The palette in Min Ji’s hand held a myriad of shimmering shades. Taemin watched as her brush hovered over a pot of golden honey dust, then a deep, lustrous ochre powder next in her indecisiveness. She stared back at him, looking over his features in the way he’d grown accustomed. He never minded her evaluations because they always led to something unexpected, something creative. This time, however, something made him nervous.

He did his best not to let it show—he’d grown accustomed to that technique, too. Yet this album’s concept was another step in a direction he’d been toying with for some time. Every concept felt like a plunge into a murky deep end given the risks he took with the looks and the art itself, but the further Taemin waded through androgynous looks and toward what most would agree was a look that was classically feminine, the more apprehension he felt.

Want, the new album, was not about to let him rest easy. The concept was about temptation, and Taemin intended to portray different facets, but also portray a duality. Yin and yang, dark and light, feminine and masculine. Wardrobe and costuming would do the work through asymmetry in the pieces, hairstyling sleek or fluffy, and makeup soft or hard. The music video would use classic symbols of temptation, like apples and snakes, and cast Taemin as the object of desire. He enjoyed tackling daring themes as a male artist, even if it left him in a tailspin throughout the process.

“Your eyes are going to be quite bold but soft, if that makes sense,” Min Ji said as she began sweeping the shadow across his lids. “Browns create a look that is stunning but still has a naturalness to it, as though you’re enhancing what’s already there—not creating something entirely novel.”

Taemin gulped.

Min Ji stopped.

“What? Don’t tell me this look, of all your looks, scares you?”

There were too many people around, stylists fussing with his hair and others steaming clothes. With his own thoughts undercooked, he didn’t want an audience while he worked through them. Not on this subject.

Min Ji nodded knowingly, though he had said nothing, then continued with her work. When she finished, she handed him a small white mirror.

“We can redo anything you don’t like, but I think this shade of pink is right for your lips. I wouldn’t suggest any darker, given your wardrobe.”

As Taemin held the mirror, a familiar feeling crept over him. He pushed it aside and thought about the work at hand.

“It’s what I imagined for the concept.”

It was. Min Ji never missed. It was just that getting it right was once again pushing against the invisible boundary he wasn’t even sure existed anymore. Maybe it was just that he had crossed it already, or maybe he’d crossed it so long ago it was silly to even think about it.

Soon he wore a red lace glove on one arm and a red suit with hourglass tailoring. The asymmetry of the sleeves—one long and one short, leaving room for the aforementioned glove—stepped the suit further away from traditional masculine suiting. It was alluring, the look. Daring and different and not entirely comfortable.

As the photographer encouraged Taemin to find the mood of the scene as he posed, a certain coyness took over. He didn’t want to hide but wanted to be found. Shyness gave way to the desire of being wanted, the need to attract. It was intoxicating.

The last look of the day necessitated his makeup to be completely redone. The eyeshadow was heavy, dark and smoky and the lips much more vibrant. And his hair was tousled and wet. It was the opposite of the earlier look, making shyness an impossibility. As he posed, he could feel how the look shaped him—how it changed him from the desired to the caught.

When the shoot ended, Taemin looked at himself in one of the makeup table’s mirrors. The smudged condition of his makeup made it look like he spent a night out with friends—or in someone’s bed.

Taemin had never worn even close to this amount of makeup in his own time. And it wasn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. It had many times and in many different variations. He couldn’t decide if it was his curiosity or desire or both. Could he look like this even when the cameras weren’t pointed at him?

After showing his gratitude to everyone who worked with him that day, Taemin planned a hasty escape. Once changed into his street clothes in one of the dressing rooms, he grabbed his bag to leave. A knock on the door came.

“Taemin?” a voice called.

It was Minho.

“Yeah, come in,” Taemin returned. He slung his bag across his body over the plain white t-shirt he donned.

“Hey, they said you were down here so I wanted to ask about—”

Minho stood like a deer in headlights.

“What?” Taemin said.

“Uh… I was just going to ask if you signed the card for Manager-Nim. I would have texted, but someone said you were here.”

He sounded so awkward Taemin could barely stand it, but Taemin knew he was just as guilty. It had been like this when they were alone for years.

Unfortunately, Taemin had no idea what card he was talking about.

“Who’s it for? I haven’t signed anything.”

