Taemin sits back on the blanket, his legs crossed in front of him, and pulls out some chicken, taking a bite. It’s cold and soft against his teeth, spicy on his tongue. A sip of root beer washes it down and the chill of the drink is refreshing. Every movement is a delay, an inaction now that he’s finally here. He’s seeing Minho again for the first time and his thoughts are jumbled, his head flooded with a thousand memories, words spoken and actions taken.

“It’s been a long time”, he starts, “I know I should have come, that I should have visited. It was easier to pretend that you weren’t dead if I didn’t have to actually see it written down. I could pretend that you had left and might still come back. That watching you die had just been a bad dream.”

He grimaces, his fingers still gripped around the glass bottle. This all suddenly seems so foolish, this trip, this picnic. Yet he needs this, he needs to say this, and he needs Minho to hear him. To at least pretend that Minho can hear him.

“I met someone, the year after you died. At a bonfire Jongin dragged me to. You know Jongin, always pressing me to try new things. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me agree to do stuff we both know I would never do, or even think of, on my own.”

Taemin shakes his head and chuckles, another sip of soda sliding coolly down his throat.

“Like dance. You were so funny, you argued so hard for them to let me take classes. I think that in as much as it was for you, Dad said yes just to get me out of the house. To him it was worth any price to make me seem normal, even if it was just dance and not a ‘real’ sport. At least there were trophies. That always seemed to keep him happy. And surprised. I don’t think he thought I’d actually be any good at it.”

He rolls his eyes at the memory, the one that still stings because he could see it in the way his father looked at him while contemplating Minho’s plea that he still thought he was a freak, but now at least one that would leave the house. It was worth it because the escape from the world dance gave Taemin, sheltering him in hallowed studio walls, embraced in music, invigorated him, and he finally had something that was tangibly his, where he was Taemin and not “Minho’s brother”.

He’s lost in thought when a bee flies too close to his head, the buzz like needles in his ears and he jumps up and back, nearly tripping on the blanket in the process. It flies away but his heart is still thumping, he’s still on edge as he tentatively takes his seat again, chuckling nervously.

“I’m sure you thought that was funny,” he says to Minho, “You always did. I could never understand why until I saw a video recording of myself and saw the way my face scrunches up. I’d laugh too.”

He takes a bite of the fresh fruit and enjoys the sweetness on his tongue, the clash with the flavor of the root beer a bit bitter.

“Mom and Dad never really spoke to me after you died.”, he starts again. “They left right after I graduated. They didn’t even come to the wedding…” He’s fiddling with the band around his finger and he doesn’t even realize it. He shakes his head and wipes away a stray tear.

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Like I said, I met someone. And I want to tell you about him. And about me.”

~September 2009~

Taemin watches the blaze rise into the sky. It’s still light out making it almost absurd for a fire this big to be burning. But there is a certain chill in the air, summer is lingering but autumn is quickly taking hold, and he’s not the only one in a jacket, though theirs are much lighter than the wool and leather one he’s sporting. He’s mesmerized by the flickering light, by the pop and crackle of the wood burning but he won’t go any closer. There was a bench at the edge of the area where the bonfire is being held that he had quickly claimed, keeping himself as far off from the crowd as possible while still being a part of the group.

A sympathetic senior, one of the many students celebrating the beginning of the end of their high school career, offers him a red plastic cup that Taemin declines with a wave of his palm and a tight smile. The boy, one of Minho’s friends, nods and walks away. He’s the last person to attempt conversation with Taemin for the next half hour and he’s content in the silence.

School has been in session for a month now, the transition from the freedom of summer to the structure of classes complete. He had come at Jongin’s request, his demand that Taemin leave his house and “have some fun” because they both know that this isn’t Taemin’s strength, hanging out in crowds, but they’re both trying to at least make it easier on him.

“It’s just kids from school. You can crash at my place later.”

He hesitated but ultimately decided to go. It had been a hard summer, his parents more distant than ever, the silent son forgotten at best and disdained at worst. The only reprieve had been the dance classes he suspects his parents still pay for because Minho had asked for them, and because it was worth the expense to keep him away. At this point anything that got him out of the house was a welcome distraction, even ones that promised noise and crowds. Jongin’s cousin Junmyeon, who had graduated last year, gives them a ride and they agree to text when they’re ready to be picked up.

Almost immediately Taemin finds himself abandoned, Jongin’s head turned by a pretty girl with a smile. He had already found the bench by then and so he sits waiting, watching the fire, and wondering what it was like to feel that way, to be so consumed with a girl that you forget your friends.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Taemin looks up, startled from his thoughts, to see a stranger looking down at him with the brightest smile he’d ever seen. He’s taken aback by how handsome the other is, his eyes full of mirth, a button down shirt tucked into fitted jeans and a ball cap sporting a logo that Taemin doesn’t recognize. The silence carries on a beat too long and the other’s smile is beginning to falter. He realizes that he’s staring and swallows, trying to remember what the question was.

“Are you okay?”

That’s the response he usually gets and it’s enough to shake him out of his trance. He nods and scoots over to the very edge, glancing back up at the smile and finding himself smiling too. The stranger sits, himself at the other end of the short bench, and turns to Taemin, putting his hand out for a shake. To his own surprise, Taemin accepts, the other’s hand soft and cool in his own. There’s something slightly familiar about this boy that he can’t quite pinpoint and it’s disorienting to already feel so at ease with a stranger.

