clizyatii:

It’s been too long, too long since he’s hung out in the light of day. For weeks, he’s spent his sunshine in the form of a bird or a dog, wandering through the mountains. He’s been keeping to himself, which, honestly, is a disservice to society. He needs to be there.

So today he finds himself wandering the streets of the center of the city, looking for something to do. Someone to entertain him for a little while. He’s looking for a temporary fix - he’s not sure how serious.

He was able to scrounge up a checkered casual button down, nice shoes, and some black slacks that are a little too short from a house on the outskirts. Picked up some white socks and a wifebeater from a laundromat closer to his current location. A safety pin from the ground is keeping his lobe piercing open. Now, he doesn’t stand out so much.

Gangnam is much more inviting to him than anywhere else he’s been so far. He wonders if he should hit up Itaewon. People tell him that a lot of foreigners flock there after they ask if he’s Korean native. He has to keep from laughing. It’s rare that he manages such kindness. They don’t know that, though.

It’s around two when he decides to take a break. He’d picked up a half-empty packet of cigarettes next to a dumpster a while back and he finds them now, pulls one out. And he drops onto his ass on the stoop of a building with a big glass front, then takes out a match and lights up. Idly, he plays with the turquoise bracelet he took from his mother and wishes he had a little peyote.

The door behind him opens and a small group of people flows out, like blood from a paper cut. He’s about to leave it at just a glance when someone he actually knows emerges from the back of the throng. Well, he doesn’t know the guy - he knows of him. Because of his mom. That one raises an eyebrow.

A pop star - the locals call them idols. But right around the time he ended up in this country, he quit.

Dojin finds this… interesting. He hums low and considers the possibilities, eyes locked on the blonde. Should he go for it? Is it too shallow a reason? His vindictive nature is inclined to disagree.

He keeps watching.

It has been one hell of a day.

Usually, Taemin will take his time getting ready to leave at the end of his shift. A quick change, a drink of water, gathering his things– it’s a couple minutes of solitude between the crowd in the classroom and the one at the bus stop. Not today. Today he’s out the door immediately after the minute hand strikes the hour, stopping only to lock up after his class before following them out. He’s not in the mood for dealing with any more bullshit, and it shows on his face as he heads through the doors and outside.

There’s a stranger sitting on the steps of the studio. And Taemin only looks at him for a moment, really, but with the bitchface he’s currently sporting it probably comes off pretty rude. Oh well. The moment’s passed, and he’s treading the sidewalk toward the bus stop, but his thoughts linger on the man for a little longer.

Strange. His face. It’s odd, made of sharp angles that give it an otherworldly cast. He could be a model, if he isn’t already. He’s certainly dressed like one. Not here to use the studio, that’s for damn sure– it’s just a place for him to sit and smoke.

The man has faded from Taemin’s thoughts by the time he’s settled on the bus. Facemask in place, earbuds in, body language loud and clear: don’t bother me. No one does. He doesn’t meet any of their eyes, so he has no idea if they recognize him. The bus ride passes in an uneventful blur, and he barely remembers to stand in time for his stop.

Not the one that means he’s home, but a few blocks before it. The corner store– he’s here for tin foil and batteries. He’s got a lot more than that gathered in his arms by the time he approaches the register. Soda, shrimp chips, candy bars. He knows he’s forgetting something, always is, but he doesn’t worry too much about it now. He so badly just wants to be home. He pays in cash, stuffs the groceries in his backpack, and pushes through the door out onto the street again.

It’s cursory, the look he throws across the street before turning and heading for the apartment, and it’s only because that is what’s directly in front of him as he exits the shop. And that fleeting look turns into a transfixed stare as Taemin freezes just where he is.

Strange.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there on the sidewalk, while pedestrians walk by him and the endless stream of cars rushes across his field of vision. It’s too long, probably, but the one smoking under a streetlight across the street has already seen him.

It’s odd, that face, and extremely memorable. There’s no mistaking it’s him. And when Taemin finally forces his body into motion, he feels numb all over, and he doesn’t head home.

95sonnae:

“I’m crazy.”

“That’s it. I’ve gone certifiably insane and the next logical step would be to just turn myself into a institution where I can’t do things like that anymore.”