“Ah, just… wait here one sec.”

Taemin slumped against a couch waiting for Minho to return. His eyes darted to a mirror where he was again confronted with his full face of night-after makeup. And tousled hair. Did Minho really become speechless over this? It seemed big-headed to assume, but Taemin wasn’t sure what else could have stopped his friend in his tracks.

His eyes darted around until he noticed some makeup wipes. He started wiping away the dark shimmer of his eyes and deep ballerina pink lips. Yet when Minho burst back into the room, card and pen in hand, he looked just as dumbfounded as before.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I’m waiting for you.”

Taemin signed the card, and he could feel Minho watching him the entire time.

“Should I bring this somewhere?” Taemin asked.

“No, it’s cool. I’ll take it back to the tenth floor.”

As Taemin tossed the makeup wipe away, Minho was staring at him.

“It looked good. The makeup.”

“Pretty?”

Taemin didn’t know why he asked, and Minho didn’t reply.

 

*

 

A few weeks later

 

The splitting headache of a hangover woke Minho. He rolled across the bed, bumping into a body. It was Key. The two were drunken the night before, and Minho had crashed beside his friend after his insistence. It was a bit like their younger years—drinking in abundance and sleeping in whatever formation made sense. Now, Minho was beginning to feel his age, rubbing his head in regret and wishing he was at home in his own bed.

The last few weeks had been busy as he wrapped up shooting a television show that would air sometime next year. Now he had three weeks off before a movie shoot began. Time off was always a double-edged sword for Minho; in one respect he was grateful for the time to catch up with friends and family, but within days he always found himself bored and over-packing his schedule to eradicate the feeling. Setting up a punishing schedule of friend meetups, activities and hobbies was also the easiest way not to dwell on a certain somebody.

An hour later, when Key and Minho had managed to stumble to the kitchen for coffee and leftovers, the two sat, wordless, at the table. Key had thrown back the curtains when they entered, and Minho still squinted in the light, not seeming to adjust no matter how long he sat.

“Wow, this is really…” Key was wrapt by something on his phone.

“What?”

“Taemin. The photos are…”

Minho watched as his friend trailed off. Curious and impatient, Minho snatched Key’s phone to see for himself. In rosy, pink light, there was Taemin in the softest yet most striking makeup he’d ever seen him in. Beautiful.

“If you drool on my phone, I’m fining you.”

Rather flummoxed, Minho pushed the phone back.

“He looks good. It’s okay to say it,” Key added.

“That’s not it,” Minho offered.

The somebody and the situation he’d rather not dwell on were impossible to ignore. His mind flitted back to that day he ran into Taemin at work. There was rarely any ease when it was just the two of them, but Minho had still been a little shocked. “I saw him at the company while he was shooting, and he seemed almost embarrassed. Rubbing off his makeup as quickly as possible once I was there.”

Key stared for a minute, then leaned back, crossing his arms. “Are you really fishing for my opinion on this? You already have an opinion. I can tell.”

Minho winced. “Do you have to make it an argument?”

“Well, just spit out what you really mean then.”

“I just thought he was over those feelings.”

Key rolled his eyes so roundly it was almost as though his eyes might fall out. “You’ve always thought he was superhuman. He’s not, Minho. And anyway, how would you know when he avoids the subject? And he practically avoids you outside of work.”

As painful as it was to hear, Minho knew it was true. At work, everything was fine. Yet, the second the work context petered out, they both became shadows of their former selves. And, of course, Key was right. He hadn’t addressed this subject with Taemin in years.

“Can I tell you something?”

“What? Sharing secrets because we had a sleepover?”

“Just listen, will you?!”

Key relented into silence with a smirk.

“Taemin and I, we talked about this once. He was so honest with me that I overshared in return.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s not my place to say.”

Eye roll. “Okay, well what did you say?”

“I told him I had feelings for him.”

Key choked on his water.

“It wasn’t a mistake, Key. He was mad at me, but it wasn’t a mistake.”

“Wait, you never talked about it? Not once?”

“No.”

“Wow, this whole time I thought you ed, and the was so bad you became apologetic toward one another.”

Minho was dumbfounded.

“Are you insane?”

“What? It happens.”

Minho shook his head.

“Listen, he’s not the same person. None of us are. We’re older now. Just… talk to him.”

