a different kind of crazy (2min)
TITLE A Different Kind of Crazy 10/?
SUMMARY Taemin's never been one to care about what's right or wrong. He doesn't think about things like what's accepted and what's not. He wants what he wants, but it's not always a walk in the park.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS [SHINee] Minho/Taemin, Jonghyun/Key. (f(x) cameos)
RATING/WARNING R.
GENRE Real life/romance
1 2 3 4 5 6 ♥ 7 8 9
AN: oh my god i do not want to go to work.
a different kind of crazy;
Practice. Practice, practice, practice. It's like a mantra in Taemin's head, haunts him in his sleep, hovers in his mind when he's awake. He has to be perfect, he has to be prepared, he has to be beautiful. Dance is beauty, beauty is ballet. It's that simple. It's that principle that dictates Taemin's thoughts. Maybe it's a problem, maybe it's normal. Taemin's never given it much thought, never had anyone to compare himself too--just himself.
He just wants to be the best.
So when he arrives at practice with Kibum, close to earlier than "on time" (according entirely to Kibum), and sees Sulli sprawled on the floor clutching her ankle as if it held all the weight in the world, Taemin's own world momentarily stops.
"Amber, can you take her to the hospital?" their instructor says quietly. Her gaze is unreadable, but her glasses are on, which means something is seriously wrong. She's been inspecting Sulli's ankle, which is turning dark, bruising hues already. Sulli is a heap on the floor, crying. She's even in full costume, seeing as they are now four days away from debut. It's a dreadful sight.
"Who told her good luck?" Kibum mutters under his breath, "It's always break a leg."
Taemin is silent, wondering how they're going to fix this. Who else has practiced Sulli's part? They are too small a school to have enough for understudies. There is no replacement for her. Taemin's skill as her partner is easily replicated--the danseur exists as roots for the ballerina, a graceful flower. Taemin knows this, but it seems so trivial even now.
As Amber helps Sulli limp from the dance floor, their instructor turns to the rest of the class. Thirteen students return the attention, though she is looking primarily at Taemin. "How much of Sulli's routine do you know?"
Taemin furrows his eyebrows. "All of it."
"You've practiced pointe?" she continues, stepping closer to fully inspect him. Her hands reach at his waist, feeling his actual shape, since it's hidden beneath his loose shirt and harem pants. "You can execute it flawlessly?"
"That's a little much to ask." Kibum intercedes; always the student to question authority.
However, Taemin, raising his arms at her request, says "If I do nothing but practice until the recital," he bites his lip, and he's not really thinking. His mind is reeling with anxiety. "Then yes, I can do it."
"What other choice do we have?" says their instructor decidedly. "We will have to disguise your face. As the main act, you will still dance as Sulli." she begins to pace. "This might work out for the better--a masquerade themed Swan Lake. It's an attention-grabber. Unique. I wish I hadn't thought of it under adversity. Taemin, how tall are you?"
"175cm." Taemin replies mechanically.
"Too tall." she surveys the rest of her students. "Joon, you've danced his routine before? Partner with him."
He's taller than Taemin, well-built and entirely able support Taemin's wisp of a body with ease. As a noted sunbae in the studio, there's no way he'll deny their instructor's request. They all understand the austerity of the situation.
"Taemin, wrap your feet and put on pointe shoes after you warm up. You two will stay as late as it takes." She whips off her glasses and turns to the rest of the class. "Kibum, can I rely on you to take my place for today. Keep the other routines in check. I believe you're familiar with most of them."
Even Kibum is surprised by her calm determination. He actually stutters when he says, "Yes."
No one brings up everything that is wrong with this decision. It's unheard of, if not morally incorrect, and it's against the rules, pointless, hopeless--no. That doesn't matter. This is their only chance at recognition, and the school's future resides on finding new and better sponsors. The studio as a working unit is more important than a single person's feelings, health, and in this case, gender.
It's a serious business they run, not just a school for the average dilettante. Taemin knows this, but the realization hits him like a sharpness raining down when he finally leaves the studio at 2:34am. Yes, it's sleeting outside. How rare. He's stuck where he is.
