Taemin isn’t really subtle when it comes to telling people who he likes.

He’s the kind of boy who tells everybody that he considers a close friend, not just best friends aka you, Jinki, Jonghyun, Kibum, and Minho, and then word spreads and everybody knows who the lucky girl is by this point.

He likes to describe her with the biggest grin on his face, his hands waving and drawing the imaginary lines of this girl’s S-line figure, or his fingers drawing circles in the air to describe how big her eyes are. She’s the thing that takes up most of his brain and heart and makes him happy when he’s sad.

Not even you for could make him happy without not mentioning this noona.

Right now, you’re sitting at a café and listening to him animatedly describe his five-second moment with her yesterday and slowly tuning out because it hurts. Nobody knows your burdened feelings or the fact that the pain is excruciating. Anything anybody tries to say to make you feel better is futility. But you’re great at acting, hence your acting career, and can smile without being questioned about the fakeness of it and if you’re hiding something behind those two rows of pearly whites.

Your ears catch onto the sound of a camera taking a picture and you sigh. You’re not that famous, really. You’ve only showed up in a few music videos and as some minor characters in dramas, but it’s nothing compared to the fame for Lee Minho or Park Shinhye. You go back to smiling and nodding at Taemin’s bubbly personality and disregard the fact that it’s taken him ten minutes to re-enact a five-second time frame.

As you sip on your coffee, it hits you hard that you can’t do this.

You slightly choke on the scalding liquid and succeed at making it seem casual like there’s not enough cream and sugar in the caffeinated drink to Taemin. He pauses to let you get over your coughing fit and continues his story when you’ve calmed down a bit.

You’ve dealt with your feelings for god-knows-how-long and never stepped up to come in terms with it. Your heart always likes to run away from these kinds of things and never confront it.

Maybe you should leave and move on, go take that offer in a movie out in Japan and come back two years later. That’s how long it will take to film and produce and when you step foot in Korea again, maybe he’ll have that noona in his arms, both happy and married to each other.

Just the thought makes your head reel and you realize that this is wrong and slight debauchery on your side because you’re being selfish. You want Taemin to yourself; you want Taemin to talk about you like the way he talks about her; you want Taemin’s fingers threaded with yours forever until you grow old.

“I need to go,” you unexpectedly interrupt. Before you can place your own bills down, Taemin already has his neat, crisp, crease-straight-down-the-middle bills in the center and you scowl before snatching them and placing your own, his money going into his jacket pocket.

“Do you have to?” He pouts and shrugs on his jacket. You smile and ruffle his hair before giving him a long hug. He chuckles and hugs you back and senses your tightening hold on him. His smile dies. Something’s wrong.

“I’ve got a meeting to catch,” you mumble into his chest and inconspicuously take in a breath of his cologne. It’s Abercrombie’s, the one you bought him when you went to the States for vacation.

“Actresses meet?” He jokes, his arms comfortable around your shoulders.

You smack his back. “Shut up.”

The both of you release each other’s hold on one another and you reach up to hold his face in one hand.

“You know how I always say see you later?” You ask.

He nods, the confusion slowly crawling onto his face.

“Bye,” you breathe and exit the doors of the café.

You’re already on the bus when you see Taemin running along the side of the windows and frantically looking for your silhouette through the tinted glass. His phone is up to his ear and you ignore the vibration of your phone in your hand. You can’t reject him or else he’ll know you’re hanging up on purpose, but then again, you not answering is conveying the same thought.

The bus lurches forward and into the streets of Seoul and Taemin’s figure soon becomes one of the many in the crowds. But you’ll never forget that look on his face.

You unlock your phone and type in some numbers.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is _______ _______. I’m accepting that offer you gave me. I’ll be in Japan as soon as I can today.”

“That’s great to hear! Call me when you’ve booked your ticket and give me the details and I’ll have someone pick you up at the airport, okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

A quick packing, a ticket bought on your phone, a tearful “see you later” to your roommate.

You wish you hadn’t known Taemin likes somebody else.

But now you can go spend two years forgetting and being oblivious as much as you can to your pain.