Naeun’s eyes shifted from her phone back to the wall for twenty minutes, jumping each time she thought she heard a sound reminiscent of a vibration. Sure. Before she sent the text to Taemin intense emotion rocked her so hard, he’d been the first… and only person she wanted to hear from. Only after desperation and desire to ease the ache did she type out a distress text for his help when the realization of who she contacted hit her much harder.

Stupid, stupid.

The last time they talked to each other she’d gloated about how she’d been engaged and months later.. months later she’d ended up after another failed relationship. Part of her still believed that when they’d broke up those many years ago, he’d stolen a part of her that she could never recover and held him deeply responsible for her inability to commit but the other part missed having him in her life so badly that it didn’t matter how he’d broken her heart.

The phone finally alerted her of his reply and she stared at the device from her spot on the sofa– as if it would explode if she touched it. Drying her tears with a not so gentle hand, she snatched the phone up and responded once again without much thinking.

[📧 →Taem😳] Home. Come see me? I don’t want to be alone right now.

It didn’t take long for him to get a response. The bus was rolling past him, headed for his stop at the end of the block, when the phone’s vibration tore his eyes away from it. And they stayed fixed on the message he’d received for a very long time.

It didn’t escape his notice that she’d left the first part unanswered. The answer he did get told him two things. The first being: no, she wasn’t all right. And the second: seeing Taemin could somehow make it better.

It just didn’t make any sense.

Him, of all people. The one who’d broken her heart the very first time she opened herself up to anyone. He knew how badly he’d hurt her– he’d known that kind of hurt himself in the years since, and it was devastating. The deep and bitter kind of hurt that had her shaking with angry tears at the sight of him, after all these years. Their last meeting hadn’t exactly been a happy reunion– it’d ended in a tentative peace, and despite all the things she’d said to him, he left with the distinct impression that she hadn’t gotten everything off her chest.

That, he’d understand. Wanting to see him again to get it all out, once and for all, to get some kind of closure. But needing comfort, needing company… didn’t she have friends for that? Ones who had never burned her like Taemin did?

He didn’t get it at all. But after everything, he didn’t have it in him to say no. Finally, his feet started moving on the pavement, carrying him toward the main road where it’d be easier to catch a cab. He almost sent a text asking where she lived now, but the way she said it gave him the impression that he already knew how to get there.

And God, it was surreal pulling up to the familiar building, and even more so raising a hand to knock on her door. Waiting for her to answer it, he was helpless to stop the nerves rising up in him and making him feel like a teenager again– so unsure of himself. He took a deep breath and shook it off. By the time the door swung open, he’d composed himself enough to be convincing, but he still didn’t know what to say.

A beat of silence, and he untied his tongue. “Hey.”

avoirlemalduquelquun:

Kibum pushes the door closed behind them so that his precious child doesn’t end up in someone else’s apartment and he smiles as Taemin lights up. Who doesn’t like dogs?

As she starts sniffing, he crouches down to take a gander at the phone on the floor. Belatedly, he notes that he should probably text one of the friends he went to the club with to let them know he’s home safe and see if they’re okay, too.

“Dior! She’s a high-class bitch.” He taps gently on the other man’s phone, just to keep it from going dark, and accidentally picks an image. Is this a search? Who has to google themselves? Who can google themselves? It resizes so that he can see it better, and he nods (mostly to himself) before moving to stand back up.

He’s gonna have to do some digging later. If he’s accidentally making friends in high places, he’d like to know about it.

“Love the blond! You should do it again.” Taemin is the kind of guy that would stand out easily if only he put himself out there. He already kind of does - Kibum wouldn’t have stopped for just anyone - but he could do so much more. Just thinking about all of the possibilities has him eager to find some fabric and start working. His hands wouldn’t be able to keep up right now, though.

He pulls out his own phone, shoots off a quick text to Jihye (she was there, right?), and turns on the hall light. Now that he can really see, he starts poking through his closet for a spare blanket. An exhaustion he’d not known he was carrying weighs heavy in his bones. What time is it?

