It starts out as a joke.

“Hey remember the time you saved this guy’s life and he gave you his number?” Minho chuckles into his drink, his pretty eyes crinkling as he recounts the tale Taemin had told him once, when they were both drunk and alone at his apartment. It's just a funny anecdote for him, but Taemin had been looking for a distracting conversation that day to stop himself from doing something he would regret, and that was the only thing he could think of. It's hard having a crush on the ever loving Choi Minho.

Taemin grumbles at being laughed at, but is secretly pleased at the older having remembered something that off handed. At the back of his mind though, he is already thinking of ways to divert the topic. He barely remembers the extent of the story he told him in that moment of weakness, and the last thing he wants is to make up a threadbare tale to cover up the actual events to convey to Jonghyun and Jinki. There are some things he will never share fully with his friends, this being one of them.

He prays that the voices of the bar’s live band will drown out Minho’s.

Throwing water on Taemin’s hopes, Jonghyun sits up, suddenly interested in the conversation after having spaced out for most part of the evening. “Man, I’ve heard of him getting numbers from people all around the campus, but I’ve never heard of this one before”

Taemin groans again, the topic of him being popular on campus often being the of jokes in the group. Too many people take his rejection to their advances as just being coy, or playing hard to get, or even him being straight up arrogant, when in reality he simply is not interested at all. After all, it is not like they knew Taemin has given his heart out to someone who is never destined to keep it.

He gazes at Minho and Jinki sharing a fond look over the table, still in that honeymoon phase where they simply forget about others in their own little world. They do that sometimes unintentionally- like they are having whole conversations just by a look alone. It aches to watch Minho’s eyes completely besotted at every action Jinki does, and the funniest thing is Taemin isn’t even jealous. He loves Jinki, and he knows he deserves every bit of what they are sharing with each other. It hurts, it hurts so much, and Taemin is stuck playing the martyr who pushes his feelings aside instead of being the envious pining friend. Sometimes he wonders which would have been easier.

Taemin tears his eyes away from them, landing on Jonghyun's apologetic ones, who knows about his affection towards Minho. He shakes his head imperceptibly, hoping to communicate that he doesn’t need pity, and the older lets out a barely audible sigh.

Taking advantage of Jonghyun’s momentary weakness towards him, he clears his throat and stands up, mumbling out an excuse to use the washroom. Fleeing the scene is better, both for things he doesn't want to share, and to escape the new couple’s shows of affection, even for a while. He feels his mood souring- even if he is strong and adept at hiding his true feelings, he is only human, and he is selfish. Taemin allows himself that.

Detouring to the route to the back of the bar instead, he breaths in the night air, aware that it is mostly just pollution, but having lived in Seoul all his life, it isn't like he knows any different. In fact, this moment of solitude is something he hasn’t experienced in a while and it is refreshing all the same to him. Between classes, choreography practice and sharing a tiny apartment with Jongin, a friend he made in his first year due to their shared passion in dance- he is rarely alone. He feels suffocated, and like he's running out of time. Working after classes and his fear of not being accepted into top entertainment companies with auditions looming on him in a month eats him inside out, and the rest of his energy is spent pretending that everything is fine in front of Minho and Jinki.

His pining seems so inconsequential in the scheme of things. Taemin’s love to hone his skills, his drive to improve himself always came first, and yet Minho takes up a chunk of his thoughts, adding to his mounting headache of a life.

He scoffs to himself. Maybe he needs a vacation. If only he had the money.

Stopping himself from delving into a pity party, his mind drifts back to the conversation. It is true he saved someone’s life- that Someone giving him his number and saying he owed Taemin, and to text him if he needed the favour back. He's a part of a mob, or at least that's what Taemin assumes. The kind of injuries he'd seen on him don’t make it a completely bizarre presumption. Some part of his brain has always ruled out contacting the number, but Minho’s words brought it back.