He's not alone.
It could be a repeat performance, Taemin thinks, Minho leaning under the neon glow of their trendy sign. Kim's Studio of Dance. Beside him rests a useless umbrella. The smoke drifting from his lips is thick with the visibility of his own breath.
"What are you doing here?" Taemin asks, guarded.
"I was on my way home from clubbing, and it started to rain. Shit shot two holes into my umbrella." He opens it up for proof.
Taemin laughs tiredly at him. "You liar."
Minho shrugs, exhales more smokey breath. "Worth a try."
"To make me believe it?"
"Or to make you laugh, both accounts are satisfying." Minho points past the awning and Taemin turns to see the freezing rain has lightened into fluffy, white snow. "And what are you doing here?"
Taemin is distracted by the beauty of the weather. He rarely takes time to appreciate the snow, lit so many colors by the neons that bedizen the streets. Strange he should take the opportunity now.
Minho steps out into the snow with his umbrella. Taemin adjusts his hood and follows after him. He registers Minho's question as they begin to walk. "There's only four days until our performance."
"You take ballet very seriously, don't you?" So Minho has the capacity to seem like he cares, does he? Taemin is beginning to think he'll never understand him.
"I was born to dance." he replies simply. No thought about it, no ands ifs or buts. He knows it to be true. They stop at the busy intersection connecting the offbeat street to its major district, and under the lamplight, Taemin notices a dark set of bruises lining Minho's jaw.
"Did you get into another fight?" Taemin motions to his face.
"Did I? No, someone got into a fight with me." Minho corrects. "My father."
Taemin is hesitant to respond, but Minho doesn't seem too fazed by it. "What for?" he asks.
"He's an alcoholic." replies Minho, "He doesn't really need a reason."
"Do you," Taemin considers the tact in his question, continues anyway, "live with just him?"
"My mother has been awol for eleven years." Minho's tone picks up a bitter quality. "She sends letters sometimes, no return address. They're always brilliant, like some picturesque vacation CF about the Caribbean."
Taemin knows what that's like. "My dad left my mum when he found out she was pregnant with me. They were still in high school. She always dates younger guys that remind her of him, and they're always horrible, and she always ends up hurt in the end."
"Should I sympathize with you?" Minho actually asks.
"You could. I know how it feels." Taemin replies. Their hands brush when Taemin scoots to the side to pass another pedestrian. He braves pursuing the heat and clasps Minho's with his. Minho doesn't pull away.
"Does this constitute as talking about it?" Minho's grin is a little close to troublesome. They've just reached Taemin's apartment complex, and are standing at the outdoor stairs at the left of the building.
"Don't label a method to your madness," Taemin sighs loudly, letting go of Minho's hand and taking the first step. "A big part of me wishes you were sincere."
"I'm always sincere." Minho shoots back, large eyes catching and, well, sincere.
Taemin shakes his head. A sincere liar, he thinks, sincere for all the wrong reasons. Sincerely crazy. "I have to go."
Taemin is slightly taller than Minho on the high, brick step, and Minho yanks his hair to pull his head down and kiss him, languid and skillful, as usual. "You have bruises under your eyes," he says in a hush.
"So do you." Taemin replies breathily. "Do you--" he starts, stops, starts again. "Do you want to come up? My mom works graveyard shift tonight."
Minho follows him into his apartment, silent and observant, all the way to Taemin's small room, full of organized clutter. The first thing out of his mouth is, "What about those heels?"
Taemin hadn't thought about them in weeks--the shoes he had pined after, with some unease, for just as long. He suddenly feels like his life has been turned upside down. "Uhm," he can't stop the blush from coloring his cheeks. "Kibum has them. My mom was too curious."
"A mother probably has her instincts." Minho says absently. "My father only believes it when he's drunk."
"I can't ever tell her." Taemin sits on his bed, where Minho has already made himself comfortable, picking up the book upturned on his nightstand and skimming the summary.