“Hope you don’t mind the couch! I’d say you could sleep with me but I’m more of a third date kind of guy.” A chuckle, and he manages to free a comforter and a pillow from the depths of the linen pit. “And don’t let her bully you into sharing, because you’ll be on the floor before you know it.”

He snickers at the answer Kibum gives. “She is, huh?” He’s smitten with the dog already– scratching under her chin, letting her lick his hand. “Guess I should feel special that she likes me then, heh.” She’s wiggled over onto her back and he’s playing with her little paws by the time Kibum speaks again, and Taemin (who had completely missed the other boy peeking at his phone) looks over at him, startled.

He’d seen? What did he see, and what did he make of it? He doesn’t seem shocked or suddenly awkward so he must not have seen enough to figure it out. Taemin is praying that’s the case– it’s so stupidly rare these days for him to meet someone who treats him like just another person and not a celebrity. Who doesn’t have an agenda or presumptions from the moment they lay eyes on him.

“Yeah? I think I’ll do it then.”

It seems he’s safe for now. Kibum’s absorbed with something on his own phone, and Taemin takes the moment to slide his back into his pocket before he turns his attention to his canine friend again. He’s waxing poetic about what a good girl she is when Kibum reappears from wherever he’d drifted off to.

The couch is fine, he’s about to say– cut short with an inelegant snort of laughter. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not makin’ me sleep on the floor.” He sets the little dog down on her feet before scooting up onto the sofa and stretching out. It’s only now that he’s horizontal that he realizes just how wiped-out he is. He’s too tired to be this drunk, or vice-versa. He’s in the middle of a very big yawn when he feels the little paws sinking into the couch beside him. Then she’s crawling right on over him, and he accepts his fate with sleepy laugh. “Mm, I’ll take my chances. Be nice to me, little lady.”

ondubyu:

While Taemin was on his way to open the door, Jinki had been pressing his lips absentmindedly. Normally, the way he acted was like playing a game of chess; calculative and conservative. He had always been the cautious one, the one who looked before he leaped. His mind mapped out the many possible scenarios this reunion could carry out. But then, all the thinking made him carelessly lose track of the time passed– that the swing of the door ended up catching him by surprise. 

Hyung.

It was a single syllable he heard all his life; a greeting, a cheer, comfort, gratitude, and a goodbye. His lips curved into a smile that matched with Taemin’s. He felt his heart just swell and overload with indescribable happiness that he thought felt exaggerated over something like a reunion, but as he found himself pulling his maknae into an embrace, he could care less about being calculative and conservative right now. Taemin was here. They were together. That was what mattered.

“Taemin-ah, it’s really been a while. You little brat, why did it take you so long to send your hyung a text?” Jinki mildly scolded from emotions suddenly rising up to the surface as it became almost overwhelming. “But I’m glad.” He let out a sigh of relief, as if all the stress was exhaled out of him.

The smile that lit up Jinki’s face at the sight of him just about soothed his inner turmoil all by itself. But then Taemin was getting pulled into familiar arms, wrapped up in warmth and the kind of hug you gave someone you really missed, and the relief flooding him as he returned the embrace was so overwhelming there was a moment where he thought he might cry.

If he had any doubts left, they were gone now. Leaving nothing to complicate the simplicity of the moment– the warmest greeting Taemin could have hoped for. And maybe there was a little extra moisture shining in his eyes when he pulled away, but he still laughed easily as Jinki chided him.

“Ah, you know.. I’m a busy man,” he said with a cheeky little grin– to Jinki, who for a while now had been infinitely more busy than him. He was glad they were keeping it light, all teasing and smiles, because if Jinki expressed any of the emotions brimming under the surface directly, Taemin doubted he’d be able to keep it together. He was still feeling a little too sensitive for his liking, and as he rubbed at his nose self-consciously and let his gaze wander away from the older boy, he had a feeling Jinki would pick up on it. “I dunno about you, but I’m starving.”

dancxtaem:

        –{ ° } four hour old mostly digested 반반 chicken isn’t on Taemin’s favorite food list. it isn’t even in the top ten, yet here he is trying to swallow back the grossness of it that’s twinged with a metallic twist. the red dripping from his lips and of the tip of his nose painting small splattered stars over the concrete distract briefly from the abhorrent nature of the situation. not only is he dripping in crime scene evidence, but he’s now been found by a stranger and is practically in their hands.

