Corcovado (1/2)

>never floated off to find some real escapeNew York is gorgeous. There’s something magical about every street corner, though it’s nearly always too cold or too gray, in some cases too dirty and too smelly. Yet you’ve grown so fond of every borough, of sitting on the subway in the mornings and on late nights. Arguably, what you love the most about New York City is taking walks around the parks, especially around West Village where you always seem to find your way around despite knowing very little of the area.

You love New York City. And you need to leave.The wanderlust has been kicking at your insides for months. It’s been three years and you need to leave. Funnily enough, you felt the exact same thing three years ago, when a letter with a promise for a great degree and so much opportunity knocked on your door. It only took you two days to make the call, and six weeks later you were gone.

It’s not like you don’t care for the friends you’ve made here, some of which are all staying here for one more year, and it’s not like you’re not grateful for every job you’ve worked here, every internship, every party and every hangover and every one night stand and every walk of shame.

It’s just time.

Commencement is hell, but it passes by you in a flash. Your dress is flawless, you made it yourself with friends who were studying fashion design at a prestigious nearby university, and your hair looks right up to par, longer and in its natural colour because you tired of hydrogen peroxide a long time ago. Your scalp is grateful for it, to say the least. Your makeup is no less awesome, as you’ve picked up a thing or two while here.

You sit in the commencement hall for five hours, your mind racing because you’re thinking about where you’ll go next, what waits for you there. Should you go to Korea? Or should you just book it and go to Europe? Start a trip from Russia and somehow make it to Turkey, swim the Bosporus Strait and hike to Portugal, hop on a plane to South America?

In three years, you’ve seen a whole new world. Fourteen countries and counting and there’s no stopping you when you get that itch. Your friends hate you for it but you’re so grateful. You’re happy to have memories of having seen so many sights and people, to have known so many scents, to have walked so many different grounds, having felt so many soils under your feet. But the truth has settled in your mind and you can’t shake it anymore. You’ve learned everything you can, and you hate to linger.

Moments before they start calling your major, you get an email that tells you why there’s been an unsettling anxiety picking at the back of your brain, at the base of your spine and the tips of your fingers.

Someone you haven’t spoken to in years can’t take an amazing gig (or, should you say an amazingly paid gig, because the job itself doesn’t have great rap), and she’s recommending you to do it. You’ve gained good ground in Korea, having worked the three major networks for a TV show each in the summers you spent there. The email is an invitation, and your fingers are moving to respond before you finish reading the whole message.

Your name is called just as you confirm purchase of a one-way ticket to Incheon.You landed two hours ago and the chaos has already started.

The main producer has called you eleven times since the plane touched down, and when you do pick up, she yells about about whether you think that having studied abroad makes you any more special. She adds, quite aggressively, that you’re the youngest of the PDs and that you should be grateful they hired you as the head of the show’s first unit. There’s a meeting that you can barely make it in time to where she declares she’ll share the details of your title, and the sigh that leaves your mouth as you cart your bags out of baggage claim feels like it has an entire world in it.

A sigh of equal exasperation leaves your lips when you see that arrivals is fucking swarmed with women of all ages and photographers with cameras as long as your arms and you think you may just turn around and get a ticket back to the States.

Until you read one of the myriad signs the squealing girls are holding up.

Man, you’ve only been here forty minutes and he’s already everywhere. You turn around only out of reflex, and surely enough, there he is. There they all are, in fact, and you want to cry because he looks really, really good. There’s a stinging pain in your chest that reminds you of the times that you would think about him in America. It happened whenever you found yourself without a lighter, whenever you heard the flick of a Zippo, when you got really drunk or any other kind of intoxicated and let your brain drift for too long…

But you decide to book it. You run as fast as your boots can get you, and you almost cry when you spot a single empty cab waiting for you at the taxi stand.

When you get to MBC, the meeting is five minutes in. Luckily enough, the main PD is not only screaming about you being late, but also about the lead talent being late, so you take the opportunity to look over the gigantic file she slams on the table when you sit down and start to leaf through the pages.

This show is unscripted… but they seem to have every episode planned out in detail, and there are even suggested dialogue lines. This is not really what you expected out of a reality show…

And then you spot the names of the leading couple.

Your forehead lands on top of all of the papers and you really thought it wouldn’t hurt, but suddenly your heart is starting to ache and your bloodstream feels like it’s ¼ blood and ¾ anxiety and just why? Why you, of all people?

“Sorry I’m late! Hello, Kang PD,” you don’t look up and you don’t know this voice but you know this name and it feels like karma is coming to bite you in the ass. You’ve avoided this for so long and so well, does this have to happen now?

“Ah, Taemin-ssi! Welcome, please take a seat. We’re just getting started. This is going to be the head PD for your unit,” your elder points at you but you haven’t raised your head, and you have no intention to until she mutters that you should say your greetings and you groan.

So you stand up and meet his doe eyes and something in the base of your throat really hurts, but you give him a small bow.

“Hi, there. Let’s work hard.” Throw in a smile too wide to be real and a thumbs up before looking away and back to the ‘script’. You wish you’d stayed in school an extra year. Maybe it would’ve better prepared you for this.Turns out, doing this show is more fun than you thought. It’s the sixth week of shooting and people are finally starting to treat you like a PD and not a rookie because the other units conveniently forget your title but never your age.

But Taemin makes it okay.

“Good morning~”

His voice makes you smile and it’s real, it’s the realest thing about this entire production and you’re so grateful. So you look over your shoulder and throw him some red bean bread, which he catches expertly and squeals at because it’s still warm.

He knew what he was signing up for when he got the call. This year has been anything but quiet; with two albums released in one year, it’s only fitting networks try to milk as much of their success as possible. He’d submitted his profile to this terrible show eons ago, mainly as a joke and because he thought it’d be fun.

Turns out it’s only fun when the cameras are off, mostly because of his unit staff.

