A small town that most people left after growing up and never returned to. Minho had thought of his home that way for a long time because he had seen people make haste to leave it. They harbored dreams and ambitions that were bigger than this town. Minho had left home too, for dreams and ambitions similar, things that were not just bigger than this town but himself too.

Not everyone who left town for a better future was lucky, yet hardly anyone returned. The shame of not having achieved what they had boasted of was far bigger than the dreams that they had left for. But Minho had returned, even if this town was no longer home. What made it home was lost in time, and what remained in him was a yearning for it.

But what was lost, was lost, and Minho had to make peace with it.

*

Minho blew the whistle, ending the PT drill. His class usually began with a warm-up routine and then he left the kids to play the sport of their choice before he gathered them for a cool-down drill. All that he had instructed them to do were a bunch of stretches, but they were exaggerating their exhaustion so he had blown his whistle to conclude the class. But the moment he had, their enthusiasm and energy rose, so he blew his whistle again and joked about doing another drill, which incited quite many whines. He laughed and concluded the session for good this time, and sighed as he watched the students disperse, chatting away, joking around, settling on the bleachers to get some more time with their friends, or perhaps this moment—this day—before they had to head home.

Minho used to do that as well once. Hang around school even after the bell had rung because the day felt like it had gone by too quickly despite how slow it had seemed in the morning assembly. The kids had no excuse to stay back yet they did and they enjoyed escaping the guard who would chase them around and would hurry them back home before dark. But Minho had plenty of excuses to stay back, being a staff member. He had a couple more duties left in his day…and he no longer felt his day went by too quickly anymore.

This was how time changed things. He was in the same place, yet was a different person. And it was because a different place had changed the person he had once used to be.

A while later when the grounds had emptied, he started putting back the sports equipment in the store room across the field and glanced at his watch, because he had another task before he could call it a day.

Students were given certain cleaning and organizing duties often as detention, but when it came to duties such as organizing the school’s records and other assets, those things were taken care of by the staff members. Whoever was free when the task arose, was assigned to it, and it was Minho’s turn, along with another teacher–Lee Taemin–and when Minho had stepped out of the storeroom, he found the said teacher waiting outside, his hands folded behind his back. He was looking elsewhere, but on noticing that Minho was out, he turned to him and gave him a small smile.

“Mr. Lee.” Minho returned his silent greeting. It was how the young music teacher always greeted him; Minho had grown to understand his reserved nature over the past year they had worked together. He was a man of few words, soft-spoken as well, yet he was quite expressive in his class since music indeed was his passion. Whenever Minho happened to pass by his class, he would end up lingering to watch. It was intriguing how one could have different facets to them. But perhaps Minho did too. It was how people were, after all. 

“Here.” Taemin unfolded his arms to bring forward a small chilled bottle of a lime-flavored energy drink. “The machine vended this again instead of apple juice.”

Minho accepted it, “Ah, we have to report the issue with the machine.”

“Yes, we have to.”

Taemin had walked forward and sat down on the stairs, undoing the straw on the juice carton. Minho sat down beside him, breaking open the seal on the bottle, “Thanks.”

Taemin just gave him a nod, taking slow sips of his drink as he watched the field and the school building that was painted with hues of the late afternoon.

The school building from afar always was scenic, with much to gaze at and unravel, especially since it carried some of the memories he cherished, yet, all Minho could do was watch Taemin. Even in the shade of the storeroom, the sunlight fell upon him softly.

They shared moments like these quite often, and at times, they talked, at times they just shared the silence. Silences that weren’t awkward, because they had reached a comfort level with each other within the professional boundaries that encompassed them, to just sit silently like this, letting the other have time to themselves. To be able to think and take a breather in the other’s presence.

At least that was what Taemin had said about it the first time they had run out of things to say, which was bound to happen when neither probed into the other beyond work-related or general topics. Minho would have–he wanted to–because he had his interests set on him, yet he could do nothing when Taemin’s interests weren’t set on him in the way Minho’s were. They were only colleagues to each other, and even that much was enough.

