AN | I'm sorry it's taken me a bit longer than planned for this update, but I needed to spread out my time online, and I didn't want to give you guys a half-assed written chapter. And this chapter's a bit lengthy anyway. Some of you are spot on with some things, but I couldn't reveal anything. So, sorry if it seemed like I mislead you in my replies. I promise, I have the necessary key points for the story and I shall unveil them as best as I can.

* I haven't disclosed the period of time which these neighbours have been dating. I didn't know myself, tbh. What was the right amount of time? How short is too short or how long is too long for someone to date, with or without the circumstances? I don't know which time of the year the prequel is set in either (it felt December-y...?) but I can tell you that this sequel is set in Autumn—current time maybe, then.

 Also, with this update I introduce the mini chapter cover, which I may continue to create and use in the following installments (actually, I'd created a cover for the prequel once, but I don't know where it is anymore....did I delete it?)

# W e d n e s d a y

Retrospection is reflecting on the past to compare with the present, and possibly weigh the possibilities for the future. It's thorough analysis on an internal collection of happened events, driven by emotions, at times, and perceived by someone.

Commonly, someone takes a step back to assess their whereabouts, what they've done to get there, and what they're doing right then and there as they think about...well, everything. How do you measure yourself—your growth, how far you've come—if you don't stop and take a look around once in a while?

It's...sort of how life passes you by.

It's letting it go while you waste away on your couch for about a week, at your lowest. It's also looking at an old picture inside a new frame. A bond from long ago blossoming. Proclaiming the familiar to the new and with newer meaning.
 

Something that's absorbed and understood clearly when looking back is clearer to Choi Minho when he looks forward to the present, where he can also see the sort of future seemingly painting itself.

What presents a lot of clarity, actually, would be Taemin. Walking through the city and between stores with him now, hands entwined, so casual and warm, Minho finds it funny reminding himself he wouldn't have been able to pull his hand away fast enough not long ago. Now there's no such desire; In fact, he's securing the hold.

Their holding hands and mutual tolerance or desire of each other's presence expresses how their relationship has developed—Minho's prior preference on being the distance of an apartment away from Taemin has become regular frequents to said neighbor's place, and visa versa, after long days of work or back-to-back classes.

In the week which Minho was heartbroken and submerging in to mild depression, he thought his chances of being pulled out from the darkness and seeing the sun again were very low. Taemin entered and he gave more than a glimpse of the sun—he radiated, embraced the darkness and pushed it back.

 And for that, there will always be gratitude in Minho's side of the relationship.

Along the many stores they pass, each marketing their own bargains and latest arrived goods, a pet store catches Taemin's attention.  Specifically, the white feathered creature ruffling it's body up as if flustered against the window.

It's like the workings of love-at-first-sight as Taemin rushes over to the window and presses himself to it as much as he can, excited breath fogging up the pane but lit-up eyes able to see it still clearly; the creature is, naturally, bewildered by this uncommon human interaction—more so, by Taemin himself. Immediately, he proposes the two of them adopt it.

Minho lifts a brow, skeptic. Besides their not living together in the same apartment being a hindrance on their ability to share custody of a single thing, he says the obvious. "Chickens don't make good pets, Taemin."

Taemin only beams at him with an assuring smile, "That's because they haven't been loved by me yet!"

Minho sighs a due sigh. As well as grattitude, for his boyfriend's antics like this there will also be worry and anxiety on his part of their relationship, too. It's neither good nor bad, but observation. In a cliche way of putting it in to an elaborative term, it's similar to riding a rollercoaster with many turns and unexpected twists, a constant thrill. "Why a chicken?" Minho doesn't mean to question the creature's species, but why it must be that species drawing in his boyfriend, of all available pets.

Taemin illogically counters, "Why not a chicken?"

"No, that's not what I mean—that's not an answer."

Taemin's hands go knuckle first to his sides, and on his face he presents the look of a challenged scholar, "I don't really believe you can assign explanative answers to important things."

