Seven
The Lifetime Kids“Yah! Taemin! How about this?”
Switching his gaze from a shelf of expensively branded shoes, Taemin could only allow the incoming laugh as he eyed his hyung with curious doubt.
“Hyung, you look stupid.”
Pouting, Jonghyun twisted his body to face the full-length mirror, before sighing and tearing the novelty hat from his head, causing the soft strands of his hazel hair to spring up in little arches. Before Taemin could truly appreciate how adorable the image had been, Jonghyun was flattening and styling his hair back into its normal handsome precision, leaving his cheekbones stark and his warm skin-tone starker. Feeling something envelope his chest and pound at it, Taemin glimpsed away quickly, unwilling to absorb himself too thoroughly in his hyung’s demeanour.
“But it's… It's different!” Jonghyun exclaimed, setting the hat – that was styled to look like the head of an over-eager puppy – back on the mannequin stand. “And doesn’t Kibum love all this alternative stuff?”
“Kibum loves fashionable alternative stuff,” Taemin explained, tentatively following Jonghyun as the elder slowly continued down the isle. “Y’know, like, nice stuff.”
“But what’s nice?" Jonghyun queried, stopping to inspect a faux-leather wallet that was as over-priced as it was plain. Wrinkling his nose, Jonghyun continued onwards, somehow like a dandelion would sway in an undulating breeze. His footsteps were polite and his manner politer, as he struggled to take-in the unashamed grandeur of the shop surrounding him.
“I don’t know,” Taemin mumbled helplessly, trailing a finger along the row of purses and wallets. “I'm not very good at this - you know that. You should have asked someone else.”
“Well, I asked you,” Jonghyun countered, emerging from the isle and glancing up and down the shop with the look of a witless deer. “Don’t make me regret my choice, Lee Taemin!” He smiled then as he turned to grin up at Taemin, forcing small flutters in the maknae’s stomach, ones that evolved until Taemin could do all he was able – smile back and look away.
“I'll try,” Taemin offered, albeit hesitantly.
The shop they browsed through was an inherently pretentious one, flaunting a floor so polished Taemin believed he could see his own reflection, and that of the world, if he was to look down. There was an air of quiet in the store, and not just because few customers loitered amidst the isles, but also because not one of them wanted to shatter the still; even Jonghyun had been conversing in muted tones, as washed-out as the beige and gold colour scheme of their surroundings. The entire area made Taemin feel uncomfortable, the scent of lavender stiffening his joints as he walked, and the mild nip in the air mainly reminiscent of the type of character the shop catered well towards: The designer, the posh, the rich. Everyone they passed held a certain decorum, whereby they knew of their elevated societal status. Few recognised the maknae and the composer, for few really cared. They had been seen here before, and would be again, and, regardless of their fame, in the eyes of the customers and shop-assistants, they were still simply human. Taemin supposed, in some ludicrous, self-affiliated way, he appreciated that sentiment.
“What I don’t understand,” Jonghyun began lowly, as they verged into another empty isle, “is why… Shops like this are selling things like that hat. I mean, it looked like something I could get out of a toy-shop.”
“Oh, but it's ‘designer’,” Taemin mocked, ever-close behind Jonghyun. His proximity with the singer was getting dangerously untampered, and, on a few occasions, Jonghyun had reached out to pat Taemin’s arm or guide him through the labyrinthine store. The dancer could only hope Jonghyun hadn't noticed the way his body tensed at each light brush of fingers, could only pray he wasn’t aware of his growing anxiety at what were such platonic, emotionless gestures.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jonghyun nodded, “and probably just stitched together in the same sweatshop as everything else on the market.” His lips fell into a taut grimace as he continued, and Taemin nodded, unknowing what else to do. A calm sobered them as they continued to search, eyes flitting back and forth as if dragonflies caught in Summer.