“I can’t believe they put me in charge of you,” you say as he takes a seat opposite you, and Taemin grins. You have a feeling they’re going to fire you any second now, because you never give Taemin the ‘suggested’ scripts the writers give you, and you never make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. Which means you get shit from the staff at least once every two hours, but you don’t care. You’d actually benefit from them firing you; the staff from Sketchbook at KBS are dying for a fresh set of hands and you already interned there a summer ago. You know they’d take you in a heartbeat.

But you’d hate to abandon Taemin here, where everyone and their mother is trying to make him act like someone he’s not. So you persevere. Most of the time you try to make it fun and it’s mildly enjoyable, but there are times where you can’t trample the voice of authority.

Otherwise you’re happy to know Taemin. He’s the only person who feels like a friend and treats you like one, too, despite the fact that he’s a rampant celebrity and you’re just some nobody from New York. You’re happy to be hanging out with people your own age again, too.

So in order to repay him, you fight every decision made on the show regarding content. You let Taemin do as he pleases. When the big bosses ask him to do something, he does excellent work of performing brilliantly and insolently, and you couldn’t be more proud. Taemin’s only ever onboard to do actually fun things, which often lands him in a lot of trouble.

Although half of the staff is cursing at him under their breaths because he tends to take the words ‘shake things up’ into his own hands, you personally find it hilarious when he gets up to one of his tricks and actually succeeds. Even 2nd unit has to laugh a little bit even though Naeun is kind of crying about how he coerced her into breaking a clay mold they’d been holding hands for twenty minutes for.

Son Naeun is really the sweetest thing, though you feel like you should know her better, and you would if 2nd unit and her managers weren’t so adamant about keeping her away from Taemin even when there aren’t any cameras on. Taemin feels kind of bad, and even you feel a bit heartbroken when he confesses that it’s probably because SHINee fans have had a lot of colourful things to say about her since they started to film the show. That, and tabloids are crawling into any and every corner of Seoul, circling the young celebrities like vultures looking for skeletons to dig up and print (or upload) in big, bolded letters.

“I think they should be more worried about you,” he quips when you bring up said tabloids, who’d shown up at the site you’d just left. And you smile, because he has a point; you’re both much closer than anyone in the crew expected you to be.

You owe it to the narrow gap in age and your general low levels of give-a-fuckness.

The fact that you sneak in white wine whenever possible and share it with him after the rest of the unit are gone might also be a part of it. Never having told him about your previous encounters with SHINee or any other idols helps, too, because Taemin thinks of you as a total outsider and it’s comforting to him.

You’re anonymous under the PD title, almost untouchable, and Taemin is surprisingly grateful for that. He’s not super glad, however, to get called a son of a bitch by the 2nd unit PDs, and he only finds out because you tell him. You’d walked past the soundstage while they were recording Naeun’s interview segment, and it looks like she’s crying but you can’t really tell. The 2nd unit PD is too glad to jump at the opportunity to curse at Taemin, who’s as threatening as a stuffed animal, and you’re surprisingly upset. That day Taemin feels especially crappy, so after wrap, he lies down on the ‘bed’ of the newlywed house bedroom and sulks for at least an hour before you’re officially concerned.

So you come over with banana milk and some cookies. He opens one eye a fraction to scan what’s in your hands, and then he groans. “Why do you always bring banana milk? You should bring something manlier, like Red Bull or something.”

“Taemin, there’s no such thing as a ‘manly’ drink, just take this and tell me what’s wrong,” you lie beside him, though the bed can only fit one comfortably, and he smiles as he punches a straw into the milk bottle and takes a few gulps.

“I hate finding out about what people hate about me,” he confesses, and you can do little else but nod, because you understand. You have a more constructive approach to this kind of thing, but Taemin… Taemin doesn’t take well to words laced with poison, unless they leave his own mouth.

“If it helps,” you add, because you don’t like to make it look like you know anything about Taemin (though other people know much less, he’s just complicated like that), “there’s very little people can actually hate about you.”

He smiles because he knows that you’re genuine, and because your voice always reminds him of the sound of waves crashing on sandy shores in the summer, even when your attitude isn’t always as warm.

“You’re basically unhateable,” and you don’t only refer to him, everyone who’s friends with Taemin is really hard to hate. “So never mind them, just don’t bother with it. I’m sure you can work it out with Naeun if you talk to her before the next recording, right?”

You only ask because Taemin doesn’t like it when people assume things about him or about what he’s about to do. He’s always been really receptive to what you say and how you say it, and you’d hate to sound anything but supportive right now.

“I guess I should try and meet her outside of this shit show, shouldn’t I?”

He looks at you helplessly, like he really doesn’t know what to do, and now you think you understand why he’s considered the ‘nation’s maknae’. He’s so used to being babied, to being eased into things rather than being thrown into them.

“You know her at least a little more than I do,” you respond, and he makes some more space for you to lie more comfortably. It’s amazing how skinny Taemin is, so much so that you can actually lie on your back comfortably and he can lie on his side and there’s still space between you.

At least until Taemin swings a leg over both of yours.

“Why don’t they set up We Got Married with non-celebrities? You’d be great on-screen.”

“Gross. We’d kill each other.”

“But it’d be more fun.”

You make a face of mild disgust. Taemin’s toes tickle your calves, which makes your face contort further, to which he laughs.

“You’re also not my type,” you go on with pure honesty, and you see that Taemin can tell, so he smiles even wider. This is probably his favourite facet of you. The one that doesn’t even try to pretend, the one that is purely you and no one else; the one that he likes the most out of everyone he’s met in the TV industry, really.

“Nonsense. I’m everyone’s type.”

Taemin is… special. You didn’t really believe in platonic best friends until you met him, and it makes a lot of sense now. How people always see you together and assume that you’re in love with him and ask you the moment they can because he’s famous for being unbelievably pretty and you’re the main ulzzang of the WGM set. Taemin get teased by being told that ‘the ulzzang PD likes you, kid, isn’t that embarrassing?’, but he assures the staff that you’d really rather drown in quicksand than entertain a relationship with him.

