Winter is especially warm this year in Fort Myers, Florida, but that doesn't stop Taemin from lying on his bed with his sweater—with Minho's sweater. Well, the ownership of that particular piece of clothing is still open for debate, but Taemin is almost sure at this point that Minho will leave it here at the end of his vacation.

And he's right, because Minho doesn't plan to go home with it. In fact, he brought it especially for Taemin. He's not blind, he's known what has been happening to his sweaters for several years now. He's played dumb, because that's the only thing he knows how to do, but he's not blind. He knows where his sweaters disappear.

What he doesn't know, though, is that Taemin stealing his sweaters has been going on for way longer than he remembers. Even for Taemin, everything is a bit blurry, because memories of one's childhood tend to fade away or get mixed up, as his mom always tells him.

But Taemin is almost sure that his oldest memory is about a sweater, and not one of his own. Like every winter, his family is meeting friends during the school holidays to spend Christmas together, and like every year they make the trip to Hilton Head, South Carolina. That's where Minho lives, but Taemin doesn't know that at the time. If he’s met him before, he doesn’t remember.

He's young, about six years old, maybe a bit less, as he arrives in a big house overlooking the beach, and there are a lot of adults, and a lot of children too. But most of them are older than him, already teens, and they’re not letting him play with them. So he spends the days at the beach, next to his mom, because she doesn't want him to wander away. Understandable for sixteen-year-old Taemin, but not his younger counterpart.

Taemin’s mom is on edge because it's the late eighties and there's a child out there abducting children in the area, and like every mom, she’s afraid for her child. Taemin doesn’t understand the issue at the time, but he wants to make her proud so he listens, reluctantly.

He likes the beach, but it gets very cold in the evenings. One night, they're all gathered on the beach, roasting marshmallows on the bonfire, but Taemin's body is light and doesn't hold heat. He's shivering next to his mom, and her back rubs don't help one bit.

“Youngmi, dear, would you have a sweater for my son? He’s freezing,” Taemin’s mom asks, her voice sounding like honey.

And Youngmi nods, leaves for a short while, and comes back with a blue sweater with bold white letters knitted on it. Taemin can’t read yet, so he has no idea he’s currently supporting the local football team. He doesn’t care though, because he’s not as cold now.

He buries his face in the sweater and clasps his hands together to keep himself warm. The sweater smells nice. Even at his young age, he can tell it’s been worn a lot already, and there’s a scent there that’s not from the laundry detergent.

He likes that smell, so he keeps on breathing it. When he goes to sleep that night, he doesn’t remove it from his body, because the sweater hugs him better than any blanket could.

The next morning as he’s eating his breakfast after a very nice night filled with soothing dreams, a boy around his age runs into the kitchen and points at him with wide eyes.

“That’s my sweater!” he yells before coming next to him and inspecting the sweater. “Yep, that’s mine,” he says again, as if it would change something.

Because Taemin doesn’t want to let go of this sweater. He likes it. 

“Minho, let Taemin eat,” Minho’s mom says gently and makes Minho give Taemin some space. “You’ll get your sweater back later,” she adds, not knowing that it would never find itself in Minho’s wardrobe ever again.

When Taemin is done eating, Minho doesn’t let go of him. He understands that he needs to let Taemin wear his sweater, but he stays close just to keep an eye on it. Also, that boy intrigues him, because he has a vague memory of him tucked away in the back of his mind, but Taemin looks much younger in it. Since he cannot stop talking, he tells Taemin that he’s eight years old, that this is his house, and that he has lots of dominos in his bedroom.

And Taemin loves dominos, so it only takes him a few minutes to consider Minho as his friend. He proudly tells him he’s six and a half, because the half part is extremely important at his age, and he spends the remainder of his vacation in Minho’s room, making patterns and labyrinths, bridges and underpasses, then he hits the first domino and watches all of his work undo itself before his eyes, and he laughs.

Being friends with Minho is easy because there are no expectations. Minho talks funny, as if he had something lingering on his tongue, and that strikes Taemin right away. He really thinks Minho has something stuck there, until his mom tells him about lisps. He loves that it doesn’t stop Minho from talking all the time, and it makes him want to talk more too.

His mom is surprised in the morning when Taemin talks and talks and talks. Some words don’t come out the right way, some sounds are missing, sometimes it hurts his throat when he forgets that he needs to drink, but Minho is listening with his big eyes focused on him and he loves the attention.

At night, he falls asleep easily because Minho’s room smells just like his sweater, and he loves that smell. It’s cozy and warm, and he doesn’t even need a bed, because the carpet is soft.