“Jinki.”

“Taemin.”

“So what sport are you so invested in that you’ve decided to roast yourself tonight?”

Taemin stares at him, not understanding the question. Jinki points at the jacket Taemin has himself bundled in and Taemin glances down, unsure how to respond.

“Oh it’s….”, he struggles to come up with an answer that is not a lie but not the truth. “Soccer.”

Jinki nods in a way that Taemin assumes is acceptance and he quickly takes the chance to move the conversation in a new direction.

“You’re new here.” He grimaces, he didn’t mean for that to sound so abrupt. But Jinki just lets out a little laugh, that smile still shining.

“Yeah, just transferred.” He doesn’t explain why he’s moved to town and it doesn’t occur to Taemin to ask, too upset by the thought of having to start over in an unfamiliar setting.

“What grade?”

“Ah, senior.”

Taemin is nodding in acknowledgement of the statement when it strikes him that Jinki’s the same age as Minho and that they would have graduated together this spring.

“What grade are you in?”, he’s asked.

“Junior.”

“So beyond bonfires, what is there to do in town?”

Their conversation flows easily, the topics covered range from favorite ice cream (because the local pizza parlor with the hand-scooped ice cream was one of the few places Taemin could think of that were “fun” in town) to favorite music. Jinki listens intently as Taemin discusses dance, a topic he usually avoids because no one else ever seems to be interested in hearing about it. But Jinki listens and asks questions that Taemin finds himself happily answering. They talk through the setting of the sun, dusk falling gently around them, Taemin fully immersed in everything Jinki has to say, envying the ease with which he speaks. He finds his sense of humor hilarious, his little play on words making Taemin giggle, the back of his hand bashfully pressed to his lips.

They’re so engrossed in their conversation that Jongin’s flustered return, with mussed hair and cocky grin, startles Taemin; he’d forgotten they’d come together. He glances at Jinki who’s already rising, stretching out a hand to introduce himself to Jongin. Jongin puts his out automatically and glances between the two, clearly surprised, and Taemin takes the moment to stand himself.

“This is Jinki. He’s a senior, just transferred. This is my friend Jongin, sophomore.”

“Good to meet you.”

“You too. We should be going.” Jongin’s look is pointed and as much as Taemin wants to just keep talking to Jinki they really do need to get back. He opens his mouth to say good-bye at the same moment Jinki asks, “Hey, can I get your number?” He’s secretly thrilled and hands over his phone so that Jinki can input the digits, laughing at the ringtone Jinki’s phone blares out. They stand there smiling at each other and it’s nice and awkward, and it makes Taemin’s heart race in a way he’s unfamiliar with, an anxiety he’s never known and he was sure he knew them all.

“I’ll see you later Taemin.”

“Bye Jinki.” He waves as he walks away and he’s not even to Junmyeon’s car when his phone chirps with a message from his new friend.

He can feel Jongin’s eyes on him during the ride home but it’s not until they’re back in his room that he begins peppering Taemin with questions. Taemin just shrugs and smiles, distracting Jongin with inquiries about the pretty girl. All at once his interaction with Jinki is forgotten and Taemin is left listening to what he’s sure is an exaggeration of how his friend spent his evening.

~

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Taemin laughs because this is a joke, a repetition of the first words spoken between them, and Jinki has been asking him the same question every lunch period for almost a month, joining him at the end of the hallway near the back doors. It’s secluded and quiet and Taemin’s favorite spot. He nods and Jinki slides down the wall beside him, pulling a chicken salad sandwich in a plastic box out of a paper sack that crinkles in a way that Taemin finds soothing. There’s silence for a bit, the only sounds are their chewing and breathing and it’s a bit unsettling: usually they jump right in.

“Did you hear about the party at Gwiboon’s house on Friday?”

Taemin swallows hard because he had heard about the party but he hadn’t expected to be asked about it. As much as he liked Gwiboon, her parties were known for having so many people, so much noise. He nods non-committedly and hopes that that’s the end of the conversation.

“I was thinking about going.”

He nods again because he wants Jinki to know that he’s heard even though now he’s staring at the carpet, his sandwich held motionless in the air in front of his chest.

“I know it’s not really your thing, but I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. Just for like, forty-five minutes? Not the whole evening or anything. It could be fun.”

Taemin envies the way that Jinki is able to eat his sandwich while he’s left dizzy and a little nauseous. But there’s something nagging in the back of his mind, something that Jinki said that’s important and it takes him a moment to catch what it is.

“Forty-five minutes?”

“I just thought an hour would be too long but maybe forty-five minutes would be fine? And we could go to The Scoop after and have some ice cream.”

The Scoop. One of his safe places, the one he told Jinki about when they first met. He finds himself nodding slowly. If there was a clear time frame, then maybe…maybe he could do it. Forty-five minutes seems awfully long.

“Could it be thirty-five?”, he asks tentatively, hoping that it’s alright to ask.

“Oh, sure.” Taemin looks up from the ground and watches him chew, his face passive as he nods thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I just want to say hello, maybe meet a few new people. I don’t expect you to introduce me,” he laughs as Taemin’s face abruptly falls, his panic evident. “It’s Gwiboon’s party and you know she’ll be more than happy to play hostess.”