“I can't believe he's almost twenty-six,” Jonghyun mused quietly, when they found themselves weaving between the vast loom of clothing on offer, from suits to jackets, to jeans and to t-shirts. Everything was so suave, so sophisticated, so minimalistic. Taemin was instantly lost. “Like, every time I think of him, in my mind he's still… Eighteen.” Jonghyun began to hunt through the railings carefully, eyes focussed, chewing on his bottom lip. So as not to become unhealthily enraptured by the image, Taemin joined in the search, albeit on the opposite side of the rack, so, when needs-be, he could still intently watch the elder.
“Yeah,” Taemin agreed, “it's quite… I don't know. It's unsettling.”
“He seems so old,” Jonghyun laughed, removing a heavy black jacket from the railings and inspecting it with a furrowed brow. Casually, he returned it, and continued to hunt. “I mean, I know he isn't old, but it's just… He's older. If that makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Taemin answered, voice relatively hoarse. “Time is moving so quickly for us.”
“It feels like we debuted yesterday,” Jonghyun chuckled. This time, however, the chuckle was somewhat deflated, beset in a candid depression. Finally, he peered up at Taemin, halting his movements and dampening his expression. Taemin looked up in succession, throat parching as he realised now all that existed was the depth of their eye contact. He wanted to look away, yet he couldn't, but before his cheeks could flush darkly, Jonghyun provided three words that sent a convoluted piercing ricocheting through the dancer’s very soul.
“Taemin, thank you.”
Taemin blinked, well-aware his frozen posture was now becoming quite the enigma, quite the curiosity. His thin fingers hovered over the coarse fabric of the clothing as he blinked at Jonghyun, long eyelashes fluttering and pink lips slightly parting.
“For what?” he managed, already feeling a rush within his veins, one that searched for the amethyst that sparked there, trying to hew out every colour within Taemin and create an apoplectic spectrum.
“Y’know,” Jonghyun shrugged, shoulders slackening and a small smile lightening his words, “for sticking around. It's just- It's been so many years, hasn’t it?”
“Almost half my life,” Taemin admitted, and his skin prickled then, for it was true – he'd known Jonghyun almost half his life. Words caught in the ridges of his throat as he wished to speak them.
“It's… so strange,” Jonghyun explored, forgetting at once about the gift-buying and instead latching his gaze on something unknown in the distance. “We've all been together for so long, and it feels like that, yet it really, really doesn’t.”
Taemin remained silent. He was happy to listen, more-so than to speak, for Jonghyun talked beautifully, with a voice irreplaceable and a manner clothed in some profound divinity.
“Thinking of all we've been through… Living together, growing up together, fighting and making up, all five of us- it's- it's kind of remarkable, don’t you think?” Jonghyun tilted his head at Taemin for an answer, eyes doused in some form of ardent affection. Taemin wondered deeply what such affection entailed, though knew not to inspirit his hope. Such affection entailed brotherhood, friendship, and the mark of their struggles. That was all.
“I-Well… Yeah,” Taemin nodded, knowing he would have to add more to his answer. “We've had some good times together, hyung.”
“Not just good,” Jonghyun emphasized, “but great. Really, really great, Taem’.” He went back to browsing at the clothes then, eyes indulging upon a small sparkle. In his navy blazer and ripped denim jeans, Jonghyun looked so perfect, so untouchable – and now, with that vulnerable glistening in his eyes, Taemin had to fight every inch of the will to embrace him. He loved Kim Jonghyun. He really, really, really loved Kim Jonghyun.
The dancer bit his bottom lip, and allowed his scruffy black hair to fall over his forehead. Sometimes, even a notion as ethereal as love could be unbearably painful.
“What I texted you about the other day,” Jonghyun began, picking up the strings of their conversation once more to bind them, “I meant it, Taemin. Yunkyung is over-working Kibum. I-I can see it.”
Taemin remained quiet, hoping Jonghyun would take the tacit hint to elaborate.
“I know- I know what it's like,” Jonghyun dispelled, glimpsing around him as if someone was trying to eavesdrop, “when he overworks us. It worries me. I'm scared for him. I can't help it.”
“He's a grown man,” Taemin reasoned, mirroring what Minho had said weeks earlier about Jonghyun himself. “He knows how to-“
“Even grown men can be manipulated,” Jonghyun interjected. “There's nothing invincible about being a grown-up, Taemin. We get pushed around just as much now as we used to, they just disguise it better.”