It wasn’t as simple as Key made it sound. Minho hadn’t had a private conversation longer than five minutes with Taemin in years. That pained him terribly, but he wasn’t the type of person to push for something when it wasn’t reciprocated. Especially not with someone he cared about so deeply. And someone he knew would be in his life forever. Minho had long convinced himself that their relationship as it was had to be enough.

“I don’t want to rock the boat,” was all Minho said.

Key stood and marched to the coffee machine. After the noise of it passed, he said, “If you’re worried about where he’s at in his head, just approach him as a friend. Or a co-worker. He can’t get mad at you over that.”

Minho laughed, “Yes, he can. And has.”

Key smirked. “Okay true, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. So, he’ll be mad. Wouldn’t you rather have the conversation than not? Or are you just gonna bore me with your drooling and yearning forever?”

Minho said nothing.

 

*

 

After his week of comeback performances, Taemin was exhausted but apprehensive. He sat at home monitoring his performances with Kai.

“This is… it’s really y, but edgy too. I don’t know,” Kai trailed off.

Taemin’s eyes were stuck to the screen as he watched himself dance in a white suit jacket with black draped silk across it.

“Sometimes I think I could have gone further.”

 Taemin didn’t know what further would’ve entailed for this concept. He’d given it his all and swallowed his nerves surrounding its aesthetic as best he could.

“What would you have done differently?” Kai asked.

Taemin struggled to share his thoughts, but now that Kai was asking, it felt a little easier. Out of everyone, Kai was the one with whom he usually shared the most, with only a few notable exceptions.

“Even though the suiting is feminine in many aspects, maybe I could have shown more skin. Something plunging… something shorter. I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t the risk I thought it was.”

Taemin’s ambition was always pulsating inside, driving him forward whether he liked it or not. It was almost like satisfying a craving. But with Want, although that drive was pushing him into androgyny, he was still worried about what that meant. Or what others would think it meant.

When his friend remained silent, Taemin broke the silence.

“Kai, it’s okay. You can say what you’re thinking.”

Reluctant eyes flashed his way. “I just think you should stop holding yourself back. What could people say that they haven’t already?”

Kai had a point; s weren’t exactly going to reinvent the wheel when it came to him. Yet, no one liked being the target. Taemin frowned, remembering things he’d read about himself online and the mutterings and jokes of people less forward-thinking.

“There’s still a part of me that’s scared. Scared of ridicule. Scared of… making the wrong choice.”

“At this point in our careers, we get to choose what we share with the world, but, well, we don’t get to choose who we are to an extent. Nobody does. Isn’t it better to be ridiculed for being yourself than celebrated for being some fake?”

“When did you get so wise?” Taemin nudged his arm.

“Several years of ballet.” Kai’s smiling was knowing, and his eyes hinted at more.

Suddenly, Taemin’s phone buzzed. It was a text.

 

You didn’t look pretty. You looked like you, Taemin.

 

A hot flush washed up Taemin’s cheeks as he laid his phone down without saying a word.

“What, who was that?”

“No one.”

It was Minho.

Something had happened so long ago it should have been ancient history, yet Taemin just pretended it never happened. Ignoring and pushing on was easier, especially in the company of others.

 

Seven years ago

 

Taemin and Minho sat on Minho’s bed in a small room packed with Minho’s trinkets and trophies. They had just enough light from a reading lamp standing next to the bed to pore over their manga. After an hour of reading, they finally put their books down and lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Soon, their conversation strayed into new territory.

“Do you ever feel different?” Taemin asked.

“Different like how? Working so much makes me feel different.”

“No, different like… like in your body.”

Minho his side, propping his head up with an arm. It was clear he didn’t understand. Taemin decided to be as blunt as possible. They’d always shared everything awkward, weird, gross, or revolting before. This wasn’t any of those, and he was certain that somehow Minho would understand.

“Sometimes I don’t feel like… like a boy. I just feel like I’m me.”

Minho was quiet for a minute, leaving Taemin to bite his lip in anticipation. Then, with some authority, he answered.

“I don’t think it matters. You being you is enough.”

It seemed like a simple conclusion. But far too simple for Taemin’s young mind.

“What if people can tell I’m different? Maybe it’s easier if they just think I’m a girl…”

Sometimes it seemed like the entire world wanted him to be a girl without even asking what he wanted.