The surprise of hearing Taemin use bigger words than usual and so casually aside, words so casually aside, Minho's confused for the other reason of his boyfriend trying so hard to fuse a deep theory of his with the senseless tactic to own an eccentric pet. "Uh—you can," Minho tells in a tone of a knowledgeable Professor effortlessly putting a scholar's inane perception of a simplicity to rest, "And I'm sure anyone at my university will agree with me."

Frustration dives into Taemin's heart, so he stands up and stomps his foot down on to the pavement; his face reddens a bit. A fallen leaf, curled and crisp and golden, twirls by and follows along the curb. "Minho, we simply must get a chicken!" he snaps. "We just have to!"

"No." says Minho, short and final—parental.

In result, because these antics usually have him succumb to whatever the perpetrator desires, said person isn't sure how to deal with this rejection. His boyfriend is saying no! So Taemin stomps his foot again and pulls a sulky pout then whips his head to face another direction, crossing his arms and giving a short huff. This can go on for as long as  Taemin pleases if either one of two things does not happen next: his boyfriend changes his mind and they adopt a chicken, or his boyfriend steers his focus elsewhere—the challenge of distracting a....well, someone with childish tendencies.

That someone, however, is the guy he's lived across the hall from for some time now. The same guy who opened up his heart and his past to help mend a broken one, and is now someone special.

Minho doesn't think it's arrogance, but because he's gotten to know Taemin better, he believes he should know what to do now. Not sparing a moment to sigh, Minho reaches for one of the hands gloved in a soft, ruby red mitten. The sudden move startles Taemin in to a small jump, flustering him and turning his face a shade matching his now unruled hair; the once blond locks now represent the current season, dyed brown with specks of soft red. Taemin's lashes flutter in surprise as he looks up to his boyfriend, whose unfamiliar action scars a blush across his nose that his otherwise noncholant expressionis trying to mask. He's obviously overwhelmed by his own abrasiveness to hold someone—a guy's hand. He did everything to push it aside so he could make someone happy, and now that he's instigated this affectionate hold, he's removed the sulky expression, and very much flutter the heart of the flattered Taemin. While Taemin's staring, lost for words, Minho's urge to look away is growing, keeping his eyes hopping between his boyfriend and away at across the road. He can feel the strength of his hold on the gloved hand slipping...

Taemin puts strength into his own hand and secures the hold himself, showing he's not upset anymore, and he doesn't want this intimacy to go anywhere. He smiles up at Minho with assurance and pleasure, teeth coming out against glossed lips; he's smiling bright as if he's the sun in the sky coming out from a flock of clouds to put a shine on everything as they merrily continue their shopping date, walking in sync beside each other up the street.
 

The antics resurface in the next three and final stores they hit. Harmless and ordinary on the outside, its apparanet vibe which encourages Taemin's wild side isn't seen coming. It's not an impossible feat, though; the university student has become aware now that when in his boyfriend's company, simplicity becomes stretched or dizzily complex, so he's left exhausted many times as a consequen.
 

His childish rampages around the stores are short lived, but memorable.

Firstly in the music store, aisle-surfing through rows of classic albums, their time periods expressed in frail cardboard edges or worn off ink, concludes with Taemin gasping loudly, then ripping out a particular CD case and hlding it up to the celing, light gleaming over the face of the artist on the cover as screams elicit, volume to a minumin but still ear-rattling; even the blonde salesclerk at the desk looks over at them, and she's got headphones on. Taemin's hopping on his feet as he marvels at the wondrous presence of the "spanish king of pop" in his hands. Squinting at his boyfriend fondling the CD case, Minho inquires about what makes Enrique Iglesias so special; he should've forseen the exaggerated answer he gets, Taemin taking pleasure in explaining it, as if the artist were the laws of physics or the theory of the universe summed up.