They go shopping together, Jinki already has an idea of what they should go as and he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Taemin smiles watching the other sift through the packaged costumes and make-up kits and he’s struck by how happy he is just shopping with another boy. Taemin can remember the last time he was this happy, but it wasn’t this kind of joy and it’s thrilling. He leans into it because he can’t quite embrace it yet, doesn’t yet trust it. He’s pensive and he’s not sure whether this is a date or whether he just hopes it is. He tries asking Jongin but his best friend is of no use because as much as he cares about Taemin he is more invested in the pretty girl from the bonfire. He can’t stop talking about her but Taemin hasn’t caught her name. Or maybe he has but he’s forgotten. He’s not good with names anyway and now his brain is being filled with school work and with Jinki and he doesn’t have the space, or the inclination, to remember the names of pretty girls.

It’s brisk as they make their way up the darkened street, Taemin grateful that his costume is warm and has sleeves that he can hide his fists in. They are nearing the house where the party is being held, the sound of music and raised voices audible even from a block away when Taemin stops them on the sidewalk just outside the gate. He’s breathing fast and Jinki is giving him that look that everyone gives him when he can’t catch his breath, that mix of concern and fear. The part of him that wants to run from the noise and from his question for Jinki is being overridden by the surprising part that wants to kiss him and for the first time Taemin thinks he might be normal.

“Is this a date?” he asks, hopeful yet afraid that he’s read everything wrong because he’s never had anyone so interested in him before and he’s never been interested in anyone ever. But he is now, very interested. Jinki’s face is guarded and he responds, a little too calmly.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

It’s an out, a chance for Taemin to take control of the situation, a chance for either or both of them to laugh off the tension between them, to be relieved, or to be disappointed. Taemin pauses for a moment, watching Jinki, hesitating before softly whispering, “Yes”, his eyes wide and he can’t look away. Jinki breaks into a grin, slipping the plastic fangs over his teeth, and taking Taemin by the hand, leading him up the path with his black cape swishing behind them. Their faces are equally pale and Taemin has to fight the urge to rub the twin red marks on his neck, a nervous habit that will smear the make-up Jinki applied so carefully earlier that evening; he doesn’t want to do anything that will ruin their night. Gwiboon laughs when she sees them, a vampire and his victim, and for the rest of the evening Jinki proudly states, “This is my raisin Taemin”, and Taemin snorts, his eyes squinting closed, his fingers entwined with Jinki’s and it feels nice.

~

“It’s good to see you smile again.” Taemin looks up from his phone, a message to Jinki half-typed, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

They’re sitting at the table in Jongin’s kitchen, the sound of his parents’ film in the next room a soft hum in the background. Jongin nods his head at Taemin’s phone.

“He makes you smile.”

He’s right. Jinki makes Taemin smile more and more each day, with his silly gags and bright smile. And he makes him feel guilty. His brother is dead; he’s not supposed to feel joy; he’s supposed to be in mourning. But Jinki breaks through Taemin’s walls as though they were nothing but sheets blowing in the breeze, brushed aside with a bare hand. He listens to Taemin, never pushes him when they go out. He makes Taemin so very happy and Taemin aches with the knowledge that he will never be able to introduce him to his brother, the two will never meet. He wonders what Minho would think of Jinki’s jokes, if Jinki would have played ball with Minho with the hoop their parents set up in the driveway, if they would have been friends. He thinks they would. What he knows is that the pain in his heart is gently softening, that it is not fair that he should fall in love without his brother to congratulate him.

Jongin stands up, tossing his empty soda can into the recycle bin and heads towards the stairs, towards his room.

“Let me know if he breaks your heart,” he says over his shoulder, “My cousin’s got pigs.”

~

He spends the first anniversary of his life without Minho up in his room alone, his phone turned off, surrounded by silence. His parents have gone, to where he doesn’t know, nor does he particularly care. They all grieve in their own way. He has a candle lit for his brother because he can’t bring himself to leave the house and he doesn’t want to ask anyone for a ride to the church, the buses running erratically on a holiday weekend. It’s not the same day but it’s the same date either way, and he stares at the wall while the scent of fire wafts through the air and his chest aches.

He is startled out of his melancholy by a knock on his bedroom door. He’s startled and confused; his parents never knock and he doesn’t remember hearing the front door open. There’s a pause long enough for him to believe he had imagined it before he hears Jinki’s deep voice murmur his name from the other side. He lies there, unsure what to do. Today was for mourning and Jinki makes him happy and he doesn’t think he can reconcile having the two emotions existing in tandem. But even as these thoughts flutter through his head he finds himself rolling off his bed and crossing the room, opening the door. Jinki stands there with his phone in his hand, the concern on his face evident.

“You weren’t answering and the door was open. Are you OK?”

Taemin stares at Jinki in disbelief a beat longer than is comfortable, the silence between them growing. Just as Jinki steps forward, a soft “Hey” murmured from his lips, Taemin breaks, tears pouring down his face, the rush of emotion after being numb for so long overwhelming. He falls into Jinki’s embrace, held tight to his chest, both arms strong and warm against his back while he hiccups and sobs, finally crying for his older brother.

~

“Do you want to talk about him?”

It takes Taemin a moment to recognize Jinki has spoken. They’re on Taemin’s bed and he’s leaning into Jinki’s chest, enjoying the soothing sensation of blunt fingertips his hair, brushing over his scalp, as he listens to the other’s heartbeat. He’s not sure how long he’s been crying but his head aches as he looks up through dewy eyelashes, his eyes bloodshot.