“It doesn’t matter what people think. You just have to stay being you—being Taemin.”

It was weird. Minho was so certain and calm with his words, while Taemin’s insides felt like hot jelly. Soon, Minho took his hand and played with it.

“I think you’re special. Not different special, just special. And I like you. I like you as you are.”

The hot jelly quivered like a jello mold about to topple off a plate. Before Taemin could think, Minho leaned in and placed a hand behind his neck and kissed him. It was soft and chaste and lasted just a few seconds before Minho retreated with a smile.

Taemin, however, was frowning.

“Why did you just do that?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” Minho admitted.

“But why would you do that now, after everything I said?”

When Minho sputtered in answer, Taemin simply stood. He wasn’t interested in the tears pooling in their eyes, or the throbbing thump of his fast-beating heart. When he left, he closed the door on his confession and Minho’s. The two never spoke of either again.

 

*

 

As the promotions for the latest album progressed, Taemin found himself flitting in and out of work and other venues for photoshoots and interviews. When he had time, he reviewed the press pieces his manager collected. Sitting in a dressing room with a few minutes to spare, he read the interview he conducted with Allure Magazine closely. When he had answered the questions, it had been like he was convincing himself but now as a reader, he could feel his calm and collected confidence leap off the page.

"As I utilized makeup, I found the increasing need to build my own artistic image. The synergy created from clothing, hair, and makeup combined is truly amazing, so makeup has been, is, and will be a key factor in establishing my identity as an artist."

Want was something special. Want was a melding of aspects of his artistic persona. It was an assertion of power over parts of himself that he’d felt the world had gobbled up before he even understood them himself. Not that he could claim to understand himself now, either, but he was closer.

As he looked back over the album preparations and promotions, Taemin understood the importance of the process and where it had led him.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Min Ji asked. It was early in the morning—so early that only a few other staff members petered around in the background. There was a show taping later and some other promo material to shoot for. A typical day.

“Ah, nothing really,” he lied.

As great as their rapport was, he couldn’t just tell her what he was thinking. And she’d worked with him so often in the past few weeks that he was certain she already had her own story for his mood changes.

“The article was good,” Min Ji added. “The look for this comeback is your boldest yet.”

Taemin shifted in his chair.

“I can tell you like this look but there’s something bothering you.”

Min Ji never minced words around him, which he appreciated. Finally, he tried to return the favor.

“Nothing except what you said.” He focused his eyes on the mirror. “I like how I look.”

Min Ji met his eyes and then nodded.

“Do you like how I look?” he asked Min Ji.

“What? I like all your looks. Especially the ones I take part in.” She was penciling in his brows as they spoke.

Taemin grinned. “What I mean is this… do you think it suits me?”

Min Ji was once again prepping him for the softer look of the comeback, full of baby pinks and browns and gold dust shimmer.

Lowering her voice, Min Ji said, “What are you really asking?”

Taemin flushed with embarrassment. Maybe it was a silly question.

Min Ji stood back and looked him over. “If this was your everyday look, I’m not sure how fair that would be to the rest of us.”

As much as he appreciated her sense of humor, Taemin admitted, “It was a serious question.”

Nodding, Min Ji went back to work. He could tell she was thinking over what she would say. When finally done, she handed him the mirror and spoke.

“You don’t need the excuse of all this.” She motioned around to the buzz of the room and the studio set up for another photoshoot. “But… you should think about how you’d use this for you. And how you’d use this for someone special.”

Min Ji was holding out a pastel pink lipstick. “Here, take it. It’s yours.”

Taemin felt a bit like a child. Of course, he had lip balms. And lip tints. And he could buy as many as he needed from any brand. But maybe this was the first lipstick he would ever take home.

 

 

A few days later

 

Taemin washed his face after changing into something comfortable. It was ten-thirty at night, and although he wouldn’t be ready to sleep for some time, he wanted to get his grooming out of the way before he was too lazy to move. As he applied serum and essence and balm, he stared at the pink lipstick Min Ji had gifted him. It was still sitting on his marble counter, looking lonely and out of place.

He thought of giving it to his mother, but then wouldn’t that be giving up? Min Ji had done what she always did—see right through him and tell him what he needed to hear. Now he just needed to wait until the right moment came. And maybe it would never come, and he’d end up throwing the lipstick away without ever having used it, but he had to try.

