The night of the Tokyo skyline glows with a comforting aura that reminds Taemin of home. The city hums softly despite it being well past three am, finding Taemin floating in an ethereal place, curled up in a large arm chair in a hotel room, drifting in a sacred bit of quiet found in his otherwise busy life. It reminds him far too much of stealing away to Japan with Jongin, snatching time with him, far from prying eyes and company’s intentions. The memories bring nostalgia with them, keeping his mind just on the edge of reality. The tips of Taemin’s fingers peek out from the too big sweatshirt he’s wrapped himself up in, his nails that have already been bit short in absentminded habit are pressed to his lips, grazing his teeth.

He’s lost in thought, watching the car lights twinkling on the street below, Taemin’s mind so far from his current place in the world. It’s the oddest feeling, how empty his fingers feel, the spaces between each one of them lacking the perfect fit of Jongin’s own. His long fingers fit Taemin’s small hand like framework, so often slipping between them as if they were crafted to suit his own. There’s this funny little empty feeling floating gentle and swollen in Taemin’s chest. He’s caught wishing for those nights where the could curl up together, sprawled in odd ways over the bed, over one another, whispering until sleep comes easy, and sudden. It’s not often Taemin feels lonely, too used to the pace of his lifestyle, never having known anything else. Sometimes though, especially in quiet moments like this, the lack of his better half sharing Taemin’s space creeps up on hi