It was enough, the way Taemin’s presence calmed him, the way Taemin didn’t disrupt their silences nor oppose the flow of conversation. He just let things be, let them take their natural course. As much as conversing with him was enjoyable and comforting, the silences were too. They had helped Minho indeed. He had come to one too many conclusions in this peace–all the conclusions that he needed to come to. And now, these silences had grown into the time he thought of Taemin instead, because all his thoughts about him had no conclusion. With all the silences they had shared over the past year, he had at least been able to conclude that they probably never would.

“Mr. Choi.”

It was because of his soft, breezy voice that Minho realized the time that had passed since they had sat here. The afternoon had long blended into the evening now.

“Shall we?”

Minho never felt his day went by quickly…except for those parts of the day that he spent with Taemin. And as much as he wished to sit by his side and watch the sky shift hues to dark, he was aware neither had the leisure for it. They both had lives to return to outside the school. Thus, he got up.

“Yes.”

*

Minho made trips to the city he had left behind every other weekend, to settle the legal matters of his business and also the remnant matters between him and his ex-partner. It had been a year since he had filed for divorce and over two since they had parted ways. His business had plummeted then, and the person who Minho had thought was right for him, the one who would stay by him no matter what, had been the first to leave. He would have still been at peace if they had only left, but now he was facing legal action because of the prenup he had signed confidently back then, that he would return thrice the amount his partner had invested in his business in the scenario that they would divorce. He had been confident because he did not expect them to divorce, but he now realized how foolish that assumption had been. He had trusted his feelings too much, perhaps, it was also the high of his success. He had been confident that he could return his partner’s investment five-fold even, but now he could barely gather the original amount.

The only way out of this situation was to sell the house he had in his hometown. It would cover the amount he owed to his partner, he could settle the divorce, and he would even have decent funds to restart his business. It was why he had returned to his hometown, and since he knew selling a property took some time, he decided to make use of his minor degree to get a job as a PE teacher, so he could save a bit more and also have something to keep him busy during the time he was here.

But with passing time, his plans and intentions had begun to waver.

“Email me a scanned copy of the papers,” Kibum, Minho’s lawyer said after he had dropped him at the bus station, “It’s a waste of time waiting around for a family or someone local to buy the house. I came across a few businessmen who plan to invest in that area and are looking for properties to establish warehouses. If all works well, they can help you get the house off your hands as soon as within a month. The price may be slightly low, but the quicker the house sells, the better for you, because the more time you lose, the harder it will be to get your business up and running again.”

“Okay.” Was all Minho said as he got off the car and after a good-natured goodbye, he boarded the bus back to his hometown.

It was a long drive back. It took the entire afternoon. He had to get on a local bus afterward and change stops in between to get to his neighborhood, but when he had got off at the bus stop he had to change his bus at, the weariness and annoyance of his day came to a standstill because at the bus stop across the road was Taemin, sitting on the bench and reading a book while he waited for the bus.

It was the first time he had seen him outside of school boundaries, the first time dressed in anything but those modish suits he wore with his sweaters, the first time seeing a facet of him that he had not seen before.

The sight that he made was perhaps the reason for his impulsive decision to have crossed the road, or perhaps it was because the pedestrian crossing was just a few steps away, the pedestrian sign was green–and within a minute, Minho was standing under the shelter of the bus stop Taemin was at, a little too late to be having second thoughts.

“Mr. Lee?”

Taemin, who had a little furrow between his brows while he read, had looked up and turned in surprise at the call. Minho noticed the wrinkle between his brows had resolved into a small smile of recognition, “Mr. Choi.”

At his greeting, the tension that Minho hadn’t even been aware of, had fizzled and he sat a little distance away on the bench beside him. “I just got off the southbound bus and saw you here. So…I stopped by just to greet you. I hope you don’t mind having to see my face more than five times a week.”