“No,” Taemin shook his head firmly, “not as much as we used to, hyung.”
“The only difference now,” Jonghyun rebuked, voice falling to a whisper, “is that they're less inclined to raise a fist on-“
He stopped himself, gritting his teeth, and all-of-a-sudden, a harrowing darkness overcame the tide of good will. Taemin watched him dig his nails into his palms, and drop his head, as if to stifle an overwhelming anger. A second passed, and when he looked back up, his eyes were as cold as the blood that nourished Taemin’s body.
“Leave it in the past, Jjong’,” Taemin consoled, wanting to reach out but unable to move. “It doesn't happen to him, not anymore. We've already been through the worst times. You don't have to relive them.” His words were so scripted, so meek, but, somehow, they worked.
“You're right,” Jonghyun conceded, eyes half-lidded as he surveyed the clothing. “I'm sorry, Taemin, I didn’t mean to-“ Jonghyun closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head.
“To what?”
“Kill the mood,” Jonghyun tried, “we were having fun and I just…” He trailed off, disappointed in himself, as he rooted his sight to the ground. Taemin cocked his head, feeling his body swell with sympathy, but knowing he could never truly stop it.
“Don’t be stupid,” Taemin offered, trying to infect his tone with an uncapped enthusiasm. “We can't always have happy thoughts, and, you know, the evening isn’t over yet – the mood can be saved, or something.”
“Or something.”
“Yeah, so, come on, we have a present to buy, don’t we?”
Jonghyun looked up, eyes somewhat widened, and then his lips parted for a grin and Taemin felt every inch of his feelings elapse, because Jonghyun’s smile was one of the most intrinsically wonderful things he'd ever seen. That, and Jonghyun’s penchant for kindness, for intelligence, for creativity, for being so effortlessly human in such a compelling and unbreakable way.
“You're right,” Jonghyun nodded, “I suppose we do.”
•••
Like Sun;
We were like dawn, you and I –
A fragile coalescence, all but
Disturbed by sun, and
The red of its sclera.
A fragile coalescence, all but
Disturbed by sun, and
The red of its sclera.
If the iris yellowed, and the pupil
Was so black, as to hang, in dun,
A paling impasse,
We would be like sun.
Was so black, as to hang, in dun,
A paling impasse,
We would be like sun.
•••
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Key, happy birthday to you!"
The screams and fan chants were verging upon deafening as Kibum smiled with graceful embarrassment, dropping his head and letting out a listless, “Aw…” into the microphone he held.
“Key-ssi, make a wish!” urged the presenter, as Minho cradled the cake in front of Kibum, having to stoop slightly given the elder was leaning forward in his seat. Kibum grinned, tilted his head, pouted, and then exhaled loudly to blow out the candles. When he did, the crowd instantly erupted into unashamed querying and howling, pondering over what had been wished for, what had been said. Dutifully, Minho gently laid the cake on the prepared table, before returning to his seat – alongside Jonghyun, who'd been hovering behind the taller male like some form of ephemeral mayfly. As soon as they were sitting, the presenter (who was placed beside Jinki, to the right of Taemin), asked the inevitable: “What did you wish for?” She smiled vividly, a pretty young woman with a polite, entrancing manner, that likened her to a newly-budded flower.
“But surely then it wouldn’t come true?” Jinki imposed, before Kibum could. The presenter laughed in a way one could have misconstrued as flirtatious if she was anywhere but the stage, before arguing back, “But if the fans know what it is, they can make it come true, Onew-ssi!”
“Oh,” Jinki nodded, understanding, “I see.” The fans briskly cheered then, their support never breaking wave. Taemin thought he felt it sweep him up, cast him to some distant shore of happiness and love.
“So what did you wish for?” she reiterated, flattening the skirt of her pastel-pink dress as the crowd’s uproar dampened. They wanted to hear this answer.
