Without a pricey air conditioner, one that Minho could confidently say they were at least six months away from being able to afford, the office in the month of late April was unbearably hot. In a way, Minho prided himself in his tolerance of all things uncomfortable, but as he felt the sweat pool at the small of his back, making his shirt stick, he was nearing his wits end with the summer’s early heat wave. The upstairs apartment he shared with his best friend was likely just as hot, and he could only hope desperately that it would cool somewhat after the sun fell.

Minho was also absolutely bored out of his mind. Sundays were always a little slow, but it seemed especially so as he tapped his pen against the desk surface. Weekdays were their busiest time period. It seemed that everyone believed ducking out from their lunch hour to take up a private investigator’s services was something never heard of before.

Once two of Minho’s clients, each of them coincidentally harboring accusations against each other, had literally run into each other on a Monday morning. That had been a riot.

“Bored much?”

Minho’s chair swiveled a little and he turned to look across the office at his best friend. He’d known Kibum since kindergarten. They’d gone to high school together, only ever really lived with each other, and probably were going to end up being buried together. It was a morbid thought, but Minho hadn’t had a date in almost nine months, and not from lack of trying, and Kibim was busy pinning away over someone he was too shy to ask out. Probably the only thing he was shy about.

“Slow day,” Minho grunted out, then asked, “What’re you working on?”

It was then that Minho noticed Kibum hadn’t actually been doing any work while Minho ruthlessly attacked the heat with his thoughts. Instead the short haired boy had been tapping furiously on his phone, probably writing out text messages to a Seoul detective he’d never send them to.

“Nothing,” Kibum admitted easily enough. “Closed two cases last night. And nothing new has come in since then.”

Minho’s eyebrow’s pulled together. “Which cases? That Kang case?”

Kibum righted himself fully in his chair and reached for a nearby file, flipping it open. He held up a picture of an achingly beautiful university student with bleach blond hair. “Remember Choi Minki?” Kibum tapped the picture. “Goes by Ren?”

“Oh. I remember now. His boyfriend was suspicious because he kept disappearing at odd hours of the night, coming back with evasive answers and was clearly hiding something. Kang Dong Ho. But he had the weird name. Baekho?”

Kibum gave a snap to his fingers and held up a second picture, a surveillance photo of the boy in question embracing a dark haired man in front of a nondescript shop. It had Minho squinting, because the picture seemed obvious, but he’d since learned that nothing ever was. Assumptions led to mistakes, and they couldn’t afford to lose any clients to mistakes. They were barely scraping by as it was.

“He wasn’t cheating,” Minho said, judging by the look in Kibum’s face.

“No,” the other agreed. “It took two weeks of following him around like a sasaeng, but I worked it out. Kang doesn’t have anything to worry about with this other guy, his name is Kim Jong Hyun by the way. Instead, I let Kang know that if his boyfriend were cheating on him, it would be with a pair of Louis Vinton red pumps, and not the owner of the shop.”

The heat was almost forgotten as Minho’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

Kibum laughed and produced a third photo, this time of grainy quality, but it was still clear enough to show the blond boy in question being helped into a pair of distinctly female shoes. “Choi likes heels, and Kim has a shop that caters specifically to a male clientele who desire them. I’m going to take a wild guess here and say that Choi didn’t want his boyfriend to know about his after hours shoe s.”

“Kibum!”

Minho spun away and towards the street, trying to distract himself from the mental picture blossoming in his head. He was feeling overly ually frustrated, and having such a beautiful boy on his mind wasn’t helping. Kibum was hardly ever helpful, as well.

“Do you know how hard it was to even get in?” Kibum demanding, trying to draw Minho’s attention back. “Apparently you have to know someone who knows someone to even get a recommendation. I knew where Choi was going from the start, but it took me those two weeks to get through the door.”

Outside the office and through the big glass windows Minho could see a pair of teenagers holding hands, the girl’s fingers stretched up to brush at the boy’s wrist. They made a cute pair. At least until he remembered his last boyfriend had held his hand in public the same way, with the same amount of affection, and that relationship had ended with a suitcase full of clothes going through a window and Minho having to hold Kibum back from trying to push his suddenly ex-boyfriend down the stairs.