"I could ask why not but what's the point?" He puts down the tome and opens his legs to make room for Taemin, who leans his back against Minho's chest. "I already know why not."
"She'd just break down." Taemin answers anyway. "She worries that I prefer ballet over something like soccer or baseball. And I've never had a girlfriend."
"I think I could pass you off as my girlfriend in those shoes of yours."
Taemin slams his elbow back into Minho's rib. "Maybe I will give them to Eunsook."
Minho swivels his arms around Taemin's waist. "Can she even walk in them?"
They both stop to think, then stop thinking about it because it's hard to picture.
"Anyway," Taemin drawls obnoxiously, tilting his head farther onto Minho's shoulder when Minho leans down to press his lips at the crux of Taemin's neck and collarbone. Minho's hands are already working on the buttons of his uniform shirt, apt and speedy.
It's less than a minute before they're both mostly undressed and Minho is kissing down Taemin's stomach before hooking his fingers in the waistband of his briefs and sliding them off of him. He's much slower this time, almost treating Taemin like he's fragile, and he almost forgets to hold back his voice when Minho moves his mouth lower, tongue dancing across Taemin feverishly.
He runs his tongue down Taemin's cock, hands kneading under his ass, supporting his slightly raised hips, and when Minho finally pushes inside him, his movements are more erotic and focused than he'd been in the past, quickly sending Taemin over the edge, back arching almost violently towards Minho's heaving cheset.
It's the best sex Taemin's ever had, he thinks, and it's only his third time. Maybe Krystal's actually right. Would that even be a good thing, he wonders. And oh, he's just had sex on his own bed for the first time. Should he be feeling something quixotic? He doesn't know.
Minho locates his pants--tight fitting, dark red denim, and pulls them back over his briefs. Then he asks, "Can I smoke in here?"
"Cigarettes?" Taemin says, opening his mouth to say, "Out the window," but Minho cuts him off. "No, this." and he pulls a joint out of his cigarette box, waving it around suggestively.
Taemin's answer is the same. "Out the window."
They end up sharing it, sitting on Taemin's bed and leaning out the partition, pointing out weird looking pedestrians: Taemin's room looks over a busy street. He really lives in a cheaper part of the city, which makes for a lot of foot traffic.
Needless to say, they don't get much sleep that night, it seems pointless when it hits 5am and Minho's guiding Taemin into a more bold position, sinking down and controlling most of their movement, riding Minho almost feverishly. It helps Taemin to forget about all the madness that has suddenly come crashing into his life.
It's the first time he wakes up with Minho's arm around him, pressed close, and they're both still naked. He jumps out of bed, in immediate panic mode, and nearly pushes Minho onto the floor. "What time is it, what time is it?" he's repeating loudly, yanking on sweats and dashing to his door. It's locked. Thank god. "No, shh! Shut up, don't say anything." he adds when Minho looks about to respond.
It's 6:49am and his mom is dead asleep on the living room couch when he creeps down the stairs. He drapes a blanket over her shoulders and sighs in relief. They'll have to be quiet, but for the most part, she has always been a deep sleeper.
"It's your turn to sneak out." he says in a quiet chuckle. Minho's already dressed, and looking far too amused for so early in the morning. He successfully makes it past Taemin's sleeping mother and out the door.
"See you in a few hours?" he says through a lofty grin.
"Just get out!" Taemin hisses loudly, door barely cracked open, but he's smiling too.
When he closes the door, he thinks to himself, now--now he has to face reality.
To perfect Sulli's routine in less than 72 hours, and then perform it. To execute it perfectly in full female costume, in front of an audience of important sponsors, and more importantly, his mother.
He hadn't thought of that.
That might be a bit of a problem.
"Taeminnie? What are you doing at the door?" Speak of the devil--his mother is squinting tiredly at him from the couch and she checks her watch. She hadn't bothered to change out of her work uniform. "Are you going to school early?"
"No, I just woke up."
Only because she's half awake does she accept that answer. "Please be quiet for me." she yawns, and lies back down. "Thanks for the blanket."
