The medication works like this: you take one pill and for the next twelve hours, you can live like you’ve never even heard the word Hanahaki. No cough, no tell-tale petals. But deep inside you, the flowers continue to grow, continue to steal the oxygen from your lungs.

Taemin takes one at midnight. It wears off at midday; he’s usually at work then, either in the practice room, the recording studio or at the gym. Anywhere but home. The coughing starts a few minutes later. There’s always a bathroom nearby that he can run to, to throw up the petals handful of petals, half a flower that have grown in him overnight. Once he’s expelled everything, he takes another pill and gets another twelve hours where he can pretend that everything is alright.

~

If someone were to ask Taemin how his days pass, he’d tell them that it’s a strange mix of days that blend seamlessly day into night into day that he can’t tell you what he did on any specific day and moments which are so vivid and stark against this dreamy passage of time that he feels like he’s watching his life play out on a screen somewhere.

~

He can barely remember how long it took to film his MV or when he first practiced the dance with his new all-female crew of backup dancers.

But he remembers Kibum noticing the cut in his eyebrow the moment he comes home, remembers Kibum cupping his face in his warm hands and turning his head this way and that to get a proper look at it.

“Are you sure it’s going to grow back?” Kibum asks. “You barely have any eyebrows as it is.”

Taemin shrugs. “It doesn’t matter either way. If it doesn’t, then I’ll have a cool eyebrow scar too.”

“Hah, you copycat! Find your own concept.”

~

Taemin forgets which days he spends practicing for the concert and which days he spends at the recording studio, tuning the vocals on this and that.

But he remembers each morning that he wakes up to the scent of coffee, to Kibum’s sleepy ‘good morning’, to comparing schedules over breakfast when he counts the hours until he can see Kibum again.

~

Taemin gives himself an ‘allowance’ every day. Every day, he gets to pick one thing that he’ll ask for or accept unquestionably from Kibum, as if his hyung is actually in love with him and they are dating, for real.

It starts small. The first time, he allows himself to believe their mutual lie that Kibum loves him, just for a few seconds, when he comes home in the wee hours of the morning and Kibum greets him with “I’ve missed you.”

Sometimes, when the wind whistles and the day seems colder than usual, Taemin will ask Kibum for one of his large, fluffy sweaters to wear to his schedule that day. Kibum never minds, because the sweaters he asks for are always years old, softened from use. Wrapping himself in one of Kibum’s old, soft, slighty-too-wide-at-the-shoulders sweaters almost feels like he’s wearing a hug.

On other days, he’ll walk Comme des and Garcons with Kibum, walk hand in hand with him in the park when it’s late at night and no one’s following them, and he’ll let himself believe that he can have this that he is enough for Kibum that all Kibum wants is to hold his hand while they walk the dogs.

His favourite allowance is a kiss.

Whether it’s him greeting Kibum with a welcome-back kiss when his hyung comes home exhausted after his play, or whether it’s Kibum kissing him slow and intense until he’s breathless, Taemin loves them all. For someone who’s playing at being in love, Kibum can kiss really, really well. When Kibum is kissing him, there’s no pretence in it; it’s as if he actually does love Taemin.

He doesn’t realise just how far out of hands these allowances have become until one day, when they’re watching a movie together, Kibum leans in for a kiss and Taemin allows it and it doesn’t end. When they break apart for air, Taemin leans back, having already exhausted his one allowance for the day, but Kibum leans in, catches his lips in a searing kiss and pulls Taemin into his lap.

Taemin’s body is so touch-starved that it reacts before his brain can catch up; he’s grinding his hips into Kibum’s and lapping eagerly at the tongue in his mouth before he can remember that this isn’t real that Kibum doesn’t really want this.

It feels exactly like the time he dumped a bucket of ice on himself.

Kibum doesn’t seem to notice. He slips a hand under Taemin’s t-shirt and runs his hands warm hands up Taemin’s back. Taemin shudders.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Kibum whispers. “I want you now.”

How can he tell Kibum that he doesn’t want this?

He lets Kibum pull him to the bedroom and push him onto the bed. Kibum’s lips are on his again, ling, biting, stealing what little breath he has left. Those hands slip under his t-shirt again and slide over skin; down, down to his sweats and then the material is being tugged off his hips-

Taemin doesn’t realise he’s dissociated until he feels Kibum’s hand the hand that had sparked electricity from his skin tapping the side of his face. Kibum is hovering over him, eyebrows furrowed, mouthing words that Taemin can’t catch.

Focusing, he hears his name, mixed in with apologies and pleas. “Huh?”

