“He... had finally run hard enough and long enough to wear down the frontiers between the worlds, he had run clear out of his skin and into the arms of his wife, to whom he had proved, once and for all, the superiority of his love. Some migrants are happy to depart.”

-Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

*

                I decided to let it go. All of it, and anything that was lingering between us beyond words. I wasn’t surprised that Taemin came to my door an hour later to check on me. It was part of his “job,” after all, to make sure that I survived my times of isolation. What I didn’t expect was that he didn't come in. Didn't bother me. Just listened at the door, most likely for the sound of my breathing.  

                Let him have his secrets, I thought; I certainly have mine.

                But more than that, I had a strange desire to live peacefully with him, for however it would last. I guess I just got used to having someone else in the house. Over the next few days we got in the habit of sharing breakfast together, his efforts to make rice, salad, soup, and over-easy eggs—in addition to various side-dishes—was a vast improvement over my habitual bowl of cereal (if I bothered to eat anything at all). Other than over food we limited our conversations throughout the day. I began to work remotely, spending more time in my home office than before and he was always faithful to keep the place clean and stocked full of food as I did. I jokingly called him my housewife and he laughed; it was the first private joke we had between us. He even took it upon himself to get natural supplements for my “depression”—I refused to see a professional. I didn’t want to get on any kind of medication but the stuff he got at the herbal store I didn’t mind so much. At any rate, I took them and didn’t argue. 

                  Somewhere along the way I not only got used to his presence but came to the conclusion that it was preferable. That it was good for me. I guess I’d spent so much time alone beforehand that it took someone’s constant company to show me just how lonely I really was. It wasn’t so much that we spent time together so much as we spent it around each other. Little by little, the proximity between us lessened, so that by the end of the fifth day it was not so uncommon for us to sit down and watch TV together after dinner.

                  It was the morning of the sixth day that changed everything. This was how it started: I got up earlier than most days and headed for the bathroom. I could tell that Taemin was showering in there and, my mind being too lazy to talk my body out of it, I allowed my thoughts to drift a bit, but as soon as the water turned off I ran back to my room like a boy who got caught breaking curfew. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me at the door.

                 We spent the morning talking over “coffee” like usual, sticking to the usual safe topics like me making fun of his choice of wardrobe and he, throwing around useless trivia and facts, even though I’m sure looking back that we both had many other things on our minds. We actually had a lot in common, the little things that is, and though I really didn’t like getting into deep discussions per say, I had an insatiable drive to want to know Taemin more—and those two things unfortunately went hand-in-hand.

                  “Let’s go for a walk,” I said, not wanting to complicate the situation; at least this way conversation could flow naturally. “It’s nice out today; I’d like to get out.”

                  “Okay, hyung,” he smiled. “That sounds nice.”

                  We walked slowly, taking in all the sights I’d seen a thousand times before but seemed new and different now that I had someone else beside me. Taemin was entertaining to watch also—he had an enthusiastic innocence about him, an unyielding enjoyment of things that others (like me) tended not to notice. The shop windows mesmerized him; the shops were full of things I knew he could not afford to buy on his limited salary. He was kind to every one we passed by. It was the first time I’d seen him interact with others beside myself. He seemed to have a different confidence about him; he seemed comfortable. Happy.

                  I found a small rest area and we sat on the bench with our canned drinks, taking in the day for a few moments before talking on anything of gravity. It was here I said: “Tell me something about you. Something personal.”

                  This seemed to surprise him. “Me?”

                  “Yes, you~  you’re practically my roommate and I still feel like you could double as a stranger. I want to know more about you.”

                  Taemin chuckled a little. “Hm, all right. Like what kind of things?”

                  “I don’t know… just anything really. What about your parents? Tell me more about them.”

                  It was a start. He really didn’t want to though, I could tell. We sat silently for a moment, the iced coffee cans sweating between our palms as we watched the traffic of the world indiscriminately go by.

                  Then, finally: “My father and I—we didn’t end so well.”

                  “What do you mean?”  

                  “He died angry. Angry at me. For letting him down—for failing him.”

                  “I can’t even imagine how that could be true,” I smirked. “A sweet kid like you.”

                  “The last words he said to me were: ‘You are a stain on this family.’ ”

                  “That’s harsh. Your dad sounds like a real —sorry.”

                  He didn’t even seem to notice that I was talking. “My mother… she went away. She doesn’t want to see me anymore. After my dad died she disowned me. Said his death was my fault…”

                  Taemin’s eyes were misting a little, but he did not cry. I felt compelled to touch his hand with mine, just to show support. “I am sorry. That’s too much for any kid; whatever you did I’m sure it wasn’t bad enough to deserve that.”

