When Taemin had joined SM Entertainment, he was forced to give up a lot of his friendships. Naturally, being a young boy, he hadn’t thought of that. He just wanted to dance and sing, and I suppose he thought he would be able to bring his friends along with him.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. When you’re an eleven or twelve year old boy you don’t realize your dreams require sacrifice. And it’s because of this that Taemin had few friends outside of the entertainment industry. Aside from myself, there were only a couple who had stuck around after he pulled out of sports teams, school clubs and plans to hang out. And, unfortunately, they had gone their owns ways and could very rarely physically be there for their friend.

I had stuck by Taemin, even though we’d met only a year after his debut. He never judged me for having a father who was rich enough to buy all of South Korea if he’d wanted or a mother who knew more about her gin bottle than her own daughter. In return, I never judged him for coming from humble beginnings or when he had to cancel plans due to unexpected idol schedule conflicts. We had both found an attribute in each other that we greatly valued in a friend; loyalty. We understood each other and we stood by each other. If we were separated for weeks (a rare occasion) it didn’t matter. We always had cell phones and emails and Skype.

I suppose, because he had so few “non-industry” friends who could handle his lifestyle, I was often the only person he would invite to events aside from family. Sometimes he would just bring me along to a performance or photoshoot.

And that was where I was right now, at some performance. Taemin was onstage alone, sitting at a grand piano and singing a song. My heart swelled with pride as I watched him from the side stage beside Onew. My best friend, living his dream.

“He’s gotten very good, hasn’t he?” Onew asked quietly. I simply nodded in response and beamed. Taemin, who had started as just the magnae dancer with minimal lines, now able to sit at a piano and play as well as sing a beautiful song. And his voice, so angelic, matched him well.

“Oppa, how much have you taught him?” I questioned.

“Oh, not much,” he laughed. “Taemin-ah worked hard for many years to improve like this.” And just like I had, Onew beamed with pride.

I smiled back in response, turning my eyes once again to my friend on stage. He had just hit a moderately difficult note (I’m sure Jonghyun was secretly scoffing at its simplicity) and the girls in the audience went wild. What a noona killer.

Taemin finished his song and broke into a huge smile. He stood and bowed politely to the crowd, hands waving toward the audience. He came toward us on the side stage as stagehands ran out from all corners to change the set up for the next performance.

“Jiyeon-ah! Did I do well?” he asked. As if that was a real question.

“You did wonderfully. I’m so proud of you,” I beamed. Taemin only wrapped me up in a hug as a response. I didn’t even mind that he was sweating from the stage lights or that people were judging our skinship. They always did.

“Hyung,” Taemin spoke as he slowly released me from his grasp. “Good luck. If you’ll excuse me I need to go change. I’ll be back.”

Taemin scurried off back stage where I watched him get congratulated by those he passed. Everyone was impressed. He’d been gone maybe five seconds when Onew broke the silence.

“I know you hear this a lot,” he began and I rolled my eyes reflexively. I knew where this was going. “But you and Taemin would make a wonderful couple.”

“Oppa,” I sighed exasperatedly. “We’re just friends. You know that.”

“Yes, I know,” he shrugged. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.” I fumed softly to myself. Why did no one understand? We didn’t feel for each other like that.

He was just Taemin.