It’s exciting the first day Jinki leaves for work; it’s the first time either of them really feel like adults.  Taemin makes him sandwiches and sends him off with a kiss (and a ), but the excitement wanes as he suddenly finds himself alone with nothing to do.  He hasn’t found a job yet, spending his days on what little housework their tiny house affords him, and waiting for Jinki’s return.  Weeks pass and Taemin finds himself unable to leave the apartment on his own, sometimes even making excuses so he won’t have to leave with Jinki.  He’s slipping into the sadness.  Immersed beneath its heavy waves, he’s functioning but not living, his responses are automatic, and his thoughts muddy.

It comes to a head one late afternoon when Gwiboon comes to visit.  He hears her knocking on the door but he can’t move to answer it.  And when his phone chimes with her text, followed by a call, he leaves it where it lies on the table and hopes simultaneously that she will go and that she will use the key they gave her to come inside.  Either way, he remains motionless.

The lock clicks and the door slowly opens, a confused “Taemin?” called into the house.  He watches her from the sofa and, once her eyes adjust to the dark, she comes inside, turning to close the door behind her.  It’s dark because he keeps the curtains closed and the lights off, the apartment silent.  She glances around the darkened room before taking a seat next to him, tucking her feet beneath her legs and twisting her body so that she’s facing him, her elbow propped on the back of the sofa, her head resting in her hand.

“What’s going on?”  He doesn’t know, he has no idea.  It’s the same confusion he had when he was a child and couldn’t understand why he couldn’t be like his brother, how his brother was able to do so much that Taemin couldn’t.  The anxiety he feels when he thinks about stepping out his front door, what he experiences when he actually crosses the threshold, is an exaggerated form of what he’s grown up with, the dull panic evolved into a rush of fear. 

He shakes his head at her, his eyes wide, a slight shrug of his shoulders.  She reaches out and rubs his leg, an action he flinches away from before grasping her hand in his and lacing their fingers.  They sit quietly like that, she watching him with a furrowed brow that he sees out of the corner of his eye as he stares down at their hands.

“Does Jinki know?”  He pauses before he shakes his head again.  He doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t say anything, just smiles with relief when he gets home, and listens to him as he excitedly tells him about his days.  The new job keeps him busy and he spends nearly an hour each day commuting to and from work.  He’s tired and distracted and Taemin has been careful not to give away how bad it’s gotten, how isolated his life has become.  But now Gwiboon knows.  He waits for her to speak again, but she just sits there with him, holding his hand.

He’s not sure how long they sit there before he finally hears her voice.

“Have you thought about seeing a therapist?”  It’s not what he’s expecting, and her voice is so soft that he’s momentarily certain that he’d imagined hearing it.  He tries to stand and pull his hand away but she clutches it tightly in hers, pulling him back down.

“Please don’t get mad.  I’m not saying you’re crazy.  You’re not happy, though, and you deserve to be happy.  Everyone does.”  Despite her request he is mad.  He’s mad that she’s right and he’s angry that he’s this broken.  The last three years had been hard, but they’d been easier than the years before.  Jinki had joined the LGBT group on-campus and he’d gone along, even making a new friend in a student named Minjung.  They kind of reminded him of Minho.  Athletic and popular, they were always greeting their friends and classmates with tight hugs and high-fives; they and Jinki even had their own high-five ritual.   And more than once Taemin had found himself under their protective arm, leaning in to the embrace, talking comfortably in a way that he was able to with so few.   

So when they moved, even after their careful preparations, it was a horrible shock to find himself not only regressing to the anxieties of his childhood, but having those anxieties overwhelm him in ways they never had. 

And it doesn’t matter what she says, what Jinki says, what Minjung says; he knows that he is crazy. 

There’s no other explanation.

He doesn’t answer her, just sits quietly, thinking and being angry.  They stay that way until they hear Jinki pull into the driveway.  The door opens and Jinki’s steps through, smiling with tired eyes.

“Hey!”, he says as he tosses his backpack on the floor, “What are you doing here?”  Taemin tenses up but Gwiboon just smiles.

“Visiting my boyfriend.” 

Jinki laughs and pushes up his sleeves, collapsing in the old recliner they’d found on Craigslist. “Treachery in my own home.  Uncouth.” 

They laugh and chat, Gwiboon’s hand still linked with Taemin’s and he catches Jinki glancing at their entwined fingers more than once.  But he doesn’t question it.