Taemin treads lightly back up to his room to prepare for school, and leaves the childish snores of his overworked mother to rest.
He checks his phone in the bus, sees a text from Krystal. It reads: "hang out again 2nite? hit me up anytime. even 4am is ok--prob preferable."
Taemin's already accepted the fact he will probably not get more than six hours of sleep this week. Besides, he's curious about Krystal, he really is, and more than curious about her knoweldge of Minho.
sent 07:13am
Taemin: where?
received 07:14am
Krystal: diner diadem. i work around that area ಠ◡ಠ just text me when u r on ur way.
Taemin texts her an "Okay," as he steps off the bus, not paying attention to where he's walking, and promptly slips in the ice, landing hard on his backside, which is sore enough as it is. A few students laugh at him, one asks if he's okay. Taemin just lets his phone rest inches from his grasp, unsent text typed in the snow, and lies there along with it, staring up at the eerie blue sky. Not a cloud in sight--clear and crisp. He'd really like to just lay there for an hour or two, curse the cold quickly seeping up the back of his shirt where his jacket had ridden up.
Kibum's face suddenly eclipses the bright sun, making a bizarre expression. "Taemin, I have to say you are often the highlight of my day in one way or another."
"Enlighten me." Taemin grumbles, letting Kibum help him up with a firm arm, his uninjurged one. He dusts off his pants and grabs his phone, clicking send with a bit of reverence towards the accomplishment.
Kibum intends to, walking with him through the school gates. "The most recent being your effortless pointe, and your ready agreement to crossdress as a ballerina, of all things. I honestly thought we had already talked about this. You know, those purple heels of yours?"
Taemin gives Kibum a haughty glare, moody from his painful fall only moments ago. "Are you hinting at something?"
"I'm simply using your own tactic to try and knock some sense into you." Kibum replies. He stops Taemin at their lockers, cornering him between the wall and the doors. "Do you think you can pull this off? Yes, you've a delicate frame, you're unhealthily light, and you move with unseen grace, whatever, but you're not a girl, and no one can do this in three days."
"I have to." Taemin says, "The whole studio's kind of make it or break it on this."
"Who cares?" Kibum shoots back. "You don't need this kind of stress in your life."
His words remind Taemin of Krystal's sage advice. "People are usually already crazy enough as it is." Taemin wonders, for a moment, if he might actually be going crazy.
"I can do it." he puffs out stubbornly.
"It's not worth it. You're fifty-fifty here." Kibum crosses his arms, lips set in a straight, concerned line. "What about your mother?"
Something in Taemin clicks into place then, and he meets Kibum's eyes with an overwhelmed expression. "If she doesn't understand after this, then she never will."
Kibum does not argue again. It's rare to see Taemin so truthful with himself. "Okay," he says, "But you know how this ends."
Like me, he knows Kibum won't say out loud. Taemin's struck by the intensity of this moment, his admittance, a late-coming revelation.
"I can do it." Taemin says again, mostly to reassure himself.
Kibum doesn't look so convinced, and Taemin's sure that, for once, he's putting too much on his plate.
"I'm going to hug you." Kibum warns him, before pulling Taemin over and throwing his arms around his shoulders, smothering him in a bear-like hug that makes him feel like a child all over again.
His voice is muffled by Kibum's sweatshirt, but he says, "I don't want your sympathy." Taemin doesn't know how he got so cornered by his own life. It's staggering.
It's probably a good thing Kibum can't understand him. Taemin feels a lot like crying, and that's the one thing he refuses to give in to. Taemin will cry when he gives up, and never a second sooner.
He sniffs when Kibum lets him loose, and makes a show of pretentiously blowing his nose so as to make Kibum think he's playing at overdramatic, and partly because he's pleased with himself for not giving up. He won't give up, not yet.
Kibum snorts at him and pushes him towards his classroom. He says,
"You've got a crazy weekend ahead of you."