“Taemin-ah, hey, it’s okay. I’ve stopped, see? I’m sorry, we don’t have to do anything, okay? Taeminnie, please-”

“I’m fine,” Taemin forces himself to say then. He feels nauseous feels under Kibum’s concerned gaze. He sits up, displacing Kibum, and practically runs from the bed to the bathroom.

There’s a pair of jeans in the laundry basket; Taemin slips them on and checks his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are haunted and his hair is a mess, but otherwise he looks decent.

Kibum is waiting for him just outside the bathroom door, but Taemin starts speaking babbling really he just can’t bear the weight of Kibum’s concern before he can. “I’m fine, hyung, really I am. I’m just going out for a bit to clear my head, I’ll be with Jongin, don’t worry about me.”

And then he leaves before Kibum can get a word in edgewise.

It turns out that EXO is still overseas so Taemin ends up crashing on the couch at Hotshot’s dorm. Not that he gets much sleep. When his phone buzzes in his pocket just as the sky outside is lightening, Taemin is wide awake, lying around waiting for his day to start.

Kibum has sent him a message.

I’m going to be filming late today, so don’t wait up for me. Not sure what your schedule is, but if you’re going to be home for dinner there’s kimbap in the fridge. Comme des and Garcons are at 6timber for the day so don’t worry about them.

A second message comes in as Taemin is reading the first.

Could you pick up some milk on your way home? There isn’t any left.

When Taemin puts his phone down, it is with a sigh of relief. The messages are Kibum’s way of telling him that things are okay between them, that nothing has changed, and he’s so grateful that Kibum is so adept at reading him. His chest throbs; the more time he spends with Kibum, the more he loves him. The flowers in his chest are growing so well.

~

Taemin ends up buying not only milk, but a few apples, a packet of that grape jelly drink that Kibum likes and a bag of his own favourite chocolate cereal that he really shouldn’t be eating so close to a concert.

True to his word, Kibum doesn’t come home even thought Taemin stays up until 2am just in case he does. As he settles into their bed when did it become their bed instead of Kibum’s bed alone, he wishes that at least Comme des and Garcons were around so that the flat wouldn’t feel so empty.

A loud creak wakes him up. Taemin sits up, startled.

“It’s me,” Kibum’s familiar voice drawls.

The room is too dark for Taemin to see anything. He can’t tell how long he’s been asleep; is it minutes or hours? He hears Kibum undress, hears him drop his clothes in the laundry basket.

“What time is it?” Taemin asks.

“Just past five,” Kibum answers. He sounds exhausted.

“Come to bed,” Taemin says, blindly reaching out to grab Kibum. Kibum doesn’t have any schedules in the morning and his own schedule starts at ten, so there’s still time for them to sleep. “You can shower later.”

“You’re a horrible influence,” Kibum complains, but he comes to bed anyway; slots in behind Taemin and pulls Taemin into his chest. The bed which felt so empty before becomes a refuge again. Warm and secure in Kibum’s embrace, Taemin has almost drifted back into his dreams when Kibum speaks again. “Taemin-ah… I know it seems like I can read your mind sometimes, but you know that’s not actually true, right? I don’t know what you’re thinking. If you keep everything to yourself, I can’t help you. I know this sort of thing doesn’t happen overnight, but… you have to believe that I love you. That’s the only way you’ll get better.”

“I’m fine,” Taemin answers immediately. His heart shudders, nervous. Why is Kibum talking about getting better? He’s been so careful not to give anything away. “I’m really fine, hyung. I’m not hiding anything… there’s nothing to hide.”

“If you say so,” Kibum replies. He kisses the back of Taemin’s shoulder. “I love you so much, Taemin-ah.”

~

The day before his concert, Taemin spends the whole morning with his stylists, making sure all of his costumes fit perfectly he’s been working out and nothing fits properly anymore, followed by press conferences and interviews with more news agencies than he can name. He’s genuinely excited about the concert and performing his new songs, but this aspect of being an idol is far more tiring than singing, dancing or even working out.

But then Kibum picks him up after he’s done and they drive all the way to his friend’s restaurant in Daegu to have seafood. Taemin feasts on a spicy hotpot, rich with mussels and more types of mushrooms than he can name, feasts on Kibum’s stories and hearty laughter late into the night.

“I love you,” Kibum says when Taemin pours him the last of the wine.

“I love you,” Kibum says when Taemin offers to drive them back, since Kibum’s not very confident about driving at night without his glasses.

“I love you,” Kibum says when Taemin curls up against his chest to sleep.

He’s trying so hard.

When Taemin coughs up a whole flower a whole damn hydrangea as large as a head of cabbage couldn’t he have had a more delicate flower the next day, he doesn’t know for whom he feels more sorry; Kibum or himself.