The offer is made for Gwiboon to stay for dinner but she declines it, a little too casually for Taemin’s taste.  She stands to leave, finally letting Taemin’s hand go, and his palm suddenly feels cold and foreign.  He stands too, suddenly caught in her embrace, a whispered “Talk to him” in his ear.  One last glance and a smile before she turns to Jinki who goes to open the door.

They’re alone now and Jinki’s tired smile is on him again.  There’s a brief pause and it’s the perfect opportunity that he lets pass to tell Jinki how things are.  He inhales the words back into his throat as he’s kissed by his boyfriend and asked what they should make for dinner.  He falters, struck by the mundanity of the question when the world feels as though it’s crumbling around him, and he smiles, says that there’s chicken salad in the fridge.

Their relationship has always been good, though never perfect.  The occasional disagreement, debate, and even argument had been a part of their life together.  They were brief, however, reconciled quickly, and minimized by their devotion to each other, their conflicts kept amicable.

Taemin knows Jinki.  He trusts Jinki, he loves him.  But there’s always been a part of him that has never believed that Jinki deserves someone like him, that Jinki deserves someone better.  Someone who can go to the market by themselves; who doesn’t panic and hide when there’s a knock at the door; who can go to parties with him without ending up hiding in the bathroom, frozen in fear.  He tries so hard, just as he did when he was a child, to push himself, to do what he can to keep Jinki happy.  However, it only exacerbates the problem, making him feel like the failure his parents believed him to be, and to give credence to the voice in his head that tells him that Jinki deserves so much better.

Even after so many years, he still hasn’t figured out how to mute that voice, how to tell Jinki what he’s thinking and feeling without the dull panic that it will be what finally pushes him to leave.  Besides, living in shadows is a hard habit to break so he hides in Jinki’s, lets his bright smile and warm laughter guide their relationship, an unfair burden to put on another person.

He listens to Jinki talk about his day while they eat, distracted by his own thoughts.  When Jinki asks him about Gwiboon’s visit, he makes a choice, sliding his foot up the other’s leg with a coy smile.

“I missed you.”  It’s the truth and a lie at the same time because it’s not the whole story, that’s not how his day was.  It was awful, sad, and lonely because he had spent it missing Jinki.  And he’s not telling him that, he’s distracting him with kisses and caresses, a palm to his pants and a glint in his eye.

It takes him three days to work up the courage to actually bring it up, bolstered by Gwiboon’s insistent texts and impromptu visit.

He doesn’t want to seem dramatic, doesn’t want to make it a big deal, and he’s not even sure how he wants to say it.  When Jinki leaves that morning he makes a neutral statement about needing to talk to him about something that evening; just enough information to let him know that he doesn’t need to worry, but that he’ll need his attention when he gets home. 

The afternoon is spent cleaning, putting his anxiety into physical labor, distracting himself with burning muscles and the smell of lemons.  At Gwiboon’s suggestion, he tries writing down what he wants to say, but the words never sound right and he’s tossed away nearly six pieces of paper before he gives up.

It’s the same smile and the same kiss he receives every evening, tired eyes looking at him in the same way they have for the last five years.  It suddenly strikes him that they’ve been together five years and he’s still keeping secrets, and how incredibly selfish that is.  Of course Jinki deserves better, he’s been a terrible boyfriend.

Jinki comes back from the kitchen where he’s grabbed a beer from the fridge and sits down in his recliner, popping the can and taking a sip.  He holds it in his hand as he leans back, his socked feet propped up on the leg stool.

“What did you want to talk about?”, he asks, taking another sip.

“I…”  He stops, his words on the tip of his tongue but fuzzy and he can’t quite reach them.  Or maybe he doesn’t want to.  But he’s so tired.  Of hiding, of being trapped, being unhappy, of keeping secrets.  Jinki’s watching him with a look that is dissolving from humor and curiosity to concern and he rushes out his thoughts before he’s asked any questions.

“I’m not happy.” 

Jinki’s eyebrows raise and now there’s a glint of fear and Taemin immediately realizes his mistake.

“Not with you.  I mean, I’m happy with you.  I love you.  I’m just…not happy.”  He watches Jinki nod, confusion joining the myriad of emotions on his face.  He looks down at his fingers and pushes through his confession.

“I haven’t left the house by myself since we moved here.  I spend every day trapped, unable to leave, just waiting for you to come back to me.  And I can’t do it anymore.  I’m tired of being afraid all the time, of being sad.”