   anything they wanted to do, they could.

   not usually one to be anxious, the unsettling feeling building in his stomach pairs with the world tipping on its axis and Taemin chokes on his own spit, starting a coughing fit that increasingly sounds more pitiful the longer it goes on. the thought of being found out dances in his head, it taunts him and it makes him whine between coughs. his career really was over- he couldn’t get home, he couldn’t even get up.

   but then the other’s voice is seeping past the ringing in his eardrums, he can make it out if he focuses and shuts his eyes tight, fighting to keep back the coughing. his forehead is hovering inches above the ground, trying to stay low and connected to the earth to make sure he didn’t fall. the catch in his throat subsides just as the stranger’s voice lowers. he catches those words, and the person on the other end of that phone seems to understand the tone behind them.

   peeking up between his bangs, Taemin manages a blurry look at the other person, trying to make out who they might be, if he knew them, if they knew him. directions are given and the hitman vaguely knows where he is just by listening in. it’s not a frequent location, he’d had to take a few transfers on the train to get where he needed. but there’s a rough sketch in his mind of how long it’d take to get home by car … with another person he’s never met.

   squinting, Taemin looks a little taken aback when they make eye contact. he’s definitely not handsome with the way there’s blood paths running down over his nose, down the right side of his face, pooling at the corners of his right eye, but he thinks maybe if he weren’t decorated like this that he’d look.. too similar to the person with their back against the wall. the moment feels like years as he sits there, the feeling of a drip of blood leaving the round of his chin pulling him from the lost look in his eyes.

   “ yh - ” it’s a rasp, and it’s a little wet and gross so he clears his throat, looking the other way to spit onto the sidewalk, swallowing hard as he tries to ignore the pounding in his head. it hurts more than he thinks ( and would like to admit ) so his voice is strained, distressed, “ yeah . um , ” a shaky breath, the closing of his eyes as he tries to comprehend words, “ thanks - ” he barely gets it out before he keens in pain, lips parting in a silent cry for help, doubling over and letting his head conk against the sidewalk. perhaps he should just stay quiet, stop trying to act like he’s fine, lay there and try to pacify his poor body that’s been through too much this time.        

So he’s still dripping blood, still in pain, obviously, but the stranger’s words at least offer some reassurance that he won’t go dying on Taemin before their ride gets here. He sighs out another big breath, finally relaxing against the wall. It’s weird– he doesn’t know this person, even a little bit, isn’t sure he wants to, and yet here he is praying that the guy makes it.

“All right. Good.” Anyone else suffering this badly, Taemin would try to comfort with a hand on their shoulder, a reassuring pat to whatever uninjured part of them he could reach, something, but he doesn’t move from where he sits. Even this compromised, the stranger still feels too daunting for him to be comfortable reaching out. “Hang in there,” he says a little awkwardly, not sure if anything he could say would help, but it’s better than saying nothing. He doesn’t know what to do with himself for ten minutes. He registers that he’s still holding his phone, and so he unlocks it and takes a closer look at the map. They are still in Gangnam, but way on the outskirts. His own apartment in Seocho is only a little further away than Kwonho is, fifteen minutes tops, and his parents are even closer… and yet, even a ten minute wait feels endless when he’s this worried. Finally, he hears the faint sound of tires on pavement approaching and drags his hands down his face with a long, relieved sigh.

“Thank God.”

He’s on his feet by the time the car’s close enough that he can make out its familiar lines. And it’s good that it really is Kwonho, because if it wasn’t he has no idea what he would do– nothing that’d do any good, probably, because anyone looking for his companion at this point could only mean trouble. An enemy would straight-up kill them both. Even an ally might view Taemin as a witness, and a problem to be taken care of.

The nerves are back with a vengeance now, evidenced in how he hurries Kwonho back to their spot in the alley. He could only pull his car in so close– they’ll have to carry the guy. Kwonho (bless him) doesn’t complain, just stoops to hoist the man up from under his arms, while Taemin gets his legs. He’s not that heavy– he’s about as skinny as Taemin is, really. But still, it’s awkward trying to carry an adult human anywhere, even as a cooperative effort. About halfway it becomes obvious that Kwonho’s letting him slip a little, so they have to stop while he hitches the guy up and gets a better grip– jostling him just enough that it shakes something loose from the inside of his jacket.

