Jinki had dreams. Well, everyone had dreams but Jinki had one dream. Of the million dreams the vast and strangely sentient brain could come up with, his plagued him with one dream. It was weird. Sometimes he would go weeks, months without dreaming at all, just aimlessly wandering through a starless night sky, a black empty void where he floated until the next morning. Then, like a fist to the gut, he would be wracked with dreams every night, relentless, dark and oppressive. 

A nightmare, really, plagued with sleep paralysis and night sweats. 

It was always the same thing. Over and over and over again. A long stretch of sidewalk, the shadow of a warehouse, Jinki running, but his feet feeling like they were in thick sludge. The white fire of a gun blast, the sound of Taemin’s last breath. 

Once the nightmare was done tormenting him, he would wake up, promptly run to the bathroom and vomit. 




“Aye, Jinki. Do you have the reconciliation report? For the snack bar?” Kris asked. “They are sending over an auditor this afternoon.”

Jinki huffed. “An auditor? For what? And why are they coming here? Shouldn’t our accountant handle any audits?”

“Precisely.  But Jinwoon isn’t picking up the phone so he, the auditor, is coming over here.”

Jinki rolled his eyes. “Perfect. Ask Minseok. He helps with the books around here. Tell him to make two copies and fax one set over to Jinwoon. I’ll kill that bastard if he’s taken another vacation.”

Kris nodded and wandered to the back in search of the boy who liked numbers. Jinki reached for his new cellphone, straight from insurance company after the subway accident, so he could dial Jinwoon and tell him the off but a message indicator flashed across his screen. His heart jolted. 


Message: Me again. No jokes this time. If you’re free, Yoogie & I are having dinner/movie nite & wanted to know if you wanted to come by? Groceries on me. 

The message didn’t catch him off guard, but it did make him start questioning things. The questions, ambiguous without a real path caused him to put his phone down on his desk, and stare at it for a long unblinking moment. 

His stare off with his phone was interrupted by Kibum knocking on the frame of his door. “Earth to old man.”

Jinki, startled, jumped. He then rolled his eyes. “What?”

Kibum came in and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Jinki’s desk, his cologne fluttering in with him. Kibum’s taste in smells was much like him, Flashy, warm, enticing. It was no wonder that Jonghyun kept asking for his number. 

“Why are you staring at your phone as if it contains the secrets of life? People only stare at their phone like that if they don’t know how to answer a message from someone they like.” Kibum paused for a second before his face lit up. “Wait. Do you like someone? You do, don’t you?!”

“Kibum,” Jinki warned.

“Don’t you ‘Kibum’ me. I was beginning to think you were a born again aual or something, which would be fine if I didn’t remember…what his name?”

“Joon,” Jinki said lowly.

“Joon! That guy. And that was like eighty-seven years ago.. I just want you to get laid again sometime this century.”

Jinki frowned at him, mentally deciding if he wanted to have this conversation or not. But then he realized he was going to have it if he wanted to or not. Kibum didn’t like no as a choice phrase. His shoulders slumped. “It’s a man but it’s not what you think.”

Kibum’s brow rose. “How is it a man but not what I think?”

“He’s straight.”

Kibum’s face scrunched up. “Then why…”

“It’s the guy from the subway accident. Minho. I think the stress made him clingy or something. Not clingy like forty-eight text messages before 9 am clingy but…we’ve just been spending time together, a lot of time together. I’m over there almost every night. We cook, eat dinner together, clean up, and talk for a bit and then I go home. But…but he’s straight.”

“That kind of sounds like you two are dating, in the most PTA, home shopping network, PG rated way I can think of, but yeah, dating. You sure, like sure sure, he’s straight?”

“He has a son? And the son is not adopted? And he lived with the mother for years. And he’s a construction worker? And he looks like he eats raw eggs for breakfast while humming the notes to Gaston while beating his chest and he probably likes his steak rare and bloody for as much premium alpha male showmanship as he can muster. I just…he sounds pretty straight to me.”

Kibum rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because that’s what all hetero men do. Killing animals with their bare hands, fixing cars and football,” Kibum scoffed. “You’ve got the gaydar of a suburban soccer mom.” 

“Okay, so stereotypes, bad I get it but trust me, he’s straight.”

