“A word has power in and of itself. It comes from nothing into sound and meaning; it gives origin to all things. By means of words can a man deal with the world on equal terms. And the word is sacred. A man’s name is his own…. The dead take their name with them out of this world.”

- N. Scott Momaday, The Way to Rainy Mountain

* 

                  Why did I sleep with him… the only true answer to this is because I wanted to. I wanted to and it seemed he really wanted it too. And because he wanted it—seemingly needed it—I did not have reservations about meeting those needs. Had it been anyone else, the story would have changed. My answer also. But this was Choi Minho, the man whom I’d been watching for quite some time now, the man I felt I knew better than he apparently knew himself. This was Choi Minho, and for him, I would have done anything he asked, simply to see him smile…

                  I told my boyfriend what happened. I’m a very honest person, honest yet unapologetic. At least I try to be. When I explained the situation he wasn’t exactly happy about it, or thrilled that I had just slept with another man, but I told him that Minho wasn’t interested, only that he had hit a bad place and that I was, vulnerably, there to meet him at the new depths of his depression. I explained all the things that had happened that tied us together—though not all at first. It took awhile before I felt I could open up to him and truly be honest about things. Before, he really didn’t seem to listen; not that he wasn’t interested, but that he was unable to really hear what I was saying. It took a few days to get the whole story out and it was coincidentally through these same exact days that Minho decided to fill my phone with messages. He saw that; he saw that I was being bothered so frequently and his questions only grew. After that… his condition of pending forgiveness was put on the table, and what he wanted was the same kind of payment that I’d given another man right under his nose.

                  But I wasn’t interested in sleeping with him. For some reason being close to him didn’t feel the same; it wasn’t as satisfying or compelling. So I continued to hold out, hoping that my boyfriend would forget his terms for a little longer until I sorted the whole mess out. It took some diligence keeping him at bay, and even more to keep Minho from breaching the boundaries I’d put up in order to keep these two issues separated. It wasn’t that I wanted to so much as I had to in order to figure out how I felt about it all, and what I was allowed to take away from the experience. I mean, all this time I’d spent wanting one very specific thing, but never even allowed myself to hope in a possibility—I never let myself get out of hand, take it too far, expect too much, if anything at all. I was just thankful for the things that I was given, no matter how small.                 

* * *

                  My hiding must have gotten better because Taemin never noticed me there. After seeing that man, who could only reasonably be his boyfriend, come out of his apartment, I decided to leave him alone. I started thinking that perhaps it was just a roommate and became curious again, feeling the slight hope that I’d misconstrued the situation. There was a part of me, I’ll be honest, that selfishly hoped he’d break up with his partner after our experience. But I couldn’t say that to him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I hadn’t seen him or really talked with him at all—and it only made me miss him that much more. Exponentially even. There was an absence in my day when he wasn’t around; just to see him was soothing enough. And that’s when I knew…      

                  ‘I want to see you,’ I’d texted him a handful of times, each time getting an ambiguous response in return. ‘Are you avoiding me’? I finally decided to say. ‘If you are, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I did something wrong—’

                  I could hardly recognize myself. Saying these things, feeling these things, wanting the things that I wanted…

                 He had saved me. But I had never told him as much. Hell, I’d never even thanked him. It hit me then—it hit me, so many truths all at once. I decided I would show him somehow. Somehow. So I did the only thing that came to mind that seemed appropriate—I bought a card, wrote the simple line inside, sealed the envelope and sent it to his address. And in the meantime, I decided to clean.