                  “It wasn’t what I did but who I was. That’s what they couldn’t accept. That’s what brought them the most shame.”

                  I didn’t understand but did not press it. “You have a filial heart. I can tell.”

                  “How can you tell that, hyung?”

                  “Because you are eager to take care of others. Almost like, you need to. I’m sorry that it isn’t your folks.”

                  “Well,” he shrugged, “it works for the time being, I guess.”

                  “I bet you miss them…”

                  Taemin stretched. “I try not to think about it. I’m sure you understand.”

                  I did. Of course I did. Selfishly I admit that hearing Taemin’s sense of grief made me feel closer to him, made me feel like, perhaps, he understood me a fraction more than I’d considered, even if it wasn’t the same—losing someone and carrying a lifetime’s worth of remorse and guilt was a relatable experience, regardless of the relationship you lost.

                  “I spent a lot of time thinking about it,” he continued, “but decided I don’t need to anymore. There’s nothing I can do or change—and I cannot deny the truth of who I am, simply to appease a ghost.”

                  I cannot deny the truth of who I am, simply to appease a ghost…

                  These words began to haunt me from the minute he said them. 

                  “And who are you, Taemin? Who is the Lee Taemin your parents could not accept?”

                  He kept his eyes away from mine but not out of shame. Something else. “The same Lee Taemin I am here. All the time. Just… me.”

                  “Any parent would be fortunate to have a son like you. You’re a good person—annoying as hell at times,” I laughed, “but sweet.”

                  Taemin chuckled here, hiding his toothy smile behind his index finger the way he always did when he laughed. His eyes seemed to smile too, his whole face brightening. I’d grown accustomed to these habits by now. “That means a lot coming from you. Thanks.”

                  “From me? Why?”

                  “Compliments are hard to come by.”

                  “I’m not so mean when you get to know me…”

                  He smiled again. “Oh, I know. I know.”

                  The rest of the day ended nicely enough. We did the errands together, grocery shopping and the like, and I watched attentively from the other room as he fixed dinner. Every night was something different, and every night I swore I’d had his best until he proved to outdo himself the day after. Taemin was amazing like that; he was amazing in many ways.

                  Like habit, we sat down together and ate, and everything was going smoothly until Taemin said: “I lied to you before.”

                  This took me off guard, for obvious reasons. “Eh??”

                  “I feel safe talking with you now. And I want… to be honest.”

                  “Well, it’s good to be honest. You can’t have a worthwhile relationship without honesty,” I rattle back like I know what the hell I’m saying.

                  You’re a ing hypocrite. I think. If only I’d been honest with her that day…

                  “Minho-hyung, I—” he started, a heavy expression hanging on his face. It seemed there was something very important on his mind. Something that could not wait. “The last time I was honest with someone important to me, it only made things worse for those around me. But this time—this time, I think it would be better if you knew…”

                 He thinks I’m important?

                 I was getting tripped up by the words. “What are going on about now?”

                 “Your wife was pregnant, wasn’t she?”

                  A thousand years could have passed in that long refrain; I really was at a loss for words. My heart felt like lead and my mouth, immovable stone. Again, the tables flipped, putting Taemin back in control again. I decided to play dumb.  

                  “I’m sorry; I happened to see the box in the spare room… hyung, you really have too many burdens to carry by yourself. I wish you’d talk to someone. Professionally, I mean.”         

                  “I already told you, I’m not interested in doing that.” I was getting angry for no reason.

                  “Or me—you can talk to me, if you want…”

                  I knew this was a bold thing for even him to say because it breeched the lines of him acting like he didn’t care, that he was comfortable with me acting recklessly and maintaining the bystander’s façade. But over the past few days I’d grown to realize that Taemin actually cared more than he let on—not that he said it, but that I could tell it was true. In fact, I’d started to suspect that he had his own motives for being so kind to me, though I couldn’t tell what they were. I had a suspicion that it had something to do with my wife, for as many times as he mentioned or asked about her. I even caught him looking at her pictures when he didn’t think I was watching. And the box that ‘happened to see’? I assumed already that he’d been snooping around the house. So, of course, he’d find out about that… but I didn’t care. I really didn’t, though I couldn’t explain why. I didn’t have the energy to hide myself any longer, nor did I necessarily feel the need.