There’s nothing either of you can say in terms of compatibility, but there’s no actual connection beyond a platonic one. In terms of attractiveness... Taemin has a thing where he can look at people with sensuous eyes and he can look... like a dude. It’s bizarre, because sometimes he catches you staring and you don’t look entirely enthralled, like other people do, you just look befuddled. He thinks it’s cute.

He just doesn’t know that it reminds you of someone else, someone you really would rather not think about in his vicinity. Because he’s already in every corner of your brain when you’re not working.

So you lie with Taemin and don’t say anything else. There’s no particular thing he wants to hear from you and you don’t really want to be with him in front of cameras, even if they’re off.

Which reminds you of something else completely.

You glance at the time on your phone before looking back at Taemin, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep. “How come your manager hasn’t come to sweep you away yet?”

Taemin purses his lips and it’s pitiful. Handling album promotions and filming this show is taking a piece right out of his soul; he can now navigate any broadcast station blindfolded, maybe even drunk.

“He should be here any minute. Let’s nap, though, I’m so tired,” and you watch as he drifts off, it takes less than five minutes. Taemin makes this weird noise sometimes, when he’s too tired to sleep like a celebrity. Somehow he’s come to trust you and trust that he can be himself because you’ll protect him.

Not that he’s ever told you outright, but he’s never really had to tell you anything. Sometimes you just know. And when you don’t, it’s fun to watch you scramble around for his thoughts. “You nap,” you insist, but you’re starting to really rest your head now, “I have work to do.”

You do have work to do, you’re supposed to be in the editing booth supervising, but you’re also so tired. Taemin’s schedule is completely fucked, and you’ve both been up for almost 2 days, with little naps thrown in here and there. It’s barely 1PM but you haven’t seen the light of day properly in ages. Not to mention you’ve had to battle the rest of the crew against trying to direct Taemin on how to act and what to say in the show. Not only because that’s your job, but because this is supposed to be unscripted.

You’re still ranting in your mind about it all when you feel your eyes flutter shut, and the words echoing inside your head become longer and thicker after a few minutes, until they dissolve into nothing, or everything, you’re not sure which.

Taemin doesn’t think you feel it at all when he gets up because one of the production assistants calls out to him, which can only mean his manager just pulled in to take him wherever he needs to be next.When you wake up, it’s been about thirty minutes. You rise with a start and look down at your wristwatch, and then you look around for your phone to discover that—

“I’m going to kill him,” you sigh, spotting two phones at your side because Taemin forgot his, again. It’s like the third time already. As if you had some sort of telepathic connection with him, said phone starts to ring, and the contact name reads ‘Jongman Hyung’.

You pick up expecting to hear a flat, slightly demanding voice asking you to return the phone, but what you hear is something totally different.

“Do you love me?”

“No,” but you’re lying, you’re totally lying. “Where are you?”

Taemin laughs because he knows your heart and only asks in the off chance that you’ll actually say yes. “I’m about to go in to record a radio show. Can you bring it over after we’re done?”

“Taemin, I have to go get ready for a wedding later. Can I just drop it off at your dorms or something?” you’re heading out of the studio and to the parking lot but you’re thinking about it now, you know his schedule and he won’t be free until 2AM today. So you retract. “Nevermind. Where are you going to be in two hours?”

“Probably wrapping up pre-recordings for M!Countdown. Will you come?”

You sigh. “Yes, but you have to take me out for dinner wherever I want this weekend.”

“Deal.”

“It’s going to be far and expensive.”

“I’ll drive.”

Famous friends are great. Rich and famous friends, however, can't be beat.

The drive home is tedious but quick, for some reason the city is particularly loud today. The wedding you’re set to attend isn’t a huge deal, a Korean friend from uni is getting married and you can’t not show up. You also spent a few paychecks on the dress you’re wearing because Koreans don’t do casual weddings, and since you’re bound to run into a lot of former classmates, you obviously want to look your best.

The first thing you do when you get home is grab curlers from your vanity, and you try to get your hair nice and tied up before you step into the shower. The hot water is relaxing on your skin and you space out as the hot jets hit your back because it’d be really nice to just relax for at least one hour…

Maybe you should’ve gotten fucked up more often in college. If you had, maybe you’d be hungrier for more stress, more work. Sleep wasn’t something you valued much while you were studying, because everything about the urgency of preparing for the future had you going a thousand miles per second. But now things are moving particularly slowly, and you have no idea how to make them speed up.

After appropriate exfoliation and thorough clean up, there’s too much steam in the bathroom to really breathe. You’re out and in your bedroom minutes later, toothbrush hanging from your mouth as you head towards your closet.

Mnet is totally out of your way, but you can’t just send anyone to get Taemin’s phone to him, you really should go yourself. The best you can do now is head over and hope he won’t be done when you get there so you’ll be able to drop it off with a manager and get going.

Not that you ever had that kind of luck, but one can dream.

Setting your dress down atop your bed, you consider that this is perhaps the best outfit for you to accomplish the exploits roaming free in your head. Rami Kadi is a couture deity, and this little red number is almost as audacious as you are. It looks innocent at the front, a gorgeous and glimmering coral red. The neck line is horizontal, covering everything up to your collarbones. The back is a different story though, with a dangerously low cut that displays the nape of your neck all the way to the lowest bit of your lumbar region in the shape of a diamond.  Your shoes are arguably your favourite part, as they are the sharpest, most beautiful Louboutin pumps you have ever laid eyes on. These were actually a present from Taemin (that you picked out weeks in advance) for your birthday this year.

Rich and famous friends really can’t be beat.