                  I cleaned and cleaned. It might sound simple to someone else but for me this was huge. I had the feeling like I needed to ever since I had the dream of Taemin knocking down the wall in the extra room. I just couldn’t shake the impulse, so decided to devote my weekend to seeing it through. It took both days, and the following weekend on top of that, to reorganize my once-protected place. Since Haneul died, I barely did anything save marginal upkeep on this place. Taemin had cleaned while he was ‘taking care of me,’ but my efforts now went deeper than that—I cleaned, yes, but I also began to pack more things away. I got rid of things. Reorganized and restructured. Many things I’d held on for memory’s sake alone I ended up donating, keeping only the most precious. I bought new sheets and replaced the ones I’d been so afraid to be without—I kept those, I admit, but I didn’t use them. It was one thing I couldn’t bear to part with no matter how illogical; it was the place where we made our child, it was the last place I remembered her lying before seeing her prostrate on the sidewalk. That morning—that was the last time I’d see her like this, in this bed. I remember studying the soft features of her face as she slept there, hair curling around her shoulders and fingers clenched somewhat desperately around the corner of the pillow, oblivious to what the day would bring…

                  We were going shopping for the baby that day; I decided to let her sleep in because she’d been throwing up all morning, still in the early trimester of her pregnancy, which was often the hardest on the body, I knew. I continued to watch her light yet troubled sleep—I could see her face folded in pain even as she slept and it occurred to me then that even while she rested, her body was at work creating a new life, forming every perfect feature that would be, like a mysterious gift, revealed in just a few months’ time. We hadn’t planned this child but we were happy for it; mostly her. I was nervous about the idea of being a father, having had a terrible relationship with my own, and secretly I was worried how the new addition would change our relationship. I was jealous of my time with her and felt apprehensive about sharing her, and to such an intense degree. This was what we fought over, both after she woke up and beforehand—her claim that I had to let her go, and my claim that I did not know how. That I couldn’t. That I couldn’t be without her. The irony wasn’t lost on me, the cruelty of fate, considering my insecurities and fears—yes, it wasn’t lost on me at all. Then again, the irony of meeting someone who reminded me so much of her, who would be there with her when she died—well, this wasn’t lost on me either.

                 We got as far as the elevator before we began arguing. Then, along the sidewalk, the silent treatment between us, the only sounds heard that of the traffic and the overheated panting of our little dog. We started talking once at the department store but our tones were cutting and cold; I was upset with her, but only because I was jealous of her attention and her passion. And I’d always regret this last conversation especially because it was the last thing I’d ever say to her. The words that divided us were the same ones that bound us together in her death: “I don’t want to lose you; I don’t know how to share you, to be without you.”

                 At the time it made her upset but I didn’t understand why until much later. She was having a hard time understanding how a father could be that way; I was having a hard time understanding what my role would be in her life once she was a mother. As far as I know this is normal between new parents, but I didn’t get it at the time. I didn’t understand that she was afraid I didn’t want this child or that I wouldn’t be there for her. I didn’t understand because these things were so far from the way I really felt that I couldn’t even see her side of things. Her fears and my fears were not so different really, but I never saw that then; and it was this fear that eventually drove us apart, this fear that caused her to die without me anywhere around. I should have been with her; I should have been in the park that day, instead of moodily retreating back home in a huff, upset over something so ridiculous as baby furniture. But I was an idiot; I made a mistake, and this mistake cost me both her life and my daughter’s, but also my own, because after she died I ceased to stop living in other ways.

                   I kept a few frames on the wall though most of them were either moved or put away. I once thought the only way to get through the pain of my existence was to see her beautiful face on me at all times, eyes peering down from the wall like a silent ghost. But she wasn’t a stationary presence in my life; my wife, like my love for her, was fluid, multicolored and deep. All this time I had her pinned in a prison of my regret and remorse; I had to let her free. It was this not-so-simple simple act that allowed me a great freedom. I could feel the burden lifting with each frame I took down. Regardless of the difficulty and the pain—I could feel a sort of rebirth happening. A delivery into the world that I’d aborted and left for dead.   

                   I had a small shrine in the spare room where I left incense for my wife and unborn daughter each morning, saying a quiet prayer before I got on with the rest of my day. I continued to talk with Taemin via texts, though our exchange was very marginal. At some point, I could tell that I wasn’t going to get much more out of him so I decided to leave him alone. At least, for now. There was one thing I had to say to him. One last thing before my rebirth was truly complete—and that I wanted to say to his face.

* * *

                  Taemin: I pray happiness finds you before you do. You have saved me. This is all the card said. I was more than surprised to see his name and address on that envelope, even more surprised to see my own words returned to me in a different way. My heart hurt, I can’t explain it; my whole chest tightened and I felt a little shaky, breath rapid and excited. I felt the urge to say something for some reason, but couldn’t. Not with someone else in the room beside me.