                  “So that’s it?” I said, resorting to my customary -tone for no real reason. “That’s what you wanted to be honest with me about?” I wanted to draw the real secrets out of him.

                  Lee Taemin definitely didn’t strike me a person who gave up easily, but something about this situation made him insecure and compliant. I expected him to fight back. I expected him to say something cool and superiorly controlled, like always. I expected for all my rejection to leave him unscathed and unimpressed. So why was it that he seemed so meek? Was his secret really that burdensome? I was honestly too afraid to find out…

                  “You might be mad after I tell you.”

                  “I can’t promise against it, but I’ll try.”

                  Just talk to me…

                  “You used to have a dog, didn’t you?”

                  This question was not so surprising, given Taemin’s past time, but I still failed to see the connection. “Oh, did you see pictures of her?”

                  “Well, yes—and no.”

                  “Yes and no? Is this a riddle?”

                  “Your dog’s name was Gonji. Right?”

                  This surprised me somewhat. “How did you know that?”

                  “Your wife used to tie a teal bow around her collar—made her spin circles for treats and called it ‘dancing.’ Gonji’s tango—that’s what she’d say…”

                  I wanted him to stop talking but was too far in shock to mouth the words.

                  “And when you didn’t think she was looking, you would slip the dog scraps from your lunch—she hated that you fed her human food, but you did it anyway…”

                  “How do you…”

                  “How do I know these things?” Taemin sank a little in his seat. He was playing with the spine of his spoon, twisting it in circles over his now-empty bowl. Nothing prepared me for what he said next—those few words, simple but so hard to hear: “Because I knew her. I knew your wife.”

                  There was a strange silence between us that lasted many seconds. My spine sharpened. “What…?”

                  “Not informally, but I did know her—”

                  A storm of things ran in my mind all at once; some bad, some good. I stood there mystified, staring at this person who looked so much like her in many ways who was now confessing that he had some legitimate connection. I didn’t like it, my worlds converging this way. And honestly, I didn’t want to know anything else. “Taemin—”

                  “Gonji was good with kids but very protective over your wife. Just like you. You didn’t like when the guys at the park would talk to her or compliment her. Your face—it always got stony, like it is now. You’re angry, I can tell.”

                  “Stop it.”

                  “But your wife was always kind to everyone. She liked talking to strangers, even guys. Even awkward, shy guys who came to the park alone. She would always say hello when she didn’t think you were looking—”

                 Don’t tell me anything else I’ll regret. Don’t tell me anything else I don’t want to know…

                  He kept going: “And when you weren’t with her, she’d actually carry on a conversation…”

                  What the hell was he implying? Did he honestly think I’d believe anything he could possibly have to say that would smear her reputation? “If you try to tell me you were sleeping with her, I’ll kick your right now.”

                  Taemin shook his head. He was still surprisingly calm, especially in contrast to my disproportionate anger. “I’m not saying anything like that, hyung.”

                  “Don’t call me that.” For many reasons, this only made me angrier.

                  “I mean, she was a beautiful woman, don’t get me wrong—”

                  I bet he was in love with her. I bet he was hoping to learn more about her by getting closer to me… I bet—

                  None of this made sense. Even after I left him there a little later with nothing but angry silence to bring the night to an end, and I thought these things over in the privacy of my room, they still made little sense. She was gone; there was nothing to be obtained from me now. Whatever his fascination was, it had to be harmless. She never complained about a stalker to me, never mentioned any strange, creepy men following her or acting lewdly towards her. You can be sure as that I would have attended that matter immediately, and without prejudice.

                  Then why am I so mad about it? Why is it impossible for me to be anything less than an to this guy?      

                  For the first time in a very long while I decided to excavate the origin of my feelings on something. I really wanted to know why I was upset. Why I disapproved of a connection between the very two people I believed to be tied in some way at the start. Was it because I didn’t want him to infiltrate my place with her, or was it the other way around…?

                 “You liked her,” I said. “You… ‘admired’ her…” I wanted him to deny it, but really didn’t give him the proper chance.

                  “Well, that’s not—I mean, I did spend a lot of time watching her, yes… but—she wasn’t the one I noticed first…”

                  “I don’t give a what you noticed.”

                  “I was actually in the park, Minho, the day—”

                  “Stop it—stop talking!” For no real reason other than my strangely territorial inclination, I shot up from the table and grabbed Taemin by the collar, nearly knocking him out of his chair. “You wanna die, punk?”

                  “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” Taemin kept on, his eyes soft, slightly fazed by my force.