“A successful year,” Kibum answered predictably, “and for the member’s health.” A few coos emanated from the audience, but they were quickly contorted into laughter as Jonghyun jibed, “Yeah, sure, sure, you're so boring!”
“He probably wished for a new car,” Minho nodded, as Kibum’s eyebrows raised in mock defence. Taemin laughed sheepishly into the microphone, shoulder brushing against Jinki’s as the elder shifted his position somewhat.
“Ah, does Key-ssi require a new car?” the presenter asked, stacking her cards together daintily and placing her gaze on Minho. She was a very attractive young woman, and that much was blatantly obvious; however, daily Taemin was surrounded by a wealth of attractive people, and their looks rarely intimidated him, not anymore. He too quirked his head towards Minho, awaiting an answer he already knew would come.
“Key-ssi doesn’t need a new car,” Minho extended, “but he doesn’t like the one he has, it's-“
“It doesn’t work,” Kibum overtook, trying to explain himself, lest Minho make things out to be what they weren’t – as happened often. “I try to start it, but the engine just… Dies.”
“Seems like he needs a new car to me then!” the presenter exclaimed, grinning wildly.
“But that isn’t what I wished for,” Kibum certified, “I told you the truth! I just want my members to be happy.” He glanced amongst the members then, and they all offered him rehearsed smiles, his answer one they'd all used time and time again. It was a good answer, a wholesome one, that created bonds between themselves and the intoxicated fans. Stifled by the heat somewhat, Taemin rolled up the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows, exposing the smooth pale skin. He glimpsed at the audience briefly, a soft smile on his lips.
“Hyung is good that way,” Minho sighed, leaning back on his stool slightly. “I'm sure you all know by now that he used to almost mother us when we were younger.” Taemin allowed his sight to drift to Minho hesitantly, just about able to see him past Kibum. He was so effortlessly handsome, his silver shirt exposing a strong, muscular frame and his black hair framing a beautifully featured expression. Everything about him seemed so flawless, a man with little physical fault to pinpoint. Taemin remembered being jealous of such aesthetics, of wanting to look just as strong, just as wonderful, as Minho.
“He took such good care,” Jonghyun agreed, “especially towards Taemin.”
“Because he's the youngest?” the presenter wondered, her voice infected with an intrigue that almost sounded genuine.
“Not entirely,” Jonghyun answered, “more-so because, he's, well, Taemin.”
“Hey!” Taemin giggled, raising his eyebrows at the composer. “What does that mean?”
“Taemin was… Always pretty helpless,” Jinki explained, leaning closer to the presenter as if he was sharing a secret with her and the audience. “I'm pretty sure when I first met him he still couldn’t tie his shoelaces.”
“I could!” Taemin spoke into his microphone, feinting a joking anger as he glared at Jinki. The audience were laughing now, so joyously, and it sent a lance of contentment through Taemin, as he knew he was one of the reasons for their laughter. Somehow, it warmed him, sent a tendril of peacefulness wrapping tightly around his ankle bone, one that would tug until he fell, until it grappled him wholly.
“Yeah, Taemin was… Quite difficult,” Kibum sighed, shaking his head. “I used to iron his clothes for him, and we would all walk him to school… But, of course, we haven’t done that in years.”
“Our maknae’s all grown up now,” Jinki beamed proudly, glancing at Taemin with squinted eyes and that awfully detrimental grin.
“Yah,” Taemin complained, craning his neck to shoot a look in the direction of each of the members, “why are you all being so mean to me?”
“Because you're easy to be mean to, Taemin-ah,” Kibum sighed, folding his legs and tilting his head affectionately at the younger. Taemin chortled. Swaddled in his stage make-up and aligned with his commonplace confidence, one wouldn’t have known Kibum to have spent the morning with a complexion so ashen that it had scared the dancer, had scared him a lot. He let his gaze linger on Kibum for a second, checking the elder for any signs of sickness. He found none.
“And easy to annoy,” Jonghyun added, drumming his fingers against the microphone as he held it.
Taemin let out a petulant sigh then, and pouted a pout he knew would immediately play towards the fans – an immature pout, a babyish pout, a signature of his expressions. As he folded his arms, it only took Minho mere seconds to play fan service on the moment.
