"They look alike," I recall her saying. 
I had never noticed it before then. 
Not once.

Jongin scarfed down the meal I brought him as I watched, legs crossed in front of me and in my own hands a chicken sandwich I had picked up for myself. He looked exhausted. Completely exhausted. Coating his face was a layer of sweat that made itself known on his black tank top. Under his eyes were deep, dark circles. But his peepers themselves were big. Alert. Determined. 

Determined to put on the best show he could at the Winter Spectacular. 

So I said nothing of his appearance. For now. In fact, he was the one who spoke first. 

"How's the boyfriend business going?" He made it sound as though it were some kind of one time endeavor. Something I would get over and move on from. I didn't argue with his categorization for it: the relationship between Taemin and I. I didn't argue because that's what it started as. It started as a one time thing for me to try out. To go for even if I knew it wouldn't work out.

Surprisingly, it was. 

This morning I spent an hour just sitting with him in the library, studying as he graded a set of papers from the class he TAs. And I was studying. I wasn't allowing myself to become distracted by him. But, on multiple occasions, I would feel it. I'd feel a shiver go down my spine — the sensation of being watched.

And when I looked up, he'd looking at me behind the lenses of his glasses. He'd say, "Drink it before it gets cold," as he gestured to the milk at my side. He'd say, "I usually don't mind spelling errors but this is," before fading out. He'd say, "Looking at literature that was created during the Restoration through a historical lens is always interesting," as I flipped through the part of my history book that focused on 1600s England. And he said, "You're leaving, then," after I told him I had to go get lunch for Jongin today. 

And I'd like to think it was there: a sort of melancholic tone in his voice. 

A whisper of regret as he said, "I'll call you later," and I left with heavy feet. 

Now there's space being taken up in my bag. Space I don't mind having taken. Space of the cylindrical kind. Of the coffee mug kind. 

"Well," I answered, taking a bite down into my sandwich. A smile tugged at my lips. Jongin caught onto my mood with ease. 

"You seem happy," he mused, one of his eyebrows cocking upwards in suspicion. "I suppose it has something to do with the library date you two had?"

My jaw stalled mid-chew; confusion along with a slew of questions arose in my mind. The first being: how did Jongin know?

His lips curved as he placed both hands down onto the wooden floor, spinning himself around in order to reach his bag. He started to dig through it, searching for something he soon produced afterward. And the lit up screen of his cell phone read, "Kai, she's not your provider. Get your own food." 

Followed by Jongin's own text back to Taemin's saying, "Whoa, superman! Did you meet up with her or something?"

Then a reply dated not even five minutes ago answered, "I'm alone at the library now thanks to you." 

There was no emoticon to signify whether he was angry or sad. No indication that he hadn't just typed that in passing or if his words actually held in them something. Something I wasn't sure how to react to.

Longing. Longing to be with me. This started as a sort of business venture. A one time thing. But now what is it really? Or maybe I'm just reading too much into that one line.  

"He calls you Kai. You two must be close then." I focused on a different part of the messages that passed between them, giving up on interpreting the underlying message the latter of them held or didn't hold. I hadn't even called Jongin by his self-imposed nickname — no matter how many times he tried to force it on me. "He said you came here because of both him and the dance program. That you're as close as brothers." 

Jongin didn't answer right away, causing my gaze to drift from the cellphone screen. He was staring at me. Staring at me with a mix of shock and confusion coating his eyes. 

I didn't know the meaning of it back then — as it disappeared soon after — but now I understand. He was shocked. He was confused. Because Taemin was the one who so uncharacteristically told me.

Taemin was the one who let me take a peak at what was behind his enigmatic attitude and personality. Taemin, who simply doesn't do that. Who simply doesn't give away the little details of his life as though they have no meaning. And that he did with me was one rare instance in which he did. 

"Yeah, yeah we are," Jongin's usual tone returned, his facial expression the same playful one he always showed. "He's the one who told me about it. My parents never really liked the idea of pursuing a major in Dance. They're the main reasons I'm still hanging onto Nursing by a thread." 