Thinking on it a little harder, it’s kind of amazing how close you are to him. Even more spectacular is the fact that you’ve managed to never talk about Jinki, ever. You have told him about your time as a theatre critic apprentice, but you’d always leave names out, and Taemin’s never been one to ask too many questions when it comes to other celebrities. He still brings Jinki up sometimes, tells you about little things he does now and then, and he still hasn’t noticed how you turn red and tense up and change the subject as smoothly as possible. You suppose that it’s for the best… but it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?

Can anyone blame you for hiding, though? He was just a hookup, right? Just like those other ones you had in college that you wanted to forget about the next morning. Sometimes you managed it, you even forgot their names by the time you walked out their doors (or yours, in some cases)...

But Jinki’s persistent. Because you didn’t want to forget about him the next morning. Or ever, for that matter.

Your hands are shaking a little bit when you pat your dress down and walk over to your vanity to grab your makeup. Sighs are all that come out of your mouth as you ease primer and foundation onto your skin, and you’re biting your lips as you carefully slide bronzer up your cheekbones and under your jaw and up your temples. Eye shadow is always your favourite part but you can’t enjoy patting gold on your lids. Eyeliner is also usually fun, but you don’t pay a lot of mind to it, either.

Lips are never not fun, though, and your mood lightens as you smooth crimson red onto your mouth. Seconds later, you’re tugging off the curlers in your hair and the bouncy mess that falls to your shoulders is a great confidence boost, too.

You step into the Louboutins and hope to the heavens that there’s a bucketful of champagne waiting for you at that wedding reception. A spritz of Chanel and one more look at your clutch to confirm that you have your cards, phone and slim cigarettes handy and you’re out.

Against your better judgement, you call Taemin’s manager when you’re cruising into the CJ E&M Centre Studio parking lot. He picks up at the first ring and tells you that the boys are still recording and that you should just come by their dressing room, and that there’s a guest badge waiting for you at the reception in the main building lobby.

Beautiful. You thank the manager heavily and park in the guest spot nearest the entrance, and it’s almost too smooth how you get to the M!Countdown recording and broadcasting studios. In fact, you get around the dressing rooms just fine, not a camera in sight even though it’s usually crazy in here. The staff nod and only glance at your badge before going about their business, and you find a door with a large “SHINee” sign in minutes.

Careful fingers curl around the doorknob, and you push it open to find the room completely empty.

Perfect, you can just leave it anywhere and go, you’re late to the wedding ceremony and really have to leave, anyway.

The door opens just after you set the phone down, and one of the managers comes inside. Thankfully, you know him. It’s the same one who often brings Taemin over to MBC, and you exchange friendly smiles.

“I’m sorry about him, he’s always so forgetful,” the manager says politely, “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to come here.”

“Not at all! I was heading somewhere and this just happened to be on my way,” lies, but he’s too nice to be annoyed at.

“It looks like you’re going somewhere important,” you hate small talk and you want to leave before anyone else comes in but you still chuckle at the young man’s words, “are you off to a party or a wedding?”

“A wedding, actually,” another chortle, “and I’m pretty late so I should get going. It was nice to see you again and good luck at the awards show tonight!” You just remembered that the reason why Taemin isn’t getting off ‘till 2AM is because some major awards show is going on tonight.

You bow politely to the manager before turning on your heel towards the door, and you wonder if you should text Taemin a good luck message later, or if you’ll be home before the awards show ends so you can watch it. Music shows and award shows have never really been attractive to you, they look exhausting to film and even more exhausting to edit and they just make you dizzy sometimes—

There are no hands on that doorknob but it’s starting to twist, and you reflexively take a step back because the door is opening; there are voices coming from outside and you look up and you’ve never wanted the ground to swallow you whole more in your entire lifetime because the first thing your eyes are met with are the eyes of none other than Lee Jinki.

Because he is currently squashing you between the floor and the weight of his body (which you really don't mind). At least he’s frozen solid on the spot, hand on the floor beside your head to keep him slightly upright because it took him only a moment to recognise you.

“You-Your hair is long.”

His words are mighty delayed, his eyes darting between your own and your nose and your mouth and your hairline, but you don’t mind at all because his expression is kind of endearing. You’ve only ever been in the presence of a shy Jinki once before; you don’t even notice how the cold floors on your back give you goosebumps and it could be the glare of your dress on his pristinely made up face but his cheeks are stained red.

Taemin’s eyebrows furrow at the words of the eldest, and his face becomes even further confused when you let out the tiniest laugh.

“And yours is short.”

He also smells really nice. Like something fresh and woody and just a bit smoky, like a really early autumn morning.

No formalities are present in any of your words, and the four pairs of ears and eyes within earshot and eyesight are perplexed and a little amused. But you say no more as the pretty blond hoists himself back to his feet, and gives you a hand for you to hold and do the same. Before you can take it, though, Taemin’s grabbing at your shoulders to pull you up and he’s chuckling, apologising for the incident and calling it a classic case of ‘Onew sangtae’.

You take a few steps back after remembering yourself because you know that’s not what just happened, and you watch as the rest of the group, two managers and the entire styling team file into the room.Quite a crowd for the introduction you know is about to come out of Lee Taemin’s mouth.

“This is the PD from WGM that I’ve been talking about,” Taemin’s chest is puffed out and his head is held high as he shares your name and places his hand against your bare back and it’s really hot, which makes you extra uncomfortable, “she’s been suffering a lot with me.” He leans closer to you to ask where his phone is, and you finally rip your eyes from the sharp-eyed blond to point at Taemin’s phone on the table behind you.

You bow twice, it’s awkward both times and Taemin makes an offhand comment about shooting a few episodes with Minho, Key and Jonghyun in a few weeks. It’s actually on your schedule, so your work smile slips right on and you look at the other boys in the eyes before bowing again. “Looking forward to working with all of you! I’ll be, uh, going on now,” and you turn around to shoot narrowed eyes at Taemin, “please stop leaving your phone lying around.”