At Christmas, he receives a lot of presents, but he doesn’t remember any. The one important thing, though, is that he has enough boxes to bring back home that he’s able to hide Minho’s sweater in his stuff without his mom noticing. Or maybe he genuinely thinks that by now the sweater is his—memories can get mixed up when young.

When they go home, Taemin doesn’t understand that he’ll have to wait a year before seeing Minho again. He sleeps during car rides and time passes weirdly for six-year-olds, so eight hours doesn’t seem like much and he believes for a while that he could just go see Minho after school.

Sometimes he cries because he thinks his parents are punishing him for stealing the sweater, but it doesn’t make sense because they don’t look angry. After a particularly violent outburst, Taemin’s mom explains once again that he can’t see Minho, but he can talk to him through the phone.

Taemin’s eyes widen because he’s never used a phone. He’s always told that it’s a grown-up device, it’s heavy and it can break. That night she lets him use it, and it’s so weird to hear Minho’s voice when he’s not in the room. His voice sounds different too, a bit faint, not enough bass. But at least they can talk.

Minho’s parents let him use the phone once every week only, because it’s expensive and they have some money issues. Taemin is glad that every time he’s allowed on the phone, he’s the one he’s calling, and they spend as much time as they can talking about their day.

But Taemin isn’t allowed to stay up late, so often their conversation is cut short by his dad, and once he’s in bed he imagines that he’s continuing their conversation, Minho’s sweater making the dream even more vivid.

Other times, they don’t have a lot to say to each other, or Taemin feels tired but he doesn’t want to hang up, so Minho plays him some music on his boombox. The sound going through the phone is horrible, but Taemin doesn’t mind, because he learns about Minho’s taste in music, ranging from Bon Jovi to Queen, and then there’s also Prince that he really likes.

Next winter, they don’t go to Minho’s house. His dad tells him it’s the recession and they have money issues too. He doesn’t understand why that has anything to do with going to Minho’s house for the holidays. It makes him sad, because he was excited about seeing Minho again—about smelling his scent again. His sweater doesn’t smell like him anymore—he wears it too much.

Or maybe it’s because his mom washes it regularly. It took her six months to find it, hidden under Taemin’s bed. When she did, she just chuckled and put it in the wash, and was thanked with a tantrum because the sweater didn’t smell like Minho anymore.

Taemin still wears it, though, because it reminds him of his friend.

The next year, Taemin is over the moon about seeing Minho again. Things are doing better, and they spend the winter holidays at Minho’s place. Taemin is big now, two years older and a few inches taller since the last time he saw him. Minho’s sweater is getting too small for him, so he doesn’t bring it with him.

He laughs when he arrives at his place, though, because Minho is wearing a blue sweater with bold white letters that read ‘Island Seahawks’, and it’s the exact same sweater as the one he stole last time.

But Minho’s sweater is the only familiar thing around Minho’s house. Minho grew up too, and Taemin realizes his eyes are always wide, not just when he focuses on him. His lisp is fainter. His hair is longer. And the dominos are gone, replaced by a Nintendo. Taemin can’t find out how to play correctly and Minho wins all the time. It frustrates him and he’s very close to having a tantrum.

“Look, you need to push that button sooner,” Minho explains, slightly irritated. He would like Taemin to be better at this game, because they can’t play for more than a few minutes before Taemin dies, and it bothers him.

“I’m just bad at this,” Taemin mumbles, his confidence gone a few rounds ago already. He would prefer playing with the dominos.

“You’re not,” Minho insists. “It’s because I train all year long but you just started playing now.”

Taemin is reassured by his words, and he lets Minho hold his hands on the controller to show him how to play, and after a few hours, Taemin isn’t doing so bad anymore.

They play all day long, the games heated now because Taemin knows how to defend himself, and Minho loves the challenge. Taemin feels hot because of it, but when he sees Minho remove the white sweater he’s wearing, he only has one thing in mind: fetch it when he isn’t looking. It’s visceral, he knows he isn’t supposed to, but he doesn’t care.

And so he does fetch it. He hides it under the bed he’s sleeping on at Minho’s house, then packs it with his stuff when they leave. He’s too afraid to wear it around him, in case Minho realizes it’s his and asks for it back. But Minho doesn’t seem to notice it is missing.

Minho actually does notice, but some mysteries can’t be explained—it’s the same thing as two years prior, when his favorite blue sweater went missing and his mom had to buy him a new one.

The following years mush together for Taemin: he’s allowed more time on the phone with Minho, but Minho has football practice so he can’t always make it. Taemin remembers his schedule by heart as best as he can, but sometimes there is an unplanned practice and it’s Minho’s mom answering the phone instead of him.