Taemin and his friend both go absolutely still, the clattering of metal on concrete ringing loud in the silence. He and Kwonho exchange a long, loaded look, and he can feel his throat closing up as he braces for the inevitable What the fuck have you gotten me into?– but it doesn’t come. After the stunned pause, Kwonho just carries on where they left off, backing the guy up toward the car. And Taemin is overcome with gratitude for what he’s always known but never had proven for him quite so explicitly– that Kwonho is a real friend, the ride-or-die kind.

They have to set him down for a moment to get the door open, then they’re carefully settling him into the backseat. Taemin closes the door, and opens the passenger side to get in, but he hesitates. This is either the only thing to do or the stupidest thing he’s ever done, he thinks vaguely as he walks back the way they came, shrugging off his sweatshirt as he goes. And when he picks up the gun, he doesn’t actually touch it at all– there’s a thick layer of cloth between the metal and his fingerprints, and soon the whole thing’s wrapped up into an innocuous-looking bundle, which he tucks on the backseat floor before finally getting in.

“Okay.” Breathe. He clicks his seatbelt, and Kwonho does the same, though typically at least one of them would forget until they’ve been on the road for a few minutes. No one will be giving the cops an excuse to pull them over. Kwonho gets them out of the industrial park, but he slows as they’re nearing the main road and turns to Taemin.

“Where to?”

He’s drawing a blank. They’re not even that far from where he lives– he has no excuse for not knowing this. “Where even is the closest hospital?” he wonders aloud, getting out his phone again to look it up. A search turns up a few options, and he doesn’t know one from the other, so he’s soon turning around.

“Hey,” he says to the half-conscious stranger bleeding on his friend’s seats. “Where should we take you?”

luxinexitium:

with a clean bowl and a newly rinsed balloon whisk, he quickly gets to work on mixing the cream cheese and sugar, keeping careful watch for when the mixture reaches the right consistency. it’s almost painful to work this slowly, this carefully, after the chaos that had been their first attempt, but they have to get it right this time. (and they will!) the soft clink of stainless steel against glass is as familiar as it is relaxing, bringing with it memories of all the successful bakes he’s had. gradually, his confidence begins to rise once more, not quite buoying but bobbing in the sentiment of i can do this. it’s a welcome feeling, especially in the midst of the mess that remains in the kitchen. after they’ve triumphed in making a proper cheesecake, then they can start removing every bit of evidence that they’d failed the first time.

he’s already begun mixing heavy cream and two eggs into the batter when taemin’s voice rings over the soft whisking rhythm. “parchment paper goes around the sides. you can grease the tin with the leftover butter, so the paper will stick better,” he explains with an encouraging smile, pausing his mixing to procure a pair of scissors from a nearby drawer. briefly, he glances at the cracker crumbs scattered across the counter and floor, but they’re mere drops of water in an ocean of chaos. (and really, a handful of crumbs will be easier to sweep up than egg whites on the ceiling, and he’s already plenty embarrassed by that.) they’ll clean it all later, he reassures himself. they can do this! 

“it’s okay,” kyungsoo says next, voice no louder than the noise of his whisking, and he sends his friend another sincere smile. part of him wants to drop everything and sit back down on the floor, hands still trembling ever so slightly from the shock of their earlier disaster. the same feeling, he’s sure, lingers in taemin as well–in his voice, his hands. but mountains can’t be built just because the world decides to stop turning or shifting. like the earth they stand on, they have to keep moving. with a good-natured laugh, he continues just as softly, “we made a huge mess, but we have enough to try again.” 

grinning a little wider, kyungsoo nudges taemin’s elbow with his own and returns his attention to the filling. the consistency is a little more runny than he’d like because of the eggs, and while those will help bind everything together, the cake might still come out too close-textured without something else. after quickly referencing their recipe, he grabs a half-empty box of cornstarch and adds two tablespoons to the batter, along with a bit of vanilla extract and juice from a halved lemon. (the other half he’ll use to practise making candied peels.) finally, he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

the smile kyungsoo gives him is every bit as reassuring as his words, and it’s enough for taemin to push down the residual self-doubt and instead, rise to the challenge. their first attempt had been practice, he tells himself. at least they’d know where not to mess up this time around, right?