“ Huh,” Kibum said. “And you’ve been spending time with him? But,” his trailed off as he looked at Jinki. “Were you hoping for something else?”

Jinki blinked. He never asked himself that question. “No,” Jinki shook his head. “No, nothing at all.”

Lying was easier.





The movie idea was cute. They’d sat in front of Minho’s large television and watched some campy Christmas movie about a kid who wanted a BB gun over a big gigantic pot of ramen. 

When the credits began to roll, Minho, by way of sheer giggly amusement, turned to the other man on the couch. “Yoogeun tells me that you work him to the bone, Jinki,” Minho said, winking at his son. “Tells me he feels like a mule horse in a warehouse hell.”

He watched the look of disbelief wash over Jinki’s face and fought really hard to keep his face straight. “When you told me you were offering my son a job, I didn’t think you’d work him to death.”

Jinki began sputtering, his face turning red in embarrassment as he looked between father and son. “He–I–but…”

“Yeah, Dad! The other day he had me count every active file they had! Every last one of them. There had to be…like 20 of them.”

“Twenty! My son? Twenty files you had him count?” He turned back to Jinki, his face stern. “What kind of two-bit operation are you running?” 

The color drained from Jinki’s face as he held his hands up. “I didn’t think twenty files was that much! But I promise you, that was it. I had him take some trash out, count the files and he spent the rest of the afternoon studying.” Jinki turned to Yoogeun . “Tell him!”

Yoogeun was the first to break, the sound of his childish giggles filling the room as he wrapped his hands around his middle and rolled onto his back. 

Jinki pulled his chin in as Minho joined in the laughter moments later, laughing so hard tears leaked out of his eyes and down his face. 

“You’re so gullible, Mister Lee!” Yoogeun cackled from the floor. “You should have seen your face!”

“Oh? You thought that was funny? I’ll show you funny, you little punk!” Jinki yelled before he launched himself at Yoogeun . He caught the young man by surprise, holding him down before he started to tickle him. “You just wait until you get to work tomorrow. I’m going to make you count THIRTY files!” 

Yoogeun  squealed and fought to escape Jinki’s fingers. “Dad! Dad, don’t just sit there! Help me!” 

Minho hobbled into the action as fast as he could in his boot. “My son needs to be rescued from the clutches of the evil Tickler. I am coming, my son! I am coming!” he shouted before he jumped into the dogpile. Soon the tables had turned. Jinki was now at the bottom of the pile with Minho sandwiched between him and his son piggybacking as Minho tried to tickle the everloving laughter out of Jinki. He ignored Jinki’s cries for him to remember his ankle. The boot wasn’t going to save Jinki from him from avenging his son.

“Tell me again how many files you’re going to make my son count tomorrow?” 

“None! None! I swear none!” 

Yoogeun whooped for joy from his spot. “Good job, Dad!” 

Minho grinned triumphantly and put his fist on his hips as if he’d truly saved the day like a dashing knight or something. Wanting to gloat, he took a glance down and saw Jinki, breathless and sweaty beneath him. 

The he realized what observation sounded like and soon other thoughts where thundering through his brain, none of them as wholesome as he fun they were having. His eyes drifted down from Jinki’s face and noticed his shirt had come up during the wrestling and Minho eyes went wide. He straightened up quickly, forgetting his son was on his back. Yoogeun stumbled back into the couch with a yelp.

“Smooth, Dad,” he grumbled.

He turned to his son and pouted. “I didn’t mean it.” 

Yoogeun rolled his eyes. “I know that.” His son stood and ruffled his father’s hair and Minho tried to take a bite of his hand, drawing a laugh from his son.

“You two stay here and do adult things,” Yoogeun said and Minho thought he was going to choke on his tongue, “I’m going to Dongjin’s house. He’s got the new Call of Duty.”

“You’re leaving?” Minho asked, his pout back. “This was supposed to be family night.”

“It was family night.”

“It was family night,” Minho parroted, his voice mocking. “You’re breaking this old man’s heart.” 

“Mister Lee is good at fixing things,” he whispered matter of factly before blowing a raspberry on his father’s cheek. “You have fun,” he yelled.