After settling on the couch, he stared at his phone. He gazed at Minho’s contact until he was sure his eyes would bore a hole through the glass of the screen. No such luck.

 

Nine years ago

 

“Taemin’s hair will be long this time. Ginger and shoulder length. Let’s have the extensions nice and thick and ‘till about here,” one of the senior stylists instructed to the hair stylists. Taemin tried to stop his jaw from dropping.

“Make it pretty, like a girl’s haircut. We’re going for an androgynous look.”

Now Taemin’s cheeks were flushed red. But he didn’t panic. Not until the stylists finished, and he saw himself in the mirror. This wasn’t a look he ever imagined for himself. His face looked softer and his cheeks higher, pinker. He looked good—great even. Yet, he felt mortified.

He had to look up what androgynous meant. And then as he stared in the mirror, he was sure it was just fancy talk for a boy who looks like a girl.

When he met with his group members later at home, everything he predicted happened. Jonghyun and Key had a ball goofing on his girlish new look until confessing they loved it. Onew stated Taemin’s look would probably get all the attention, which Taemin loved. And Minho, well, he was too quiet, especially since he was the closest hyung Taemin had.

Before bed, the two found themselves in the living room on their own.

“Minho-Hyung?” Taemin asked.

“Hmm?” came a muffled reply.

“Do I look okay?”

Minho’s eyes stole over to him a few times.

“You look good, Taemin.”

“Oh.”

“Pretty.”

“What if I don’t want to look pretty?”

It was a silly question. He had to follow the company’s direction whether he liked it or not. And he’d already admitted to himself that he looked great. Flawless even. Why did none of it seem to make sense?

“It’ll be over in a couple of months, and you’ll never have to think about it again,” Minho asserted. So certain in his words, he returned to his video game without a further glance in Taemin’s direction.

A modicum of weight lifted from Taemin’s shoulders. This whole confusing look would be gone before he had time to understand it, so why bother trying?

 

Taemin laughed to himself when he remembered Minho’s words. Neither of them knew that Sherlock would double down on his long hair a mere two years later, or that six years into his solo career he’d still be struggling to understand just how he felt about it all.

Yet, why had Minho been the only person he trusted with his thoughts back then? He hadn’t shared his confession with another soul.

Suddenly, Taemin picked up his phone.

 

                                   Hyung, would you like to come over? 

 

Thirty minutes passed before Minho responded saying he was nearby. Taemin’s heart jumped and his stomach writhed. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. This was one of those off-stage moments where he wondered who he should be. He wished there was someone directing him, telling him what to wear, how to look, how to act. But that wasn’t real life.

Taemin studied the pink lipstick. Who do I want to be? Who do I want to be with Minho? He wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking there was a quick answer, but as he eyed himself in the mirror once more, he picked up the lipstick and applied a little to his bottom lip, then smudged it around so it faintly covered both his lips. Then, he dusted a little translucent gold shimmer powder onto his lids and even brushed on a coat of mascara. A little pretty, that was all.

When Minho arrived, they exchanged nervous smiles. Minho’s face was terribly similar to when he dropped by Taemin’s dressing room.

“Did you have a shoot today?” Minho asked as he kicked off his shoes.

“Not today,” Taemin said.  

After pouring them both a drink, Taemin sat awkwardly on his sofa beside Minho.

“This is the first time you’ve ever invited me over to your place,” Minho said. His voice was earnest.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Every time I asked you to come over to see mine, you made excuses or ignored me.”

“I know.”

Taemin didn’t want to rehash the past, but he did want to make things right between them.  “I know I’ve been cold to you at times but I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“Taemin, I’m not sorry,” Minho said.

Oh no. Wait, what?

“What are you talking about?”

It was silly to play dumb because he knew this could only be about one thing.

“I was really selfish,” Minho said. “But it wasn’t a mistake. You told me something important, and I just wanted to tell you something important…”

Taemin stared as Minho trailed off. “You did more than just tell me,” he breathed.

“I’m not sorry,” Minho said again.

Astonished and annoyed, Taemin stood. He’d never met Minho’s resolve quite like this before. All this time, he had assumed Minho was deeply apologetic and too embarrassed to say it. Apparently, he’d had it all wrong.

