*A/N: please note POV shift in second section

                 When I woke again, dreamless and tired, some indeterminate time later, I manage to slip from bed and make my way to the bathroom alone. It took longer than it should; my body was weak still. I felt sick. Hung over. Even after all this time? Even after this much rest? How pathetic. How had I let myself become this way? I had to tell him that I didn’t need him—that kid, that Lee Taemin. I’d be back to normal in no time. Back to work—back to things as they are and, eventually, things as they should be.

                  As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, I gripped the counter and studied the lines of my face in the reflection, wondering many chaotic things all at once. Where is he? I don’t hear him…

                  I’d really not expected to be this way. I really didn’t expect to be so broken. Feeble. Incapable.

                  Dependent...

                  I've never depended on anyone else in my life. I don't mean to now. 

                  I decide to attempt one step further, slowly disrobing and stepping into the shower, grabbing at the wall all the while. I honestly don’t know how long I’d stood there under the showerhead, bracing my body against the wet tile as the sounds of the water heater, flowing pipes, and pinging droplets echoed discordantly in my ears. The steam was rising. The water felt good against my skin yet I was having trouble focusing. Just stood there. And stood there. I didn’t have the energy or the clarity to do anything else. Didn’t have ability to understand or reason, until suddenly, I closed my eyes and allowed all things to fade to black under the warm, wet waterfall.

* * * 

                  I knocked three times before I went in there. I had a bad feeling when I went back to the room and saw that he was missing. It was easy enough to figure out where he’d went once I heard the water hitting floor. I called out to him, but he was unresponsive—it didn’t take me long to see why. He was sitting there, back against the wall, mouth mumbling something or other. He looked sick. I said a few things to him, including his name, as I got in the shower to retrieve him. But he took me by surprise—I don’t know why—when he called me that name by mistake.

                   I wrapped my arms around him. He wouldn’t remember this, right? I just wanted to hold him, if but for a second. Surely, he wouldn’t remember…

                   "Minho..." I whisper carefully. 

                   He repeats that name. Her name. The name I will never forget...  

                  When I first saw her she was walking by the plaza where I was having coffee. I went there often, Café Toscana, so this was nothing out of the ordinary; it was where I did most of my studying when I was in college, and old habits died hard apparently, for I still went there, to that same spot on mornings and weekends when I had the time. Honestly, truth was I had a lot of free time. I was a shy person for the most part, and for shy people friends were hard to come by. After graduation, I landed an internship with one small company—which went under—and then, after three months of unemployment, finally ended up at the company where Choi Minho worked. I didn’t know it then though. I didn’t know it then.

                  Back to her: she caught my eye, true, but not for reasons you’d expect. She was lovely, no doubt; long-haired and feminine. And the small Yorkshire terrier trotting beside her petite frame, which she had crowned with a turquoise bow, was very cute. In her right hand she was carrying not only its leash but also two large bags, but in her left she was carrying something much more prominant.

                  The person attached to her left side, hand in hers, walked with a slow, carefree gait. Armed with the most vibrant and stunning smile I’d ever seen, he was looking ahead though I could tell it was because of her—that smile. That unending smile. They seemed to be headed to the park ahead, these two lovers, or maybe the river. They looked like kids. High-school sweethearts. Best friends. They looked fitting together, natural. Complete.

                  Enviously, I watched them until they disappeared from sight, wondering where they were going and what things they would have to say to each other in their place of sacred secrecy. It would not be the last time I saw them this way.  

                  It would not be the last. 

* * *

                  I was getting used to waking up this way: in bed, confused and achy. However, this time, I remembered my little house guest; my kitchen sprite flitting about with his rice paddle and spatula—this was the first thing I thought of, in fact, and the way I thought of him caused me to chuckle against my better judgment. Immediately after, I heard a rustling down the hall and took it as a cue that Taemin would appear soon. When he finally did come back to me, his enthusiasm had still not faded.

                  “Hello,” he said easily behind a bright smile. “Feeling better?”

                  I nodded. “How long have I been sleeping?”

                  “Oh… I’d say about three hours, maybe four.”

                  “You’re terrible at keeping time,” I complained.

                  “You’re terrible at following directions.”

                  “Eh? Why?” It honestly hadn’t dawned on me yet.

                  “I told you I would help you; that you weren’t ready to do it alone.”

                  Suddenly I remembered—the last thing I remembered, in fact, was my failed attempt, but here I was, dry and clothed, as if nothing had even happened. “How did I get here…?” I was afraid to hear the answer, but couldn’t resist asking the question anyway.

                  “In bed? Your attempt at showering was unsuccessful, I'm afraid. Lucky you didn’t hit your head.”

                  My face lit up. The deduction of events was painfully obvious now. “You… found me?”

                  “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? That’s what I’m here for. Hell, I’m getting paid for it, hyung,” he smirked. “Why are you being so obstinate? Might as well enjoy it. It's like you have a personal servant~”  

                  I was too embarrassed to be angry or offended by his forward tone. 

                  I was ...

                  Why did this matter, one man to another? Normally, I wouldn’t care. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice. 

                  Normally? Normally, you wouldn’t be around another man in the first place…

                  I covered myself with the duvet a little more by reflex. I felt the need to say something, no matter how asinine: “But you’re so little—how did you get me in bed?”

                  “I wonder how long you will underestimate me...”

                  As much as I hated to admit it, I had to agree: I had underestimated him, and it was clear that I, in some ways, depended upon him. Needed him. At least for a time.