"He's a hot romancer!" passionately says Taemin. "I'm sure women drop their pants for him faster than he hits notes!" he teasingly grins, adding on, "Ahhh, but I'm a taken guy. So don't worry, Minho."
 

"I wasn't worried!" Minho snaps.

Secondly in a computer store, with all the top brands and latest models out on display at the front and back of the store and along seemingly endless aisles, Taemin wonders about buying one of the products for himself; "This way," he defends his case, "We can skype and e-mail regularly, so we won't have to miss each other! And I promise, I'll make the video-chats really fun." he emphasizes the last word so strongly he may as well have out-right said the word "", if that's what he's implying (though his boyfriend would've been less lenient allowing him to speak like this in public).

There are two things that are wrong about this, the first and obvious being, Minho reminds, of how they live only across the hall from each other. And then, secondly, there's the issue of the mishap that undoubtedly ensues when this neighbour is anywhere by electical devices and appliances. Taemin strongly detests to being "strange with technology" when it's brought up.
 

Minho had forseen the denial, so he'd already equipped himself with a justifiable argument, "Is that so? Then what happened to your phone? Why'd it stop working?" he knows why, truthfully. The construction of a paper-boat hoped to fulfil it's purpose of staying afloat on bath water while carrying the device had just as expectedly sunk; and thus did the phone, descending quick and deep, the vocals of the song playing from it gurgling into a distorted farewell.
 

Taemin still, even now, is adamant on denying, crossing his arms and turning his head the other way a bit, "It didn't float, but..I-I swear, it was full proof in the beginning!"

"It was paper."

"And it was very cute!"

Seeing no new or clear direction through this, Minho then brings up the time he'd been a witness to this truth he's using more energy than necessary to prove: on their first date, Taemin blew up his microwave. Naturally, Taemin's persistence has him pushing the facts and the blame in opposite directions, only admitting to letting his mind wander off the popcorn but only because, by no fault of his own, of the level of hotness his company had brought that night.

No matter what, the university student Choi Minho feels like he won't be able to rest when he's boyfriend's within the same vicinty as anything that requires electricity.
 

Minho is caught off-guard by the third and last sore they hit. As they approach it's front, he looks up at it, and the big and bold name of it on top and hanging over flicks a switch of familiarity on in his head, and yet, so it does also render him further quizzical, a little clueless, too. It's true he doesn't know every single thing there is to know about Taemin Lee, so much is left to be discovered—all the surprises and and tricky twists await him. What if this is one of them? Beginning to think positively, for a change, about his present relationship, he wonders if this Sports store can be something normal, finally, for the two of them to bond over. He hasn't been as in to sports updates since starting university, but he catches headlines and minor details now and again. This way, if they do get round to discussing sports related performances and highlights, he can be a little more in the circle; the last good talk on sports he can remember is the time Seohyun had a lot to say about her favourite Hockey team, then some about the soccer team they mutually possess passionate feelings over.


The innocence in Taemin's casual expression gives no indication whatsoever to the way he bursts his boyfriend's hopeful bubble in one breath, "I don't play any sports," he slightly tilts his head to a side, as if it were obvious. If befuddling and mentally challenging his partner were a sport, though, maybe, he'd surely forever hold the winning streak as champion. "There's just something in here that I need." he says and heads inside the store.
 

Minho follows after him, because he has to see where this is going. Why someone with no interest in a store's subject of selling is heading inside for something needed. Soon he figures it out. That doesn't entitle the discovery to make sense—at least logically, but it does so in how Taemin's involved, approaching the front counter quite contently, a bright and circular, heavy weighing object in shaking under his finger-tips and a supportive hand below.

While assessing it all with a long stare, the cogs in the university student's brain turn and connect the dots. If he asks about this then there'll only be some more denial. Even if he doesn't inquire, memory serves that the bowling ball situated with his neighbour has a unique, alternate purpose.
"...You know..." he starts and suspiciously side-glances to his boyfriend, his eyes "innocently" blinking back at him.

