Onew looks at the clock for the hundredth time that night. He finds that no, time does not go faster when you want it to- it slows down. He sighs and shuts the TV off, placing the fragile remote carefully onto the table, because Taemin’s magic hands have dropped it too many times for it to tolerate another banging. He slides back into the couch, staring at the roof, wondering how he came to be like this.

Alone, and idle.

A lone and idle idol, he chuckles softly under his breath.

He glances at his sad little phone lying on the table next to the brittle TV remote and wonders if Jonghyun will pick up. No, he decides. I’d be a nuisance.

Instead, he dials the familiar number of their favourite take-away and waits for them to pick up. Four rings, five, and six- they don’t pick up.

Jinki feels tears prick his eyes.

Even the restaurant people seem to think that Lee Jinki doesn’t exist. He deludes himself into thinking that he never really did, that their memories of Lee Jinki have only been a dream. He is just about to create a world where he does not exist when the door swings open, letting a waft of cold winter air in.

He hears Taemin’s light, cheerful footsteps through the hallway. He sits up, and Taemin moonwalks into the living room, a cheesy grin lighting up his face. “Hyung,” he squeals and flings himself onto Jinki. Jinki finds himself momentarily blinded and deafened because Taemin is all bone and sharp edges.

“Oof-” Taemin’s elbow digs its way into Jinki’s stomach. “Tae- get off-”

Taemin clambers off the older and grins down at him. “Hyung, they chose me for SM the Performance,” he said, voice and body quivering with excitement. Jinki stares at the younger, trying to bring out at least a semblance of joy, of pride. He forces a smile. “That’s great, Minnie,” Jinki sits up.

Taemin’s smile fades. “You don’t look so happy, hyung,”

Jinki forces his grin to widen; he forces his face to light up. “It’s just that I expected this, Taemin-ah, it’s not really much of a surprise; you’re one of the best dancers in Korea- it’s inevitable they’d choose you.”

Taemin’s bright smile pops back into place. “Thanks, hyung,” he says, puffing his chest. “Jongin’s in, too,” he adds.

Jinki smiles and shrugs. “Again, I knew it was coming.”

“I’m hungry,” Taemin whines, sitting on the couch. “I’m tired, I’m sleepy, I’m sticky and sweaty. Sleep, eat or bathe- which should I do first?” He leans his head onto Jinki’s soft shoulder.

“Eat first, bathe and then sleep, Tae,” Jinki says patiently.

“Did you order anything? Or did you cook?” Taemin asks.

“N-no,” Jinki says. “Why, should I have?”

Taemin pauses, lifting his head and turning to look into Jinki’s eyes. “Well, duh,” Taemin scoffs. “You were at home.”

Jinki ignores the feeling of sharp jealousy, resentment, and a million other dark feelings and laughs. “So? That makes me the housewife?” He picks his phone from the table and hands it to Taemin. “You choose; the pamphlets are on the fridge, as you know.” Jinki stands and walks into his room, clenching and unclenching his fists to keep the sudden rage down.

Taemin stares after Jinki, wondering what he had done. He chooses their favourite take-away and dials the number, rattling off their orders on auto-pilot. He hangs up and stares at Jinki’s closed door, the joy of being selected for SM’s star dance group being replaced by a chill. He stands, deciding to ask his hyung exactly what was wrong, was he okay?, but the doorbell rings.

Taemin wonders whether the delivery boy had flown his way to their dorm just because they were SHINee. He opens the door and it is a slightly drunk, raspy Jonghyun. He smiles sleazily at Taemin, eyeing the maknae as if he were the best cut of meat. “Tae-” Jonghyun says, and smiles. “Let me in,”

Taemin moves to make way for the older. “You’re drunk,” he states.

“Am I? I am?” Jonghyun says, shaking his feet violently so his shoes fly off.

“What happened?” Taemin asks, helping Jonghyun to the couch. Jonghyun collapses, resembling a lumpy mass of dark clothes and a pink hat more than the lead singer. “Jonghyun?” Taemin tries, poking what was probably Jonghyun’s hip.

“I did it, Minnie,” Jonghyun says, poking his face out from under his cap. “I made the song,”

“Really?” Taemin squeals. “You finished it? What’s it called?”