Taemin laughed a bit at that. “No, it’s a pleasure, if anything.” He closed his book and cleared his throat before he said, “But you took the bus to get about instead of your car?”

“I had to go to the city,” Minho explained, now resting back since Taemin did not seem offended by him approaching him outside of school hours. “And there’s always a parking issue there, so the bus is better, although the ride is quite exhausting.”

“Yes, it can be…” Taemin began, his gaze lowered to the closed book in his hands, “...if you focus only on the destination.” He smiled slightly as he looked at Minho, “The bus driver does that for you, so you get a few moments to enjoy the journey, pay attention to the places you pass, and sometimes you see things you never could if you’re the one driving. Sometimes, those things you see become your next destination, and who knows, they could end up becoming worthwhile.”

All Minho could be was silent; a little struck. Maybe Taemin had meant nothing but what they did, but to Minho they meant beyond their literal sense. But it wasn’t just that, it was the soft way he had spoken, the smile that was not whole, yet tranquil. The way how easily he shifted his temperament. All the agitation of his day was gone by being just a few minutes in his presence. He did not feel as troubled as he truly was. As lost as he truly was.

The sound of the bus approaching broke Minho from his daze, and Taemin turned around and immediately stowed his book away into a bag of other books. “That’s my bus.” He said and got up with a smile that meant goodbye and when the bus came to a halt, Minho had got up too.

“See you on Monday, Mr. Choi.”

“Yeah,” Minho waved a little awkwardly, watching him get on, “See you…”

He watched the bus drive away and when it was out of sight, he sighed, ruffling his hair in what Taemin had left behind in him, as he always did.

Something restive yet pleasant.

*

Dusk poured over the town like a warm glaze. For the first time, Minho wasn’t solely focused on what the next stop was, how many stops away his destination was, or what he would do once he was out of the bus. He looked out the window, and for the first time, he did not just look at the passing view only to ascertain where he was or what the traffic or weather looked like.

Taemin was right. There was so much more to the journey than he had expected. He noticed how conveniently and symmetrically the stops were located, the kind of people who got on, the rhythms and reverberations of the halting bus, and the way the light poured through the windows changed with every turn the vehicle took. When it stopped at traffic lights or the stop, Minho noticed places he never had–some old and withstanding, some new that had replaced the old, some that he had never recalled seeing before, then and now, making him wonder if it was old or new over the past fifteen years.

With the darkening skies, he noticed the town preparing for the dark and watched the way the town changed as the lights in buildings, as the street lights blinked on, and car headlights as well. The town changed color before his eyes, and with it changed its atmosphere. He rested his head on the glass window, realizing how he had been in a bigger, busier place, which might have been far more intriguing than this smaller place…if only he had known to spare his mind for it. But those chances were lost, and recalling what he remembered of it, comparing it to what was before him…he realized that perhaps it would not intrigue him as much as this had. Because for the person he was now, there was no peace for him in the places of the past.

But for the person he was now, there was nothing but peace in this view, a mix of nostalgia and wonder, and it was all because of the way Taemin had made him see where he was now in this meaningful and peaceful perspective.

Minho realized then, that it was Taemin who was making him feel alright, peaceful with himself, slowly, in bits and moments.

*

Their next turn for after-school duties consisted of organizing the storeroom on the third floor from scratch. The task had been deprioritized for a couple of years now. Ms. Park had set their expectations regarding it, and the storeroom met them exceedingly.

Just a glance and Minho could tell it indeed was everything but a kitchen sink. It had free space and things were moved to it without much thought. The shelves were filled with a lot of books and files, unnamed boxes of all sizes, broken trophies, and old–and faulty–school supplies. Among them were also things Minho hadn’t seen for years.

“There’s even an old pocket radio.” Minho picked up the little device from a rack, “Mr. Lee, do you think it still works?”

