The thing about Jinki is that he’s not always Jinki.

It’s not that he doesn’t look like Jinki, because that doesn’t change.

If you were to look at him, it would appear like Jinki had always been him, and he had always been Jinki, only he hadn’t and he wasn’t and he wouldn’t always be.

You see, sometimes Jinki was a third world war veteran, or a deep sea adventurer, or the paper boy from down the street, only he wasn’t, except he was, or at least he thought he was.

Sometimes Jinki knows who he is, but he might not know that he is him.

If you ask him who Jinki is he will tell you “he’s the leader of SHINee, that boyband,” that is if he even knows who SHINee is at the moment, because it’s very unlikely that a ragged seafarer from the sixteenth century should know about a twenty-first century boyband.

Sometimes when you ask him who Jinki is, he will reply “I am,” and sometimes he’ll giggle and blush and bat his lashes and say “Onew oppar!” and squeal, and sometimes he’ll scoff and grumble under his breath and tell you “all those youngsters look the same to me.”

Because, you see, Jinki isn’t always Jinki, even though he is, and sometimes Jinki is Onew, and sometimes he’s a six year old French prince.