kyungsoo’s little nudge gets him focused– recipe. yes. he picks it up, reading it through again until he understands each step, and then he gets to work. first up? greasing the pan with the half-melted half-stick of butter lying on the counter. better to do this while he remembers exactly what kyungsoo just said. he turns around to rifle through the cabinet the other boy pointed out, coming out with a big roll labeled parchment paper. it takes him a minute– longer than it should, really, but when he tears off a piece he does it right the first time. it fits almost perfectly in the pan, maybe with a little extra sticking out, but something tells him that doesn’t matter so much.

all the graham cracker crumbs get gathered up into a measuring cup, and then a big bowl, followed by the sugar. the recipe calls for melted butter next– so he finds a finds another measuring cup to stick some butter into, and pops the whole thing in the microwave. how long does it take for butter to melt? he doesn’t know, but that probably doesn’t matter so much either. he tries 30 seconds. and as he leans against the counter and waits, it’s starting to dawn on him that this is what he likes about cooking, why he keeps trying to learn despite his legendary failures– it’s more of an art than a science, and most problems can be solved with experimentation. the beep gets him moving again, though it only takes a millisecond of contact between his thumb and the hot glass for him to find a potholder to take it out with instead. and it’s right in the bowl, mixed in with everything else, until it all starts to come together into something that really does resemble a graham cracker crust.

taemin is beaming, and while he basks in the glory of his success he takes a moment to peek over at kyungsoo’s progress. “ahhh, that looks yummy already…” his eyes linger on the very-cheesecakey-looking mixture for a moment longer, even as he starts filling the pan with the graham cracker dough. and maybe he’s never made this before, but he’s eaten enough cheesecake to know the right way to do this– thick, and even. no gaps. he presses it out carefully, paying special attention to the edges, until he’s finally satisfied with his work.

maybe this whole positive-attitude thing is paying off. he’s got a sneaking suspicion that with a little luck, this will be delicious.

yvyin‌:

So this guy knows about him. He’s not sure how much, but if it was more than just whispers, he figures that this wouldn’t be happening right now.

Or maybe he’s into some weird shit - Yazi isn’t one to judge.

His reflection holds his stare and when the words come out, he’s almost surprised at the humor. But it’s mixed with something else. Fear, he thinks. It’s hard to tell - he’s seldom seen the expression on his own face.

He laughs. Not maliciously; instead, he finds himself genuinely interested in whatever else is going to come out of this kid’s mouth.

“Think we both know the answer to that one, kid.”

He doesn’t necessarily think himself evil, though the rest of the world may see him that way. He’s not out to conquer the world or anything. Maybe a long time ago, he would have. Now, he’s… not quite sure what he wants. At this second, he just wants to have some fun.

“What’d your friend say, I wonder? They give you my name?” It’s almost as if he’s musing to himself until he pauses briefly, waiting for an answer. He isn’t known for his patience.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of learning yours yet.”

Think we both know the answer to that one, kid.

And that is, weirdly, the one thing that starts to ease the nerves building in his chest. At least he’s up-front about it– Taemin can respect that. He breathes easier in the seconds that follow his mostly-genuine laugh (a little subdued, but can anyone blame him?).

“He said there’s a driver here who looks just like me. And he’s good.” A grin, one full of approval. “Glad I’m not twins with a loser. And nah, no name, he’d just seen you once.. I guess your last race.”

Try as he might, he can’t keep his eyes from drifting to the car behind the guy. “I’m Taemin,” he answers, a little belated, a little distracted. “That thing’s a beast… How fast were you going there?”

He’s been called all kinds of things (reckless, adrenaline junkie, but most often, stupid) for doing shit like throwing himself out of a plane, but Taemin doesn’t care enough to stop himself from proving them right now. Dangerous, yeah– but it looked exhilarating.

okboyfriend:

hold on just let me *goes feral*