Taemin, who was looking at another shelf, turned to him, and though his brows had furrowed, glancing at the chipped, red device, he smiled as well. “We can check later if it does.”

Minho hummed, unfolding one of the boxes they had brought and placing the radio into it. “Let’s put all such things in this box.”

“Okay.”

As they went through the shelves, they unfolded three more boxes, and Minho figured they would need more, given the variety of things they had found on just one shelf. Old syllabus books, extra yearbooks, posters, newspapers, exam question papers, and blank answer sheets. With one shelf successfully emptied, Minho began wiping the dust off it with a rag, feeling his nose tickle now and then–the place was quite dusty in spite of being taken care of by the janitor every now and then.

As Minho proceeded with his task, he could not help but let his gaze stray towards Taemin through the gaps between the shelves that separated them. Taemin was standing on a short stool, looking at the things on the rack that was second from the top. He was dressed the same as he always did on workdays, and Minho could not help but compare his current attire to the sweatshirt and jeans he had seen him in a week ago. He seemed more relaxed then, softer around the edges. But he always felt soft to him, no matter how aloof he seemed, no matter how grimly he dressed to work…because Minho now knew how he was despite all his appearances. A person who was humble and soft at heart.

“Hni’tchshoom!”

Minho blinked, breaking from his thoughts, realizing how long he had been watching Taemin, since he had watched the onset of his sneeze, the way his body scrunched up, before it had left him, in such a surprisingly small and endearing noise, at that.

“Are you alright, Mr. Lee?” Minho asked when he saw Taemin shake his head a little as he got back to gathering some old paperweights and dropped them in the small box at the foot of the stool.

“Yes, thank you.” He had turned around and gave Minho a small smile to return his concern.

Minho got back to wiping down the shelf, sighing to himself softly, at the slight shame that had warmed him up, the not-so-slight realization that blared in him before he brushed it away, as he had brushed it away several times before over the past months.

He had a fair share of excuses to have made slight of it.

The major one was that Minho wasn’t officially divorced yet, although he had been uncommitted for a couple of years now. Uncommitted in every sense. It was a matter of time before he would be legally separated from his ex, yet the label of being divorced, which should not have even been an excuse, had grown into a heavy reason. The heaviest among them all.

Truly, it was the burden of a failed relationship. He knew he wasn’t entirely at fault for it, yet, he had brought around the circumstances for it to fail, he had done his share of causing suffering to another person and…with all the time that had passed, he had realized his faults. He was now mindful of things he wasn’t before, yet he was no longer as confident as he once was, of being someone who could be relied on in the ways a significant other would want to rely on him. But at least, he was confident enough to try again…with someone who would understand all the things he wasn’t confident about.

And that was why he was drawn to Taemin, to not just his charms, but his person, his nature, his intellect, the way he made him think and feel, the way he understood what his circumstances were, something the other teachers were inconsiderate of. When Minho had started, his colleagues had gossiped quite a bit behind his back, because he once was quite a name in his field, living the dream life he had boasted about, but now he had gone from being someone who owned a successful company, to a salaried PE teacher.

His backup plan was to become what we consider the success of our lives, do we not?

Minho still felt the gutted silence that had spread in the staffroom at Taemin’s soft yet curt words that had defended him. Minho had been at the door then, waiting for the opportunity to enter, but had ended up hearing that…and perhaps, Taemin knew that Minho was aware of the words going around about him because once while talking about his music class, he had commented:

It’s what they feel about playing, and not how well they play. That’s what you would say is important even in sports, right? That’s how everything in life should be, I think.

It was so simple and obvious, and yet, Minho had been so oblivious. So oblivious that failures and successes were just the ups and downs. They did not define him, yet they had shaped him into the person he was, someone whose successes would not be erased by his failures. And to be at peace with himself, he had to accept both, and be the person he wanted to be, again.

But when he had come to that conclusion, he had also realized that the person he was trying to be again…was no longer someone he wanted to be.