"Y-Yes?" he's already said that he doesn't play any sports, and bowling is one. So he can't honestly deny, now, with a straight face that they both know what he intends to use it for instead. But he tries, with a smile.

"No, Taemin." All the times his heart has felt lodged in his throat, sinking in his stomach, it's been from disturbances sounding like an injured boyfriend. And every time he rushed to help and threw open his door, there wasn't any blood or broken bones or bruising skin. It was all a ruse, the culprit nothing insaner than a sugar-loaded guy with a spare bowling ball at his disposal.

Surprisingly, Taemin does still insist on spinning differently a track the university student is now so familiar with, saying "It's to bowl with!" and getting a "Like hell it is!" in return.

* * *

They return and settle nicely in the apartment of the university student for the early afternoon, as they always do now on this day of the week. With the appropriate lunch hour gone—not that he's really cared before, but he doesn't want to get in to another squabble over the importance of the "five" daily meals: breakfast, snack, lunch, dinner, dessert, snack, according to Taemin—Minho makes himself a bowl of cereal. He doesn't have any classes toda, or tomorrow morning. Usually, around this time of his free period, he'll either be fine-tuning assignments, surfing the net, idly watching television for the latest news headline or an episode of a drama/horror series he incidentally caught too much of on a continuous cycle in the week of being heartbroken. For some people, those circumstances would put them off the show. But for Minho, besides the neigbour across the hall, it was one of the very few things able to side-track his mind from the previous girlfriend. Halfway done with his cereal and halfway through considering loading the series up on netflix, a flicker of white scurries past in the corner of his eye, and sharp taps to the wooden floor come after. 

Taemin, then, also is hurrying past, heightening the suspicions of what is currently going on in apartment 110.

"Taemin," Minho leans out in his chair at the small table in his kitchen and calls, inspecting what he can of the scene. "What was that?" if he couldn't ask, he wouldn't. But letting the mishap he can feel approaching like a sixth sense unveil, and in his apartment, won't be the best decision. In the event of the authorities becoming involved, he might be made out to be an accomplice; he can hardly finish assignments and stay updated on his favourite sports team from in prison.
 

"N-Nothing! I'm fine! " he hears Taemin shout over sounds of scuffling and strugling, and his strained groans as if holding something heavy and stubborn in place. "D-Don't—ah!—mind me here. Just—ouch! Just sit and relax!" 
 

BA-BOK!
 

"Is that a—"
 

"Plushie!" Taemin rushes to interrupt, chuckling awkwardly later. He's no better a liar than the unversity student watching his every move right now is naive. If only—"It's a plushie...that...ssssounds so life-like! Yeah! Cool, huh—Ughya!" he gasps as he's suddenlly pulled forward then falling from behind a wall, his arms flying out to cushion against the wooden flooring; scurring past him, white and fluffy-feathered and out of place in the apartment, is the same thing he university student had caught sight of—no, it's the chicken from the pet store.

Minho's grip on his spoon loosens until it's let go and splashes in to his bowl. Eyes wide, mind numbing, he's speechless for the time being.
Taemin pushes himself up on his elbows, clothes and hair unkempt. He blows up at the fringe, then he frantically waves a hand at the chicken, trying to usher it away from pecking at his boyfriend's couch. Wings flutter at his hand and soon the chicken is scurrying again, going in and out of places in the apartment, making itself known with more boking.

"Minho," Taemin says, merrily, and a little out of breath, "Meet Jacob White!"
 

* * *

"Did you really have to send Jacob White back?" a heartbroken Taemin asks over the curry dinner he's cooked forthe two of them tonight.


"Chickens don't belong in apartments, Taemin. It'd feel caged." says Minho before he blows over a forkful of steaming food.


Across the table, Taemin frowns, "I miss him."

"I know you do. Try not to think about him not being here anymore. Someone nice will come and take him home. I promise."

"