Minho was never sure whether to be appreciative for Kibum’s overprotective mothering or not.

And of course before that, there’d been … her … but Minho tried not to think about her. It still ached deep in his heart some nights.

“How’d you get in?”

Kibum shrugged. “Turns out I did know someone who knew someone. And I …”

“You what?” Minho turned to him. “Are you blushing?”

“It was for the job!” Kibum defended sternly. “I couldn’t do all that work to get in the shop and then not buy anything. That would have been suspicious!”

Minho rocked back in his chair with a laugh, happy to notice a moment later that some time had passed and he was in a much better mood. Even if it was too hot.

With only a pause more, Kibum rattled off, “I bought flats, thank you very much.”

“For the job?” Minho couldn’t help teasing, “Or for a certain detective?”

Kibum’s eyes narrowed. “I love you, Minho, but I will destroy you.”

Minho waved a hand at him, watching Kibum cross his legs over the top of his desk. “Ask him out already. Every time he comes around here you spend half an hour flailing like a jellyfish and end up embarrassing us both. He likes you, the only problem is, he’s even more shy about it than you are. The two of you are comical, actually.”

Kibum kicked one of his shoes ruthlessly in Minho’s direction, making the younger boy duck to avoid contact. “For your information, Minho, Detective Kim is friendly. He’s a friendly guy. And I’m not going to make things awkward for Taemin because I’m attracted to Detective Kim.”

“So you do think he’s hot!”

“I hate you.”

Minho risked another glance at the nearby clock. Taemin was actually due in by the end of the hour. The sweet, auburn haired teen spent his Sundays down at the local police station, earning school credit in exchange for grunt work. Taemin had been particularly close to Detective Kim for almost as long as Minho had known him, and they had the kind of relationship that Minho thought was really kind of adorable. No everyone could put up with Taemin’s hyperactivity on a weekly basis.

Minho asked, “Are you planning on imitating a jellyfish today, too, when Taemin and Detective Kim show up?” Kim was like clockwork when it came to Taemin. He had him in Minho’s office no later than one every Sunday, and in over a year he’d yet to be late about it.

Taemin lived with them too. Sometimes Minho forgot that. Maybe it was because Taemin had started out as a frightened but determined kid, sleeping on their couch because it was the closest to the door and there’d been no trust between the three of them. These days Taemin crashed in the bed of whomever was convenient, the teen exhausted most days, and their apartment space lacking enough room to give Taemin a place of his own.

Kibum cleared his throat thoroughly. “That was the first case I solved last night while you were drooling into your pillow.”

“Hey!”

“Case two took an even shorter amount of time.” Kibum had more photos, this time of a petite boy with big eyes. “Meet Woo Sung-hyun. Or Kevin. He goes by both. He is in fact stalking our client Lee Kiseop.”

Minho frowned. “Have you reported it to the local station yet?”

“Nope.” Kibum tossed the photo down. “And I don’t plan to. Minho, this kid doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. Trust me, I watched him enough to be sure. He’s sweet. He’s just awkward, too. I don’t think he knows how to tell Lee that he likes him, so he’s just lurking around.”

“So there’s another person who doesn’t know how to tell a boy he likes him.”

Kibum held up a warning finger, then stressed out, “I talked to him this morning. Kiseop, I mean. I told him about Woo, and that I didn’t think the kid was dangerous at all, just a little in love with him. I think they’re going out for dinner tonight. So there, my two open cases are now closed. Three if you count Huang Zitao’s case. That report was filled officially at the police station today.”

Amidst the sudden silence of the office Minho’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that it was well into the lunch hour, and he’d skipped breakfast to get a jumpstart on some of the paperwork from a previous job.

“Food?” Kibum demanded, sounding as hungry as Minho felt.

“Okay,” Minho agreed, standing. He reached for his wallet and slid it into his back pocket, legs aching against the sudden movement of standing. “Taemin always comes in hungry anyway, and I don’t think we’re going to have much business today.”