This was how they had begun. His changing intentions and wavering decisions. 

The sound of another short and dainty sneeze followed by a loud crash broke Minho from both his thoughts and task–

“Taemin!” Minho had rushed around the shelf to get to the fallen man, who seemed in pain as he straightened up. The stool was upturned and a box of books that he must have been pulling out from the shelf was spilled around him. He must have lost balance when he sneezed because of the extra weight he had been holding.

“Are you fine?” Minho straightened the stool before giving him a hand and making him sit on it.

Taemin had flinched in pain during the transition from the ground to the stool and Minho checked the foot he had noticed Taemin had not set entirely flat on the ground earlier. He carefully took his shoe off and touched a few points on his foot–and when he had pressed his ankle slightly, Taemin had flinched.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Minho asked worriedly, having caught the painful expression on his otherwise calm and aloof face, “Can I take a closer look?”

“No, no, I’m fine…” Slight abashment had snuck into his face as he pulled both his feet closer to himself and put his foot back into his shoe, “I just twisted it a bit. The pain’s already fading. I’ll be fine in some time.”

Minho was worried despite his words but Taemin had got to his feet, “Shall we continue this tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Minho got up as well. “Would you, would you like a ride home? I don’t think you should walk too much yet, just to be safe.”

Taemin didn’t answer him as immediately as he had earlier. “...just to the bus stop, then, please.” He said in a tone that was softer than his usual, with his gaze lowered.

Minho felt his heart clench at how endearing it sounded to him; how endearing he seemed to him–it was beyond comprehension. The sentiment that had caused it lingered for long beyond his control–through the hallway he accompanied Taemin slowly, through the two-minute wait outside the staff room while he waited for Taemin to gather his things, through the short drive to the bus stop, and through the short minute the bus had taken to turn the street.

It was then, when all traces of Taemin had gone from his sight that Minho finally, albeit reluctantly, brushed it off again.

*

Minho returned to school instead of going home. He had left his things behind, for one. But he had to also lock the storeroom and return the keys to Ms. Park. There was still about an hour left until the teachers were off-duty anyway.

He headed to the third-floor storeroom directly and began to sort out the fallen stuff at least because they could cause another accident if left lying around in such an ill-lit place. He didn’t bother to organize anything and just dumped them in the box they were in and pushed the box into the top rack. He didn’t need the stool for it, but he still used it, just to check if the stool had been the actual cause of Taemin’s fall. It seemed sturdy enough, so he really must have lost footing because of his sneeze. Minho looked around after having shoved the box back on the shelf. He had some time to spare, perhaps he could dust down the place…

He was about to get off the stool but he spotted something on another box. Something scrawled but barely legible since the ink had faded quite much. Lost & Found 2006.

“2006?” Minho whispered to himself. That was his batch year. The year he graduated from high school.

Curious, he reached for the box and pulled it out.

*

The box now sat at his desk. Minho had brought it with him after a quick and thorough dusting of the storeroom and had already gone through it because 2006 meant there could be a bunch of things that he or some of his colleagues could recognize who they belonged to since they were enrolled here during that time. Maybe those things could find their way back to their owners…or if they can’t and were usable, they could find new owners, such as the comic books that Minho had found in the box.

Things such as the hand cream and a used lunch box were probably best disposed of. There were a bunch of things in it that Minho couldn’t recall if they belonged to anyone he knew–a calculator, a scarf, a hair clip, a pencil case…and a camcorder. 

Minho picked out the camcorder, curiously. There were initials on the camera strap. KJH, class 2-2.

“So a junior if they were in the second year in 2006…” Minho whispered to himself. He didn’t quite recall anyone with those initials. Maybe he could ask Ms. Jang–the English teacher–because she was a year junior to him in school. She would probably know who it was and help return it, but it would have to wait until tomorrow since everyone seemed to have left for the day. There were still a few minutes left on the clock for the teachers who were on after-school duty, but they must have finished early and left. Minho stayed even after and thus was always the last one to leave since it didn’t matter if he was home early or late when it was just an empty house he was returning to–an empty house that he was supposed to be preparing to sell. And so he settled down properly in his chair and continued to examine the camcorder. It needed batteries, so it wouldn’t turn on but…when he checked the tape slot…there was a tape inside it.