“What?”

“Your brother. Do you want to talk about him?”

He thinks about it quietly, blinking eyes still damp with tears.

“No,” he whispers, burrowing deeper into Jinki’s side, slipping his arms around the other’s waist and linking his fingers. He wants to feel Jinki’s warmth, the flex of muscles as he continues to Taemin’s hair. He wants this feeling, this security. And if he talks about Minho he will feel sad and he doesn’t want to feel sad, he wants to feel happy, to feel safe. He has to make a choice between the two because his brain cannot process both.

He chooses Jinki.

~

Until he met Jinki, Taemin had wondered, for a very long time, whether there was something wrong with him. Every time he had been asked “Who do you think is cute?” or “When are you going to get a girlfriend?” he had no answer other than a shrug and a shy smile. He had grown increasingly flustered as the years passed and he still had no response, and he doesn’t understand why they care so much, why he doesn’t care at all. He knows enough to know that he’s not interested in girls, but the fleeting moments of attraction to other boys are so few and far between that he’s not sure he even wants a boyfriend. And as much as society tells him that he, as a young man, should be interested in all the time he’s just not. The few times he’s watched it’s been more out of boredom than anything, sort of like watching a documentary with men and…other things. It’s stimulating enough but he doesn’t fantasize and he’s content on his own. So he continues his hermit life, hiding in corners and dancing on stages, watching his best friend fawn over pretty girls.

He’s surprised, then, when he finds himself wanting all those things with Jinki. Wanting to hold his hand, wanting to feel his lips against his own, wanting him in ways he’d never wanted another person before. He’d been disappointed when their first date had ended without a kiss, though they had held hands through most of the night.

It’s nearly Christmas and the first week of winter break before Taemin finds his lips pressed to Jinki’s, his first kiss. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that he knows that he wants to do it. They’re in Jinki’s room, alone in the house, celebrating his 18th birthday. He had been longing for this since Halloween but he hadn’t known how to make a move and he wasn’t sure Jinki would be interested. His thoughts swung constantly between confidence in Jinki’s affection and certainty that he was sharing his attentions out of pity. The conflict kept him from acting and it’s not until Jinki leans forward, pausing to ask if it’s alright to kiss him, that Taemin finally gets his wish.

His face is cradled in Jinki’s hands and his own rest on Jinki’s biceps, the muscles firm beneath his fingers as he grips them tightly. Jinki’s lips are soft and warm and he tingles everywhere, that unique blend of calm and vibrancy that seems to fall only when he’s with Jinki. The kiss ends far too quickly for Taemin’s liking and his hands itch with the desire to pull him back, to connect their bodies again. But Jinki is giving him a look that he has learned means that Jinki is making sure Taemin is all right, that he isn’t pushing him too far. It’s frustrating and endearing that in this moment, when Taemin is so amped up with emotion and lust, that Jinki is still clear-headed. He leans forward, his eyes on Jinki’s lips, glancing up briefly before pressing a kiss to Jinki’s mouth, chaste and slow, all he knows how to do. And this time Jinki doesn’t pull away.

Weeks go by and as they pass Taemin’s relationship with Jinki slowly deepens. He has developed his kissing skills, loves the way Jinki’s tongue feels in his mouth, the way his tongue feels in Jinki’s. He wants more but Jinki is keeping a leisurely pace, their expansion from chaste kisses to full blown make-out sessions was excruciatingly slow and it feels an eternity before he lets Taemin run his hands beneath his shirt. He’s being gentle with Taemin, taking his time, but Taemin knows enough to know that gentle and slow isn’t what he wants. He needs more but he’s not sure how to bring it up so he follows Jinki’s lead and his lips when he’s finally allowed to drop to his knees.

They don’t hold hands or kiss at school, Taemin watching enviously as Jongin locks the pretty girl against the wall behind the school and kisses her in full view of anyone passing by, unconcerned. It’s the 21st century but it’s a small town and just religious enough to make it dangerous for two boys to be too affectionate in the world. Their relationship may be a secret, though one not purposefully kept, because Taemin is quiet and keeps to the background, and Jinki is new and unfamiliar. But it is exactly those qualities that threaten their safety and so they are discreet.

It is very different when they are alone, when Taemin spends the afternoon Jinki off and Jinki reciprocates with a tug of his soft hand and a swipe of his thumb. His other hand holds Taemin by the back of the neck, pressing their foreheads together while he watches Taemin melt. Taemin feels things he’d never felt before in more ways than one and he finds himself whispering “I love you,” as Jinki him off. He gasps in a horror that is swiftly quelled by an increase in Jinki’s speed and an “I love you”, breathed into his mouth before his lips were covered by Jinki’s. Afterwards they laugh, Taemin sheepishly and Jinki with the mirth Taemin had seen when they first met.

“That’s not exactly how I expected to confess,” he says, leaning back and smiling at Taemin, and Taemin smiles back, lying down next to him, his hand pressed against Jinki’s chest. He feels so happy, he feels at home.

~

The first time Jinki is inside Taemin is wonderful and weird. He enjoys the feeling of the lubricant slicked slipping in and out as Jinki moves inside him, of the fullness he experiences every time Jinki pushes in all the way. He enjoys the intimacy, of being near Jinki, feeling his chest press against the skin of his back, touching the flexing muscles of his forearms with his fingertips.