                  "You're not embarrassed, are you? You really don't have to be..."

                  “I’m hungry,” I say. Instead of masking the gruffness in my voice, I use the course tone to hide my lurking sentiment.

                  “I figured. I already made you dinner. Tonkatsu don—I know you like it.”

                  “How do you know that?” I promptly replied, watching his face drop slightly as I did. “How do you know this, Taemin? How do you know so much about me?”

                  “What do you mean, hyung? Who doesn’t like fried pork and rice? You're a meat-and-carb man, just like the rest of us.”

                  “But you knew it was my birthday—”

                  “Lots of people knew that, Mr. Choi. You’re very important, after all.”

                  “You knew about my… wife’s...”

                  “Sir,” he said, resuming a formal yet soft tone, “we all know about that…”

                  I looked away suddenly, trying my best to ignore the sharp pain in my chest brought on by dreadful memories. All of his answers made sense, so I didn’t press him. That is, until I thought of one more question I was curious to hear him explain: “Then how did you know where I lived?”

                  This seemed to stun him and I could tell, when I looked back at him, that he was diligently searching for a way to reply.

                  “You said you knew where you were that day… you must have known where I lived in order to say that. Right?”

                  He looked increasingly unsettled. I didn’t like it—I didn’t like seeing him frown that way.      

                  “You know what? Don’t answer.”

                  “Why’s that, hyung?”

                  “You seem uncomfortable, that’s why.”

                  “I don’t mind answering…”

                  “I want to eat,” I say instead. Truthfully, I didn’t want another unimportant answer linked to coincidence. I had to believe in some kind of tie—I had to believe in some overall significance, some kind of meaning behind it all. A connection. Wasn’t that what brought him—a connection to the world I could not see?

                  “Okay,” said Taemin, and instead of arguing, went to the kitchen to fetch the dinner he'd made. When he came back with more food than necessary, he was quick to insert: “I have to apologize…”

                  “What for?” I said between over-sized bites. The food was good, but I didn't bother to mention it.

                  “Because I… looked at your paystub. That’s how I know your address.”

                  “Bwo?”

                  “Well, I work in personnel… I saw your mailing address in passing. That’s how I knew where you lived—I remembered the address because my train goes through your stop. I pass it everyday…”

                  I felt disappointed. “That’s it? Why the hell didn’t you just say that in the beginning?”

                  He seemed embarrassed now. “I’m sorry…”

                  “You're an employee, aren't you? But why would you remember something like that anyway?”

                  “Photographic memory,” he said more easily than before. “I remember lots of random trivia.”

                  For some reason I found this interesting. “Like what else?”

                  “Oh, you know—geography and history facts, useless measurements and equations. That sort of thing.”

                  “Ah…”

                  “You don’t believe me?”

                  “Sure, I do.”

                  “For instance: did you know that the most money paid for a cow in auction was 1.3 million USD? Or that the first known contraceptive was made out of crocodile feces by Egyptians in 2,000 B.C.? That the elephant is the only animal with four knees?”

                  I had no idea what to say to this, but I was trying hard not to smile. 

                  “Or that the most common day for suicide is Monday? Isn’t that curious?”

                  “Well, I—”

                  “I bet you didn’t know that in the average person’s lifetime, they will have walked the equivalent of five times around the equator. Or that the King of Hearts is the only king without a moustache in a deck of cards…”

                  “Er… no, I did not know that—”

                  “And do you know it’s believed that William Shakespeare was about forty-six when the King James Bible was written, and that the 46^th word from the first word in Psalms 46 is ‘shake’ and the 46^th word from the last word is ‘spear’?”

                  “Oh, my god. You’re a freak.”

                  He laughed at this—in fact we both did. We were both laughing.

                  “Maybe,” he said, “but I’d be good on a game show.”

                  “Remind me to nominate you if anyone ever asks,” I continued, quickly stuffing my face with the remainder of the bowl in order to help disguise my unfading grin. Then, suddenly, I blurted out: “You know that contaminant brand, Heinz 57? The number represents the variety of pickles the company once had.”

                  “Chinchaa? Not ingredients?"

                  "I don't know."

                  "Hyung, are you a 'freak' too~?” He was giggling as he said this, causing his whole face to brighten. He was so cute this way.

                  "Perhaps..." I mumble shyly.

                  “Who told you that—about the pickles?”  

                  Here, my smile dropped a little. I didn’t want to bring her into it. “Doesn’t matter who.”

                  “Ah, well,” he replied with a shrug, “it’s not called that anymore though. The 57, I mean.”

                 This dorky kid...

                 “Hey, Taemin—”

                  “Yeah?”

                 “Shut up.”

                 He grinned. “Yes, hyung,” he said, almost happily, then took my bowl in his hand and made his way back to the kitchen where I knew he would be faithful to clean it. I didn't try to stop him. Why would I? 

                 He'll come back; he always comes back...

                Once he was safely away from witnessing it, my smile resurfaced, refusing to drop for several minutes no matter how I wished for it to. 

________________

A/N:

We are learning a little bit more about the mysterious Lee Taemin, slowly but surely. Don't worry: I will reveal all things in due time. For now, I hope this was enlightening. I wanted to bring in Taemin's naturally dorky side too. Taemin's dorky side only feeds Minho's dorky side. Dawww~ 2min is magical. That's about all I can say; it says so much, really. ^.^

Best, UnnieM ♥