Maybe if he’d been watching Jinki’s face it wouldn’t have been so bad, maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all.  But he’s spent far too many days alone in the apartment, too many days staring out the window unable to move; too many days of listening to the nagging voice in his head telling him that Jinki deserved better.

When Jinki asks, “What are you scared of?”, Taemin breaks, reacting before he can register Jinki’s tone, one imbued only with curiosity and concern, too distracted by the familiarity of the question.

The unbidden refrain of “What’s wrong with you?  What are you scared of?  Why can’t you be like Minho?” begins running through his head like a mantra and he’s suddenly very, very angry.

He stands up, his hands fisted at his side.

“I don’t know!  I don’t ing know!  I’ve never known!  Do you think I’d be here if I knew?!  Do you think it’s fun spending every day not able to step one foot out of your home and you don’t even know why?!  I don’t know what’s wrong with me!  I don’t know how to fix it!  !”

He storms out of the room down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and propping it closed with his own body.  His body shakes with a rage that is quickly dissipating and the brief burst of adrenaline fades into a nausea and mild panic.  Outside of , he’s never yelled at Jinki before, never used profanity, never slammed a door.  There’s a tentative knock on the door that he wants to answer but doesn’t and he has no response to the silence that follows.  He’s numb now. 

The next half hour is spent on the bathroom floor, his feet resting on the bath mat and his back pressed uncomfortably against the door.   His mind is blank and his chest aches.  And he’s exhausted.  When he finally emerges, he finds Jinki sitting on the floor across from the door, his head in his hands.  He looks up with red eyes and damp eyelashes and Taemin’s heart hurts at the thought that he’s made the man he loves cry.

“I’ve been a terrible boyfriend,” is what hears, words that don’t make sense in Taemin’s head: It had never occurred to him to blame Jinki for any of this.  He falls to his knees in front of him, takes Jinki’s hands in his own.

“No you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.  I never ask you about your day, Taemin, I’m too busy telling you about mine.  I spend time with my friends without asking you about yours.  I go out even when you don’t want to because I’m so excited I ignore how uncomfortable you are.  I’ve been taking you for granted and you deserve so much better.”

Hearing the tormenting words in his head spoken by the man in front of him breaks his heart.  He kisses Jinki, pulls him into his arms, and rocks him gently, pressing his boyfriend’s head to his chest. 

They talk through the night, Jinki listening quietly as Taemin tells him how frustrated he’s been, how sad and isolated.  At the end, he apologies and, despite Taemin’s allowances for his busyness, he’s adamant that he’s been wrong, that his new job is no excuse for not giving the attention to their relationship, to Taemin, that he should have been.  In the end Taemin lets him have his guilt because it comes with his attention, and because he knows what it’s like to have emotions invalidated and he doesn’t want to do that to Jinki.

They’re exhausted by the time they finally go to bed, emotionally spent.  They’d spent the last few hours researching how to get Taemin into treatment, relying on the Internet and Gwiboon to talk them through it.  It’s well past midnight when they collapse onto the mattress, their heads sore from the struggle to figure out insurance, covered providers, and directions to the nearest clinic.  It’s all very adult and boring, and Taemin’s glad that he chose a Friday to have the conversation because it would be very unfair for Jinki to have to go to work after staying up until three in the morning figuring out how to get his boyfriend medical treatment.

The weekend is spent at home eating leftovers and talking, falling asleep in the middle of the day, and watching movies at night, snuggled in a blanket with Taemin’s head resting in Jinki’s lap.

Jinki wants to call in sick Monday, but Taemin talks him out of it.  He points out that it’s not the best move to start skipping work so early in his employment.  It’s an argument he wins easily, and he’s left with a kiss and a wish of luck before he is alone again.  This time, though, he has a plan and a little bit of hope.

Thursday morning finds him a waiting room with four other people; a woman with a baby sleeping in their car seat, a man old enough to be his grandfather, and Gwiboon.  The receptionist was quite helpful, if a bit eager, and he’s grateful she’s come along.  She had driven them to the clinic, stood by him through the check-in, and was now sitting next to him with her phone in one hand and the other on his thigh.  He passively wonders what they must look like to outsiders, but his heart is racing, and the blood thumping in his ears is a bit too loud to really care.  When they call his name, she stands to go with him, her eyes still on her phone.  Just as they reach the nurse, she pockets it, a bright smile suddenly appearing on her face.