But Taemin pouts and you laugh and he winks, and the group files further into the room to make way for you to leave. You’re holding your breath as you bow one last time and walk out of the room; your lungs don’t get a sliver of air even when you’re out in the hall and nearly in the clear—

But if your irregular heart rate and inability to breathe properly are any indication, it doesn't feel like you're in the clear.

When you feel a hand at your elbow, you don’t flinch. You don’t even blink, and turn on your heel eerily slowly because you fear the head of blond you feel behind you but it’s not— it’s not Jinki.

Despite the fact that Taemin has told you about his ‘tiny’ Jonghyun hyung a thousand times, you find him to be just slightly below average height. Somehow, he still seems big, wide, though that can mostly be credited to his shoulders and the whole aura of him. He’s holding out your clutch when your eyes follow the path of his face, down his neck to his arms.

You don’t really care about how fit a guy is, but you think he should be on ads for fitness centres all over the globe.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, holding your hand out timidly to take back your clutch. The older boy laughs and it startles you a little.

“Taemin’s clumsiness must be rubbing off on you. Be careful,” his voice matches and doesn’t match him, it’s throaty and a little hoarse and deep and shallow at once and you open your mouth to answer but nothing comes out.

In the end, you can’t help but laugh. “I will, sorry about that.”

“You’re cuter than I expected. Taemin has told us a lot about you,” you look over his shoulder only for a moment, and you see the blur of yellowish blond that you know and fear and your gears are set on leaving again. You force out another chortle and look back to the man, only a few inches taller than you with these heels on.

“Uh, thank you. Then, I’ll leave you to keep working. Good luck today!” You bow and you sound relaxed but you’re not, and you look over Jonghyun’s shoulder again to find Jinki coming out of the room and turning in your direction. You don’t wait for an answer from the slimmer blond, instead turning on your heel and sprinting back to the guest parking lot.

Jonghyun is still smiling even though he thinks your leaving like that was a little rude. You’re really cute.

When you’re seated behind the wheel of your car, you have to take several deep breaths to ground yourself. You barely manage it, and soon enough you start to cruise out of the building and you’re feeling less anxious.Then your phone rings, and you curse loudly because Taemin definitely caught on, you were way too obvious and he noticed and he knows everything, or even worse, Jinki told him everything—isn’t that dress a little too sexy for a wedding? You laugh loudly and throw your phone over to the passenger seat.That’s the least of your fucking concerns.>oh, greed got to me, holding on and on

After Taemin leaves your house, you don’t see him until November is coming to a close. In fact, you see very few faces until the first week of December, as your only movements are from your apartment to KBS and back. But something about the bitter, snow-less cold makes you think of those faces you’ve gone too long without seeing.

Jinki is everywhere. He’s on TV and on posters around shops and on the radio and just fucking everywhere. It’s been a long time since their last comeback, but they’re still all over town and on SNS. Taemin has blond hair again, and Kibum has lost so much weight. Minho’s made, released and promoted a drama, and Jonghyun… you haven’t seen Jonghyun in weeks. The last time you saw him was when Taemin guested for one of his Agit concerts, and a part of you only goes because Taemin basically drags you by the hand. Another much darker part of you goes because you hate being alone, and this is as close to being the opposite as you can take right now.

Taemin was naturally right. Like fucking clockwork, Jonghyun wrapped SHINee promotions just to go and release a new solo album, and he’s scheduled to have another set of Agit concerts pretty soon. He hasn’t been able to send anything but a text or make a short phone call to you since the first time you went to the garden studio.

Every time he contacts you, it’s to apologise. And you hate it.

Tonight, as you drive home from KBS, you get another apology text. Something dangerous bubbles inside you, a deep desire to get on a plane and leave the country, no, the continent, for at least a few weeks. Don’t you deserve a fucking break from this?

But then you see three dots pop up under his message, and you refrain.

I know I have no right to ask you this, but could you come over after Blue Night is done?

You want to say no, genuinely. In fact, you chant quiet rejections under your breath until you hit a red light, time by which you raise your phone to level with your eyes with every intention of typing out a detailed refusal.

Sure.

The little voice in your head that advises against this kind of thing sounds a lot like Kibum. It warns you that you’re only doing this because you’re lonely and Jonghyun doesn’t deserve that. But you argue with it, because Jjong has always been more than just someone that makes you feel un-lonely. Regardless of any kind of labels, Jonghyun is someone who’s always been very dear to you, right?

Why are you only now starting to doubt yourself?

Three more dots and you’re out of your head, smiling because you missed being this kind of torn.

Jonghyun won’t be wrapping Blue Night up until at least 2AM, knowing him. Also knowing him, he’ll have taken little naps throughout the day to keep himself at least mildly alive, so there’s a very good chance that he’ll be staying up the whole night.

So in order to be able to properly hang, you decide go home and nap until it’s time. Which doesn’t entirely happen.

Sleeping has been difficult, to say the least. You made the move from the couch to the bed only a week ago, because your back is killing you and you’ve never been grateful for how sunlight fills the living room at the first sign of the day.

The bed isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. You have no memories with it, just a mildly unpleasant association. Sometimes you look at the back of your bedroom door and remember how you slumped against it a few months ago, and it hurts. But it helps when you’re weak and need comforting.

And the winter has made you so weak.

Everywhere in the house is cold, just how you like it, and you hate warmer spots because they remind you of who you used to spend cold days and nights with. But you need these patches of warmth, the bed is still too big, too empty when you’re thinking too much about the wrong things.

You hate missing him, but you can never stop yourself from doing it, from thinking that you want to turn back time. So you reach out for the prescription bottle on your nightstand, pop it open, and swallow two pills, because the only thing you can do now is make time fast forward.

Within twenty minutes, you’re out like a light.

There aren’t any silhouettes moving behind your eyelids; you haven’t had any dreams since that late summer night and you’re kind of grateful. It doesn’t make you look forward to sleep much, because you’re still afraid of the faces you might encounter.