“A Gloomy Clock,” Jonghyun proclaims with a flourish. “It’s perfect, Tae, I love it,”

“That’s awesome, hyung,” Taemin says.

“Jieun wants it,” Jonghyun pouts. “She says it’s perfect for her concept, but it’s mine, Taemin!” Jonghyun slams a fist into his chest, apparently asserting his dominant masculinity but ending up coughing and gasping for air.

“Yes, it is,” Taemin says, amused. A drunken Jonghyun is always funnier than a sober Jonghyun, Taemin decides. Jonghyun

“Are you going to give it to her?” Taemin asks.

“I don’t want to. But I want to. But I will.” Jonghyun replies. “It suits her, y’know?”

“Jonghyunnie-hyung?”

“Mmm?”

“Which of us do you love the best?” Taemin asks. A drunken Jonghyun is always more honest than a sober Jonghyun, Taemin remembers.

“Of you?” Jonghyun echoes. “Kibummie,” he decides. “Duh,” he adds, rolling his eyes at Taemin’s stupidity.

“Where is Jinki-Dinky?” Jonghyun asks, looking around. “Wasn’t he supposed to be at home?”

“He’s in his room,” Taemin answers. “Sleeping.”

“Already?”

“Yes.” Taemin doesn’t know why he lied. He doesn’t know why he tried to cover up for Jinki, and he doesn’t want to know why.

The door swings open for the third time that night, and Kibum swooshes’ into the room in a puff of the cold night air, sweet perfume and the smell of delicious take-away.

“You ordered something?” he asks, setting the plastic bags down on the table.

“Yeah,” Taemin says, everything forgotten as he digs into the covers and pulls his box of food out. He stuffs food into his mouth, only now realizing how hungry he was.

Kibum watches Jonghyun try to hold his pair of chopsticks with fumbly fingers. “He’s drunk, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Taemin manages through his mouthful of food. A few pieces of food splatter onto Kibum’s arm and he shakes it off in disgust. “Shut up and eat, Taemin,” he snaps. Taemin smiles apologetically. Swallowing, he explains, “He finished that song he was working on. He’s giving it to IU, apparently.”

Kibum’s eyes widen over his bowl. “He’s giving it to IU?” he asks. Taemin nods. “He doesn’t want to, but he will.”

“BUT WHERE’S DINKY?!” Jonghyun suddenly explodes, flinging his chopsticks away. “DINKY-BINKY, COME OUT, COME OUT~”

“Hyung!” Taemin clamps a hand over Jonghyun’s mouth, wincing when Jonghyun Taemin’s palm. “I told you, he’s sleeping!”

Kibum opens his mouth, about to tell them that Jinki was most likely not sleeping, when Jinki’s door swings open. He stares at the three of them, and the laugh comes out cold and sad. Taemin has a hand on Jonghyun’s mouth, his face a mask of disgust and surprise. Kibum’s jaw hangs open, the last morsel of food visible in his open mouth.

“I’m not sleeping,” Jinki says shortly. He walks to the table and stares into Taemin’s eyes. “Why did you have to lie, Taemin?”

“I- I-” Taemin stutters.

“Did you think I was too much of a slob? Too useless to even speak the truth of?” Jinki asks, eyes burning with a rage Taemin had never seen in their leader. Jonghyun, apparently sober enough to understand a serious situation, pried Taemin’s hand off his face and tried to calm Jinki down. Jinki shot a look at Jonghyun, shutting him up effectively.

“I lied, Taemin,” Jinki spat. “I lied. I’m not ing happy you’re in SM the Performance; I hate it. It makes me angry and jealous and resentful and I don’t want to ing feel that way.”

Minho walked in at that moment, neck prickling because the tension in the air was palpable. “Hyung,” Minho says, because he had heard everything from the hallway.  “We don’t-”

“There it is,” Jinki said, smiling coldly. “The dreaded we. Finally, finally, someone speaks the truth. It’s we, now, is it? You against me?” He takes a step back, stumbling a bit. “Do I work any less? Am I any less talented? Do I have a smaller fanbase?”

“Hyung, it’s not like that,” Taemin says softly, standing up. He reaches out, but Jinki’s look of hatred has him cringing back. “You’re just as talented, you work just as hard, its not-”

“ you