Sometimes Minho thought the world was conspiring against him. Because that was the moment the door jingled and a woman in a large hat, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, appeared. She paused, bowed respectfully, and then said, “My name is Jung Soo-yeon. I was told you could help me?”

Kibum rounded his desk quickly, gesturing for Minho to go ahead. “Go, get food. I’ll take care of Miss Jung.”

“Jessica,” she corrected softly.

Minho gave them both strong nod, then excused himself out onto the hot street outside.

Hands fisted in his pockets he walked along slowly, not wanting to work up any more of a sweat. The sun was high and he pushed at his hair, pulling the strands away that had matted to his forehead.

It was actually nice to get out of the office. Some days he spent all his time indoors. Kibum was the one who liked to go out and follow their targets, and collect information. Minho preferred to research the things they needed, and compile the data. Kibum called him analytical. Minho called himself practical.

He ducked down a side alley on his way to a nearby place they ordered from at least once a week. He’d pick up Taemin’s usual, and maybe a cool soup for himself and Kibum. Something cool was preferable to anything else.

He was busy daydreaming about the food, crossing to an adjacent street when he just happened to catch sight of the form in front of him.

Minho had never been in love, not even with the girl he’d almost married, but he’d heard it described in fanciful ways that made him scoff. His mother and father still looked at each other like there was no one else on the planet, and while Minho loved Kibum, he certainly wasn’t in love with him. So he had no idea what it was like to be so wholly struck by someone, so infatuated and so compelled by the emotion, that everything else faded away.

Until now.

The young man walking along in front of him was … Minho wasn’t sure any of the words he knew would do the boy justice. Be he was gorgeous, ambling along with perfect legs, the most adorable face, and the kind of posture that reeked of friendliness.

Why had Minho never seen this boy before? How had he never seen him? The neighborhood wasn’t that big, and the boy was walking like the knew the streets intimately.

In his arms the boy balanced several large boxes, wrapped in brown paper, and impossible to identify. His arms were stretched wide around them, but he carried them with confidence. And on top there was an open magazine, completely capturing his attention, making it impossible for him to see Minho.

Minho had never wanted to be seen by anyone so badly in his life.

He felt a chill run through him as he trailed after the boy, unable to let him out of his vicinity. Was this love at first sight? Did it actually happen? Minho wasn’t sure. He was only aware of the soft curve to the boy’s hair, the way his back never slouched, and the perfectly kissable lips that were pursed in thought over something.

Then he laughed, and a smile fought its way onto Minho’s face.

This boy, whoever he was, was even more beautiful when he laughed. Minho wanted to make him laugh every day for the rest of his life.

It was because he was so busy admiring the boy that he failed to see the sudden drop in front of him, the curb ending abruptly and sending Minho spilling out. His feet barely managed to catch his legs in time, and his arms went out for balance.

If he hadn’t fallen like a fool in love he might have seen the car before he heard it.

Minho only remembered sprinting, calling upon all the power in his legs, pumping hard as he dashed forward, determined to save the boy he’d likely just fallen in love with. The boy who was in the path of the car barreling down the street and none the wiser about the danger.

Minho knocked them both so viciously to the side that the packages went flying into the air and Minho felt a rough burn along his palms immediately. His breath was taken from him and for what felt like forever he could only stare up at the perfectly blue sky, and take solace in the weight of the boy against him. He’d saved him. He’d done it. That was all that mattered.

It took a while longer for Minho to make out the sharp, jagged breaths coming from the boy, the way he trembled in Minho’s arms, and the gathering people around them.

Then the moment was over, and Minho was climbing gingerly to his feet, shaken but never feeling more alive. He offered a hand down to the boy and asked, “Are you alright.”

Wide brown eyes peered up at him before the boy shakily accepted a hand up, swaying for a second before getting his feet fully under him. “Yes,” he all but squeaked out, then cleared his throat and said, “I’m okay. What happened?”

He had an odd voice, light and playful, but the tiniest bit nasally, and not at all what Minho had expected. It was a pleasant surprise.

Turning in a semi circle he looked for the car that could have possibly killed them both, muttering, “There was a car. It was going to hit you.”

Nearby, a woman braced a gently hand against the boy’s shoulder and said, “This young man just saved your life.”