Taemin knows it will be exactly that.
previous | next
note; What a sight it would be to see Amber and Sulli hailing a taxi in Black Swannish garb. That's what I pictured. xD
SUMMARY Taemin's never been one to care about what's right or wrong. He doesn't think about things like what's accepted and what's not. He wants what he wants, but it's not always a walk in the park.
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS [SHINee] Minho/Taemin, Jonghyun/Key. (f(x) cameos)
RATING/WARNING R.
GENRE Real life/romance
1 2 3 4 5 6 ♥ 7 8 9
AN: oh my god i do not want to go to work.
a different kind of crazy;
Practice. Practice, practice, practice. It's like a mantra in Taemin's head, haunts him in his sleep, hovers in his mind when he's awake. He has to be perfect, he has to be prepared, he has to be beautiful. Dance is beauty, beauty is ballet. It's that simple. It's that principle that dictates Taemin's thoughts. Maybe it's a problem, maybe it's normal. Taemin's never given it much thought, never had anyone to compare himself too--just himself.
He just wants to be the best.
So when he arrives at practice with Kibum, close to earlier than "on time" (according entirely to Kibum), and sees Sulli sprawled on the floor clutching her ankle as if it held all the weight in the world, Taemin's own world momentarily stops.
"Amber, can you take her to the hospital?" their instructor says quietly. Her gaze is unreadable, but her glasses are on, which means something is seriously wrong. She's been inspecting Sulli's ankle, which is turning dark, bruising hues already. Sulli is a heap on the floor, crying. She's even in full costume, seeing as they are now four days away from debut. It's a dreadful sight.
"Who told her good luck?" Kibum mutters under his breath, "It's always break a leg."
Taemin is silent, wondering how they're going to fix this. Who else has practiced Sulli's part? They are too small a school to have enough for understudies. There is no replacement for her. Taemin's skill as her partner is easily replicated--the danseur exists as roots for the ballerina, a graceful flower. Taemin knows this, but it seems so trivial even now.
As Amber helps Sulli limp from the dance floor, their instructor turns to the rest of the class. Thirteen students return the attention, though she is looking primarily at Taemin. "How much of Sulli's routine do you know?"
Taemin furrows his eyebrows. "All of it."
"You've practiced pointe?" she continues, stepping closer to fully inspect him. Her hands reach at his waist, feeling his actual shape, since it's hidden beneath his loose shirt and harem pants. "You can execute it flawlessly?"
"That's a little much to ask." Kibum intercedes; always the student to question authority.
However, Taemin, raising his arms at her request, says "If I do nothing but practice until the recital," he bites his lip, and he's not really thinking. His mind is reeling with anxiety. "Then yes, I can do it."
"What other choice do we have?" says their instructor decidedly. "We will have to disguise your face. As the main act, you will still dance as Sulli." she begins to pace. "This might work out for the better--a masquerade themed Swan Lake. It's an attention-grabber. Unique. I wish I hadn't thought of it under adversity. Taemin, how tall are you?"
"175cm." Taemin replies mechanically.
"Too tall." she surveys the rest of her students. "Joon, you've danced his routine before? Partner with him."
He's taller than Taemin, well-built and entirely able support Taemin's wisp of a body with ease. As a noted sunbae in the studio, there's no way he'll deny their instructor's request. They all understand the austerity of the situation.
"Taemin, wrap your feet and put on pointe shoes after you warm up. You two will stay as late as it takes." She whips off her glasses and turns to the rest of the class. "Kibum, can I rely on you to take my place for today. Keep the other routines in check. I believe you're familiar with most of them."
Even Kibum is surprised by her calm determination. He actually stutters when he says, "Yes."
No one brings up everything that is wrong with this decision. It's unheard of, if not morally incorrect, and it's against the rules, pointless, hopeless--no. That doesn't matter. This is their only chance at recognition, and the school's future resides on finding new and better sponsors. The studio as a working unit is more important than a single person's feelings, health, and in this case, gender.
It's a serious business they run, not just a school for the average dilettante. Taemin knows this, but the realization hits him like a sharpness raining down when he finally leaves the studio at 2:34am. Yes, it's sleeting outside. How rare. He's stuck where he is.