You try to not fight the meds because if you do, you’ll start sleepwalking. But they do the job you need them to do, and you wake up with time to spare to shower and get dressed to head to MBC.

Traffic is smooth but it’s slow at certain spots, and you don’t realise when you heave a sigh, only catching yourself when your hands are running through your hair with a little more exasperation than this merits.

You hate avoiding confrontation. You hate evading the argument that you know will solve things. That’s why you face everything head on, but now… all of this has made you such a wimp. After a certain time, your brain stops filtering the voice that overpowers the rest, the one begging you much like Taemin did to talk to him, because talking to him will at least give you a chance at closure. At most…

By this point, something silences it. Either it’s pills, a bottle of wine, you’ll do anything to get it to shut up. Jinki doesn’t deserve to see you yet, no matter how much you want to see him. Jinki doesn’t deserve a conversation right now, because you know exactly how it’s going to go. You won’t give in just yet, you just want to be immature a little bit longer.

Jonghyun is waiting by the studio exit to the parking lot when you’re let inside. The moment you find his eyes, all voices fall quiet.

Kim Jonghyun is an unbelievable kind of handsome. He always looks a-class, like the Korean rock star meets biker dude meets flower boy that you know and love, especially now that his hair has gotten darker. He always looks good, always on point, but holy fuck, his cheeks are so hollow. You know it’s not this outfit that’s making him look borderline anorexic, and you know it’s not his makeup that makes his cheekbones look so sharp it looks painful.

Work is killing him, and he’s enjoying it.

He opens the door quickly, almost jumps on the front seat before he kisses your cheek, though not without smirking at your pretty shirt dress. “Let’s go,” he urges, setting down his messenger bag and pocketing his phone. You give him a smile and cruise out as swiftly as you cruised in, and you spare him another look before getting back into busier streets.

“What’s the rush?”

“I didn’t tell my manager I was going home, and I don’t want him to follow me,” he chortles, fingers dancing on the skin of your wrist before he holds your free hand. “I’m supposed to be staying at the dorms,” he goes on, and you chuckle. “I can’t be there one more night. I miss my house, I miss my mother, I miss my sister and I miss my… I miss you.”

You shoot him another smile and he gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry for being away for so long, I suck at balance.” You raise a hand to make him shut up and shake your head for emphasis.

“Don’t bring it up, it’s okay. The important thing is that we found a hole in your ridiculous schedule so I can yell at you about all the things you’re not doing. Starting with eating,” he lets out the tiniest whimper, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to have this conversation.

“You know how I get when I’m really stressed out. I just… I don’t have much of an appetite, I actually don’t have time for an appetite.”

He managed to spare a whole night for you, though. And for some reason, you don’t like that he’s willing to make this sort of sacrifice. So you decide you’ll just use this to your advantage.

“Well, now that you’re kind of free, let’s go eat something. I’m fucking starving, and I know you love late night snacks,” you tease as you stop at a red light. Jonghyun makes sure no lights hit him directly, as some sasaengs like to follow him after Blue Night. He’s sure no one saw him leave for the parking lot when he did, and he prays there’s no one waiting when he gets home.

Hopefully, giving his manager the slip won’t blow up in his face. He’s still looking forward to tonight though, and doesn’t have to give you directions to his favourite Korean junk food joint, since you’ve already been there a handful of times.

He takes the wheel while you go to pick up tteokbokki and fried fish cakes, and it’s not one second after you shut the door when you’re back that he speeds back out. He mutters something about his manager finding him and fans following him and you decide to not make the snarky comment at the tip of your tongue.

Why is he in such a hurry, anyway? He’s not usually like this.

In less than ten minutes, you’re pulling into Jonghyun’s driveway. The first thing you notice is that all the lights are shut off, and that Sodam’s car is nowhere in sight.

“Noona got a paid vacation from the broadcast station. She took mom along,” Jonghyun says before you can ask, and you don’t add anything as he hurries you into the house. You actually don’t say a word until you’re sat in the dining table, late night snacks still steaming.

Because that’s when Jonghyun really tries to relax.

“Hi,” he says suddenly, after catching your eyes and staring for a few quiet moments. You nod back and feed him some rice cakes, because you don’t like his tone.

“Are you tired?”

“Not really.”

“You napped at the radio station, didn’t you?

“I was like an hour early,” he smiles with too much teeth and inches closer to you for extra appeal. You nudge him away with your shoulder and he grabs your chair to pull you closer to him. He moves for the rice cake and fish cake combo between your chopsticks before you can stop him, and you nudge him again, this time with a smile.

“What do you want to do?” he finally grabs his own set of chopsticks and starts to eat more openly.

“Whatever you want to do.”

He bounces his eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes, still smiling. “Eat,” you command, and he nods and obeys. Ten minutes go by quietly and both of your stomachs are unfairly full. You come to a wordless agreement that you should at least try to sleep some more. After all, you have work in four hours and he has to be at a broadcast station in six.

Somehow, he manages to convince you to allow him twenty minutes on his laptop to get some writing done. He doesn’t say what for, but you watch him quietly from the other side of his bedroom, eventually tip-toeing off to sneak into his closet. After slipping one of his giant hoodies over your head, you step back to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.

Jonghyun is going off on his keyboard, slamming down keys faster than you even could. You slowly progress from sitting at the edge of the bed to getting on your stomach with your face propped up in your hands, until you’re totally lounging and watching him mess around Pro Tools.

What is he doing?

You decide not to pry because he even has headphones in, and you wonder why you even agreed to let him stall sleep. You see a lot of yourself in him right now, because this is how you are when you’re in production and you don’t want to take this moment away from him.

So you wait for a whole hour before you’re actually getting drowsy. Even then you don’t call out to him because he’s twirling on the office chair he’s sitting on and biting down on his lower lip, which means he’s on a roll and that you shouldn’t interrupt. Then he starts bobbing his head and his hands come off the keyboard for the first time in ages, which tells you he could actually be done doing whatever he wanted to do.