It’s clear that he knows what he’s doing. The way he moves his hips and unabashedly reaches for Taemin, twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb makes Taemin feel his ity acutely. He wonders briefly how many people Jinki has done this with before Jinki shifts just right and Taemin is reduced to incoherent moans. However, not everything Jinki does is pleasurable, his hands and body moving in a rhythm meant for someone else and not mapped out for Taemin. It is not enough because no matter how much research Taemin did, how much he had prepared himself mentally and physically for what was going to happened, it just wasn’t enough. And Jinki is being too gentle with him, still, even as he pulls out and rolls Taemin onto his back.

Taemin knows enough to know that gentle isn’t what he wants, but he isn’t sure how to phrase it, afraid that this might be the thing that will finally make Jinki realize what a freak he is and leave. He maintains his silence and they begin to create their own rhythm.

Suddenly Taemin gasps and Jinki pulls away, pushing himself up on his arms and looking down at Taemin’s surprised face beneath him.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t…”

Taemin’s hand flutters to the point on his shoulder that still stings from where Jinki bit him. It was perfect, exactly what he needed, what he hadn’t known how to express in words.

“Do it again.”

Jinki looks down at him in confusion, a hint of distrust in his dark eyes. “What?”

“Do it again.” Taemin stares him down, keeping his eyes fixated on Jinki. When his boyfriend continues to hesitate he reaches up to pull Jinki back down to him by the waist. They maintain eye contact as Jinki slowly lowers his head, tilting so that they can keep staring at each other as he kisses Taemin’s shoulder before gently biting into it. Taemin gasps again and Jinki moves to push off, stopped by Taemin’s grip around his waist.

“Harder”, Taemin whispers, his eyes desperate. Again Jinki lowers his head and again he bites into Taemin’s shoulder, harder this time, and Taemin can feel the shock of pain vibrate through his body, his back arches, his eyes rolling shut. Finally, he thinks to himself, finally.

~

If Taemin were asked what it was that he liked about Jinki so much he wouldn’t know what to say and he wouldn’t be able to stop talking. His smile, his jokes, the way he looked so different when he was reading or on his phone, his thoughtful expression so serious it almost made him look angry. His body, the soft muscles of his biceps and thighs, the way they flexed when he walked. His full lips and dark hair, the way his hand felt when their fingers entwined.

But it was more than that and those were the things he would have struggled to express. How does one describe how another person makes them feel safe? It’s not enough to describe all the little things they do. It’s more organic than that, more basic, almost spiritual. Taemin knows he’s safe with Jinki and he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know how he knows but he knows. He just does.

Still, it takes him until the end of the school year to share the one thing he’s been holding back. It’s not a secret, in such a small town there’s no way Jinki hasn’t heard about Minho. But it’s Taemin’s brother he wants to tell him about. Not the star athlete, not the popular jock, not “that poor kid” who “died so young”, hit by a drunk driver while he was out picking up last minute supplies for his family’s Thanksgiving dinner. But the brother he misses every day, the one who made him feel safe the way Jinki does.

They’re lying in bed together, just resting in each other’s arms, the gentle rhythm of Jinki’s chest rising and falling with each breath against Taemin’s back.

“I want to tell you about Minho.” He feels Jinki kiss behind his ear and relaxes just a little.

“OK.”

“I saw him die,” Taemin whispers, his finger tangling with Jinki’s, the other’s arm a warm weight against his side. He feels the muscle of Jinki’s bicep flex beneath his head, and blunt fingers lazily brushing through his hair.

“You were with him?”

“Not in the car, no. At the hospital.”

Jinki nods and he can feel his warm breath against his scalp.

“It wasn’t him. I mean…it was him but…just his body. Everything that made him my brother was gone.”

He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes.

“His eyes were closed, there was this bag hung on a pole next to his bed with a tube that ran into his arm. And they had him hooked up to this machine that pumped air into his lungs. It made this whooshing sound, like ocean waves.” Tears slip through his shut eyelids, plopping against the sheets as Taemin relives the memory.

“There was so much noise. There was this beeping sound I couldn’t quite place, I still don’t know what it was, and the florescent lights were buzzing. The room smelled of ammonia, and there were so many voices in the hall. Holiday weekends, I guess.

He was…so bruised. Even if he had been awake he wouldn’t have been able to open his eyes.

We didn’t speak, my parents and I, they just held each other and watched Minho. When the doctor finally showed up he said what was already obvious; there was no hope. A stranger came in and sentenced my brother to death.

They waited a few hours. All of us stuffed into that little room. My mom sat on his bed, holding his hand, talking to him, my dad’s hand on his shoulder. I just leaned up against the wall and watched.

All the noise stopped when they turned everything off. All the noise. It was so quiet.”

That was the moment he stopped living and started surviving, fighting off the sadness with anger. He was alone now, there was no one to protect him, and the false starts of sympathy by strangers and family were immediately rebuffed. It was the only way he could survive.

“Tell me your favorite memory of your brother.” It’s a startling turn of conversation and a question he had not been expecting to be asked.

“What?”

“Your favorite memory of Minho. What was it?”

He’s surprised to find himself chuckling, a smile on his face and tears drying on his cheeks.

“It’s so embarrassing. We were about five and six? It was at a birthday party, I don’t remember whose, at some kids’ restaurant in the city. The kind with indoor slides. I hated them, even then, they’re so loud and lights are flashing everywhere. That’s probably why it was such a big deal when I dropped my straw.” He laughs a bit more at the memory.