He's not alone.
It could be a repeat performance, Taemin thinks, Minho leaning under the neon glow of their trendy sign. Kim's Studio of Dance. Beside him rests a useless umbrella. The smoke drifting from his lips is thick with the visibility of his own breath.
"What are you doing here?" Taemin asks, guarded.
"I was on my way home from clubbing, and it started to rain. Shit shot two holes into my umbrella." He opens it up for proof.
Taemin laughs tiredly at him. "You liar."
Minho shrugs, exhales more smokey breath. "Worth a try."
"To make me believe it?"
"Or to make you laugh, both accounts are satisfying." Minho points past the awning and Taemin turns to see the freezing rain has lightened into fluffy, white snow. "And what are you doing here?"
Taemin is distracted by the beauty of the weather. He rarely takes time to appreciate the snow, lit so many colors by the neons that bedizen the streets. Strange he should take the opportunity now.
Minho steps out into the snow with his umbrella. Taemin adjusts his hood and follows after him. He registers Minho's question as they begin to walk. "There's only four days until our performance."
"You take ballet very seriously, don't you?" So Minho has the capacity to seem like he cares, does he? Taemin is beginning to think he'll never understand him.
"I was born to dance." he replies simply. No thought about it, no ands ifs or buts. He knows it to be true. They stop at the busy intersection connecting the offbeat street to its major district, and under the lamplight, Taemin notices a dark set of bruises lining Minho's jaw.
"Did you get into another fight?" Taemin motions to his face.
"Did I? No, someone got into a fight with me." Minho corrects. "My father."
Taemin is hesitant to respond, but Minho doesn't seem too fazed by it. "What for?" he asks.
"He's an alcoholic." replies Minho, "He doesn't really need a reason."
"Do you," Taemin considers the tact in his question, continues anyway, "live with just him?"
"My mother has been awol for eleven years." Minho's tone picks up a bitter quality. "She sends letters sometimes, no return address. They're always brilliant, like some picturesque vacation CF about the Caribbean."
Taemin knows what that's like. "My dad left my mum when he found out she was pregnant with me. They were still in high school. She always dates younger guys that remind her of him, and they're always horrible, and she always ends up hurt in the end."
"Should I sympathize with you?" Minho actually asks.
"You could. I know how it feels." Taemin replies. Their hands brush when Taemin scoots to the side to pass another pedestrian. He braves pursuing the heat and clasps Minho's with his. Minho doesn't pull away.
"Does this constitute as talking about it?" Minho's grin is a little close to troublesome. They've just reached Taemin's apartment complex, and are standing at the outdoor stairs at the left of the building.
"Don't label a method to your madness," Taemin sighs loudly, letting go of Minho's hand and taking the first step. "A big part of me wishes you were sincere."
"I'm always sincere." Minho shoots back, large eyes catching and, well, sincere.
Taemin shakes his head. A sincere liar, he thinks, sincere for all the wrong reasons. Sincerely crazy. "I have to go."
Taemin is slightly taller than Minho on the high, brick step, and Minho yanks his hair to pull his head down and kiss him, languid and skillful, as usual. "You have bruises under your eyes," he says in a hush.
"So do you." Taemin replies breathily. "Do you--" he starts, stops, starts again. "Do you want to come up? My mom works graveyard shift tonight."
Minho follows him into his apartment, silent and observant, all the way to Taemin's small room, full of organized clutter. The first thing out of his mouth is, "What about those heels?"
Taemin hadn't thought about them in weeks--the shoes he had pined after, with some unease, for just as long. He suddenly feels like his life has been turned upside down. "Uhm," he can't stop the blush from coloring his cheeks. "Kibum has them. My mom was too curious."
"A mother probably has her instincts." Minho says absently. "My father only believes it when he's drunk."
"I can't ever tell her." Taemin sits on his bed, where Minho has already made himself comfortable, picking up the book upturned on his nightstand and skimming the summary.