                  “A birthday card?” my boyfriend said. “It's not your birthday, is it?”

                  I shook my head. “It's a thank you card.”

                  “Thank you card? From who, for what?” He grabbed the card out of my hand before I could object. “Seriously, that guy again? Doesn’t he take a hint—?”

                  I stopped listening far before he finished. I was really touched by Minho’s gesture. Really, really touched…

                  “Taemin, look, you know I’ve been really patient with you, but if you don’t cut this guy off I’m gonna start thinking there’s something going on here…”

                  Still, I was only half-listening. I kept reviewing the words over and over again, the black ink of each pen- character speaking things only I would understand. Only me.

                  “Maybe you let him down too gently. You can’t just avoid him obviously. You’re gonna have to tell him straight—”

                  I got slightly excited. “Straight to his face…?”

                  “If you think it’ll help, I guess. I meant more just say things straight forwardly.”

                  “Oh… well, I think if I talked to him in person, maybe it would help…”

                  “You know he’s into you, don’t you?” he said. “You don’t think he is, but clearly—ah, Taemin, you’ve just been too nice to him. You only want to be with me, right?”

                  I avoided eye contact here. All this time I’d assumed Minho didn’t have feelings for me, could never have feelings for me—I stayed in this relationship because I was attempting to move on. But things were not as black and white as I assumed. I still found it all really hard to believe…

                  “He’s not—” I tried again.

                  “You keep saying that but I don’t even think you believe it.”

                  “Hyung’s still grieving. He’s a very sensitive person, you know. He’s had a really rough year. He gets lonely and—”

                  “Cut it off, Tae. If you can’t, I don’t think this is going to work out.”

* * *

                  I was drinking when I got the text, but not what you think: it was a small celebratory party with my colleagues at Sharky’s bar, and I was only slightly lit but not drunk. ‘Can we meet?’ it said. I’ll never forget it; I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I saw it.

                  I fumbled with the phone and excused myself from the circle. ‘When and where?’

                  ‘Are you free now?’

                  ‘Honestly, I’ve been drinking…’

                  ‘Are you being bad again, hyung?’

                  I couldn’t help but read this amusedly. I imagined that Taemin sent it to be funny. Quickly, I wrote back: ‘Always.’

                  A few minutes passed.

                  ‘Ah, I see—can we talk at least?’

                  It was all the direction I needed. Immediately I pressed the green phone icon and waited for the connection to go through. “Hey. You okay?” I said, a little more desperate than I intended. I was tripping over my words slightly.

                  “Hi, hyung. You’re not being reckless over there, are you?” he chuckled on the other end.

                  “You’d be amazed, Taemin—I’m actually not alone.”

                  “Oh…? Are you… on a date?”

                  I couldn’t help but laugh. “No no. Not a date. Just a work thing.”

                  “You sound happy, hyung.”

                  “Do I? Hm~ well, I’m not unhappy, if that’s what you mean. Thanks to Sharky here~”

                  “Sharky?”

                  “Bartender. I don’t really think that’s his name though…”

                  “Is that where you and I went that one time?”

                  “Eh? Oh yeah, we did come here, didn’t we?” I played it off like I did not remember. But I did. I totally did.

                  “Jäger again?”

                  I could tell by the breathiness of his chuckle that something else was on his mind. “Well, I’m not trying to get too ed up. Gotta go to work tomorrow, you know. So… what’s up, kid?”

                  “I… you said you needed to talk to me a couple weeks back…”

                  “Yeah?”

                  “I—I think it would be good too. I’d like that, hyung. Is there some place we can meet?”

                  I got a little excited prematurely. “Your place?”

                  “Um… I can’t. Not that. I hope you understand.”

                  Of course. Of course he couldn’t meet at a house. As easily as that, and without me even asking, I was positive that he was still with his boyfriend. “So, where then?”