“Be back before dawn or something this time,” Minho said as his son walked towards the door. “And put on a jacket!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” was the last thing he heard before the door opened and closed. 

“Brat,” Minho muttered. It was quiet all of a sudden and Minho realized he was still kneeling on the floor with Jinki still between his legs, his boot digging into Jinki’s thigh. The older man was staring at him expectantly, as if he were wondering when he would be let go. 

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry! I completely forgot…” Minho closed his mouth and stood, bringing Jinki with him. 

“Not a big deal,” Jinki said a bit awkwardly and for a moment, Minho thought that maybe Jinki had seen through his own internal crisis for a moment. He couldn’t tell because he moved back to the couch like it was a personal mission. 

Minho limped over to the couch to join him and suddenly Minho felt something shift. He started to believe what Jinki said weeks ago, about stress bringing people together. He felt a connection with Jinki, completely iridescent and fundamentally different than he’d ever felt with anyone, even Yoogeun’s mom. With Soeun it had been the culmination of familiarity and loyalty; spending that much time with someone makes them a part of your life, like a foundation block. Maybe that’s why he fell apart when she left. 

Jinki was a breath of fresh air, clearing out all of the smoke in his heart, even in the short time he’d known him. He’d come to realize that he was attracted to him. Liked him, even. As in liked him, liked him. 

A him. A man. 

Not the most revolutionary concepts but it was still something he’d lost touch with. There had been others, men, especially during college and in between their many many breakups, but they’d never held his attention fully enough to rival’s Soeun’s, so when she came back, they never matter. Jinki, with his warm heart and geniunity and caring nature, morphed Minho’s focus of attention, transformed it, owned it. He craved Jinki’s attention. He was infatuated. It was–

“Minho are you okay?”

Then Minho remembered something else. He remembered that his connection to Jinki was supernatural. That he’d seen things that he hadn’t wanted to. Since then, he made a vow that no matter what happened, he would never mention that again.

Minho shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine.” 

It was silent again, awkward, the air charged with something. 

“Yoogeun’s quite popular,” Jinki said breaking the silence, “and he’s really good at listening to the older boys, like he listens to them, their stories, their problems. I think he would make an excellent counsellor one day.”

“He gets that from his mom, I think. She…” Minho paused. He had a habit of bringing her up way too often. “Either way, I’m glad you two get along so well.”

Jinki looked at him and for a moment it made Minho uncomfortable because it felt like this man, this observant, empathetic man, was looking right into him. 

“You still care about Soeun, don’t you?”

Minho lips twisted together. “In a sense, yes. I knew her…I was with her for ten years. I don’t think I’ll ever not care about her. But…she’s like…a far off destination, something impossible to reach in my heart. I don’t have the energy or the motivation or the desire to make that trip. Could I track her down? Probably? But it would be more for Yoogeun than me. I never really forgave her for leaving him. But she was the sweetest person in the world. You’d…” Minho sighed. 

“No. No, I get it. To want someone back in your life. Even if it’s just because they belong there. I get it.” 

“No, that not it, not when there is the possibility of things anew. Someone once told mewe keep moving forward, opening new doors and doing new things because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths. I think we’re curious sometimes because new things help us get over old hurts.”  

“Is that what you’re doing?” Jinki asked suddenly. 

Minho frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Is that what you’re doing? Am I a new thing to you?”

Minho pulled back, a bit affronted that Jinki thought that was what he was implying, or hell, doing. “Why…why would you think that?” 

“Well,” Jinki continued, unfazed by Minho's confusion, “I’m not a puppy or whatever it is that people play with when they are bored. I’m not–“ Jinki stopped, inhaled and exhaled. “Wow. Wow. I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” He looked around. “Hey–maybe I should go? I’ve made it weird.”

“Yeah, no. Leaving isn’t going to unring that bell.” Minho rubbed his hands together because they were sweaty and he was nervous. It felt like he was about to take a running leap into the unknown, some wide cavernous empty…unknown. “Can I ask you something?”

Jinki chuckled, his laugh void of humor. “After that outburst, you can ask me anything.”

“I like you.”

Jinki blinked. “That’s not a question.”

“It kind of is,” Minho admitted as he stared at Jinki. He thought he’d have to explain but Jinki read between the lines like he had a third eye, like its only purpose was to figure out all of the things Minho didn’t say.  