You’re guessing this is why he wanted to go home, because he wouldn’t be able to work in peace at the dorms. It stings a little bit because you don’t want to think about why he might not feel comfortable there for any reasons other than the usual ones, but you don’t dwell on it for too long because you’re already so sleepy.

So you slowly make your way over to the desk, careful as to not make a single sound.

Jonghyun doesn’t jump when you snake your arms around his chest, but he does chuckle a little nervously. “It’s been ten years already, time to sleep,” you coo, and he sways against your touch with more affection than you expect.

“Okay,” he whispers, and he sounds almost like a child. He takes your joined hands into his own as he gets up, and you continue to sway back to bed, dancing to a tune he only knows because he probably just finished composing it.

And then your phone rings, because you can never get a single second of quiet in this city.

“What?”

It’s Taemin, and the loud music you hear instead of his usual lazy greeting makes you groan.

“I’m soooo fucking drunk, I told Jongin we wouldn’t get drunk but I totally fuckin’ lied, if you come pick me up I will love you even more forever, also can I sleep at your house?  I don’t want the managers to see me until like two days from now— ” he can’t hear you but you’re laughing a little bit.

“Where the hell are you? It’s so loud there,” you respond conversationally, and you can almost hear the smile in Taemin’s voice because your tone tells him that you’ll come pick up his belligerent ass.

“Some club, that one that we went to after that show like forever ago, you know the one,” and you snort a laugh, already looking around for your shoes as Jonghyun pouts at you.

You put Taemin on speakerphone so Jjong understands what’s going on, and he only smiles. “We’re in Hongdae, in that club — hyung! Hyung! What’s the name of this club? Pension? Mansion! That’s the one.”

You don’t know what it is about Taemin and your relationship to him that always puts you in the nurturing position, but you don’t even consider not running to wherever he is. You wait for him to tell you exactly where this club is, and as soon as you register the general address, you’re looking around for your car keys.

It’s like nothing has changed since 2013.

Jonghyun is silent up until the moment you’ve swapped out his hoodie for a jacket (his, too) and get back to the doorstep.

“I actually should come,” he says, mostly because he can’t settle for spending just about two hours with you after all this time, “Taemin can be a handful when he’s drunk.”

Don’t you fucking know it, and you grin at the shred of concern on Jonghyun’s face.

“It’s okay, I can handle him,” you say, meaning to comfort him, but he holds your hand tighter and pouts. “C’mon, do you really want to risk it with like five celebrities in one place?”

He shrugs, pulling on your hand and getting hold of your car keys. “I haven’t gone out driving for a while, anyway.” He could also really use a drink right now, but he omits that bit as you smile and swing your joined hands as you walk out the front door.

Why didn’t Taemin just take a cab? He doesn’t ponder on the thought for too long, and he’s happy to find that Seoul is less crowded than he expected for a Thursday at 3AM. He’s wearing a snapback that’s too big for his head and some glasses, and he’s hoping this whim won’t bite him in the ass. Then it occurs to him that this is what he always thinks about whenever he’s around you, because you like to entertain these kinds of affairs so much.

He parks near the club, having cruised back to confirm that there’s a mile long line to get in (but he knows that he only needs to show his face to the bouncer to get in without much of a hassle). He gives you the hat and glasses to wear, and doesn’t touch you but steers you towards the establishment.

Sometimes you really hate that they’re celebrities, and this is one of the main reasons why.

Surely enough, the bouncers get high and mighty when you try to cut the line. But Jonghyun looks up, shoots the burly man a smile, and the doors are wide open for the pair of you. The music playing is loud but you love this song, and your hips are swaying a little bit. You’re less than dressed for this occasion, but your grey shirt dress, thigh highs and boots don’t look out of place at all, and neither do his skinny jeans and oversized hoodie.

Once in the VIP section, it doesn’t take much to find Taemin. He’s the only bright blond in the bar, and he’s slamming down shots like he has something to prove.

Jonghyun decides that he wants to chill here for a minute, because he recognises Go Youngbae in the crowd and wants to go say hello. You hand him back the snapback and clasp the sunglasses to the collar of his hoodie and watch him go. Then you turn around and crack your knuckles as you approach the bar, ready to haul the boy by his shoulders if that’s what it takes. As soon as you’re close enough, you clutch at his shoulder, he looks up at you and it’s like a thousand suns have been ignited.

“You came!”

“Yeah, you told me to come pick you up,” you say redundantly, and he’s still beaming and you’re bewildered.

He clutches your cheeks between his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead to confirm that he’s really as fucked up as he sounded on the phone, and the man behind him flicks the back of Taemin’s head.

Now, while you’re annoyed at Taemin for this weird bout of affection, no one gets to get aggressive with him ever when you’re around. So you turn to his drinking partner with full intention to curse him out of this club, your face red and angry and a little nervous and —

You beam.

“Well, well.”

Kibum is a sight for sore eyes, and he looks flawless as ever right now, in a crisp dark suit and hair parted to the side. He’s biting back a smile, probably because he’s annoyed you haven’t settled any of the drama you started. When you move to hug him he doesn’t stop you, he just doesn’t do much to reciprocate. But a moment after you separate he looks to the bartender and orders a dirty vodka martini - filthy as it can get - and you smile so hard it hurts. Not only because it’s your favourite, but because it means he missed you.

Not that he’ll ever tell you that with words, or that he even has to.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, making Taemin move one stool over so you can sit between them. Kibum shrugs and watches the bartender impassively before looking back to you.

“We’ve reached the point where even if we go out separately we end up running into each other at some point. If you had come in five minutes ago, it’d have been a full reunion,” he explains, and for a second your stomach somersaults because that means that —

“Relax, he left a while ago. Taemin wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

The martini lands in front of your eyes just in time, and you move to take a swig off the pretty glass almost instantly, finishing off half the drink. Kibum rolls his eyes, omitting a comment about your being rude for not cheering first, but he’s kind of happy you’re here. Maybe now he can get some perspective, spend some time with you as yourself and not as Jinki’s girlfriend.