Pacing in front of the couch, Taemin crossed his arms. “Do you even remember what I said to you that day?”

“Every word.”

Minho’s eyes were piercing like he was staring into the depths of his soul, where those words of confession had crawled out from so long ago.

Trying to convince himself Minho was lying—though for what purpose, he had no idea—Taemin tried. “I like how I look. And I don’t need a reason to look like this—a character to play. Though sometimes that’s the point. And that won’t change.”

Minho watched carefully from the couch.

“I’m only going to keep pushing things with my work. This is just the beginning. And I can look just… however I want to look when I’m not working.”

Nodding, Minho tried and failed to conceal a smirk.

“Inevitably, there’ll be a point where it will be too much. So don’t pretend this is what you want.”

That last part was designed to call Minho’s bluff. It was hard to believe his friend was reviving a seven-year-old romantic confession. There was no way Minho wanted him just as he was all these years.

Noticing the tenderness that stole over his friend, Minho rose. He walked to him and then lifted his chin so their eyes met.

“I said it wasn’t a mistake. And I meant every word I said that day. I love Taemin exactly as Taemin is.”

Minho grabbed his waist, pulling him flush against his chest. Slowly, he kissed him, just as he had so many years ago. When they broke away, Taemin’s cheeks were tinged pink.

“Love?” was all he said as his eyelashes batted furiously.

Humming in assertion, Minho pecked his neck then rested his head against Taemin’s, waiting.

If Taemin had been asked what his feelings were for Minho by anyone else, he would have answered in a jumble of negative thoughts and emotions. But here, disarmed by Minho’s confidence, there was no way to summon a lie. And he didn’t want to.

“I can’t remember a moment when I didn’t love you,” Taemin whispered.

In elation, the two wrapped their arms around one another and hastily bumped into the wall. They had never kissed like this before. Their bumbling confessions had happened when they were still practically kids.

Panting, Taemin held Minho back for a moment.

“My lips… did you… like the color? You stared when you walked in.” It was a little needy to ask, but Taemin no longer cared.

Minho thumbed over his lips, looking at them intently. “When you said there was no shoot, I thought you were ing with me.”

“What, that I lied?”

“It was either that or you just wanted to look pretty.”

“And so what if I did?”

It felt tremendous for Taemin to say it so plainly.

“Nothing. It just means you made yourself happy.”

It was true. Taemin did not know how Minho knew or understood, but it was true.

 

 

*

 

Minho’s eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling. The morning light crept in but hadn’t yet hit his eyes. As he rolled over, he bumped into someone’s backside. Oh.

“Come here,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Taemin’s waist, pulling him in close. His friend stirred, opening sleepy eyes to meet his.

Minho grinned. “You didn’t take your makeup off.”

“It must be all smudged.”

“I like it like that too,” Minho said, kissing his cheek where shimmer and glitter had strayed.

“Dirty.”

The two lay together for some time, playing with each other’s hands and chatting.

“I like seeing you like this,” Minho said.

“How do you see me?”

“Confident. Surer of yourself.”

“It’s hard getting to this place,” Taemin admitted. His lids were low as he seemed transfixed on anywhere that wasn’t Minho’s eyes.

Minho kissed his forehead. He didn’t have magic words to quell all his lover’s insecurities, and he didn’t want to just keep repeating the one thing that he felt in his heart so deeply—that being Taemin was enough. Minho didn’t want it to become cheap and lose all meaning because it was one of the few things he knew for certain.

“Just don’t give up, even when it’s hard.”

They kissed again with passion before they settled into one another’s arms, side by side.

“Key said something strange the other day,” Minho started. “He said he thought we spent the night together a long time ago, and it was bad, and that’s why we’ve been weird with each other.”

Taemin laughed, “What’s wrong with his imagination?”

He lost his smile and bolted upright. “Oh my god, I forgot.”

“What?”

The doorbell rang.

“Get dressed! Just put anything on.” Taemin leaped out of bed and grabbed the first shirt he saw and a pair of shorts.

“That’s my shirt!” Minho protested.

“Just pick an oversized one from there.”

Taemin scurried to the door, trying to fix his messy hair. He opened his door to Key, who held two grocery bags.

“I said I’d make you breakfast, not that you could stay in bed till the last second,” Key huffed.