Minho straightened up in his chair. He remembered these types of tapes although he hadn’t used them much back in the day. These little tapes went into the big one and then you had to insert them into the player…

He got up. The school still had a functional CRT TV and a player, and it was in their staff room’s storeroom. He brought it out and set it up in a few minutes.

The video started to play. The quality was a bit lacking, of course. It was from almost fifteen years ago, but it still played without much disruption although the sound was completely gone. There was only just a buzz that Minho could hear. It started with a shot of the school approaching, of students passing by and talking. The person filming was walking into the school compound and was roaming the camera around. After a complete round, it settled on the field and then the bleachers. Minho squinted. Then he pressed pause and rewind. Because among the bunch of students seated on the bleachers, he had recognized himself.

Despite the grainy quality, he could see how young he once was. To think that the moment he would reminisce earlier that day would be before his eyes like this…

He sighed, pulling his chair forward to get a closer look. His expression was mellow yet his smile a bit melancholic, as he watched the paused image of his budding youth. He remembered well…that it was after this very phase of his life, that everything had taken a turn. He graduated, left for university, worked to the bone while he studied, graduated again, started a business with friends, invested all his savings and profits in a multitude of places, found someone along the way who seemed right for him, and got married.

Everything went well a few years before all the decisions that he had thought were sound, turned out to be unfortunate. He had often wondered which decision it probably was, that had caused everything to fall like dominoes. Every time, he ended up on a different one. Today, looking at his young self in this recording, he couldn't help but think that it was everything. No. It was the decision to have left, despite all the indications against it, despite all the obstacles.

Getting out of his comfort zone. Taking the hard way out. These all sounded like the right thing to do. The things he had to do, if he were to be considered capable and worthy. But he had learned now, that taking the hard way out, sacrificing things that were important to him for the sake of things he was supposed to regard as important…nothing of that sounded right anymore. Sometimes, leaving everything that mattered to him behind for a better life wasn’t worth it…and sometimes, what people thought were remarkable and difficult achievements, weren’t worth it as well. The small pleasures of life were. The mundanity of having enough, the peace of not worrying about failing, about losing, about feeling fulfilled, feeling valued and cared for–that was worth more. They were far more difficult to achieve, even. After the mess he had gone through, he knew. He knew so well.

He wondered now what his life would be like if he had taken the way he wanted to back then. The easy one, letting things flow as they were, rather than struggling so much to go against them. Push through even when nothing went his way, push through no matter the cost it drew from him. If only he had known that giving up would have been kinder to him…

He sighed, hitting play again.

The focus had shifted back to the school building. The video was choppy, perhaps because the person was running. But when the video focused again, they were in the theater. Students were practicing for the annual day. Minho did not participate; being a third-year student, he was preparing for university entrance exams. The person recorded the students practicing, and after that, the camera roamed everywhere–the backstage, the seats, the school hallways. It didn’t seem like they were recording, rather they were walking around, forgetting to have turned it off. A few minutes more and then the screen buzzed out and started again with a new timestamp. It was two days later…and Minho found himself in it again.

At first, a dance practice was being recorded on the rooftop, and then when it ended, the camera roamed the sky as the person walked towards the railing. The camera panned down after recording a pigeon flying away, and after going around the field, it landed on him. Minho was fixing the chain on his bicycle, and it remained on him until he had fixed it and cycled away.