                  “I can meet you at work…”

                  “You lost your clearance,” I said. It only dawned on me then that he wanted to meet earlier in the day. Again, for obvious reasons. He was trying to be careful. It was a side I wasn’t used to though; I was only used to seeing Lee Taemin do whatever he wanted, and for whatever enigmatic purpose that he decided on. The Taemin I knew would do what he felt though; the Taemin I knew would come if I asked him...

                  “How about… here?" I offered. "At the bar?”

                  “Right now?”

                  “Yeah, sure. Why not? Come on, come have a drink on me.”

                  There was a silence over the phone that finally gave way to acceptance. Taemin said he’d be there in about twenty minutes; I told him I’d wait as long as he needed. I was a bit excited, but for a mix of reasons. I just wanted to see him. I was excited for the opportunity…

                  When he walked through the door I spotted him immediately. I’d been watching the entry like a hawk after all, waiting eagerly to see his slim frame slip through the crowd and after suffering a few false alarms was finally rewarded. For whatever reason, I half imagined he’d change his mind. But he didn’t. He was there. He came. I waved him over to the table where I was sitting with my coworkers, the enthusiasm of my wrist speaking louder than my voice was capable. A few of the people seemed to recognize him, but only vaguely, and I could tell that it was marginally uncomfortable when I introduced him because I wasn’t quite sure just how to do so.

                  “This is Lee Taemin,” I said, my voice quick and a bit high-pitched, “my good friend.”

                  He looked at me and smiled, somewhat coyly, and I couldn’t help but think when I looked at him how attractive he was. Legitimately. Handsome and strangely… lovely. One of the girls moved her bag so he could sit down on the barstool, and I took the opportunity to go get him a drink as he got acquainted, refreshing my own at the same time.     

                  Taemin was shy but he was also fun. Before long, he’d had enough to get his insecurities calmed and I couldn’t help touching him. I didn’t notice I was doing it at first, patting Taemin’s thigh and squeezing it periodically whenever he would chuckle or say something funny. I didn’t notice that I had, at one point, my arm around his shoulders, or that I stared a few seconds too long at his delicate side profile. I didn’t realize because I was well on my way to getting hammered. I didn’t realize—but I think that others began to, namely the three women in our party who seemed to catch on pretty quickly that I was attracted to this other man. Maybe because they were also attracted, or maybe because they were just that intuitive a species. Either way, I wondered then if they could tell—if they could sense the ual tie between us, like a black-light that can pick up incandescent colors the eye cannot pick up alone. Could they see it on us? Could they possibly know that he and I…?

                  We never talked about it. I wanted to, but at the same time, I didn’t. Not yet. I wasn’t sober enough to dive into my feelings now. I just wanted to be around him, to enjoy him, to watch him smiling and having fun. It made me happy to fuel this, even if it was at the expense of a few empty beer bottles. Likewise, they never said anything or brought attention to the matter, but the air got weirder in our mixed company the longer the night went on, and eventually Taemin and I were kind of cornered away from the others who were still there.

                  “Let’s get out of here,” I spoke in his ear, breath scented with liquor, the faint hint of licorice and spices fragrantly lingering. I was unknowingly patting the back of his hair, twirling the strand that just barely met the mole on his back at its tip around my finger. I could tell by the glazed over expression in his eyes that he was having a hard time knowing what to do. I put my arm around his waist and eased him off his chair, walked him to the door, kept him upright as I hailed a cab off the curb. And when we got into the car, it occurred to me finally that I’d done this once—but with very different intentions and very different reasons. It wasn’t that I was a bad person, it was that I was having my own hard time knowing what was best. He excited me. In several ways, he excited me; and the decisions I made in that moment were selfish ones though they felt right at the time.

                  The street lights continued to zoom by outside the window, a parade of neon and metal as far as the eye could see. For some reason, a brief moment of sober clarity came over me. “I’m gonna take you home, okay?”

                  “But hyung…” he managed once we were on our way, settling his head on my shoulder, “we didn’t even talk… I didn’t talk… to say—”

                  I looked down to see that he was falling asleep. He really couldn’t handle his alcohol, this was clear. I had to do the right thing; I had to take care of him. “It’s okay, kid. We’ll talk another time…”

                  Taemin inhaled and gave a little drunken pout; I’d only seen him do this once before, and that was the last time he’d had too much in this very same bar. I was starting to wonder if I was a bad influence on him. “You said I was your friend…” he moaned.