"I could ask why not but what's the point?" He puts down the tome and opens his legs to make room for Taemin, who leans his back against Minho's chest. "I already know why not."
"She'd just break down." Taemin answers anyway. "She worries that I prefer ballet over something like soccer or baseball. And I've never had a girlfriend."
"I think I could pass you off as my girlfriend in those shoes of yours."
Taemin slams his elbow back into Minho's rib. "Maybe I will give them to Eunsook."
Minho swivels his arms around Taemin's waist. "Can she even walk in them?"
They both stop to think, then stop thinking about it because it's hard to picture.
"Anyway," Taemin drawls obnoxiously, tilting his head farther onto Minho's shoulder when Minho leans down to press his lips at the crux of Taemin's neck and collarbone. Minho's hands are already working on the buttons of his uniform shirt, apt and speedy.
It's less than a minute before they're both mostly undressed and Minho is kissing down Taemin's stomach before hooking his fingers in the waistband of his briefs and sliding them off of him. He's much slower this time, almost treating Taemin like he's fragile, and he almost forgets to hold back his voice when Minho moves his mouth lower, tongue dancing across Taemin feverishly.
He runs his tongue down Taemin's cock, hands kneading under his ass, supporting his slightly raised hips, and when Minho finally pushes inside him, his movements are more erotic and focused than he'd been in the past, quickly sending Taemin over the edge, back arching almost violently towards Minho's heaving cheset.
It's the best sex Taemin's ever had, he thinks, and it's only his third time. Maybe Krystal's actually right. Would that even be a good thing, he wonders. And oh, he's just had sex on his own bed for the first time. Should he be feeling something quixotic? He doesn't know.
Minho locates his pants--tight fitting, dark red denim, and pulls them back over his briefs. Then he asks, "Can I smoke in here?"
"Cigarettes?" Taemin says, opening his mouth to say, "Out the window," but Minho cuts him off. "No, this." and he pulls a joint out of his cigarette box, waving it around suggestively.
Taemin's answer is the same. "Out the window."
They end up sharing it, sitting on Taemin's bed and leaning out the partition, pointing out weird looking pedestrians: Taemin's room looks over a busy street. He really lives in a cheaper part of the city, which makes for a lot of foot traffic.
Needless to say, they don't get much sleep that night, it seems pointless when it hits 5am and Minho's guiding Taemin into a more bold position, sinking down and controlling most of their movement, riding Minho almost feverishly. It helps Taemin to forget about all the madness that has suddenly come crashing into his life.
It's the first time he wakes up with Minho's arm around him, pressed close, and they're both still naked. He jumps out of bed, in immediate panic mode, and nearly pushes Minho onto the floor. "What time is it, what time is it?" he's repeating loudly, yanking on sweats and dashing to his door. It's locked. Thank god. "No, shh! Shut up, don't say anything." he adds when Minho looks about to respond.
It's 6:49am and his mom is dead asleep on the living room couch when he creeps down the stairs. He drapes a blanket over her shoulders and sighs in relief. They'll have to be quiet, but for the most part, she has always been a deep sleeper.
"It's your turn to sneak out." he says in a quiet chuckle. Minho's already dressed, and looking far too amused for so early in the morning. He successfully makes it past Taemin's sleeping mother and out the door.
"See you in a few hours?" he says through a lofty grin.
"Just get out!" Taemin hisses loudly, door barely cracked open, but he's smiling too.
When he closes the door, he thinks to himself, now--now he has to face reality.
To perfect Sulli's routine in less than 72 hours, and then perform it. To execute it perfectly in full female costume, in front of an audience of important sponsors, and more importantly, his mother.
He hadn't thought of that.
That might be a bit of a problem.
"Taeminnie? What are you doing at the door?" Speak of the devil--his mother is squinting tiredly at him from the couch and she checks her watch. She hadn't bothered to change out of her work uniform. "Are you going to school early?"
"No, I just woke up."
Only because she's half awake does she accept that answer. "Please be quiet for me." she yawns, and lies back down. "Thanks for the blanket."