It was surprising to find himself another time in it, yet he continued to watch, this time at x2 speed, and what the person recorded was mostly a group of guys practicing a dance sequence in the open spaces of the school. Looking at the date and the growing decorations in the school, the annual day was nearing, so Minho could understand…but what he did not was his constant appearance in between. All those instances felt like coincidences, both his presence and the way the camera found him–by chance. Because it always passed him before panning back to him quickly. But it was no coincidence that the camera stayed on him until he was out of frame.

Because it wasn’t the camera that was looking at him.

It was the person’s gaze.

A dance practice in the rain near the bleachers, a small piece of a transparent umbrella blocking the lens, and Minho cycling through the rain from behind with his friends…and soon the practicing students were no longer the camera’s focus.

A dance practice in the gymnasium, a thumb caught in the oversized sleeve of a sweater blocking the lens, and Minho playing three-pointers at the back…and soon the camera was following the shots he made instead.

A dance practice in an empty classroom, and a sudden swerve of the camera towards the window, catching a glimpse of Minho passing by.

The dance performance in the theater on the annual day and the camera stayed on the stage throughout, yet it was easy to tell the person recording was not focused on it, because it did not follow the dance moves, it often tilted and captured only half the stage until the angle was fixed suddenly. The audience clapped after the performance ended, yet the camera did not capture the entirety of the attendance. It stayed on those few rows among which Minho was seated.

“Someone had a crush on you back then.”

Minho almost fell out of his chair, startled, not having realized that Ms. Park was standing behind him. It wasn’t just Ms. Park, but Ms. Jang and Mr. Sung as well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She walked towards her desk to pick up her bag.

“Do you know who it is, Mr. Choi?” Ms. Jang asked in a teasing way.

“No…” Minho got up and ejected the tape, feeling a bit flustered at the situation. Firstly, he had found out someone had liked him back then…and his colleagues had found that out too now.

“I do.” Ms. Jang had spotted the camcorder and was looking at the initials on the strap. “He was in my batch. Kim Jonghyun. He’s a multimedia artist and I think he’s opening a studio soon in town.”

As Minho had expected, Ms Jang indeed knew who it could belong to. “Would you return it for me, then?” He asked, bringing her the tape and she pursed her lips in thought before she put the tape inside the camcorder and put it back in his hands.

“Why do you want me to return it when you found it? Are you really patching up with your ex as Mr. Ryu said?”

Minho let out a sigh at her question. He had let all the gossip be because he indeed had been troubled by his situation, but now no more. “No.” He could answer now and put it all to rest. “No, I am not.”

“Then you should return it.” She smiled as he prepared to leave, “You know, there’s quite a fair chance that he still likes you, or you know, would want to rekindle it, if he’s single too. You should meet him. What if things work out?”

“If they do, that would be something out of a movie.” Mr. Sung commented as he passed by them to collect his belongings as well. “It’s been what? Fifteen years? It’s highly unlikely.”

“Don’t listen to him, Mr. Choi. He’s a pessimist.” Ms. Jang said sternly before her expression softened again. “Sometimes you have to give the unlikely a chance. And if it really works out, then it would be destiny. Destiny.”

…and that was how Minho had ended up with a note carrying the phone number and address of Kim Jonghyun. He remained seated at his desk, alone in the staff room, staring at it in thought…but soon enough his thoughts strayed to where they always did lately. And he sighed to himself, realizing how the word unlikely was true when it came to them as well.

**

The sun had set by the time Taemin had unlocked his door and headed in. He was never home from work this late even when he worked late. It was because he had sat down at the bus stop for a while, watching his neighborhood slowly lose the touch of daylight. He had needed a moment, to catch his breath from another.

The house was dimly lit when he entered and before Taemin could have done anything about it, he heard the soft thuds of his cat–Ddaeng–scampering towards him, rubbing itself around his legs affectionately. Taemin crouched down, flinching slightly when his leg hurt, but ignored it as he rubbed Ddaeng’s head with his knuckle softly, before picking him up into his arms. His other cat–Kkoong–slithered out then and waited for Taemin to settle down on the couch before she settled down beside him as well. He chuckled at the differ