The apartment was yet again doused in the similar uncomfortable sort of nothingness, incompleteness; bland and just extremely void of emotions after what happened three days ago. Taemin’s mind barely worked. All he did was avoid touching and making contact with anything that Minho had laid his finger on, however idiotic it may seem to be.

Maybe the idea introduced was useless. But to put that measure into perspective, even an indirect tap between their fingerprints would cost Taemin his entire month of self-healing, the entire month of ceaselessly trying before he, regardless of how willing, crumpled and gave in again.

He hadn’t slept since then.

Taemin already thought of rearranging stuff and giving his house another makeover for the same reason that he couldn’t trust himself to tell Minho that night. It began as these little sparks of hope in his life - of wishing that he could return to that one time where he had everything planned ahead, something which stayed relevant until Minho came and wreaked havoc - but it eventually met a dead end. 

No cusp, no intersection. Ended and done, that was it.

Just about time for him to realise that the humble apartment that housed the safest of his treasure was never going to be the same anymore. So, Taemin pondered:

Perhaps, a change of air was all he needed to get better.

Perhaps, he should just relocate and leave the bits and pieces of the tragedy in this living space he called home. Living way out on the southern fringe of Seoul, in a secluded spot, unpopular middle-class neighbourhood. The thought expressed a sense of tranquillity; something exceedingly restful and quiet that could help divorcees to get over the post-divorce syndrome and start anew; something that Taemin needed currently.

But deciding, just like other chores in his disoriented life, was difficult. Taemin was not in the right headspace to comprehend facts even if they were laid out in front of him like worthless cards.

So, he called Jinki—out of all people—to seek comfort. Within a few minutes, the said man was banging the front door in a panic, only to be greeted by Taemin’s dishevelled and zombified form, bloodshot eyes were a clear giveaway that he had been crying for hours now. Hell, it could be all day long and Jinki wouldn’t have a clue about it.

“Oh, Taemin,” was all that Jinki got to say before he was beckoned into the apartment.

It was outrageously disturbing for Taemin to have another person inside his apartment after the departure of his ex-husband over closure at odds. It was even more unsettling because he was the one who called that person over. He almost tasted the discomfort on the tip of his tongue when he swallowed his muted reply. Just what level of blatant disrespect was he succumbing to by allowing a single man into his house only a month after getting divorced? 

“Hey, you’re shaking. Are you okay?” Jinki panicked. “You look scared.”

The whole situation was very disturbing and unsettling—it was everything unpleasant mixed together, but one thing was sure: feeling scared was not an option. He shook his head and took a heavy seat on the couch. Jinki followed suit.

“N-no,” Taemin croaked out a whisper and wiped his sore eyes, shaking his head more vigorously then as though he was convincing himself otherwise. “I’m not scared.”

“Okay, okay,” Jinki wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do and it was evident in the way he tried to hold Taemin’s shoulder - only to retract midway - then attempted to drop it on Taemin’s arm, which was equally in vain. At last, he only put it on his own lap and drew in a sharp breath. “What happened, Taemin?”

Instead of answering, Taemin started crying again in the overstuffed living room with Jinki’s question prompting the outburst. His head was hung low, sweaty palms closing tight over his knees as his body groaned through sobs that strained every muscle. It was impossible for him to quell the overwhelming sadness that roiled through but he kept going, bawling his eyes out shamelessly in front of his own guest.

Jinki kept quiet for a long moment—long enough to reconsider his action, but short enough to realise that nothing mattered more than Taemin’s well-being at the moment—and slithered his arms around the younger’s shoulders to hug him close. Taemin felt lifeless in his embrace; weak and brittle, like his soul was right out of his body.

“It’s okay,” Jinki’s voice mingled with the litany of sobs and his grip on Taemin tightened instinctively. “Let it out, Taemin. It’s okay.”

All the while, Taemin attempted to unveil the problem. His story pronouncement was an amalgam of sadness, regret and uncertainty, mixed with his ineffectual efforts to explain and apologise at the same time. Jinki knew the best thing to do was listen in silence and held space for him to purge the unprovoked confessions.

“My ex-husband came,” Taemin managed, now clutching Jinki’s side without peeling his eyes open. Jinki doubted he could. “B-but he left just as quick. Just like how he did after collecting the documents and packing them away. I was moving on. I was so sure that I'd moved on, but then he came again and I’m back struggling to stand on my own feet. This is so ing unfair because he seems fine without me. He’s happy without me and I hate him so much for that.”

Truth to be told, there were so many things to unpack. For Jinki, he didn’t know that Taemin was once married and that meeting him on the basis of work was during his recovery period. Over the past few weeks, they had already met several times. The feelings rooted in the base of his heart had stemmed from Taemin’s innocence and frugality since their first encounter, but never once he thought those were everything layered on top of a grieving, desolate heart.

Upon knowing it now, Jinki realised, the feelings only grew more intensely, yet remained tightly curled at the base. Taemin was clearly not ready, both emotionally and physically while Jinki was flabbergasted.

But for Taemin, it didn’t count. “I-I tried everything to reconnect us as spouses when the marriage was teetering on edge. I came up with plans to decompress the pressure cooker, but nothing worked. At the end of the day, I was left alone, smothered in guilt. Guilt for not trying enough, not giving enough, not wanting enough - simply for not being enough. I just wish it could get easier, but the reality is…” His words got lost in the marbly sound of his tears, and he trailed off unknowingly.

Silence blanketed over their forms, the simplest shape of break that both men could capitulate to. Neither of them wanted to ruin the peacefulness, so they let it be. Plus, Taemin had stopped crying for a while now, but he was still held securely in Jinki’s promising embrace - quiet, reticent, and passive. Only his irregular breaths were audible at that moment.

As if that was not enough, even the comfort felt foreign for Taemin. Jinki smelled differently, hugged stiffly and soothed vaguely — he was anything but Minho in person and that thought gave Taemin pain of varying ferocity. For some reason, he forced himself to find fragments of Minho in somebody new, which was most likely why he couldn’t move on no matter how perpetually violent he tried.

But at least he finally saw that. Perhaps it was about time for him to change exactly that.

So Taemin delved in, hugging Jinki tighter while basking in the absence of noise or voice. He might’ve startled the latter by his unexpected approach, but as soon as Jinki relaxed down and fixed his arms around Taemin’s shoulders, Taemin knew he had given his consent.

“I’m sorry,” Jinki muttered and threaded his fingers through Taemin’s long hair carefully, combing it.

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” and Jinki his chest forward slightly, somehow making more room in his ribcage for his lungs to in a breath then expel the air. “For all that happened to you.”

“But it was not a tragedy,” Taemin answered instantly, tone dignified even if it faltered in frailty. “It was love, Jinki. Love. The best thing someone could ever feel in the world. There’s nothing wrong with it for you to be sorry about.”

“Even if you’re hurt?”

“Even if I’m hurt.” 

“And angry