"I think you'd make a cute nurse," I interrupted, much to his dissatisfaction. He shot me a glare coupled with a half-scowl, half-smile. 

"You're hilarious." He shook his head in mock disappointment before continuing where he left off, "I told you I've been thinking about double majoring, but it's alot of work, you know? Med-school and Dance on the side? It's too much. So I've been thinking of just going for Dance full force without caring about what my parents like or dislike. I got here by an Arts scholarship after all." 

That's right. Jongin got into the university through an audition, receiving grants in exchange. I did the same. It's one of the similarities we found out about each other and is what promptly caused our first conversation that day in September during freshman year; a conversation revolving around whether or not the second judge from the right was wearing a toupee. What he said before that though was something I've never heard him talk about before. Maybe because we haven't seen each other recently. Finals were around the corner. 

Though there's a voice, different from that voice I always hear when I'm with Taemin,  in the back of my head saying, "Or maybe you just haven't been paying attention."

And I wanted it to be wrong. I so wanted it to be wrong. So I pushed it down, focusing on Jongin as he continued on. 

"And Taemin, my cousin, did he tell you that part?" he asked and I nodded. He stilled for a moment, then mimicked the action. "Taemin encouraged me to do what I wanted to do — even when we were wee boys. While I was at dance practice and everyone else was at night school, he told me that there are just different ways people get into college.

"My parents didn't like the idea of minoring in Dance at first while also taking part in the dance program — even though I would be majoring in Nursing. Taemin's attendance here changed their minds. They trust him to take care of the kid who still liked to scare people by putting frogs in their desks in highschool." 

I remembered that story and couldn't help but laugh. He'd told me it a long time ago. Well not that long ago. It's been over a year now, but it feels like it's been many more than that. Like I've known Jongin so much longer than that. 

As our laughter quieted, however, what was left was an uncomfortable silence. Silence as those chocolate brown eyes of his bore into me. No longer wide and alert. No longer filled with determination that set them aflame earlier —  even if his task was eating the lunch I brought. And the laughs we shared seemed so out of reach. So far away as he soon voiced the reason behind his sullen expression. 

"You've never asked me about it. About my past or my parents or my friends or any of it."

I had never asked, because it never seemed relevant before. The Kim Jongin of the past never seemed relevant before. I couldn't count on ten hands how many times he's asked about my parents or my childhood or where I grew up. Yet I hadn't asked him a single thing in return. And it felt odd to think that. 

To know that I know nothing about Jongin. 

"Well it's never too late to start." I smiled wide, holding my hand out to him before retracting it back, rethinking the gesture. I jokingly explained myself with a painfully fake grimace, "I would say nice to meet you, but you're not exactly all too handshake friendly right now." 

He looked down at his palm in wonder, seemingly seeing nothing wrong with his own sweat. Then without warning, I saw it. I saw those lips of his go curving upwards, a vibrant smile painting his face. A vibrantly cunning smile. Then, without a single warning, there went his hand, reaching out as he leaned forward. Reaching out, his fingers spreading apart, for me. I was too slow to get away and a part of me didn't want to. Looking back on it, I understand now why I let him do it. 

Why? Because his following action that I had foreseen seconds before he committed it would lighten those deep, dark circles. It would send exhaustion falling away into the abyss. It would make him happy. 

It would make him happy to do what he did then: his fingertips pressing against my temple before his entire palm slid against the side of my face, coating my cheeks in sweat.

My upper lip twitched at the cold, wet feeling. I sent my leg uncurling from its criss cross position and kicked him in the shoulder with my sock covered foot — all whilst balancing a half-eaten sandwich. "Disgusting," I hissed, because it was. It was disgusting even if I smiled right after. 

Because it worked. It made him happy. How did I know?

Well, despite the pain in his shoulder he must have felt, his face glowed with a large, teeth showing smile, weariness miles away. 

He laughed. And it echoed against the mirrored walls of the room, the effect a melodious symphony on a chilly afternoon. 

A/N: I finished this chapter at school. I've never finished a chapter at school before. Not ever. So whoa. This is a first for me. This is also the first chapter of this story that didn't have Taemin in it directly. Did you like it nevertheless?