Key took over the kitchen like it was his own, and Taemin stood wondering just how angry Key was about to get. There was zero use in lying; he just wished what was about to come could have been a calm conversation and not an embarrassing reveal.

“Listen, Hyung—”

“What were you doing last night, hmm? Was someone here? You look like you spent the last twelve hours rolling around in bed. That glitter looks good though, honey.”

Trying not to get distracted by the compliment, Taemin cleared his throat. “About last night…”

“Well, you’re wearing Minho’s shirt, so I assume you’ve made up for lost time. It wasn’t disappointing, was it? You can tell me. I’ve just had enough of the awkwardness.”

“Why do you think the would be bad?” Taemin was almost indignant now. “Do you think I don’t know what I’m—”   

“Stop teasing him,” Minho called.

A pleased grin landed on Key’s face. “Don’t worry, I brought enough for everyone.”

 

 

*

 

Ten years later

 

Minho sat anxiously in a sea of neon pearl aqua. The light sticks were waved so fervently he thought they might ascend into the air. As the minutes passed and his heart pounded, the chants grew louder. Taemin had refused to show him even a single sketch of his concepts for this show, keeping him in the dark on nearly everything. The only thing he knew was that the opening number was to be Taemin’s most daring to date. Minho checked his watch once more. Any minute now the lights would fall…

 

Min Ji brought her comb through the flowing ash blond extensions once more. They fell just below Taemin’s bare shoulder blades and held the perfect amount of curl—just enough for movement without being overdone. When she stood in front of him to fix his side-swept bangs, she noticed how he bit his lip.

“What is it?”

“What if I break it?”

“Break what?” She dusted a touch more gold shimmer on his cheeks and collarbones.

“The necklace.”

Min Ji nearly laughed. “The thirty carats of Cartier diamonds hanging around your neck? Somehow, I think it would take more than your usual to harm this piece.”

“And rubies,” Taemin added, his glee spilling out.

“Yes, diamonds and rubies. By the end of this tour, you’ll be the kind of person who finds Cartier commonplace.”

“I’ll never be that kind of person,” Taemin tried to convince himself as the lights went out.

He rushed to take his place behind the opaque screen that would show only his silhouette when the lights came up again. After adjusting the deep red satin of the long, ruched gloves that stretched to his biceps, he held the jeweled microphone Minho had given him against the cowled neckline of his costume. From the front, it was silk pants in a wide, palazzo style, but from the back, it was a backless, opulent gown.

The lights behind him glowed, and he could feel their hot heat. Taemin took a deep breath.

 

*

 

A seemingly endless parade of people made their way backstage to congratulate Taemin on the most stunning and adventurous show of his career. It was only the first night, but the entire tour felt like a success already. As the last few people petered out, Taemin prepared for the afterparty the agency had planned. Cartier was keen to have as much press as possible given how they’d loaned the vintage piece for the entirety of the tour. Taemin changed into a bare-shouldered shirt and wide-leg pants.

Min Ji helped him into the necklace once again, then went to fetch her makeup kit. As Taemin stared at the blond hair flowing down his shoulders and the diamonds and rubies glittering around his neck, his mind flitted to photos of Hollywood stars from the Fifties and Sixties, the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly. Embarrassed at even having the thought, Taemin snickered at himself.

“You’re just as beautiful,” a deep voice said.

It was Minho.

“Stop.”

Minho swept his hair to the side to kiss his neck and, judging by the reflection in the mirror, get a better look at the necklace.

“How much?”

“More than either of us have to play with.”

“Really, how much?”

“About seven hundred million won.”

Taemin’s brows were sky-high, but Minho was pretending not to be surprised.

“Just give me time.”

Not wanting to laugh, Taemin took another road. “I’m not your trophy wife, you know.”

“I’m very aware of that. I think it’s the opposite.”

Taemin smacked him.

“That necklace looks like it belongs on you,” Minho said, terribly serious.

Taemin took in his reflection once more. Sometimes he was so certain of what he saw—who he saw. Other times, it was like he had no clue once again.

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” Taemin said. There was finality in his voice and even a hint of guilt.

“Says who?”

“The woman who first wore this necklace.”

Minho moved in closer, cinching his hands around Taemin’s waist.

“If she had lived to meet you, she would have agreed they could be Taemin’s best friend, too.”