Immediately the boy bowed towards Minho, gratitude on his face. “Thank you. I didn’t see it.”

“Because you were busy reading your magazine,” Minho said not unkindly, reaching for the discarded book a small distance away. He it into the boy’s hands and said, “But the car wasn’t paying attention either. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re bleeding.”

The boy lifted his arms suddenly, shocked to find blood on his forearms.

“Come on,” Minho said, feeling bold, his heart still pumping madly, “I’m taking you to my place.”

“What?” the boy demanded, shock lacing his tone.

Minho froze, the implication of his words making his face heat. “I meant that I have a first aid kit that’s well stocked, and we can make it there in about five minutes.”

“Okay,” the boy said softly, surprising Minho by taking his hand without provocation. He could feel cool fingers sliding up to his wrist.

The crowd was starting thin out as Minho made for the boxes, deciding, “I’ll carry them for you. I pushed you too hard to get you out of the way. You’re bleeding a lot.”

The boy inspected his arms once more and said, “It’s shallow. And I’m much more thankful you did push me. Forget the boxes. The things inside can be replaced. It’s just food. He gave Minho a wide, perfect smile that seemed to weaken his knees.

Apparently his mother’s romance novels were right about that aspect as well.

“What happened?” Kibum demanded the second he saw them.

“Get the first aid kit,” Minho requested, all but pulling the boy along behind him at that point. “Some guy almost ran us over. We’re okay.”

“You’re not okay,” Kibum fussed, taking in the boy’s arms first, then Minho’s palms. “You’ve both go rocks in your skin. It’s going to hurt when I take them out.” Kibum paused, eyeing Minho’s companion. “Who are you?”

Minho paled as he blurted out. “I forgot to ask you!”

The boy’s head ducked as he said, “My name is Lee Jinki.” He added a little bashfully, “My friends call me Onew.”

“Jinki,” Minjo breathed out. Then he introduced, “I’m Minho.”

Jinki smiled bright once more, bowing fully this time as he said, “Today feels very lucky. I hope it will continue.”

It was such a ridiculously optimistic thing to say, especially considering what had just happened, but it brought a grin to Minho’s face that just refused to leave. Truthfully, Minho didn’t want it to.

Minho could tell Kibum had already been won over by Jinki a few minutes later, as Minho was relegated to the sidelines with a bottle of rubbing alcohol while the other investigator diligently picked gravel out of Jinki’s arm and explained, “I have a nickname too. Nicknames are really popular these days. Everyone just calls me Key. Except for Minho.”

Wincing a little from the pain, despite how careful Kibum was being, Jinki asked, “Minho, do you have a nickname?”

Kibum opened his mouth to respond as Minho slammed the bottle of alcohol down and said, “No, I don’t. But Onew is cute. Where’d that come from?” Was he flirting? Minho was so hopeless with that sort of thing.

Jinki shrugged and then held still for Kibum to place the clean bandages against his forearms. “Friends gave it to me when I was younger. I like Key better,” he added, turning to Kibum. “It’s special sounding.”

Kibum put down the last of the bandages and turned to Minho seriously, warning him, “We’re keeping him.”

“We can’t keep people,” Minho argued back good naturedly, glancing to Jinki to make sure the boy understood it was a joke. Though with Kibum sometimes it was hard to tell.

“We kept Taemin,” Kibum argued, crossing the floor to help Mino with his hands.

“Key! Minho!”

Minho arched an eyebrow. “From your mouth to god’s ears.”

A startled Jinki stood abruptly as Taemin came flying through the front door, a bulkier man following more leisurely behind him.

“It’s okay,” Minho told Jinki quietly as Kibum rushed to embrace the teen in an overshow of affection. “That’s Taemin. He lives here. He’s … he’s sort of like our little brother.

“But you and Key aren’t related?” Jinki asked inquisitively.