                  The more I looked at him, the more I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to say harsh words, do bad things. I was too frustrated. I had to get the hell away from him before I took it too far. I was like a pressure-cooker ready to blow at any second. “I was right about you. You are a ing stalker. A ert, getting off to the thought of my wife giving you an ounce of attention? You weird little —she probably didn’t even notice you. All the time you were thinking of her, fantasied about her, she didn’t even know you existed.”

                  I was half right, anyway…

                  “I told you you’d be mad,” he replied. “But it’s for the wrong reasons…”

                  I loosened my grip and backed away. “I’m done listening to you. You can stay here tonight, but that’s it. Leave me the alone from now on. I want you out of my house by morning. You got that?”

                  “If that’s what you need to make it right again.” This was all he said. This was all I was ready to hear.

* * * 

                   It didn’t surprise me that he was too upset to understand what I was really admitting to. Please don’t blame me for not coming out and saying it more directly—it was hard enough to confess the things I did, let alone the things that without saying. The last time I’d been blunt with someone I lost relationships. Hurt people. Changed everything. I was scared, sure, but this just seemed better anyway. But it was my intention from the very beginning to give him the things he needed in order for him to heal. To allow him a way to move on. By making me his enemy, perhaps he’d stop blaming himself for things he had no control over. Instead, he could blame me—even if I wasn’t at fault, at least he’d see that he wasn’t either.

                  I didn't bother reminding him that he didn't, technically, have the authority to fire me. Of course, I was prepared to leave the next day. Of course, I wouldn’t bother him again, just like he wanted. Whatever he needed for his happiness: it wasn’t cowardice in me talking, but wisdom. I was just happy to come clean, as much as possible. I knew too long ago that Minho couldn’t notice me the same way, because Minho wasn’t like me… and I never expected anything opposite. I’d taken it too far; got too close. Played with fire. But when it came down to it, I just liked him for who he was. All the rest—well, it never really mattered. Just to see him happy again; just to see him smile… again.

                  And I had. I got to hear the sound of his laughter in his own house. What more could I ask for than that? That in itself was an amazing gift. One I would cherish forever.

* * * 

                  I couldn’t sleep. Even after four hours of speculation, I could not sleep. It was nearing a quarter ’till two and I was just as restless in bed as if it were two in the afternoon. Regardless of what I said to him, I was growing more and more curious over his tie with her. I’d been searching for a way to connect again, and here he was—some one who very might well be able to bring me some new sense of peace. Then again, I wondered at what expense these things would come through. Would his mysticism be lost a little? His mysterious allure diminished after everything was said and done? Or maybe… maybe his secret would change nothing at all. Absolutely nothing. 

                 But what if it changes everything...?

                  I didn’t bother trying to be quiet as I made my way down the hall and knocked on the door to the third room where I knew he was staying. He didn’t answer but I went inside anyway. It was my house, after all; if I wanted to go inside there I had every right. But more than that—given all the ty things I’d done to him I had a strong sense that he would be gone in the morning. It wasn't that I wanted him to stay so much, or even that I really wanted him to leave. I just didn't want to feel anything about it; I didn't want to care. So before he made up his mind, I had to take this opportunity to ask him the things I might not get another chance to ask…

                  He was sleeping on his right side so that I couldn’t make out his face, only his silhouette in the contrast of the darkness against the light that was breaking through the door. I felt drawn to him, like a magnet pulled to its opposite force. I wanted to be around him, to touch him, to see him smile and hear him laugh over the most simple of things... but I couldn't forget. I couldn't forget that he was tied to her. Tied to my grief. Tied to my guilt.

                  And this made me angry all over again. 

                  “Hey, kid, wake up.” Yeah, this was my genius excuse to get closer. But it worked; he woke up and I came and sat on his bed, where I touched his shoulder and shook him, regardless of the fact that he was already awake. My heart sped up as soon as I touched him; why did I react this way when he was near me? I suddenly became aware of the awkwardly placed hand, the strange motion of my fingers massaging the muscle. He didn’t shrug me off, though I could feel his body tensing upon contact. So, I made him uncomfortable too. He had good reasons.

                  “Wh-what is it, hyung?” said Taemin sleepily, a bit puzzled by my presence. “You okay?”

                  “Just shut up,” I bark back. For some reason I still felt obligated to talk like an . Why, oh why, was it impossible for me to talk civilly to him? Something about him just set me on edge. “I want you to know… I’m not mad,” I say even though I couldn't tell whether or not it was true. This was simply my way of bridging the gap I created.

