Taemin’s dreams don’t let him sleep, and his sleep doesn’t let him dream. The backlight of his phone seemed especially bright in the cold darkness of midnight. He dialed Jongin’s number from memory. Each ring sounded twice as short, and each silence in between sounded twice as long. No answer. He called again, waiting for something that he knew wouldn’t happen. No answer. His patience stayed on the phone long enough to leave a voice message.
“I want you to kiss me.”
His eyes closed and his breath finished out the message until it automatically ended. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold onto nothing.
Taemin and Jongin haven’t talked in weeks, basically a month. Naturally, overtime, the conversations become less and less. He figured it’s because Jongin was busy, but couldn’t he just talk for a few minutes? Is he really being pushed that badly? Is he so busy that he can’t talk to his scared less boyfriend for a few ing seconds? Taemin exhaled his anger and inhaled empathy and a shaky understanding he pulled from nowhere.
He wasn’t too worried at first, because love didn’t have to be reminded of when it’s constantly in the heart. It wasn't reassurance he wanted; it was knowledge that Jongin is happy, getting by, just anything. But as time went by, he couldn't help but bite his nails and tremor in his sleep. Either knowledge, or a pretty spectacular distraction.
Taemin didn’t tell anyone about that night. That night he slammed the phone onto the wooden floor, pulled the covers over his head and sobbed. But he didn’t just sob, he threw a pillow across his room which essentially broke something glass, but this was probably intended. He hoped his mother was a deep sleeper. The glass shattered to the floor and reflected the moonlight along with the message: I miss you.
He stood up, whining and crying, and punched a very slight dent in his wall. His head spun, and his knuckles were now threatening blood and perhaps a few fractures. He bit his lip to muffle his screams before whirling around to whip another pillow across the room. This one didn’t do any damage, and it annoyed him enough to break down onto the floor. He was now crying so hard that he made no noise at all.
He curled up, hugged his knees, and waited for his tantrum of anger and loneliness to subside. He knew how pathetic he looked, but honestly, Taemin was only concerned with pouring out the steel in his heart. The room fogged as he wondered what Jongin was doing at that moment, what Jongin had for breakfast, what Jongin was wearing, if Jongin had any clue as to how dysfunctional he made Taemin.
Slowly, his adrenaline calmed as Taemin finally held onto the piece of him that told him he was being ridiculous.
He wiped his eyes and scraped his bangs away from potentially interfering with his already blurred eyesight. The moonlight made him squint, but it also made him think. Was Jongin looking at that same moon? Why did his world have to revolve around Jongin, and why did he have to need Jongin that badly?
But how amazing, to have someone so incredible to miss.
~~
One afternoon, Taemin stopped at the local grocery store on his way home from school. He scanned his list as he browsed through the aisles: milk, eggs, cereal, and a warm hug. He crossed off the last one.
As he scanned the rows of cereal in search of his favorite, he spotted long black hair and a gorgeous face form the corner of his eye. Could she possibly be who Taemin thought she was? He slowly raised his vision and saw that the woman was indeed Jongin’s mother. She now wore reading glasses as she observed the nutrition facts on the side of the most health promising cereal box.
Taemin’s breath caught in his lungs as his stomach lurched. It was so nice to see her. A reminder his whole relationship hadn’t been a dream, and Jongin actually existed. But he quickly turned his head and tried to inconspicuously block his face with his hand. He was probably the last person she wanted to see, for Jongin had basically picked him over his own family, and plus Taemin probably overstayed his welcome at their house.