Minho desperately wanted to take his hand again. “We’re not, but we might as well be. We grew up together. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Taemin was hyperactive. That was a known fact. He was bouncy, bubbly and overall a rambunctious teen. Nothing like what he’d been a few short years ago. And Minho loved him. He’d do anything for the kid. But whatever he was feeling towards Jinki was special. It was an unknown but exhilarating feeling, one that he didn’t really want to risk on Jinki not being able to handle Taemin at his peek. However, much to his relief, it seemed Kibum had also gone ahead to brief Taemin on what had happened, and his behavior was much more subdued as he introduced himself fondly to Jinki.

“He saved my life,” Jinki told Taemin candidly, looking stronger by the minute. “I didn’t even see it coming, but then he was there, pulling me out of the way. Saving me.”

“Oh,” Taemin breathed out, delight on his face. “You’re like Superman, Minho!”

A stern voice asked, “And where is the driver of this car? The one that almost killed the two of you?”

Minho dipped his head to Detective Kim Jonghyun in respect. There weren’t a lot of people in his life that he could say he truly respected, but Jonghyun was one of them. The man was a saint, as far as Minho was concerned, often going above the call of duty, and he’d helped them out on more than one occasion.

“It was gone by the time I’d made sure Jinki was okay. Probably just some teenager who was too scared to stop and see if they’d hit anyone.”

Jonghyun frowned for a second, then looked to Kibum asking, “You weren’t with them?”

“Me?” Kibum asked, paling a bit. “No.” He looked like he could faint at any time, and Minho wanted to encourage him to be more courageous, but there was no subtle way to do it. “Why?”

A smile pulled at the edges of Jonghyun’s mouth. “Because you and Minho seem to go everywhere together.”

“Like Siamese Twins!” Taemin piped in.

“I was here,” Kibum told him with a shake to his head, hands wringing desperately behind his back. “There was a client. Minho went out and I stayed here.”

Was that relief Minho could see on Jonghyun’s face. Relief that Kibum hadn’t been with them when the accident occurred?

Minho was willing to be his first born on what he’d told Kibum earlier that day. Jonghyun liked him. Now if only one of them would work up the courage to ask the other out. It was almost torture watching them dance around each other.

He came out of his thought just in time to hear Jonghyun ask Jinki, “Is there anyone who’d have reason to try and hurt you?”

The complete bewilderment on Jinki’s face was enough even if he hadn’t said, “I don’t have any enemies, if that’s what you’re asking. And I’d like to think I’m pretty nice to everyone.”

“Has anyone made any threats to you lately? At your residence? Your place of employment?”

Jinki tapped his chin thoughtfully--adorably, in Minho’s book.

“I live alone, and I work at a catering company.”

“Catering?” Taemin asked, taking Jinki’s hand in his own. “Like with cakes? And really good food?”

With a laugh Kibum caught Taemin and began to pull him away, ordering, “You know you don’t get to have sugar like that. Only on special occasions. Don’t you remember the last time you had a sugar rush? Minho had to use the broom to peel you off the ceiling.”

Taemin continued to whine, but let Kibum lead him up the stairs to their residence.

“Don’t you have homework due tomorrow?” Kibum could be heard saying, then only the sound of a door shutting.

Head cocked, Jinki observed, “Wow. He’s like a mother.”

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, “he sort of is. It’s a good thing. For both of them.”

Jonghyun wanted Jinki to go down to the police station and file a report, but the boy was adamantly against it, reasoning, “That car is long gone, and there were no traffic cameras on that street. I’m really just happy to be standing here. It’s enough. I don’t want to press the matter.”

It didn’t seem fair to Minho that someone could almost hurt Jinki and just get away with it. Not someone as precious as Jinki.

“I could look into it,” Minho proposed to Jonghyun.

“You could?” Jinki asked. “How?”

“Look around,” Jonghyun pointed out, drawing Jinki’s attention to all of the framed newspaper clippings, photos and awards on the walls. “Minho and Kibum run their own detective agency here.”

Minho corrected, “We’re private investigators. Sometimes we work with the police, and sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we have a lot of work, and sometimes we don’t. Right now we’re free for the most part. I could see if I could find that car. The police have to do everything in a strict manner. As long as Kibum and I abide by the law, we’re not under the same restrictions.”

“A private investigator,” Jinki said, voice laced with awe. “That’s so cool.”

“It’s not as glamorous as you might think.”