During the winters, he helps himself in Minho’s closet. One year he brings home a black sweater, then a yellow one, or maybe he grabbed the multicolored one first—he doesn’t completely remember. The one thing he notices is that the sweaters get gradually bigger as they both grow up, and he loves it. Minho seems to get taller faster than he does, and the sweaters fall larger and larger on his frame as the years go by.

Minho has caught on by now. He understands the pattern of a random sweater going missing every time Taemin visits for Christmas break. He starts putting the sweater he wants Taemin to bring home on display and easily reachable for his friend.

He doesn’t give him his favorites, because otherwise his mom would notice too, and he’s not sure she would be okay with it, but when he’s at the mall, he chooses them with Taemin in mind: what color would suit him, what cut to buy, is it comfy?

Then he wears them as he usually would, and when Christmas Break approaches and Taemin comes with his parents, he puts the sweater on his desk chair, and near the end of Taemin’s vacation, he goes to the bathroom and stays there long enough for Taemin to grab it and hide it away.

When he comes back to his room, the chair’s empty, and he glances at Taemin, a grin on his face, and they start playing again as if nothing happened—Uno, this time.

But the year after, Minho forgets. He’s a fifteen-year-old teenager now, and there’s a girl at school that he likes, and she likes him back. She’s from England, her accent is weird, but that’s what catches his eye in the first place. At the mall, he thinks about her, and her skin isn’t the same shade of color as Taemin is—she’s a bit whiter, a bit redder, or maybe it’s Taemin that has that glow on his skin that suits him so well.

He’s calling Taemin less and less, too. Between football practices and his girlfriend, he doesn’t have a lot of time left for him. He still tries to make it as much as he can, but he can hear that Taemin is disappointed when he says he has to hang up. A few times, he tries to tell him about his girlfriend, but he always chickens out at the last second. Maybe Taemin doesn’t have to know, he tells himself instead.

But when Taemin arrives at Minho’s house in the winter, he sees Minho holding the hand of that girl, and she’s wearing a sweater that Taemin knows belongs to Minho, because he knows his whole wardrobe by now.

He purses his lips, his stare focused on their hands a few seconds too long, then looks up as if nothing weird is happening. As if it doesn’t break a bond he can’t even start to explain. Minho is still friendly with him, as he’s always been, and Taemin doesn’t understand why he feels so threatened by a girl that doesn’t even come from here.

She talks a lot, even more than Minho, but her voice isn’t soothing. It’s the opposite, it makes Taemin crawl in his skin and he wishes he could rip his ears off. It’s against his will that he learns her name—Heather—and that her parents came to live here for work.

The more she talks, the more Taemin thinks he should like her, because she’s in theater class and that’s what Taemin aspires to take next year, if only he was brave enough to speak in public. Because she paints her nails and is growing out her hair, just like he does. Because she likes wearing sweaters even if the weather isn’t cold, just like him. 

And yet, he doesn’t.

“I can’t wait to watch you train for American football again,” Heather says to Minho one night as they’re gathered around the bonfire—without adults, because they aren’t children anymore, even if the older teens are here to look after them.

“Football,” Taemin corrects her right away. “We just call it football here, not American football,” he adds and she gives him a stern look, because she doesn’t like to be corrected by a thirteen-year-old.

But Minho agrees with Taemin, and all of a sudden she’s angry and she gets up to go back inside. Taemin purses his lips, because he’s secretly happy that she finally left Minho’s side, but he doesn’t want to show it.

Minho glances at him for a few long seconds, and Taemin feels like the bond is recreating itself, or maybe it was never broken and Taemin was just blinded by Heather sitting between them.

It makes him especially happy that Minho doesn’t run after her and stays at the bonfire with him instead. The stars are pretty tonight, but Taemin gets cold. He doesn’t want to go back inside, he wants to stay with Minho, so he shivers in silence, until Minho notices it.

“Here, take my sweater,” Minho says gently before taking it off his body.

Taemin is flustered, but he’s not too sure why. Maybe it’s because Minho’s shirt rides up as he removes the sweater and he has a glimpse of his stomach. It’s lean and his muscles are visible thanks to all the time he spends on the football field. Or maybe it’s because this is the first time that Minho willingly gives him a sweater—he’s never realized that Minho has been allowing him to steal them for years.

He grabs the heavy-knitted red fabric and puts it on quickly, and his nostrils are instantly attacked by strong perfume. Heather’s perfume. He scrunches his nose and squints his eyes, and Minho giggles. He knows.

He knows Taemin is bothered by Heather and what she leaves behind herself, but at the time he doesn’t understand why he finds it cute that Taemin reacts like this. He makes himself believe that it’s