Offering a wish like some sort of genie. He shudders at the memory of piercing eyes, peering at him like a cat scrutinizing its prey. Taemin found him attractive at the time, but he is now convinced that it was just the adrenaline messing with his brain. It's been three years already, and he doubts the stranger even remembered. Maybe this sort of thing is bread and butter in his line of work. Get yourself in danger, get saved and promise a favour. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a strange occurrence in his mundane life, and the mediocre state of his current existence has him taking out his phone, hovering over the contact name Key. Taemin has no idea what it stands for, or what he will text. A single favour can’t change his life, nor does he think this Key could do anything about it. Contacting a man he knows is dangerous is a whole other can of worms he isn’t ready to open yet. But he is bored, and Taemin is nothing if not impulsive.

A touch and the conversation screen appears, a blank ready to be filled up with his absurdity. As he raises his finger to type, Jonghyun’s incoming call takes up the display, and he is startled by what he was about to do- the sound of his friend’s worried voice bringing him back to his senses. Taemin ends the call and heads back, the thought forgotten for now.

-

Taemin has a busy life. Which he didn't particularly mind.

Exhaustion feels good. Exhaustion means he is doing something, he is living, he is moving. His friends worry about him, care for him, call him at night to talk about their day, which is just a poorly disguised way of asking how his day went. Taemin is grateful. While it's true that he likes working, he wouldn’t like it as much if he didn’t have people doting after him.

Which is why when they started having their own love lives and hectic projects to get back to, Taemin is left feeling a little out of his element, and slightly resentful of his own shortcomings in interpersonal relationships.

Suddenly coming home after a seven hour shift at the convenience store on a Saturday is even more depressing than usual, with Jongin out on a date, and without Jonghyun calling him late into the night as he dealt with insomnia- his new internship at a music studio keeping him busy when he couldn’t sleep.

Taemin briefly wonders about calling Minho, but quickly dismisses the thought knowing there is no way he would be missing a Saturday night with Jinki.

He gives up on seeking company and looks down at the miserable bowl of instant ramen he tried saving by adding a bit of honey. The taste is awful but it is better than the one time in his first year of college he experimented by adding milk which Jongin had forgotten to tell him was spoiled. Taemin has since then ruled out the idea of a career in culinary arts. Sighing, he washes the dishes and picks up the clothes strewn all over his room in a rare show of cleaning up after himself. As much as he’d love to spend the weekend out, he has practice on Sunday mornings, this one more important than the rest as it is dedicated to perfecting his solo piece for auditions. He gets into bed early, tired and most importantly bored out of his mind- his finger hovering on Key once again, the third time this week, before he switches off his phone for good and drifts off to sleep.

On Wednesday, Taemin realises he is behind on five different assignments. Who knew wallowing in self pity could make you lose track of days- especially the date of the month you were in. He stares at his screen in disbelief at his assignment tracker, the disregard for deadlines something Jinki had foreseen and installed an app for- forcing him to fill it in till it was muscle memory to update it after every class. But knowing when the deadline is, is not the same as knowing how far it is. While he has his occasional missed dates, he's never faced one this bad. Maybe taking the additional honour classes in his final year wasn’t a good idea, and losing track of projects which would decide on his graduation was definitely not a good idea. He cracks his knuckles and mentally prepares himself for a sleep deprived week.

It's on Monday morning after getting kicked out of a lecture for dozing during class (he had a brutal weekend at the store restocking supplies) that Taemin finally admits to himself that he is struggling. It's a foreign feeling. He's been used to hardship all his life, and had in fact chosen the difficult way to pursue a degree in fine arts, to his parents' displeasure- making him pay his own way for it. Despite it all, he likes the way he lived- he likes his classes, he likes his friends, he likes the feeling of watching himself in the mirror as he executes a perfect spin. He even appreciates working at the store sometimes, taking advantage of his employee discount and sneaking in food. Not to mention the ache in his chest gets duller everytime he looks at Minho. Part of the reason being he is so busy he has barely seen him at all.

So this is new to him, the feeling of being dragged down with every step he took ahead.