Jinki declined to let Minho investigate either, going as far as to make him promise, and if Minho had been a lesser man, he would have crossed his fingers behind his back. But if it was truly what Jinki wanted, Minho was going to have to let it go. Plus, how many unmarked black cars were driving around Seoul at the moment? Probably too many to count. It would have been next to impossible, but he had just wanted something to do.

Maybe he’d wanted to prove something to Jinki.

“Taemin’s working on his homework,” Kibum announced, hopping down the stairs two at a time. “I told him he doesn’t get any snacks until he’s done at least a half hour of it. It’ll take that long to get food here anyway.”

Minho nodded. “Good. His college entrance exams are coming up soon. We want him to place well.”

Kibum crossed his arms and eyed Jonghyun, asking, “You’re not overworking him, right? He wants to earn his credits fairly, and he likes helping, but I won’t have you overworking him. His rest is important too.”

Good naturedly Jonghyun proposed, “Why don’t you come down to the station with Taemin next time? See what we do. Help out a little. We’ll spend some time together.”

Suddenly all the bravado and strength that Minho knew Kibum had worked up in himself leaked out in one felled swoop, and he watched his best friend flounder for the right words. “I … we ….”

“He’ll be there,” Minho interrupted, taking the initiative. “Right, Kibum?”

Kibum nodded a little numbly and Minho bit back a laugh. This was progress. He didn’t want to spoil it.

“I guess,” Jinki said, as Minho insisted Kibum walk Jonghyun out to his car, “I should be heading out. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You saved me, and then you took care of me afterwards and introduced me to all these amazing people. I’m indebted.” He bowed deeply, bangs falling into his line of sight.

Minho felt a panic climbing up his chest and into his throat. He couldn’t talk, but he couldn’t just let Jinki leave. It had taken Minho so long to find him in the first place. What would happen if he just let him go?

“Let me at least walk you home!” Minho blurt out, too loud and too forcefully.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Jinki put his hands out in front of him in a distinctly defensive motion and Minho felt like he’d ruined everything. “Thank you again.”

Minho watched as Jinki dashed out the door, past a returning Kibum who had a strange blush to his face.

“Where’s he going so quickly?” Kibum asked a little breathlessly.

“Away,” Minho said, swallowing hard.

“Key!” Taemin shouted from upstairs. “I’m hungry!”

Kibum asked Minho, “Think you can get some food this time without picking up a pretty boy?”

Jinki wasn’t just pretty. To Minho, Jinki was perfect.

“You know,” Minho told him, reaching for one of the take-out menus he kept nearby, “I’m not very hungry. You should just ordered something for you and Taemin from nearby.”

He would not feel sorry for himself. He would not mourn the loss of someone he’d never really had. He would not. He was not that pathetic.

No. He was just lonely.

Against all odds, Kibum let the Jinki situation go until the following morning. It wasn’t until they were eating and Taemin was asking for seconds on his rice that Kibum said, “You know, if you just said the word I could have Onew’s address and phone number on your desk before Taemin finishes eating us out of house and home.”

Through a mouthful of rice, Taemin added, “I like Onew! He’s really nice!”

Calmly, and carefully, as if he hadn’t spent the entire night thinking about how Jinki made his heart race, he asked, “Why would I want that?”

Taemin jabbed his chopsticks at Minho. “Because you like him. I could tell. Key could tell too.”

“I could tell,” Kibum added a bit childishly. Then he sobered and said, “But really, you know it wouldn’t take long to get that. We know enough about him to find it out easily.”

“Maybe I don’t want it,” Minho said, harshly attacking the egg in front of him, popping the yoke and watching it spill onto his rice. “Jinki is a nice kid and all, and he was really thankful, but he obviously wanted it to end where it did.”

“Because he told you that,” Kibum asked coyly. “I doubt he did. Also, Onew is older than you are by a couple of years. He just doesn’t look it.”

Minho blinked sharply at that. “Really?” Maybe it was the youthful and childish essence he gave off that masked his age.

Wait …

Minho’s gaze narrowed so furiously that Taemin set his bowl down and leaned away.

“How do you know that he’s older than I am.”