It's all very basic.  He’s poked and prodded, weighed and measured, questioned and abandoned.  The room is small and cold, disturbing pictures of developing fetuses and cancerous lungs hanging on opposing walls.  Gwiboon talks to them as they wait and he nods along, half-listening, bending his fingers rhythmically. 

The quick knock on the door followed by its abrupt opening is startling and he lets out a little yelp that he hopes no one hears.  The man who enters, presumably the doctor, makes no sign that he’s heard.  He introduces himself, putting out a hand that Taemin reluctantly shakes.

“So what brings you in today?”  It’s the same question he’d already answered when the nurse had asked and for a moment Taemin thinks it’s a trick.  Glancing at Gwiboon he sees her subtly roll her eyes and tilt her chin in the doctor’s direction.

“I’ve been…having anxiety.  A lot.  Um…I wanted to talk about a referral?  For counseling?  I don’t really know how this works.”  The doctor nods, typing on a computer that sits on a little swivel stand.

He’s surprised to learn that there’s an actual screening process, and as they begin he suddenly worries that they’ll find that there’s actually nothing wrong with him, that it’s all been in his head.  He’s so nervous he doesn’t see the irony.  As he answers the questions the doctor is reading off of the screen, he notices that he answers “nearly every day” to nearly every question, and he suspects that’s not a good thing.  When they finish, there’s a pause filled with the clacking of keys as the doctor continues to type and Taemin waits, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ok.  It sounds like this has really become a problem for you, just as you said.  I’ll send a referral to Dr. Jung for counseling.  We could also try medication if that’s something you’re interested in.”  He is, though until he was asked he still wasn’t sure, reflexively thinking “pills are for people who are really sick” every time he considered it.  He’s no longer willing to dismiss his symptoms, to minimize his experience, so he nods and his head and smiles tentatively as they discuss options, and when the doctor says his prescription should be ready in the pharmacy in twenty minutes.  

~

He settles easily into the routine of daily medication and weekly therapy, though getting there is often a challenge.  He likes his counselor, who asks him to call him Jihoon, though he’s a bit intimidating: he’s got at least three inches and fifty pounds on Taemin, and it’s all muscle.  But he has a soft voice, a gentle laugh, and he listens.  He challenges Taemin’s thoughts, gives him advice on how to manage his symptoms, to figure out ways to make the world a little less scary.  He gives him perspective.

It helps.  It’s not perfect, but it helps.  And it’s a relief.  There is something wrong with him but there’s nothing wrong with him.  It’s not a character flaw, it’s just his brain over-reacting to stimuli and deciding that the worst outcome is the most likely.  It’s hard to fight but worth it.  The medication helps as well, and slowly his anxiety is softened to a manageable level.  It’s still there, it’ll probably always be there, but it no longer consumes him.  After a while he starts looking for work, eventually finding a job at a library that keeps him busy.  It’s good work and low pay, and he’s glad to have a purpose again.

His life slowly begins to take shape, forming around his relationship with Jinki and spreading out to his friends, his hobbies, and his work.  He’d stopped dancing when Minho died, moving from the stage to sporadic performances when he was alone or with Jongin.  He slowly begins again, teaching himself routines that he sees in performance videos on YouTube, enjoying the stretch of his muscles, the fluidity of motion.  Gwiboon is a frequent presence is in his life, visiting often and occasionally introducing him and Jinki to the boyfriends, girlfriends, or “just friends” that she feels are good enough for them to meet (her words).  His favorite is Ondrew, a rocker with a smile that reminds him of Jinki, and a voice that Taemin could listen to all day.  He’s a frequent feature in Gwiboon’s plays, his command of the stage making him a natural lead, and his performances are always lauded, both by critics and by Taemin.

He and Jinki find their niche, grow a close-knit social circle, go out on dates and in groups.  Not often, and sometimes not even for long, but they do it and it’s wonderful.  Taemin begins to feel at home, again.

~

“So what do you want to do?  Anything at all, just name it.”

Jinki is braced above Taemin, a hand at either side, thumbs brushing against his ribs.  He wiggles his eyebrows in a silly, not-so-subtle attempt at seduction, and it makes Taemin laugh.  He’s only just woken up, the smell of pancakes cooking bringing him up from the depths of sleep.  It’s his 21st birthday and Jinki’s taken the day off, his first in the year since they moved to the city, just to spend it with him.  His laughter at his boyfriend’s antics softens and reaches up, holding Jinki’s face in his hands, just staring at him and smiling.