He briefly wonders if Key would be able to help, and laughs at his own silliness. The stranger's number is soon becoming a fantastical daydream rather than the aftermath of something very real that had happened- the bloodstains on Taemin's old tshirt proving it, stuffed far away into a dark corner of his closet. Yet all of it seems made up.

Tossing his recollection aside, Taemin steels himself- life isn't anything he couldn't handle. With his auditions only a week later, he does what he does best- compartmentalise for later inspection because he had better things to do.

On Sunday morning, clutching his ankle in pain, there is only one thought running through his mind. I can't do this.

-

"I spoke with the doctor,” Minho sighs. “She said you damaged your ligament but it isn't too serious. You can walk with a crutch for your first week, and after that normally".

Taemin doesn’t even have to look up to know how regretful his expression must be.

"And what about dancing?"

Another sigh.

"Taem, if you want to be able to dance painlessly for the rest of your life, you can't do it for a month at least. You know this."

Silence meets his words. Taemin stares resolutely at the ground, refusing to engage in the conversation.

Minho kneels next to his wheelchair , placing a hand on his arm to comfort him.

"I know this is not the best time, but there's always going to be other companies, there's always going to be next year. You're talented. Bad luck can't change that," he speaks softly, as if placating a wild animal.

At this, Taemin looks up and scoffs. "But it sure can change a lot."

Minho falls silent at that, and he takes it as an opportunity to continue, "We are going to be done with classes this week, and after that- graduate. All of you have things lined up to do. What am I going to do Minho? Jongin and I were supposed to do this together, and I know he's going to get through the audition. But you know what the funniest part is?". He laughs mockingly. "I would have been fine if I failed. I could've lived with the fact that I at least tried. But now?" Taemin points to his bandaged leg, "I'm just the idiot who fell on his ankle a week before evaluation"

“I’m sorry,” Minho utters softly.

Taemin shakes his head, guilt creeping in. Minho’s optimism at everything annoyed him a little bit, but he also envies the ability to be that way. He didn’t deserve to be at the end of his outburst when he was only trying to be comforting.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t need to say all of that.”

The older squeezes his arm and stands up, flashing him a kind smile, and Taemin knows he has been forgiven.

“C’mon, let's get you home. We'll sort everything out.”

-

It has been a week and Taemin is nowhere close to sorting it out.

As he predicted, Jongin is selected. He's happy for him, he really is. His friend deserves that spot more than anyone he knows. But this change in situation comes with a lot of problems- primarily him moving out to a place closer to his new studio, leaving Taemin with a month until he has to start paying the full rent and utilities. He somehow managed the week of classes, but work- which required him to be on his feet for the most of the day, he missed for two weeks. Which leaves him with very little savings for rent.

His friends help. Jinki brings him lunch. Jonghyun reassures him he will look for a job for Taemin- his internship having been bumped to full time now, granting him access to a few industry contacts. Taemin smiles weakly and lets himself be reassured, knowing full well the audition season is over, and there won’t be openings in the next six months in the very least, not for eminent studios or groups anyway. Minho visits him often, and makes sure his refrigerator is stocked. It makes Taemin feel awful, for making them waste their time and money on him, but he is in no position to refuse. It was either this, or going back home to his parents and burdening them further.

As with life, this respite is also temporary. They have work as well as final exams, something Taemin doesn’t have owing to his dance specialisation- projects and evaluations having been done weeks before. The visits dwindle until they are too busy to even take care of themselves, much less of him. Honestly, Taemin is relieved. He feels less guilty, and he has more energy now that he doesn’t have to always pretend that he is fine for their sake.

After the third week he starts work again, deeming it safe to be on his feet. Not that he has much of an option if he wants to make rent, or at least some of it to request an extension from his landlady for the rest. He takes longer shifts to make up for the lost time, and having nothing else to do, it at least provides him an outlet of simply not having to think about anything outside of the store.

But his nights are lonely. He isn’t used to an empty apartment, nor to having nothing to look forward to. He tosses and turns in his sleep, and finally, in absolute boredom, he picks up his phone and types in a message to Key.

“I just want to be happy.”