                  “What?”

                  “When you introduced me. You said I was your ‘close friend.’ ”

                  “Yeah, so?” I put my hand back on his thigh and held on a little tighter.

                  “When did that happen?”

                  I grinned knowingly. “When did what happen?”

                  “When did I become your close friend?”  

                  “What else should I call you? Especially after—”

                  “The accident.”

                  “Yeah. Accident…” I slid my hand an inch closer to the center of his legs, that place where his upper and lower body met, the place I’d somehow managed to feel hardening in my hand almost a month before. But why? Why did I want this? Why did I seem to crave it even?

                  A drunken whim. A drunken whim. Every time I drink I seem to end this way. I seem to want him that much more…

                  I could sense that the cabbie was watching us in his rearview mirror, judging us and chalking our actions up to whatever he had to in order to keep driving. But it didn’t stop me from saying, in a lowered voice, “Your room—it’s different now. I’ve cleaned it up. You can stay there instead if you want...”

                  “Minho-hyung, I… can’t.”

                  “Yes, you can. Why can’t you?”

                  He pulled away slowly. “I have to go home.”

                   “Go home tomorrow,” I replied, drawing nearer to him, now the inside of his thigh with heightened ambition, listening to the panting sounds it was forcing the recipient to create.

                   I was weak. Weak and losing the clarity that only came over me for too brief a moment. It was his own weakness that compelled my own; the more he seemed interested, the more I tried to persuade him.

                  “Spend the night with me, Taemin,” I said, this time more as a command than a question. Aroused by his spirited reaction I leaned in close, held his chin still with my hand, and kissed him, separating his soft salty lips with the tip of my tongue which I moved slowly inside. I didn’t want to hear him deny me. I didn’t want to hear him say anything. I simply wanted to taste him, to remember this taste and savor it on my tongue.                            

* * *

                  After years of watching him, longing to talk to and be close to him, I’d come to the bar to tell him this very thing couldn’t happen—only for it to happen again. I could not resist him. Anything Choi Minho wanted—it was hard to deny him. I didn’t blame him for being this way, but it definitely made it hard to be faithful, and now I was fighting a part of myself that I’d never had to fight before. I’d lied to Minho, very slightly; I told him that I had experiences in relationships, even though I hadn’t been with another guy. Truth was, I’d had two girlfriends in the past, way back before I realized the truth about myself, but Jae was my first actual boyfriend. And even though I wasn’t in love with him, or even all that infatuated, the fact was I was trying to come to terms with my past by embracing a possible future.

                  Because of my secrets, my parents disowned me; shortly after, my father died ashamed of his only son. Because of my desires, I’d become emancipated involuntarily from all the things I knew and loved. For this reason, it was hard for me to be honest with others—not because I wanted to be deceitful, but because I didn’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I’d watched Minho through silent, secretive, and lonely years; I still remembered the first day I ever saw him like it was yesterday—he was the first man I ever really noticed. He was the first man I ever really wanted…

                 But I knew what I was to him; Minho wasn't like me. Minho was a married man at one time, then quickly and suddenly after, a widower. How could I ever selfishly assume he'd become like me? How could I do anything but continue to be there for him in order to see to his happiness and health? I knew he needed me in different ways, ways that didn’t match my own. I knew this, but I still went along with it because, like I said, I could not resist him. I didn't understand exactly why he was drawn to me like this now, but I never gave it a name. Never idenitifed the source of it, only helped him further explore it...

                 Call it collateral damage, but I made my own choices for my own reasons. I wish I could say that it was the alcohol to blame, but I know myself; I know I would have made the same choices regardless, no matter how mixed I felt over the results. Because I loved him. I loved him. And no one could blame me for that.