“Marry me.” 

Jinki’s face crinkles in confusion making Taemin laugh again. “Today?” 

It strikes him then that it’s a possibility, one that Taemin hadn’t actually considered.  They could drive across the state, over the border, get married at a “hitching post”, and by the end of the day he could be “Mr. Lee Jinki”.  He’s not sure why he likes the sound of it so much but he does.

“No,” he replies, “I want to get married on the date we met.”  Now it’s Jinki’s turn to laugh.

“That’s so sappy.” 

Taemin shrugs.  He knows it is.

Jinki’s smile dissipates slowly and Taemin spends a few uncomfortable moments beneath him waiting for a response to his proposal.

“Are you serious?” 

He nods and waits, watching Jinki watch him, watching his face suddenly break into the smile he knows and loves so well.  His lips are caught into a kiss, his hands moving from Jinki’s face up his neck and into his hair, and they laugh into each other’s mouths.  Jinki pulls back just long enough to whisper, “Yeah.  I’ll marry you.”, before he’s kissing Taemin again.

Compiling a guest list is easy; Jinki’s mom and Gwiboon top the list, followed by Jinki’s friends Jonghyun and Daesung, and Taemin’s friends Minjung and Jongin.  They laugh when they realize they’d both added Ondrew’s name.  Taemin has only seen Jongin in person once since he left their hometown, attending his graduation.  He had gone out of state to study dance and, to Taemin’s amusement, he was putting himself through school by working as an exotic dancer.  It was a term Jongin hated (so Taemin used it regularly) because “I’m a ing stripper, there’s nothing exotic about taking your clothes off.”  He hopes that his friend can make it to the wedding; it would be nice to see him again.

At the last minute he decides to add his parents to the list of invitees, even though he hasn’t spoken to them since he graduated high school.  He’s certain they won’t come, he’d be surprised if they respond at all, but it feels wrong somehow not to invite them.

And as excited as he is about marrying Jinki, and seeing his friends and prospective mother-in-law again, it hits him hard to think about the one person who won’t be there to attend.  Junghee, Gwiboon’s current girlfriend, had hesitantly asked if he’d like to hear about some ideas she’d seen on Pinterest for weddings that had representation of deceased loved ones, usually by placing their photo on an empty chair.  He likes the idea; he knows exactly which photograph he’d like to use.

The wedding is planned for the evening of the 26th of September, a Friday, followed by dinner in the little banquet hall in the basement of the tiny chapel they’ve rented for the occasion.  They would have had it in their home except that it’s barely big enough for the two of them, much less the tiny crowd they’re inviting.  They’ve asked Gwiboon, who got her license as soon as same- marriage was legalized in their state, to perform the wedding, a request she was thrilled to accept.  It’s going to be simple and relaxed with them forgoing tuxedos in favor of more casual attire.  Taemin wants to wear what they wore the day they met, but Jinki just laughs and says that he needs to calm down, and besides, he has no idea what they were wearing.  This crushes Taemin’s heart a bit because he knows exactly what they were wearing, down to his own underwear, but he settles for the dress pants and ties Gwiboon and Junghee help them buy, outfits that complement each other without exactly matching.

He was right, neither of his parents came.  His mother, however, RSVP’d with her declination, a hundred-dollar bill, and a “Congratulations” scribbled inside, the card left unsigned.  And while it wasn’t exactly a heart-warming message, it was more than he expected. 

He walks down the aisle alone to the music playing softly in the background, just loud enough to temper the echo of the small hall and its wooden floors.  Jinki waits for him at the front, Gwiboon slightly behind him.  As he nears he looks over at the seat that had been reserved for his brother, the one with his favorite photograph propped up in a black frame.  It was taken just a few months before Minho died. 

He’d been standing on the sidelines watching his brother play what was becoming an increasingly tense game of football, the score growing by tiny increments and consistently tied.  At the very last second, Minho scored the winning touchdown and the stadium burst into cheers, rising to their feet and raising their fists.  He’d watched as the team had run to his brother, grabbing him up in a hug, raising him on their shoulders for a brief moment, and then high-fiving all around.  Suddenly Minho burst from the group and headed straight for Taemin.  He grabbed him up in a big hug, swinging him in the air, the brightest smile on his face.  It was that moment that was captured in the photograph on display.  Minho’s hair is messy and damp, and they’re both grinning.  His arms are around Taemin’s waist and Taemin has one arm around Minho’s neck, the other gripping his arm.  Ordinarily it would be considered odd for a teenager to grab his brother in an embrace after such a victory, but for Minho it was completely normal.  He smiles at the memory and takes his place standing across from Jinki.

