Roughly two and a half years have passed. Taemin is twenty-one. His cheeks are still round, his face still that of a baby’s, and he’s still petite. The only thing that changed is his muscle mass, which has slightly increased, and his height, which has also (only slightly) increased. He also now wears magnifying glasses and his hair is more manageable; but his heart is continuous.

He attended the local college out of sheer indecisiveness and fright. He didn’t talk much, but he did well, and that’s all he really wanted to do anyway.

He now works for the local newspaper and helps manage online blogs regarding visual news and events. He is considered a journalist, but he is only limited to entertainment and all things social. This is never something Taemin would seek to take up, but he hopes that eventually he will be bumped up to a level which deals more with religious, political, or educational issues. He isn’t complaining (that much) for now, because the only reason he got that job was because of his resume which read that he had been ambassador of two very important organizations. He had only been ambassador because of a long lost lover. Therefore he had only gotten that position because of that long lost lover. So he hopes that everything will fall into place if he continues to follow the path that has led him there thus far.

But he doesn’t like to talk about that long lost lover. But it’s also true, that if someone was to ask if he’s in love, he would say yes. Very much so.

~

He still keeps in contact with Jonghyun occasionally. They meet at a café and talk over blueberry muffins and lattes during the weekend or sometimes after work. They don’t meet much though, because the amount of times Jonghyun has yelled at Taemin to “go out or something Jesus Christ you’re twenty one years old already stop living in the past” is almost laughable.

Jonghyun had become a singer; something he never would’ve dreamed of doing if not for his friendship with Kibum which actually helped boost his inner self, as their connections grew as well as the honesty. It’s a wonder if Kibum was ever satisfied with just friendship, but Taemin is afraid to ask because he takes a look at his lonely self, and already knows the answer.

~

He sips on coffee all day out of a cheap paper cup which permanently resides at his desk. Although, the styrofoam is durable enough to withstand the stains and rings of two hour sipping intervals throughout the day. His job has an okay pay, and he actually ended up buying a small apartment with an extra bedroom. He did this without really thinking too clearly, for he knows he never invites any guests over.  But there’s a definite reason pushed to the back of his mind that he knows is strong, but is also way too sensitive to bring to light. He still has the dream, the crave of the small house. The ultimate bliss.

A few times Taemin found himself at the nearest bar, specifically for people with similar orientations, hunched over a perfectly full and golden glass of bourbon. He never has a sip; he only traces the crystal rim with his fingertips until it whirrs. Pondering his decisions, pondering his current state, pondering things he wishes would leave his mind once and for all; but still he ponders these the most. More than often, few men have asked Taemin for his number, or asked to buy him a drink. Though Taemin enters such places with the intent to possibly find a temporary distraction, he always refuses. He can’t help but compare them to that one person who resides in the back of his mind.

Because in reality, he doesn’t actually want anyone else. It’s all or nothing. He figures their relationship basically ended, though neither of them actually said the words. Even with this thought, he still feels that he’s cheating; not that he actually has the desire to be with another. Even when his grasp is around the icy glass of (untouched) alcohol, he still feels his grasp is instead on Kim Jongin’s warm skin.

Instead of dealing with the painful span of which they have not talked or trying to piece together the shattered glass of his heart, he turns in superfluous amounts of work and hopes on the stars that maybe, just maybe, they will be align today.

Because Taemin is caught in the loop of time; the rewinds, the pauses, but not the fast forwards, for he still hopes that each tomorrow will tell him everything’s okay. So Taemin keeps swaying in not only the pauses, but in the rewinds, way back to Jongin’s pink cheeks and I love you’s. Far enough to numb the present and hypnotize his mind just enough to get by. But he still believes in love, and he is confident in his feelings towards Jongin which have not budged since the day they first met. Only time has passed. Taemin stays the same.

Sometimes he thinks he’s sipping on wishes instead of caffeine.

~

Taemin is peering through his glasses, which sit atop the tip of his nose, down at some very important paperwork that has absolutely nothing to do with his assignments or field. He’s focusing on things that he believes should be taken better notice of (instead of which celebrity wore it best or paparazzi accounts). He has to re-read the article over twenty times because he just really doesn’t care at the moment and his mind is busy elsewhere.