“The unsaid ‘Do I like you back?’ Because I think this conversation is moving way too fast for that answer.”

“Well, you started it with your puppy and toys talk. Do you think I keep inviting you over here because you’re new and shiny? Like how does that even make sense? I have a child, I just can’t bring anyone over. And to be honest with you, your shiny new coat wore off when you almost burned my kitchen down, so spare me that nonsense. I invite you over here because you’re good to Yoogeun and you’re good to me. I like you because I like you. There aren’t any other reasons.”

“I just figured…with Soeun and…Yoogeun that…your boat didn’t float in this direction. I thought it floated down a tight narrow canal, heading towards the great next…female love of your life.”

“Who knows who is going to be the great next love of my life? I don’t like labels,” Minho said patiently.

“Labels?”

“Labels. This is water, this is canned corn, this is sloppy joe mix. Labels. I don’t need them. I like who I like.” 

Jinki peered at him like he quite didn’t understand, and to be honest, Minho didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. But he did know what he wanted. “Look,  can I…hold your hand?”

“Seriously,” Jinki said, his brows furrowed. 

“Yes, very serious. I would very much like to hold your hand. I’ve been dying really.”

Jinki scoffed. “This feels like junior prom, except without the tuxes and ugly corsages.”

“Huh?”

“First base on a starry night. Declarations. Intentions. Junior prom,” Jinki rambled on.

“You’re…weird, you know that right?” Minho said.

“Yes. However, I just got confirmation that you like weird people.” Jinki paused. “I like you too.”  Eventually, Jinki held out his hand and Minho took it. It felt smooth against his, all of Minho’s calluses from hammering steel and sawing wood against Jinki’s kind and gentle skin. That moment, as simple as it was, was enough for Minho to let down his guard. 

He regretted it the moment it happened.

Soon he was slammed with a vision of a young man, blond hair, wide eager eyes and cheery tinted cheeks from the cold. He sat on an overturned crate in an empty cold warehouse. In front of him was an old black and white television with orange tape around the knob. Minho took a step forward, and then another one, and another one until he was standing next to the young man. 

“Are you Taemin? I remember you told me your name was Taemin…”

The young man never looked up, his eyes locked on the television in front of him, but he nodded  in affirmation. “Hey, look at this,” he said before scooting over on the crate.

Minho took a seat and followed Taemin’s finger towards the screen. The surprise was refreshing because Minho thought he’d been desensitized to the things he would see in his visions.

On the television was a something that looked like a home video. He recognized teenage Jinki instantly– same smile although sobered and tempered. 

“This was the day after our parent’s funeral. It’s so clichéd, parents dying in car accidents. Maybe parents should make it a rule to never ride together. 50-50 chance that their children don’t become orphans, you know? Leave a parent behind, save the family tree, mankind, or whatever. But the way Dad loved Mom, even the idea of riding separately would seem ridiculous to them.” Taemin sat back, his eyes lighting up.

“Oh, look. This right here? Jinki took me to the playground to cheer me up. He was only seventeen but he was so good at it, steeping in for our parents. He was so good at it. The state wanted to step in and take me away because I was so young but he wouldn’t let them. He fought and screamed for me, dragging things out until his 18^th. I only had to stay with a foster family for two or three months. When he finally got me, I was so happy. The next day, he was applying all over the place, busboy, janitor, courier. He worked the skin off his bones to provide for me. He was a good brother. The best.”

Taemin clicked the television off. “You care about him?”

Minho hesitated. Making that kind of declaration to a ghost was frightening. They had long memories, eternal memories. But eternal didn’t sound that bad so he nodded. 

Taemin nodded. “Good. Good.” He then stood, abruptly, and walked over to the television. In a surfeit of anger, he pushed the television off its stand, watching as it screen cracked and exploded in a rage of sparks. Seconds later, it reappeared on the stand intact. Another video began playing. Taemin took his seat again.

“Here’s him at a singing competition. Next time you see him, ask him to sing for you. This one was the last one he could do. He didn’t win, which was stupid. When we got home, he kept apologizing saying that the money from the competition could have done so much. He kept saying ‘Taemin this, Taemin that’. I was so mad and it made me sick to hear him talking because he never said his own name in the throes of his selflessness. It made me sick. Jinki is a beautiful name. It deserved songs. It deserved his attention.” He looked away from the television. “I hate that this is the only way I can see him.”