“Your straw?”

“Yeah. We were all sitting around this table and it was covered in balloons, cake, ice cream, and birthday presents. I think the kid was opening his gifts when it happened because no one seemed to notice me, not even my mom. But I had dropped my straw on the floor before I could even use it and I didn’t know how to get another one. I actually started crying. Just because the idea of having to ask was so frightening. It was just so scary.

But then suddenly there was this warm, familiar, arm around my shoulders. Minho had come over from where he sat with the older kids. I was at the end of the table and he was at the front. I don’t even know how he saw me through all that mess. He asked me what was wrong and by then tears were streaming down my face and I was hiccupping. Actually hiccupping. I pointed to the straw and he picked it up, tossed it in a bin on his way to get a new one. I didn’t even have to ask. He brought it back and blew the wrapper off in my face before handing it over to me. And I don’t know, it was just the perfect thing for him to do. He didn’t coddle me, exactly, but he helped me out. He got me, I guess, somehow. Even then he just understood. Then he handed it over and let me put it through the plastic lid on my own.

Then he asked if I was OK and patted me on the back and went back to his friends.” His smile falters then, thinking about his life with Minho.

“It was always like that. Minho was always popular, always with a group of friends, and I was alone, hiding from everyone. He understood how to get on in the world and I didn’t. School was rough. I was already younger than my classmates, smaller and softer; more than once I was confused for a girl. I tried so hard to fade into the background but I wasn’t always successful. Especially at home. My parents loved that Minho was so popular, that he was such a good athlete, and hated that I wasn’t as well. I was always being asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’, ‘What are you scared of?’, ‘Why can’t you be like Minho?’ and I didn’t know.

Everything that came so easy to him was impossible for me. So I just slipped into his shadow, no longer Taemin just “Minho’s brother”. It was safe there. He was the bright star but he was kind. We’d ride our bikes to the park and feed the birds. He showed me this little pavilion that’s hidden behind the pond. We’d sit there and he’d tell me ghost stories.

I think what I miss most about him is having his arm around my shoulders. He always had his arm around my shoulders.” He pauses again. There’s more he needs to say but he’s worried about how Jinki will respond. He wonders if he’ll think Taemin’s as awful a person as Taemin believes himself to be.

“I’ve never been to his grave. Not even for the burial.” He lets the sentence hang between them and counts the seconds of silence as they pass. There’s no reprimand, no outrage. The fingers in his hair continue their ministrations and Jinki’s fingers are still lazily linked with his own.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“About you not going to his grave?”

“Yeah.”

Jinki sighs and Taemin braces himself.

“We do what we have to do to get through the pain. There are choices we have to make, even if they feel wrong, just so we can make it another day. Not going to your brother’s grave doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you didn’t love your brother. It’s just not something you’re ready to do. We all grieve in our own way.”

Taemin lets out a breath and grips Jinki’s fingers tightly, clutching them to his chest. That’s what he needed to hear, that’s what he hadn’t allowed himself to think.

“I’m still not ready.”

“That’s fine. Maybe you will be one day. Maybe you won’t. But you’ll always love your brother.”
There’s another kiss pressed to his head and he closes his eyes again, relaxing into Jinki’s embrace.

~

He’s not ready for Jinki to graduate. It actually frightens him a little. It means that when school starts in the fall he won’t be there to eat lunch with Taemin, that they won’t be able to smile at each other in the hall. And in the back of his mind is the little nagging thought that their relationship won’t survive the strain. He doesn’t believe that Jinki would purposefully hurt him, he trusts him, but that doesn’t mean that they couldn’t begin to drift apart. He doesn’t say these things to Jinki, even though he knows he should.

He’s nervous when he arrives at Jinki’s house for his graduation party. The door is open and there’s the sound of voices coming from inside. He wants to knock first but it seems silly to do so, so he pushes the screen door open and walks in. He hangs in the doorway, uncertain of what he should do. The house is packed with people, a lot of them strangers he assumes to be Jinki’s relatives based on their passing resemblance to him.

He hears his voice called from across the room and a woman whose face is familiar begins heading his way, a bright smile on her face. It’s not Taemin’s first time meeting Jinki’s mom. Their paths had crossed a few times, but she was usually working or sleeping when he’d come over and they hadn’t been able to speak much. He’s apprehensive; he’s not sure how much she knows, if she understands that they’re “more than friends”, and he’s not sure she’d approve. Not just of a boyfriend for her only child, but of him.

It’s a surprise and a relief when he finds himself in her embrace. She’s quite a bit shorter than he is and insists on pulling him down and hugging him around the neck. He’s nearly bent in half, trapped in her arms, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands so he gently pats her sides, not quite hugging her back. When she lets go he begins to stand back up, only to find her hands gripping his arms.

“I’m so glad you could make it! Maybe now we’ll have a chance to really talk and get to know each other.” He nods tentatively, something about the way she looks at him familiar and comforting, and he already feels safe.

“Eunsook!”, she cries, waving at a girl who looks to be about Jinki’s age, “Come here and meet Jinki’s boyfriend Taemin!”

~

He talks with Jinki’s cousin for a little bit, awkward conversation that consists of “I’ve heard so much about you” as she steers him towards the back door. She smiles sympathetically as she explains that Jinki has run to the store and will be back soon, and that it’ll be quieter out on the patio. He thanks her and finds a chair in the shade, away from the crowd and the sun.