“So did you all give the managers the slip?” you're smiling again because the mix of olive and vodka is divine and Kibum thinks you might be nervous or anxious or both, given the speed you’re drinking at, but he simpers and Taemin laughs like he only just remembered.

“I came here lawfully,” the raven-haired boy sustains, “Taemin has comeback shit to do in the morning, but he wanted a drink. I was actually supposed to meet up with Min here.” He looks around the club absentmindedly as you take another sip of your drink and ask the bartender for water, which lands in front of Taemin less than a minute later.

“Nice,” the blond slurs before chugging down the entire glass. He licks his upper lip after he’s slammed the glass back on the bar and gets up, moving to stand behind you and holding your shoulders. “Let’s go dance!”

You’re not entirely dressed for dancing, so you pretend you can’t hear him and turn back to Kibum.

The song changes and even he’s swaying, so you purse your lips and get up. Taemin cheers and keeps his hands on your shoulders for safe steering. As you make your way to the dance floor you look up to the DJ booth, where surely enough Go Youngbae and Kim Jonghyun are lounging around a soundboard with the resident DJ.

There probably aren’t any better dance partners in the universe than Kibum and Taemin, so it’s safe to say you breeze through a few songs without even noticing. People start to recognise them, their dance moves are too sharp and precise to be coming from just anyone. They don’t pay any mind, because no one’s brought out a camera yet and they’re having a really good time. In fact, the three of you are belting out some DJ Snake song when Choi Minho rushes in with a look of urgency on his face.

You can’t hear what he’s asking Taemin, but when his eyes catch you they go wide as planets and you feel really cold all of a sudden. Kibum nudges the younger by the shoulder, and this time you can read Minho’s lips.

“Have you seen Jinki hyung?”

He left a while ago, you can’t hear Taemin answer but you know it’s what he’s saying. Minho looks even more aghast and runs a hand through his pretty dark hair. The other two fuss at the taller male some more because Minho looks really concerned and you don’t know what to do.

“Where did he say he was going?”

You peer closer to Taemin to hear a response.

“He didn’t say, he just said he was heading out.”

Then Minho meets your eyes, and you recognise the look in his immediately. It’s not good. You lead the little group to a less loud corner of the club and reach a booth, which you later find out was the one Jinki and Minho and Taemin had been lounging in a while ago.

“How much did he have to drink?” your tone is flat, startlingly so, and Taemin is suddenly regretting making that phone call to you.

“Three bottles of soju and half of that Grey Goose,” Minho points to the table in the centre of the booth, where the other half of the French vodka stands meekly. Your mouth flattens to a line and Jonghyun shuffles into the spot.

“Maybe he went home?” your tone isn’t hopeful, and the look Minho gives you is enough of an answer for you to think a little more realistically. “Did you try calling him?”

“Only like 47 times before I came back into the club.”

You appreciate the sarcasm, in all honesty. At least he’s talking to you, which he hadn’t done in a very long time.

“Maybe he went to see some of the guys in Gwangmyeong?” just hearing the words out of your own mouth shut that question down. Jinki wouldn’t go through that much effort to get away, especially drunk and in the middle of the night. Which leaves his little getaway places in Seoul.

“Changsun’s?”

Minho shakes his head.

“His parents’?”

He sighs, meaning he already called them and that he’s not there.

It leaves only one place, and just the thought that he would be there makes you sigh. You almost want to sit down to take this in, but you can’t. Minho seems to agree, because he recognises how the realization hits you and he knows you know Jinki is probably sitting outside your doorstep right this second.

“Okay,” there’s an air of resolution about you as you zip up your jacket and look around for your car keys. Then you remember that Jonghyun drove here, and you dip your hands into his hoodie unreservedly.

“Are you guys good to take a cab home?” you take advantage of the nearness and he appreciates it and the waft of your scent that breezes in with the contact, but he wants to come with you.

The other boys are nodding yes, and you don't even register an answer from Jonghyun before you step completely out of his reach and get walking. You’re moving for the exit almost mechanically because you can't afford to hesitate right now. Jonghyun thinks so too, and he takes a few strides after you before Kibum holds him back by the arm. The elder turns around with annoyed eyes.

“Let me go.”

“No. She needs to do this alone.”

A lick of fiery anger runs through Jonghyun’s entire body because he knows that the right thing to do is to stay, but he doesn’t want to. He’s so tired of being passive, so tired of feeling guilty for what happened that day in Jeongdongjin, so fucking tired of not dealing with his feelings for you.

Timing. This whole thing is fucked because of timing.

If he’d asked Jinki’s mother who that girl had been that was sitting next to them at that last performance of Rock of Ages, or if he’d actually asked Taemin about his PD at WGM, if he’d stopped to talk to you for five more minutes the day you wore that gorgeous red dress, if he’d told you that he was interested in you while he was filming the show with you... this could all be so different. He's watched you walk away from him so many times, and yet again he can’t fucking move from his spot in this booth. And it’s not just because of Kibum’s grip on his arm.

For a moment he thinks you’ll turn around, shoot him a warm look that would serve as comfort, or a small smile that would tell him you’ll be back.

But you don’t.

>why don’t we open up sometime?  

Lee Jinki has some serious timing issues. You'd tried to talk yourself out of coming here fifteen times tonight, but something compelled you to come supervise the editing process for the final WGM episode. Because you obviously ran out of good luck for the year, you’re not surprised to spot the familiar silhouette of the blond walking around the lobby when you step out to the hallway of the post-production offices, which has a very convenient view of the floors below.

There are at least twenty five people at his tail, because he showed up with two managers and they're both slimmer and at or below his height. You don't really like the way he moves, aggressively but slowly, still softly because he's still a celebrity and he has an image to maintain.