He leans back in his stiff chair, takes another angry gulp of caffeine, and slams it down as though begging the bartender for another round. The sound of typing, busy mouse clicks, and frustration from other stalls causes his head to throb.

But maybe his headaches wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t plagued with the migraine of Jongin’s laugh.

Because although he swamps himself with work and distracts himself with human causalities, he admits.

That nothing sweeps through his mind quite as often as the memory of Kim Jongin.

It’s annoying, if anything. A twenty-one year old man who can’t even get passed that one year, that one guy, that one day, that one kiss, that one second. But what’s worse is that he has no idea if Jongin had forgotten everything; forgotten him—

But his thoughts were interrupted by a loud beeping noise from his phone. He unlocked the new and fancy phone he’s required to have and dismissed his daily reminder that reads something Jongin said to him the day he left.

And if it really is true love, we will find each other again.

Maybe it’s weird to have that as a reminder, but it’s the only thing that gives him enough sanity to get through the day.

His boss must’ve heard the noise, because he walked over and peered over Taemin’s desk as if expecting Taemin to be doing something he isn’t supposed to. Which he is.

“Taemin, what are you up to?”

Taemin exited out of the risky tabs on his computer and pushed the paperwork underneath his coffee cup, strategically over the title. “Just reviewing the umm,” he coughed, “last night’s papers and revisions.”

“You are so full of ,” he pulled out a few papers and them towards Taemin, “we called in another artist whose visiting from another country, and I think you’d be perfect to interview them,” he smiled apathetically and continued, knowing Taemin absolutely hated doing this, “just the basics. Their work, love life, family life, any drama. Anything jaw dropping. People eat that up. You can handle it. They’re waiting back in room B.” Taemin is handed the stack of papers including a rubric and information regarding the entertainer. His boss smiled one last time before turning around to focus on the growing amount of unread emails and voicemails.

It annoyed Taemin; he didn’t need a rubric, he didn’t want to work in that damn field in the first place. “Actually, I was thinking about taking up—”

“Do your damn job,” his boss cut him off, “or I could easily get someone else to do it for you.” He raised his eyebrows which inferred all the more intimidation.

Taemin cursed under his breath. He stood up, shuffled the papers, and began to make his way towards the designated room.

After he was free from the poorly lit cubicle and eyes of perusing bosses, he took out the rubric and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Because we all know Taemin has no idea how to interview someone and he in fact really needs that rubric.

He started with the first page which included small details about the entertainer just for familiarization to get things going smoothly.

Attended The Arts University, Hong Kong. Youngest performer to win Best Choreography of the Year. Choreographed it himself.

He continued reading the first page (something he never really does), too intrigued by the accomplishments of this guy to look away. Perhaps, for the first time, he actually wanted to get to know this person. He almost ran into someone whilst reading, but quickly apologized and continued to fascinate himself with each sentence. And as he did so, that same beeping noise went off from the phone in his back pocket. His reminder had gone off again. Hadn’t he already dismissed it?

No matter. He pulled out his phone and was forced to read that reminder once again. He could repeat it in his head like a mantra, but still it it gave him reassurance to see the words before him.

And if it really is true love, we will find each other again. 

He didn’t think too much about it and flipped to the second page which went into more depth in this guy’s personal life.

Born and raised in Seoul. Left home around 18 years old.

Few bells rung in his mind, but he shooed them away. He was too used to disappointment and he was probably just paranoid anyway.

Immediately casted as a trainee. Major waist issues.

The butterflies he hadn’t felt in years came back to life, but Taemin quieted them. Since he remembered every detail, it probably made everything else stand out as some connection or some flare of hope.

Popular among teenage girls ages ranging 13 through 20. Publically announced he is already in love with somebody from home. Will not disclose who.   

And suddenly, the light in the back of Taemin’s mind shined into a flame. He continued walking, his head buried deep inside the paperwork, eyes widening with every word.

Because the further he read, the further his heart raced, palms sweat, and the fiercer his mind battled the plausibility of his possible realization. It couldn’t be. There’s no way. He didn’t want to think too much of it, for the disappointment would be too much to handle. But the nostalgia of each, precious word crashed down his mental walls until he was in a state of raw disbelief.

He tried to calm himself as he continued to walk, but his deprived heart refused to subside.

And then he froze dead in his tracks.

Not because his knees were shaking so terribly, but because he heard a familiar and silky voice.

“Taeminie?” 

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