“Aigoo!” the handsome male commented warmly. “So cute!”
The shouting from the audience was almost deafening.
Once the fanatical screaming had somewhat dampened again, the presenter diverted their houses of conversation to ask of any plans in the up-and-coming months. Reclining, Taemin allowed s to lead this question, for he often misworded his answers. He lacked a fundamental eloquence that his hyungs seemed to flaunt so well, and, over the years, he'd exhibited this trait time and time again. Whereas one would be expected to learn over time, Taemin seemingly hadn’t, and never would he abandon that odd quirk of his personality that turned his sentences senseless as soon as he spoke them.
The members continuing their routines, Taemin once again found his gaze fixated on Kibum. He didn’t know why, nor did he want to further his inspection, but he couldn’t help but wonder just the extent of Kibum’s smiles. Were they wholesome, or were they confined to a listless façade? How much of the radiance in his eyes was true, and how much was borrowed from a performer’s experience? His eyes ticked thoughtlessly as he considered.
Then, something struck.
Kibum mindlessly began to tamper with the sleeve of his loose-fitting sweater. It was a bold piece, of primary colours, and would have suited him well were his attitude candid enough to flaunt it. However, as things basked in their tacit, withdrawn constraints, Taemin saw it almost as a mockery of Kibum, a demeanour borne of falsification to hide his true, inherent emotions. As he fidgeted with the sleeve, it fell slightly from his slender wrist, revealing the skin, and, alongside the pale flesh, the smallest of purple pinpricks – a tiny cut, barely noticeable. Taemin frowned at it as Kibum stiffened, jerking the sleeve down again. When he glanced up, he caught eyes with the maknae, procuring a gaze that spoke emptiness, ambiguity.
“Ah, I see…” the presenter sighed, tugging Taemin by his hair back into reality, “new cars and new music, maybe, is on the cards!”
“Maybe,” Jinki nodded, with a wry smirk on his lips. This time, even his smile couldn’t assuage the odd discontentment in Taemin’s gut. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. He just didn’t know what, or why he thought it, or why he couldn't think of anything but-
“Taemin-ssi, do you have any plans for this year?”
Taemin stirred on his seat at the presenter’s lilted voice, set apart from his ponderings to stare blankly at the darkened crowd. His lips parted, his eyes twinkled, and things stilled. With the attention on him, his entire body was stoic but for the rapid pulsation of his heart.
“Taemin planned to learn how to cook,” Jonghyun salvaged, decadently dressing a complete an utter lie, for he really had no other option.
“Unfortunately,” Kibum mumbled dryly, a chortle in his words. The rapper seemed fine. He seemed absolutely fine.
“Oh, is that so?” the presenter pressed, leaning forward, expounding a scripted curiosity as her eyes played with the five handsome men before her.
“Yes,” Taemin croaked, clearing his throat. “I wanted Minho-hyung to teach me how to make ramen.”
“Is Minho-ssi good at making it?” queried the presenter, raising an eyebrow with a coy grin. At the edge of the group, Minho humorously puffed out his chest and nodded, taking the moment to garner laughter from the crowd. Behind a raised hand, Jonghyun innocently giggled, Minho nodding sternly no less than three times.
“Ramen,” he asserted, “is my speciality.”
And so again began the tale of Minho and his ramen-cooking skills. With every word he executed glee and his theatrics were mesmerising. Taemin would have been spellbound were he not used to breaking the mystics in favour of reality – although, this time, it seemed reality didn’t favour him. He stared at Kibum until Kibum looked his way, and Taemin didn’t care then, not for fans, for cameras, for theories or for ethics. Not for the fact that their gaze could be misconstrued, that their intentions swayed and tarnished. Taemin only cared about one thing, and as Kibum’s eyes met his, that care was cemented.
There was something badly wrong, and Taemin was going to find out what it was, and he was going to fix it – before it became too late.
i got a sudden burst of inspiration for this story... i really hope it lasts long enough that i can update Dx
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