“Because,” Kibum eased out.

“Because?”

Taemin climbed to his feet, taking few side dish bowls with him. “I’m just going to go eat this in another room. And finish the last of my homework before school. Try not to kill each other.”

Before Taemin could even escape into Kibum’s room, Minho was barking out, “Tell me you didn’t!”

“I thought you’d want it! I didn’t think you’d be stubborn like this!”

“The both of us were almost killed yesterday. There’s nothing romantic about that. So what makes you think I’d want to pursue a relationship with someone who I had that kind of experience with? He was shaken up yesterday, and nothing he did gave the impression that he was interested in me. And he shouldn’t have been. Who thinks about romance when they almost die? This isn’t some bad romance novel for teenagers. So I don’t appreciate you digging into his information like he’s one of our targets and hoping that I’ll be desperate enough to--”

“That’s not why!” Kibum interrupted, banging his hand down on the table. He took a deep breath. “Contrary to your very asinine belief, my main goal in life is not to get you laid. Yes, I do think you’d be a nicer person if you got to wake up next to someone who wasn’t Taemin drooling on your arm, but I care about you being happy, and that’s it!”

Minho clenched his fists in his lap, willing himself to just breathe for a few seconds.

“Then tell me why.”

He couldn’t just show up on Jinki’s doorstep. He couldn’t use their trauma as a way to get a foot in the door. He wasn’t that kind of guy. If Jinki had felt anything close to the way Minho did, he wouldn’t have left as quickly as he had. There was no mistaking what had happened.

“Because,” Kibum tried again, “while you were busy gazing at Onew like he was the last bar of chocolate in Seoul, I was really looking at him. I was looking at him look at you the way that I look at Jonghyun. When I’m not busy being a jellyfish, of course.”

Minho felt terrible. Not jut for misunderstanding, but for making Kibum admit how much Jonghyun meant to him. He shouldn’t have had to push his friend into that. It was different when they were joking. This wasn’t the same.

“Maybe you think you saw--”

“I know what I saw.”

“Then why did he leave so suddenly?”

When Kibum failed to answer as quickly as normal, Minho knew his question had been answered.

“Key, Minho.” Taemon’s head popped out from behind the bedroom door and said, “There’s a big delivery truck outside. Is that for us?”

Minho rose from his knees to glance out the nearest window. There was certainly a catering truck parked out front of their home.

“Onew?” Kibum asked, almost hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Minho said, but he planned to find out.

It wasn’t Jinki. Instead it was a tiny, peppy girl with a mountain of dark brown hair piled up on her head who gave Minho a long, knowing look before ordering several men to start bringing in cases and cases of food.

“What’s this?” Minho asked,

The girl tapped her foot on the ground, urging the delivery faster, then peered once more at Minho and inquired, “You’re the one who saved Onew yesterday, right?”

Wordlessly Minho nodded. “Who are you?”

Her hands framed her hips. “I work with Onew. My name is Raina. Just so you know, a lot of people love Onew. To a lot of people, more than you would think, he’s their most important person. So you saving him was … well … this is how we know to say thank you.” She reached out for Minho’s hand and slapped a small, square piece of paper in it.

“Is this all ours?” Taemin demanded gleefully.

The pixie looking girl leveled a heavy finger up at Minho. “He thinks you’re cute. Don’t mess this up. Or you’ll find out how easy it is for someone to slip a laxative into your food.” She heel and marched out.

“Who was that?” Kibum asked, coming to stand at Minho’s side.

“I have no idea,” Minho said, looking down at the piece of paper in his hand.

Kibum snatched the paper from Minho and laughed, supposing, “I guess I didn’t need to look that information up.”

“No,” Minho agreed, taking the paper with the phone number back almost reverently, his fingers shaking, “I guess you didn’t.”

“Cake!”

A look of horror on his face, Kibum spun around. “No! Taemin! Get away from that sugar!” He dashed off towards Taemin and the biggest box of delectable treats.

Pocketing the number, and with a serious case of the giggles lodged securely in his chest, Minho took off after the two people he considered brothers. For that moment, even if it only lasted a short while, life was perfect.