Gwiboon begins a little speech about love and marriage, how happy she is to see two of her best friends marry, that moves from warm and lovely to increasingly uncomfortable as she begins a rather bitter diatribe about how marriage is a civil right and not a religious institution.  She catches herself and redirects her focus to the beauty of love and then invites them to take their vows.

Taemin goes first.  He pulls the simple silver ring out of his pocket and holds it in front of Jinki’s waiting finger. 

“I, Taemin, choose you, Jinki, to be my husband.  When I’m with you I feel at home, and in everything that life sends our way, I will stay with you, comfort you, and love you.”  He slips the ring over Jinki’s finger and grins.

It’s Jinki’s turn and he pulls an identical ring out of his own pocket, an impish smile on his face that makes Taemin’s heart flutter.

“I Jinki, espouse you, Taemin, as my spouse.”  There’s a collective groan from their friends and Taemin suspects that Gwiboon is barely controlling the urge to roll her eyes.  “You’re my mate and my mate.  I promise to listen to you, to protect you, to comfort you, and to ride this planet with you as long as life will let us.  And I will choose you always to be my raisin, Taemin.”  Taemin bursts out laughing at the nickname from their first date being woven into their wedding vows, and he’s still chuckling as Jinki slips the ring over his finger.

Their reception continues the theme of simple and casual with cold fried chicken, potato salad, chips, and a pair of obligatory fruit and vegetable trays.  There’s a small cake as well just for the guests as neither Jinki nor Taemin much care for sweets. 

The ten of them just fit into the little room, two long tables pushed together giving them plenty of space for their plates and cutlery.  There’s a quick round of toasts followed by little conversations as their guests get to know each other a little better.  Taemin catches the way Gwiboon is leaning into Minjung as they talk, and it doesn’t go unnoticed the way they’re looking at her either.  He glances over at Junghee in time to see the sadness flit over her face, replaced quickly with a smile and a nod.  Looking back over at Gwiboon, he sees her pointing at Junghee and Minjung nodding as well.  He flushes as he realizes he’s just witnessed a being arranged at his wedding reception.  And based on the way Daesung and Ondrew are looking at each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if they also spent the night together.  Not to mention the way Eunsook has her hand on Jongin’s thigh.  Weddings, he thinks with a sigh. 

At least Jonghyun is behaving himself with Jinki’s mother.   

Their honeymoon is a gift from Jinki’s mom, one that Taemin is both embarrassed and grateful to receive: two nights and two days at a secluded bed and breakfast.  If he hadn’t been able to spend yesterday and today with his best friend he might have postponed it, but he’ll see him again when they visit Jinki’s mother at Christmas. 

They leave their reception late, hugs and kisses all around, before heading to their car.  It’s clean on the outside but filled with silly string on the inside and neither of them have any idea how their friends broke into their car.  They clear out the front seats and leave the back for later, their luggage already in the trunk (they double-checked).  It’s dark and chilly but the moon is bright and as they leave the city the stars begin to sparkle.

Taemin has one hand on Jinki’s thigh, the feeling of the metal band around his finger both foreign and comforting, the other tucked behind his head.  He tells Jinki about Gwiboon, Minjung, and Junghee and his husband laughs, his eyes crinkling.  They agree that something is definitely going to happen between Daesung and Ondrew, but Jinki makes a disgusted face and demands that the speculation stop when they get to Eunsook and Jongin.  Taemin just laughs at that because he knows his friend and his predilection for pretty girls with long hair and he’s pretty sure they’re both getting lucky tonight.

~

Jinki has him pinned against the wall, one leg thrown over his muscular bicep as he s him, Taemin’s other foot up on his toes.  He’s gripping the edge of the wall with one hand, grateful for the sharp to brace on.  The other is around Jinki’s neck, holding his head close to Taemin’s shoulder.  The hold on his leg is tight and Jinki’s other arm is braced near Taemin’s rib, almost tickling him with the way his body shudders as Jinki s into him.