“Hey babe,” comes Gwiboon’s voice from his right. She’s squinting down at him, one hand across her brow and the other holding a plastic cup. “Mind if I join you?”

He smiles and nods, grateful for a familiar face.

“Where’s Jinki?”

“He ran to the store for something. His cousin said he should be back soon.”

“An awful lot of people in there. How are you doing?”

He chuckles.

“Fine. His cousin put me out here. I think he must have said something to her before he left.”

Gwiboon nods and takes a sip of her drink.

Taemin hesitates. This is the perfect time, place, and person to talk about what’s been on his mind for the last month. He hadn’t wanted to talk to Jinki about it, didn’t want to distract him from his finals and his graduation plans. And he didn’t think he could be unbiased. But Gwiboon would be blunt and honest, she wouldn’t hold back.

“I’m thinking about getting my GED.”

She raises an eyebrow at him as she asks, “Why?”

“I just don’t see the point of finishing high school when I could be done with it right now.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. Get a job? Go to the community college? They have a bunch of on-line courses I could enroll in.”

“Have you applied? For either?”

“No, not yet. But I’ve been looking at the classes on the website.”

“Here’s the important question: do you want to do this so that you can quit high school or because you’re afraid of losing Jinki?”

He chokes up at that because that is it, that’s the whole reason.

“He is everything to me.”, he whispers. “I can’t…”, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I can’t imagine my life without him.”

He feels her thumb brush against his face, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall.

“He’s not going anywhere. You know that. Just be patient.”

He nods, his eyes still closed.

“But you should get a job. Mr. Song is looking to hire a stock boy. It’s a night shift, no customers, and you could still go to school. It’d get you out of the house.”

She shoves him gently and he laughs, the tension broken. He likes this, just sitting with his friend and talking, laughing. She’s leaving soon, within the next two weeks. As soon as she gets her diploma she’ll be moving across the state and starting her life in a new city. He thinks she’s brave and he knows he’ll miss her.

They’re still laughing and talking on the deck when Jinki gets back. He doesn’t stay long. A quick kiss to Taemin’s lips and a hug with Gwiboon and he’s back inside, visiting with family that travelled from all over just to congratulate him on finishing high school.

~

Their first summer together is an adjustment. The rhythm of school is gone and the sudden freedom is disorienting. They find a new pattern, their own. They don’t have classes anymore, instead they have jobs. Jinki works in the fields and Taemin gets the job at the grocery store. They’re free during the day and it’s nice, they spend a lot of time in Jinki’s house, sleeping and having , eating, and watching movies.

On the last day, the weekend before Taemin’s senior year begins, he suddenly knows what he wants to say, what he needs to say, how he wants to express the anxieties he’d felt when Jinki graduated.

They’re sitting in the living room, watching a horror film that they’d seen at least three times already.

“Oh!”, Jinki cried as he stood, pausing the film. I left the sprinkler on. Let me go shut it off real quick.”

Taemin stands and follows him to the back door, stopping halfway there. Just as Jinki’s hand reaches the door knob he speaks.

“Wait for me.” He stands still in the hallway, hands at his side.

Jinki turned back with that bright smile that made Taemin’s chest warm and he had to fight the urge to run to him.

“I’m just going outside. I’ll be right back.”

Taemin blinked and hoped that Jinki would understand what he meant with what he didn’t say.

“I know. Just…wait for me.”

Jinki’s smile faltered and then softened and Taemin felt his eyes burn with tears he wouldn’t let fall, relieved. He watched Jinki step toward him, felt his soft fingers graze his jawline, and closed his eyes as he felt those familiar lips kiss his hair.

“I will. Always.”

~

And he does. It’s not easy, they’re apart more than they are together, though they text often and he frequently sees Jinki’s face on his computer screen. Jinki’s classes and jobs, he works two while he’s at university, take up a lot of his time and Taemin still has school and his job at the market. He needs the money because he plans on moving out of his parent’s home and in with Jinki as soon as he graduates and he doesn’t want to be broke. It’s a bit easier for Jinki, who got an academic scholarship and a couple of grants. But they’re planning a life together and they want to be prepared.

His final year of high school is a blur of anxiety and tests, awkward social interactions, and an absurd amount of nostalgia expressed by classmates who had only either ignored or pitied him for the last three years. It’s a relief when it ends, and when he walks across the stage to accept his diploma he’s not surprised to find his parents absent from the crowd. They left as soon as he graduated and he barely has time to pack his things before they’re gone, scattering to the far corners of the country, leaving him as far behind as they can. It feels personal and in some ways it is. He’s already disappointed them by being the one to survive; he doesn’t have the chance to disappoint them by being gay.

He thinks, though, that it was kind of them to stay together and in town long enough for him to finish school. They could have dragged him away from the only home he’d ever known, from the place where their son died. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable for them to do so and he’s grateful that they didn’t.

Jinki’s mom holds a little celebration for him, just the three of them and Jongin, and he gets a “congratulations babe” text from Gwiboon. It’s nice, it’s so nice, and he knows that he’ll miss them both when he and Jinki leave again. They move into a tiny studio off campus, close enough for Jinki to walk or bus, but far away from the steady thrum of noisy students. They’re crammed in, it’s just big enough for a bed and a table, but neither of them need a lot of space. The important thing is that it’s theirs.

