he knew the old photo albums were. 

He flicked on the light in the small, dusty room and then immediately dove for the box that contained their old family photos. Minho had no difficulty in finding it, since he’d put the box right next to the door. Ripping the top flaps of the cardboard box off, he immediately opened the first photo album on the pile.

Perhaps it was just chance, or his past was coming back to haunt him; for the first photo on the first page of the book was a picture of him.

To be exact, a picture of him when he was four.

A picture of him when he was four and holding what he remembered as ‘Taemin’.

Minho just about felt all breath leaving him at that moment.

'Taemin' before looked exactly like the 'Taemin' he had now. The same eyes, the same nose, the same orangey brown hair, the same subtle smile etched on the same porcelain-like face. The same name.

Minho's breath turned shaky and unsteady as the shock overcame his senses, his eyes turning almost as wide as a tarsier's, hands growing sweaty as they held the old, crusty photo album. He didn't even know how to react. 

Was it real?

Did he just really make something that was from his past? Something that had been forgotten? Something that had been a part of his young self, all those years ago?

With each question arising, Minho felt chills running up and down his spine. Goosebumps rose from his skin.

How was it even possible? He didn’t even remember the old ‘Taemin’ anymore. He was four years old when he had that doll, the name didn’t even ring a bell to him up until now.

How was it possible?

Minho sat there, the photo album in a limp grip in his hands, for what felt like an eternity.

It felt like hours for him before he finally punched himself out of his rationalizing and managed to let go of the photo album in his hands. Almost like in a trance, he went back downstairs, but not to the safety of his bedroom. Continuing to the workshop downstairs (he lived right above the workshop), he flicked on all the lights in his office, letting the room be flooded with the artificial illumination.

He walked to the middle of his workshop, bare feet tingling on the cold floor. He didn't know what to do; he had no one to tell his newfound revelation; no one else was awake to know that his Taemin doll from twenty years ago, had just been recreated as a life-sized version of his childhood plaything. If Jonghyun was there, he wouldn't even believe it.

Minho sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the gravity of the situation weighing down on his sanity. He scanned the room and saw that everything was in place just as he'd left it the day before. Only...

Although quite unwilling at that time, his eyes fell upon the spot where Taemin was standing.

The spot where he was supposed to be standing.

However, that spot was now empty...

...and no Taemin.

“What the hell?” Minho breathed out, his hand reaching up to grip his hair in confusion.

In a sudden panic, he immediately checked all doors and windows for signs of forced entry, thinking that his Taemin had been stolen by some robbers. But after checking everything, he found all of the windows and doors locked from the inside. Absolutely no way that anyone could’ve entered without a key.

Maybe Jonghyun moved him?

Minho nodded to himself. Probably yes; Jonghyun had moved the doll somewhere or changed his hanbok and forgot to put him back in Minho’s office. His best friend could be an airhead at times, and it wasn't uncommon for him to forget about things. Yes, definitely the reason, Minho thought. It was the only possible explanation for the disappearance of his doll.

But, he clearly remembered nothing of Jonghyun taking Taemin anywhere. The only thing he remembered was Jonghyun going to his own room before they closed up the shop, and he knew that the older man wouldn’t just take Minho’s things without asking for permission first.

Minho felt another unexplainable chill tremble up his spine.

Whatever’s going on here, the most possible explanation is my hyung doing something to Taemin. He probably just did something, took him into his sewing room, and just forgot to put him back. And I just forgot that he did that, I’m pretty tired anyways, Minho tried to reason with himself. He forced out a laugh that sounded a little bit more of a groan than a chuckle, and waved it off. It’s not like his doll just came to life and went up to use the bathroom or anything.

Because that would be just... unreal.

He was about to go back upstairs to try to sleep, suddenly missing the feeling of his comforters hugging him. Minho turned around to go back, and he wished he hadn’t.

The man felt his heart leap inside his chest when he turned and saw what was behind him.

Taemin.

Minho’s heart thudded wildly inside his chest, almost hurting at the rate it was beating so wildly against his ribcage. It was a frequent aftermath of shock, and the night was full of shockers, wasn't it? A man could only take as much, and Minho just had enough of his fill.

His eyes went back to their normal size; he didn’t even realize they were widened until then, and started laughing at what was supposed to be an embarrassing situation if anyone was around. How can he be so blind? Taemin was standing there all along. Jonghyun probably moved him.

Minho finished his small burst of giggles before walking up to the inanimate doll. He was still grinning as he put his arms around the doll’s waist to hoist him up, hitting himself upside the head for actually thinking that his doll had come to life and was walking around in his office.

The young man clasped his hands around each other’s wrists behind Taemin’s back, and bent his knees. With a little force necessary to lift the plastic doll, which was about as heavy as a mannequin, Minho tried to carry Taemin back to his original spot.

He tried.

Minho’s eyes widened again, grin disappearing, and his skin started to feel cold.

Taemin wasn’t supposed to be heavy as this.

Slowly, as slowly as he could, Minho unwrapped his arms from the doll’s torso and stepped back, his breathing seeming to stop altogether with his heart.

He stared at Taemin’s face, the artificial features looking as beautiful as ever. Minho, with his eyes as wide as saucers, stared at the divine pools of brown that were now blinking at him. Blinking, with long eyelashes fluttering with every movement of his eyelids.

He felt like a statue as he moved his gaze to the doll’s lips, which had been set into a Mona Lisa smile, but was now smiling wider than he was intended to be.

Minho stared at the doll.

And Taemin stared back at him, with those two pretty eyes that used to be soulless.

The taller man's throat was going drier with each second that passed, with every blink that the doll made. He was about to lose his mind and run out of the workshop, but Taemin made his voice known before the man could make any move to escape from the twisted 'dream'.

“You’ve finally remembered me, Minho,” it spoke, his voice sounding like he was singing instead of actually speaking. It was as beautiful as every part of him; so smooth and unflawed. His pitch was just right. His tone was just perfect.

Taemin smiled and brought his small hand to touch his creator's face, which was morphed into an expression of disbelief.

And that single touch of warm skin against warm skin was all it took for Minho to lose his consciousness. His knees buckled when the blood flow in his brain dropped, and it sent him falling into a heap on the floor beside Taemin’s feet. Taemin’s very, very alive feet; that carried his equally as alive body.

The young boy knelt down beside his unconscious creator's body, a hand reaching down to touch his long lost friend's sleeping face.

“You’ve finally remembered me."