Taemin treads lightly back up to his room to prepare for school, and leaves the childish snores of his overworked mother to rest.
He checks his phone in the bus, sees a text from Krystal. It reads: "hang out again 2nite? hit me up anytime. even 4am is ok--prob preferable."
Taemin's already accepted the fact he will probably not get more than six hours of sleep this week. Besides, he's curious about Krystal, he really is, and more than curious about her knoweldge of Minho.
sent 07:13am
Taemin: where?
received 07:14am
Krystal: diner diadem. i work around that area ಠ◡ಠ just text me when u r on ur way.
Taemin texts her an "Okay," as he steps off the bus, not paying attention to where he's walking, and promptly slips in the ice, landing hard on his backside, which is sore enough as it is. A few students laugh at him, one asks if he's okay. Taemin just lets his phone rest inches from his grasp, unsent text typed in the snow, and lies there along with it, staring up at the eerie blue sky. Not a cloud in sight--clear and crisp. He'd really like to just lay there for an hour or two, curse the cold quickly seeping up the back of his shirt where his jacket had ridden up.
Kibum's face suddenly eclipses the bright sun, making a bizarre expression. "Taemin, I have to say you are often the highlight of my day in one way or another."
"Enlighten me." Taemin grumbles, letting Kibum help him up with a firm arm, his uninjurged one. He dusts off his pants and grabs his phone, clicking send with a bit of reverence towards the accomplishment.
Kibum intends to, walking with him through the school gates. "The most recent being your effortless pointe, and your ready agreement to crossdress as a ballerina, of all things. I honestly thought we had already talked about this. You know, those purple heels of yours?"
Taemin gives Kibum a haughty glare, moody from his painful fall only moments ago. "Are you hinting at something?"
"I'm simply using your own tactic to try and knock some sense into you." Kibum replies. He stops Taemin at their lockers, cornering him between the wall and the doors. "Do you think you can pull this off? Yes, you've a delicate frame, you're unhealthily light, and you move with unseen grace, whatever, but you're not a girl, and no one can do this in three days."
"I have to." Taemin says, "The whole studio's kind of make it or break it on this."
"Who cares?" Kibum shoots back. "You don't need this kind of stress in your life."
His words remind Taemin of Krystal's sage advice. "People are usually already crazy enough as it is." Taemin wonders, for a moment, if he might actually be going crazy.
"I can do it." he puffs out stubbornly.
"It's not worth it. You're fifty-fifty here." Kibum crosses his arms, lips set in a straight, concerned line. "What about your mother?"
Something in Taemin clicks into place then, and he meets Kibum's eyes with an overwhelmed expression. "If she doesn't understand after this, then she never will."
Kibum does not argue again. It's rare to see Taemin so truthful with himself. "Okay," he says, "But you know how this ends."
Like me, he knows Kibum won't say out loud. Taemin's struck by the intensity of this moment, his admittance, a late-coming revelation.
"I can do it." Taemin says again, mostly to reassure himself.
Kibum doesn't look so convinced, and Taemin's sure that, for once, he's putting too much on his plate.
"I'm going to hug you." Kibum warns him, before pulling Taemin over and throwing his arms around his shoulders, smothering him in a bear-like hug that makes him feel like a child all over again.
His voice is muffled by Kibum's sweatshirt, but he says, "I don't want your sympathy." Taemin doesn't know how he got so cornered by his own life. It's staggering.
It's probably a good thing Kibum can't understand him. Taemin feels a lot like crying, and that's the one thing he refuses to give in to. Taemin will cry when he gives up, and never a second sooner.
He sniffs when Kibum lets him loose, and makes a show of pretentiously blowing his nose so as to make Kibum think he's playing at overdramatic, and partly because he's pleased with himself for not giving up. He won't give up, not yet.
Kibum snorts at him and pushes him towards his classroom. He says,
"You've got a crazy weekend ahead of you."
Taemin knows it will be exactly that.
previous | next
note; What a sight it would be to see Amber and Sulli hailing a taxi in Black Swannish garb. That's what I pictured. xD