Minho frowned. That wasn’t normal. Spirits could move freely. If Taemin wanted to look upon Jinki all he had to do…was look. 

“I know what you’re thinking but Jinki’s shut down. He sealed me off in his heart. He couldn’t take the pain, so I can’t connect with him. I can’t see him. I can’t…” Taemin froze, then turned to Minho, a bright smile on his face. “Say, you–you can talk to him for me! You can, can’t you?”

Taemin’s sudden enthusiasm startled him but he nodded in the face of Taemin’s childlike hope. 

“Oh, god! That’s wonderful!” Taemin tapped his nose. “Tell him…um…tell him that I–”

The room went dark.


Minho blinked and he was back in his living room, staring across the couch at Jinki. Jinki who looked haunted and scared. 

“You–you’ve done that before,” the older man whispered. “The last time you did that…I…thought it was a dream. I thought I dreamed that. That you had mentioned Tae–no. No,” Jinki stood. “No.“ He started to look around frantically for his coat. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Ever. This was a bad idea. I should have never come over here.”

Minho panicked, his panic surmounting Jinki’s tenfold. This has happened to him before. He’d opened his mind, he’d let the visions in and it had ruined every single relationship he’d ever had. That was the ugly truth that he didn’t share with Yoogeun, that he didn’t share with anyone. 

Soeun had left because she couldn’t deal with the ugly truth about her past. The one that Minho dragged out of her because he thought it would help her heal, move on, accept things. He never listened to her. He never listened to her screams, to her sobs to stop. He always pressed forward, ignorant, and she left him for it, left her child because she wasthat haunted. 

He didn’t want that to happen with Jinki. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let it–whatever they had–crash and explode before they even had a chance to take off. He could deal with the visions. He couldn’t deal with possibilities being swept out from up under him.

He jumped up from the couch, hopping after Jinki on one leg as Jinki snatched his keys off the end table. 

“Look, I can explain,” Minho cried as his hand landed on Jinki’s shoulder. Jinki jumped and pulled away so violently, his face as white as a sheet. 

“Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!”

He said it with so much venom, so much vitriol, so much fear in his voice that Minho’s hand lowered. “I–I never wanted this to happen, Jinki. I don’t want to see what I see. I just…do. The visions come to me. You have to believe me.”

Jinki was trembling and tears sat proud on his lashes. “Leave me alone,” he said quietly, his keys in his hand as he backed towards the door. “Leave me alone.”

The door slammed shut. 




Raising Taemin had been one of the most joyous, stress filled experiences that Jinki had ever experienced. He wasn’t prepared to be a parent, wasn’t something he dreamed that would happen to him for years, but there he was, going to parent-teacher conferences, attending dance recitals, cheering from the stands like he was personally and genetically responsible for Taemin’s existence on the earth.

When Taemin died, it had changed Jinki. Not in an overhaul kind of way, where he couldn’t recognize himself in the mirror, but more of having to remove almost every piece of Taemin from his life. Because if he didn’t, if he didn’t distance himself from Taemin’s memory, he would go insane. He would lose himself to the grief, to the pain. He didn’t have anything, anyone to catch him, to hold him up. Every support beam he ever had was dead.

Thinking of that, he would shatter, like a thin piece of glass scattered over marble and stone, if he allowed his grief to live. He would shatter and the pieces would cut everything to shreds. He did not like pain.




“You look like ,” Kris said from his seat across from Jinki. 

Jinki blinked slowly, wishing he could will Kris away. “What do you want?”

Kris looked back at him, incredulous. “It’s Thursday, Jinki,” he said slowly like Jinki had a problem processing simple information. “Our weekly meeting?”

Jinki brought his hands to his face and pressed the tips of his fingers against his tired eyes. “We gotta postpone it. I–I don’t have it in me today. We can try for Monday.” 

“That’s fine,” Kris said, gathering up his things. “That doesn’t change the fact you look like .”

“Thank you for your astute observation, .”

“No problem,” he said. Kris stood, walked to the door, but instead of walking out, he closed it and turned the lock. “Alright. So. Let’s talk about you looking like .”