* * *

                 When we got inside the door there was a brief moment where we stopped everything, our kissing and groping coming to a sudden stop just long enough for Taemin to say, “Hyung, your place—it’s different. You really did clean…”

                  “Yeah,” I moaned back, too interested in him to care about much else. We started heading into the spare room, which was closest to the front door, but the urge suddenly came over me to guide him into my room—the room I’d not slept in much since he’d left, but had draped my bed with fresh sheets—that’s where I laid him down on his back and began to his jeans, sliding them off his narrow hips and exposing the soft skin underneath the veiling fabric. We would break in this new place together. A new start...

                  “Are you—are you sure…?” he whimpered, and I honestly don’t know exactly what he meant by this, only that whatever it was, I was. I wanted this; chalk it up to ‘drunken whim’ or whatever—I wanted this. I’d never been one to be this way, do these things, like these things—but there was something about Taemin that made everything that previously made sense about me turn completely nonsensical. I couldn’t recognize myself, sure, but after the year I’d spent, I’m not sure that was such a bad thing. Not being able to recognize the former pitiable shell you left behind. Like I said, Taemin saved me. I just didn’t know for what or why at the time. All I knew at this point was that I’d consumed a kind of courage that did not come by as easily while sober, and I intended to capitalize on its effects without worrying too much about the rest…

                  I told him to relax and watched his body fold and roll like a wave across wet sand. The longer I touched him this way the more comfortable he became. He jerked his hips upward by reflex; I could tell he couldn’t help it, but still it made me want to cause it to happen again, so I worked harder to get him to move that way over and over. I liked it when he did.

                  I listened to the coils sing beneath us, the mattress sinking slightly as I scaled his now- body with my own. I kissed him again, determinately and desperately, relishing yet again the sweet taste of his saliva, which had now mixed with my own as our tongues danced in an rhythm. I kissed him through entry, kissed him again as I pushed forward; Taemin was biting at my bottom lip and gripping my shoulders with a seductive desperation, his eyes tightly shut as if he were concentrating or deep in prayer.  

                  When I successfully joined my ambitions with his—then, I finally let out a deep, sensuous exhale, as if up until this point I’d forgotten completely how to breathe. “T-taemin…” I muttered, saying his name a few more times on a broken whisper, my voice shaky and palms lined with sweat. There were other things I could have said then, other things that went without saying; but the only word that I was able to form was the one I'd said so often since he'd left this place. It was the only thing I could manage to say because it was the only word that best summarized all the things I was feeling... it was the one thing I wanted to hear in this new place, the name of this person ringing off my lips.

                 Body stiff and hungry, my instinct was to be fast and merciless in pace; to dominate and further explore these deeply satisfying feelings. But I had to wait. I had to. He patted my arm and gave a simple nod; I knew that everything was okay then and forced our bodies closer. Again, the sound of his name hovered on my tongue but I was surprised to hear mine sent back to me in the same way. Surprised, but pleased; it only made everything peak that much faster. My hold on him became firmer and my pace, more desperate. We were so close now, so close that my chest was grazing against his under the rhythm our impulses had set for us: grazing, rubbing, rolling like even bigger waves, his fair colored chest my sandy shore to wash upon; sighing, , clenching, grinding, ing into a pleasured froth—we rocked together like the tide drawn ashore: fluid, multicolored and deep—and did not stop until our natures allowed us to be still again.

                 The waters much calmer and fulfilled than before, the tranquility of many unspoken things covered us in a shroud, one which we did not take off until the morning came renewed.

______________

A/N: I thought it would be wrapped up by ch. fifteen but obviously was wrong~! I really couldn't resist another y chapter tbh, especially after many of you said you hoped there would be more. I amped up the steaminess level a tad; hope it was satisfactory. :)  Anyway, now I'm thinking it'll probably end in 1-2 chs more. I figured most of you wouldn't mind. Now we finally know about Minho's argument with his wife that morning, and ah we know her name as well~ did you catch it? Not that it means anything; no other characters are based on celebrities. We also got a little insight into Taemin's feelings and motives, as well as Min's. Do you understand him/them better now? Do you think anyone is at fault here? Minho better talk to him soon, huh? <3

*Small note: Minho's wife, Haneul, her name actually means sky/heavens. 

~ ♥ ~

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