It started as an innocent kiss in the bathroom.

Jinki was washing up after their trip, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth.  Taemin had come up from behind, his shirt and pants already discarded, slipping his arms around his waist.  The kiss Jinki turned to give him was chaste and fresh, the fragrance of mint breathed into Taemin’s mouth.  But chaste wasn’t what Taemin wanted.  He was a married man now, it was his wedding day, and he wanted his husband to him.

Now.

So he began ing Jinki’s shirt, watching them both in the mirror.  He slid off Jinki’s broad shoulders, kissing the exposed muscled as he pulled the material away, tossing it aside.  His hands slid back around Jinki’s waist, up his chest and back down to the buckle just under his navel.  He let his fingers brush softly through the hair on their way to his belt, unbuckling it slowly and dropping it on the discarded shirt.  Jinki hummed as his husband’s thin fingers began palming him through his dress pants, teasing him.  Taemin kissed Jinki’s neck as he pulled away.  Stepping in front of his husband, Taemin smiled and slid down to his knees, swaying his hips back and forth, making Jinki laugh.

He his lips as he ped the trousers, leaning back on his heels as he pulled out Jinki’s , half-hard and leaking precum.  He kept his eyes on Jinki as he took it in his mouth, as he bobbed back and forth.  Pulling off, he took a couple deep breaths while he the whole length, thumbing the corona.  That was enough for Jinki who pulled him back up so fast he was still dizzy when he found Jinki’s tongue in his mouth. 

Breaking away, Jinki leaned in and whispered, “Are you ready?”

Taemin nodded, quickly answering, “Yes”, amending it to “Yes sir” when Jinki began to frown.

Lifted onto the vanity, he had his boxers off and three of Jinki’s lubed fingers in his before he could completely comprehend what was happening, his arms wrapped tight around Jinki’s shoulders.  It’s cold, the laminate beneath him and the glass behind him.  He doesn’t have long to think about it because Jinki is pushing in and he’s suddenly very warm.

The movement from the bathroom to the wall had been swift and deliberate.  Frustrated by the constriction, Jinki had pulled out to kick off his pants, leaving Taemin a sweaty, panting mess on the counter.  He had only a moment to catch his breath before being picked up again.  This time he’s carried out to hallway, his legs wrapped around Jinki’s waist as he mindlessly kisses his neck and shoulders.  He’s dropped to unsteady feet, a leg hooked over Jinki’s arm, and suddenly he’s balancing on his toes as his husband slips back in.

The position is incredible but taxing, and even Jinki’s thighs can’t hold them up forever.  Taemin finds himself face down on the softest bedspread he’s ever felt in his life, the material silky against his hands and knees.  His throat and forehead are gripped in Jinki’s hands.  He’s finding it hard to breathe, much less moan the way the new angle inspires him to.  He settles for letting the room fill with the muted choking sounds he’s able to produce, and listens to the pants of Jinki’s breath in his ear, the rhythmic thump of the bed.  The sound of their damp skin slapping against each other, of Jinki sliding in and out of Taemin’s body, is heady and intoxicating.  The room fills up with their fragrance: sweat and .

His breath begins to hitch and he’s coming before he knows it, silent as Jinki’s hand is on his throat, the lack of air making his vision to momentarily go black.  Jinki’s still ing him, his breath still hot in Taemin’s ear.  There’s a subtle shift in his breath, a sudden utterance of a curse and a supplication, and then he es, filling Taemin up.  He pulls out, leans down, and bites Taemin’s shoulder gently, covering it with a kiss.

~

Their morning is spent in a similar fashion and they end up missing breakfast.  It’s past two when they finally leave their room, hunger overriding their lust and fatigue.

The B & B is in a tourist town, but it’s the end of the season and they find themselves nearly alone as they stroll up and down the main road.  A tiny café catches their eye and they step in from the brisk afternoon.  They’re greeted by an older woman who enthusiastically leads them to a table by the window, leaving them with menus and a promise to return with coffee.

It’s empty, the late hour and the off-season conspiring to provide them with a private meal.

She comes back with a pot and pours it into their waiting cups.

“Have we decided?”

They each order a sandwich, Taemin chooses egg salad and Jinki chooses chicken.  They chat as they wait for their food, simple things.  Married things, Taemin thinks.

The woman brings them their plates, setting them down with ease.  After asking if there’s anything more they need, she pauses, hovering at their table.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?  It’s none of my business and I hope you don’t take offense.”