Jinki heaved a breath. “I don’t have the time, nor the desire to do this psychobabble analytical bull with you today, man.”

“Tough because I have the time and the desire. I’ve been offering my services for years and you’ve never once taken it. I’ll admit, I let you slide because you at least looked like you were keeping it together. That all changed when I walked into the bathroom and heard you throwing up everything you’ve ever eaten. Are you sick?”

Jinki rubbed his temple. “No, I’m not sick.”

Kris looked like he was making an observation note in his head. “Taemin’s death anniversary is today.”

Jinki resisted the urge to grab his mug of cold coffee and fling it at Kris. Instead, he put his head down on the desk. “Get out.” 

“This is ing stupid. It’s been five years, Jinki and not once, not once, have you visited his grave.”

Jinki kept his head down. “What purpose is visiting a grave? What? To remind myself? I don’t need a goddamn reminder. Going to my parents grave, going to his grave is not going to bring him back, it’s not going to any of them back.”

“Of course it won’t. Visiting a grave is about healing, not some chuck a coin in a fountain wish foundation that will bring our loved ones back to us. That’s not what it’s about. It helped me. He was my friend, too. So I go. You should–”

Jinki’s head shot off the desk. He was sick of this . He was sick of Kris, sick of Minho, of the stupid red circle on his calendar. He was sick of all of it.
“I’ve been denying your supposed help for five years so why in the  do you think I’ll accept it today? Because I’ve got some extra time because of a cancelled meeting? Okay. it. Sit down. We’re going to talk about meal vouchers. Let’s–let’s talk about the youth finance workshop. Let’s talk about the food drive. Let’s talk about anything else other Lee Taemin because I swear to God I will fire you right this minute if you force this topic.” 

Kris sighed, unlocked the door and opened it. “Get some sleep, Jinki.” Then he was gone.

Jinki threw his mug at the closed door. 




He ran into Yoogeun Friday night, as if it had totally escaped his mind that Yoogeun worked there. When he turned around, right as was leaving to do some late night shopping, he came face to face with a very angry, very teary pre-teen.

“Yoogeun …what’s wrong?”

“Mom left us. I wasn’t even old enough to know her but she left us. And I thought you wouldn’t. I thought you would never leave us, but you did.”

Jinki looked up. Christmas decorations were up now, twinkling lights glittering up and down the streets. The kids and the counselors had drawn for Secret Santa that morning. For most this would be the only gift they would get this Christmas. Jinki had drawn Kris’s name. Maybe he’d get that a muzzle.

Christmas was supposed to be a time for family. They were his family at the end of the day, that included Yoogeun too. He stepped forward and hugged the boy close. “I…I didn’t leave you.” He made it his purpose to mention only Yoogeun. “I’ll see you every time you come here.”

Yoogeun sniffled into his coat. “I want a family.”

Jinki laughed softly. “You have a family. Your Dad is your family and he’s a great father.”

Yoogeun pulled away. “You don’t miss him? It’s been two weeks. We went to the doctor today. They removed his boot. So now he’s walking around the house looking like the house is the biggest thing in his life. He won’t leave the living room. He just sits there and mows through six packs. Why would you do that to him? It’s Christmas for Christ’s sakes.”

Jinki wanted to tell Yoogeun to mind his business, that he didn’t understand, that it was a problem between him and his father. And he couldn’t say that Yoogeun was right. There was a reason, a very serious reason why he couldn’t see his father anymore. 

The things Minho could see. Jinki’s own personal demons. 

“I’ll promise, I’ll try to call your father. Just don’t cry anymore. Let us handle it, okay?”

Yoogeun didn’t look to impressed with Jinki’s offer. He took a step out of Jinki’s circle of arms, stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to walk away. 
“Everybody tries. They never do what they say,” he muttered as he mounted his bike and pedaled away. 

Jinki began to call him back, it was way too late for a boy to be on his bike, but , he wasn’t Yoogeun’s father. He wasn’t sure if he would even listen to him.




That night he had his nightmare, the one he always had. After he’d vomited and rinsed his mouth out, he sat on the edge of his bed and for the first time in years, he cried.

He was tired of feeling like this.