The next three years are incredibly hard. It’s a college town with a lot of turnover which means job openings are constantly coming up. But it’s a weak economy and the constant influx of cheap labor makes them hard to get, and sometimes even hard to keep. They manage to do OK, keeping enough hours between them to keep a roof over their heads and food in the fridge. Taemin is terrible at budgeting but Jinki is really good at it and they manage to break even every month. For two years they’re both taking classes, Jinki on campus and Taemin on-line, getting his AA. It was cheaper, faster, and he has no interest in prolonging his educational career. It’s exhausting, they’re both tired, and their schedules rarely overlap, dates usually consisting of Jinki studying at the table with Taemin dozing in the chair beside him, his hand resting on Jinki’s thigh.

When it finally ends they celebrate by turning their phones off and not leaving the apartment for a week.

~

“How would you feel about moving to the coast?”

They’re lying in bed, Taemin’s head against Jinki’s chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat, Jinki’s fingers playing with his hair. He fights the sudden ache in his chest because he’s already moved to a new town once, the one they live in now, and it wasn’t so bad. And while he doesn’t want to do it again, he’s not wholly opposed to it either, especially if it’s something Jinki wants to do. Besides, Gwiboon lives over there and it would nice to be able to see her in-person, not be restricted to screens.

“Interested. I’ve been there a few times. It was nice.” That’s a half truth. They used to visit his grandmother every summer, traveling across the state to see her. She lived in a big house in a small town, smaller even than his, with a large garden and a playground she had set up for the grandchildren: he loved it there. It was nice and quiet, the grass always soft under their feet. And she was kind, like Minho. Her hugs were warm, her words were gentle, and she never asked him why he wasn’t like his brother.

And while she understood his sensitivities his aunt, who lived nearby, didn’t. One year, when he was nine and Minho was ten, she took them into the city. Taemin hadn’t wanted to go, but his parents were out shopping with their grandmother and his aunt was adamant that he come.

It was the worst day of Taemin’s life.

There were people everywhere, loud and streaming all over the sidewalks. The stench of fish and seaweed permeated the air making it hard to breathe. It was noisy and unfamiliar and he couldn’t always hear what she was saying; all he wanted was to go back to his grandmother’s house.

Minho had tried to be understanding but he was as enthralled with the sights as his aunt had assumed they both would be. His face lit up when they stopped in at tourist shops on the boardwalk; he laughed in the open market where they watched raw fish being tossed from one monger to another; he grinned with excitement as an enormous ferry pulled into port. It was when they boarded the ferry that Taemin began to cry.

His brother was there with a comforting arm thrown across his shoulder, murmuring soothing words in his ear. But as they pulled out onto the water he was distracted by the waves and by the scenery and his arm slipped away before Taemin was calm to go lean against the railing, pointing at the floating jellyfish.

It took hours for them to finish their trip, his aunt insisting that they eat at a restaurant on the island the ferry took them to. They were also taken to an aquarium where Minho pressed his hands to the glass, eyes wide as he watched the sharks swim by. Taemin hung back, hiding in the shadows, sniffling, watching the trapped fish and wishing they all could go home.

Relief only came when they pulled into the drive and his grandmother came out with a smile. She knelt down as he ran into her arms, tears pouring down his face. Gentle circles were rubbed into his back as his grandmother ignored his aunt’s description of how he had been “petulant all day. I swear, you’d think I’d been torturing him the way he’s been carrying on. At least Minho knows how to behave himself.” And there it was, the reminder that Minho was good and that Taemin, unable to be like Minho, was bad. Frustrated, he began crying harder.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, just him and his grandmother. She took him to dinner, drive-thru burgers they ate in the car, and for ice cream at a local shop where she knew the owner, and where there was a booth in the back they could hide in. They went for a walk in the tiny park in town, him clinging to her hand and telling her about the dance classes he had started taking. She listened and asked questions, and it was only when he felt ready that they went back home.

It was the best day of Taemin’s life.

It’s that dichotomy of good and bad memories that makes him both anxious and tentatively excited about the prospect of moving there, and not for the first time he wishes his grandmother were still alive.

“I have an interview with a firm over there on Tuesday. It sounds great, amazing benefits, and the only downside would be moving.”

“Then we’ll move,” Taemin replies.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It could be nice.” And he means it.

The offer comes and Jinki takes it. It’s in a city which makes Taemin nervous, but one of the smaller ones with smaller suburbs and a better commute. They visit a week before they move, familiarizing themselves with the neighborhood, and celebrating Taemin’s birthday with a walk in a nearby park and a night in a hotel. They pack up their few belongings and say good-bye to Jinki’s mom, the one regret Taemin has about leaving the area, and take the back roads to their new life.

Gwiboon is waiting for them in the driveway of the little house they’ve decided to rent, sitting on the pavement in a long skirt and bare feet, her eyes fixed on the cell phone in her hand. Jinki beeps and she looks up with a glare that softens when she realizes it’s them. It’s a happy reunion, Gwiboon throwing her arms around his neck and Taemin holding her tightly by the waist. They stand there long enough for Jinki to make a bad joke about Gwiboon trying to seduce his boyfriend and she groans, letting Taemin go and pulling Jinki into a hug instead.

They spend the weekend buying cheap furniture and new sheets for the king size bed they found on clearance and ordered the week they’d come to visit. It’s christened as soon as Gwiboon leaves and they watch an old DVD on their Craigslist couch in the living room as the sheets run through the washer again.