                  “Okay.”

                  With just a simple word he frustrated me. I could feel his warm body under my hand. I watched him breathe a moment, slightly mesmerized. But I had to stay on point. I had to remember that this person was an unhealthy tie for me. Why exactly? I was not sure; I only knew he made me feel things that I didn't want to feel. Or maybe it was just that he forced me to feel anything at all that was really the problem. “And that, before you leave, I want to know—” My curiosity had gotten the better of me. “I want to know about your connection with her. Tell me. Tell me everything.”

                  I couldn't tell if I really wanted to know. Or was it that I wanted to disprove a link between them? I didn't want to know anything about Taemin save for good things. Promising things. Normal things. I can't explain it; there was too much going on in my mind to process. All I knew was, I cared too much.  

                  “It’s not what you think…” he said, now sitting in an attempt to wake up more.

                  I could not settle my irritation still. I caught myself staring at his lips as he talked; staring at his eyes, though tired, and his hair all a mess. There was a stray strand hanging over his eyelashes, causing him to blink more rapidly than normal. I wanted to sweep it away but resisted the urge. I didn't want him to misunderstand. “How do you know what I think? I think there’s some little fascination you had with her. I think you’re just afraid to tell me because you think—”

                  “I was there that day. I was there the day she died…”

                  I pulled away from him. It felt like a knife was being twisted in my chest. Even though he'd tried to tell me this before, I was completely blind-sighted. I didn't want to believe it. “W-what…”

                  “I saw it all; the accident, everything. I tried to help her, but I couldn’t do anything to save her. I’m so sorry… I wanted to say—”

                  My heart was racing. How could I accept this? I could not. I could not. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!” I exclaimed all at once, rising from the bed in a frenzied motion, never once breaking eye-contact with this unlikely witness. 

                  Even now, I can’t stop looking at him. What the is wrong with me?

                  “I wanted you to know that you could trust me. That you could talk about it: your wife—your daughter… anything you needed to. I'm here for you. I'm here to listen...”

                  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t talk about this with him. I thought I could, but I couldn’t. Was I just a pity-case to him? Was I just a source of fascination to live out after being so consumed by his attention on her? Sure, I could have asked more. Could have talked more. But I didn't want to hear those things. I didn't want to relive that day, and through his eyes. How was it that he got to be in the one place I would forever hate myself for not being?

                 And then there was...

                I thought I was important to you, simply for being myself...

                I got it then. He was just doing a job. A job he somehow was able to manage after spending god-knows-how-long obsessing over my wife. And now, here he was, wanting to listen to my sob stories about her. That's all he wanted... all he wanted was a deeper tie to her.

                This feels... something like jealousy. But over whom? 

                 “So all this time you were stalking her, and you just so happened to be there the day my life was ruined? Maybe it’s your fault? Maybe you’re the one—” 

                  “Maybe.”   

                  Somewhere along the way this kid had gone from being the living reincarnation of someone I lost to being his own person, a person I enjoyed separately. But this... this was too much blending for me to take. I couldn't handle so heavy a tie. And I really couldn't stand to remember the events as they played out that day, the things I'd said to her that set the whole damn nightmare in motion... 

                  My life made sense without you. At least I understood things. At least I knew what I wanted…

                  “Maybe without you, things would have been different.”

                  "Maybe..."

                  But I was incapable of putting into words just why this was. Had he asked me ‘why’ I would have been unable to answer. So instead, before he could have the chance to pry further, I went to the extreme: “I hate that I ever met you.”

                  To this, he didn't say anything in return. I could tell that it hurt him. I wanted it too. I don't know why; I just did. If I could just get my life to make sense again, I thought, then everything would be okay.

                   It was the last thing that I said to him that night and would be the last thing for weeks thereafter, leaving me with the image of him sitting there in the dark, eyes glossy but not crying. I hated myself for saying it, sure, but knew Taemin would be all right. Why should he care anyway? Taemin never cried. Not ever.

                 Or so I thought at the time.

_______

A/N: Taemin's done his best to be honest, but Minho is having a hard time listening. Can you tell what he's really saying? Seems Minho needs some time to think it over before he understands... don't be too upset with him. He has a lot of things to work out here. And don't be too upset with Taemin either. XD  They're doing their best to communicate, under the circumstances~

A special thanks to all you who commented about my loss of a friend this week... it meant a lot to me, even though I didn't reply personally. Thank you again. I really appreciae you readers. <3