Taemin shifts in his chair, looking to Jinki to answer.  He’s smiling broadly, though his eyes are guarded.

“Depends on the question I guess.”  She laughs, a bit nervously.

“It’s just…how long have you two been married?”  Taemin lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding and they both laugh.

“About twenty hours”, Jinki replies.  “We’re on our honeymoon.”  Her eyes light up and she clasps her hands together.

“Oh my!  Congratulations!”  It strikes Taemin then that a stranger in a café in a town he’s never visited is more excited about his marriage than his own parents and he takes Jinki’s hand in his as she returns to their table with a piece of pie.

~

They return from their honeymoon refreshed, still smiling when they each return to work on Monday.  Not much changes besides the small but significant additions to their daily attire.  As dull as taxes are, it’s a little bittersweet for Taemin to have to mark “single” on his return when he’s not, and an odd thrill the next year when they get to mark “married”.

Life carries on as it always had, the mundane and the magical interweaving.  It’s simple but it’s theirs and they’re happy.  But the woman in the café nags at Taemin’s mind and he begins to think about family and what that means.  His parents were never his family, he never felt safe with his parent.  They were an extension of his relationship with Minho that bore no meaning on their lives except to try to drive them apart.  They abandoned him the moment his brother was gone, and their presence in his life has only passingly been missed.  To his credit, Minho never allowed their actions to determine his own and while they may have pushed for Taemin to take on the characteristics of Minho in the form of popularity and excellence, what Taemin knew his brother to be was kind and it was that aspect that he sought to emulate.  And it was his failure to mimic the kindness his brother showed, the way that he showed it, that affected him and let the message of his being the “bad” son resonate. 

He has a new family now, has had for a while though he hadn’t realized it.  He’s found siblings in Minjung and Gwiboon, and Jinki’s mother has stepped into the role of maternal figure in his life without hesitation and without stipulation.  He’s healing and they’re helping him do so.  And the way he thinks about Minho changes.  It’s no longer a sadness he chooses not to accept, but a memory of a brother who made him feel safe.  His original family that made the development of his new one possible.  There’s more he needs and the thought begins to form in his mind.  He’s still not ready but he thinks he will be soon, and he waits patiently for the day. 

~Two months ago~

“How are things?”

Taemin rocks back and forth in the black leather chair, fiddling with his ring and staring at the floor.  He’s not normally this nervous but he’s planning something new and unfamiliar and it’s taking its toll.  He knows though that even this is improvement: three years ago this would have been unthinkable and even a year ago he would have stayed home, frozen by fear, rather than speak to his therapist about it.

“Good.  They’re good.”  He takes a deep breath and looks up at the man sitting across the table from him, forcing himself to keep eye contact.  “I’m thinking of taking a trip.”  Jihoon smiles gently and Taemin wonders what he’s thinking.

“That sounds interesting.  Where are you planning on going?”

“To visit Minho.”

Jihoon’s smile falters a bit, his eyebrows briefly crinkling in confusion and Taemin has to swallow back the panic that is rising.  He’s not crazy.  The man nods.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve...seen him.”  He refrains from referring to where Taemin will meet Minho and it’s appreciated.

“Yes.”

“How are you getting there?”

“I’m driving.”

“By yourself?”  Taemin nods, watching the man’s face for clues.

“How do you feel about that?”  Taemin takes a deep breath and risks the truth.

“Terrified.”

“What exactly terrifies you?”

Taemin lists off everything he can think of, every thought that has whirled inside his head since he was first struck with the desire to drive across state to his hometown and visit his brother’s grave.  Getting lost, flat tire, forgetting his wallet, forgetting his phone, the sheer number of strangers and unfamiliar variables he will have to navigate without any one to act as a buffer.  When he is finished there is a quiet as the man watches him, studying him and Taemin begins to doubt himself.

“What about seeing Minho?”  It’s Taemin’s turn to look puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you nervous at all about seeing Minho?”  Taemin can feel himself relax at the thought of seeing his brother and he shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

“So it’s worth it to you to work through these anxious ‘maybes’.”  It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Taemin nods because it’s true.  Jihoon nods as well, and the rest of the hour is spent brainstorming ways to minimize the stresses of Taemin’s travel.  By the time he leaves Taemin is certain that he can do this and he begins making plans to see Minho again.