It’s been three years since Minho has whispered the names of countless constellations into Taemin’s ear.

Since the first year apart, Taemin has been waiting and waiting for a letter, a little note with messy handwriting that filled him up with flittering butterflies and stars that glisten through inked words.

But nothing ever came.

At first Taemin wasn’t disappointed, piecing together broken glass not only takes time but horrible dedication.

He’s doing alright now.

He resolved the issue he had with the only woman he’s ever had as a mother figure (even though it was an abusive one) and she’s doing okay. She moved a little up north where the fast pace of the city keeps her blissfully busy, but she lets Taemin take Yoogeun away every weekend so it isn’t so bad.

Yoogeun’s grown taller, more mature, but his eyes are still soft, still warm. They radiate compassion and light and it’s something Taemin swore he’ll never see die out.

After graduating Jinki offered Taemin a job at his shop while Taemin pulls together enough money for tuition and buys himself a little time to mull over the next step of his life.

It’s nice. The usually quiet shop serves as a sanctuary where he can breathe and snack on as many handfuls of chocolate that litter the counter as he wants, plus he gets half off instant ramen.

He quit inhaling flowers some time ago. It has a hard journey, and every once in a while his body craves for it, begs him until he’s ready to crack. But Jinki’s always there keeping him in line, and Yoogeun’s always looking up to him and so he stays strong, indulges on stale chocolates and laughs at a lame joke Luna made in hopes of lifting his spirits.

But even though things seemed to be looking up, he still misses Minho. Every now and then he turns to his side, all bright eyed expecting Minho to be next to him, but only he isn’t and for a moment Taemin feels the slightest bit empty.

He tries to make himself a better person, Jinki tells him he’s doing great and Luna nods in agreement, but Taemin knows he still has a long way to go.

He tries this time not to be dependent on someone. Because he knows that’s not fair to himself or to the person fully supporting him. He remembers Jinki saying that it’s okay for him to want to figure things out for himself but that leaning on friends when needed is fine and that he needs to learn the difference between too much and too little.

Taemin’s still learning how to walk the thin line between the two but so far there’s been just a few incidents.

He still misses Minho though.

It’s odd really, after always having someone constantly at your side, keeping your balance the second you start to waver, as soon as he’s gone it feels like Taemin’s falling (maybe Jinki was talking about that).

But life goes on, he deals with Minho’s absence because there’s nothing he can do except work on himself.

--

The day it happens, it’s a Wednesday.

Taemin walks through the double glass doors of Jinki’s shop with a small smile, his shoes scrape the almost spotless linoleum floor and his books on astronomy are thrown carelessly in a corner.

There was nothing special in particular about today, but Taemin guesses that’s what made it even more electrifying.

“Taemin, there’s a letter for you.” Jinki calls out from up on his ladder as he restocks the canned vegetables, his words giving away the air of nonchalance he has around him, because if Taemin didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a hidden splash of sunshine woven into each syllable.

Taemin tries not to get his hopes up, but it’s impossible because his heart is already hammering against his chest and his hands start fidgeting as he walks up to the mail room.

As Taemin checks in his usually empty mailbox, laughter spills through his lips in disbelief.

Because instead of writing him pages and pages of mushy stuff Minho’s so horribly known for, he just sent in a post card.

A regular post card with lights from cities acting like little stars, like an unspoken promise that Taemin still feels on his tongue.

On the back, in black ink that make flowers bloom in the darkest corners of Taemin’s mind, are just three little words.

Nothing except three trifling little syllables.

Outside there’s the distinct rumbling of the afternoon bus just in front of the market.

And as Taemin rushes through the glass doors of the shop, he’s met with a blindingly beautiful smile, and warm hands.