#3 You Are Not Invited to the Other Side of Sanity 3/3

[collabmods]

The bus turns onto the street right when Taemin wakes up, and his friends are hanging around the bus stop when he gets off. They head over to the cafe together with Taemin totally out of it, but that’s nothing new; Minjae makes a big show of steering Taemin away from obstacles, but Taemin’s foot ends up catching on a crack in the sidewalk anyway. Taemin pretends to shove Minjae into the street, laughing along with everyone else.

He looks for all the world like a normal teenager hanging out with his friends.

Taemin gets chills down his spine when they pass the street Minho usually walks along, but as they walk by, he’s not pacing, in fact, he’s sitting on the bench Taemin usually lands on with a content type of smile on his face. It makes Taemin smile too, until Sungjong pokes his cheek and asks him if he’s having visions again. Taemin laughs it off and shoves him into a telephone pole, something which all of them get a kick out of.

They get a seat at the cafe across the street from Minho, which bothers Taemin, but he doesn’t bring it up because, really, what’s he supposed to say? Sorry, I don’t really fancy sitting here, mainly because there’s a spirit only I can see sitting on that bench there and I’m actually supposed to be helping him, so it’s a little creepy. It doesn’t really help that it’s a bright sunny day and they want to sit in the outdoor tables. Halfway through the meal, Taemin excuses himself and says he has to leave early, because having Minho watching but not watching him isn’t comfortable in any way, shape, or form.

He’s planning to go to sleep and try some new method with Minho as soon as he boards the bus, but when he takes his seat, he turns his head to find someone sitting next to him.

“Hello,” Kibum smiles bitterly. “You don’t mind me sitting here, right? No? Thanks.”

“No,” Taemin says between gritted teeth. “Not at all. Had a nice day, did you?”

“Well,” Kibum says, shrugging a bit. “I saw you completely fail with Minho, so yeah, it was a rather pleasant day.”

“You have a twisted sense of pleasure,” Taemin growls.

“You could consider me Death, if you wanted to, so of course I do.”

Taemin finds nothing to respond to him, so instead of sleeping, he stares at out of the window for the duration of the bus ride.

The experience of being a model. How are you supposed to give a spirit that when you’re the only one who can communicate with him? There’s no actual experience in that, unless there’s a third person. Like a cameraman or a director or something. And even if there was a third person, how would they get someone to be that?

He’s completely immersed in his thoughts when Kibum taps him on the shoulder.

“So, beauty, your stop is here. Give me a call when you give up.”

Taemin sighs and taps his foot impatiently, standing up. “How am I supposed to call you?”

“Just say Kibum, and I’ll be there whenever.”

“Isn’t that a line from a song?”

“I like my music,” Kibum shrugs and disappears. “Have fun with your camera whore.”

Taemin groans and gets off the bus, not bothering to acknowledge the driver’s existence this time. He walks down the road silently, the sound of his own footsteps resonating in his ears. Half way down the block is when it hits Taemin. Third person.

Kibum.

His defense system instantly kicks in and he thinks to himself - no, no, there’s no way he could get Kibum involved. He’d never involved himself, would never involve himself, and Taemin doesn’t need him to involve himself. Last time that happened, he ended up in a vortex of nightmares. It seems like an instant no in his mind, but it makes more and more sense. Minho’s never met Kibum before. He’s never mentioned him to Minho, he doesn’t think. And it would be perfect. It’s so perfect that Taemin wants to take a hammer and create a crack in the clear glass, shove Kibum in the back drawer and pretend he never thought of the idea. He runs all the way back to his house, feeling dread chasing him, danger a footstep behind him each time. He crashes into his room and shoves the blanket over his head, willing himself to sleep.

He sitting in someone’s house, and there’s music blasting. Really loudly. There’s bottles and glasses all around him, and he can vaguely feel someone’s lips dragging across his jawline. He body freezes up and Taemin represses the urge to scream. He pushes away the girl whose fingers had been making a way for his waistline and stands up urgently. It’s a house party. She’s drunk, that person’s drunk, and that person, and that person too, and Taemin considers his headache as a warning that he might be drunk as well. A boy from the corner waves at him and tosses him a beer, Taemin has to jump to catch it.

“Come on, you’ve only had two beers so far,” he hears the boy laugh and winks at him as a he sees a girl walking past. “Hey Junghee, so I was just talking about you with Kyusun...”

He groans a bit and steps over a couple making out next to him on the couch and makes a grab for the wall. He leans on it, breathing heavily as he tries to calm himself down. It’s a party, with school kids doing dumb shit and getting drunk, and it’s totally normal, except for the fact that Taemin can’t stop the terror that’s curling around him, making its way up his body and seizing at his heartstrings, tugging on them harshly. He slides to the floor and dry heaves as tears sting at the corner of his eyes. He clutches his throat and drops the bottle of beer, mind fizzing out at the burning sensation in his throat.

Someone pats his back and there’s a calming voice in his ear. “Hey, are you alright there? Did you drink too much? And you have another beer next to you - you don’t want to land yourself in the hospital, do you?”

Taemin slaps their hand away and grabs the bottle, standing up again with the wall as support. He opens the bottle and takes a large swig, groaning as the bubbly liquid slides down his throat uncomfortably. He coughs, once, twice, stumbling as he makes his way away from whoever’s calling out to him. He’s got a bad feeling about all this, a terrible feeling.

“Your eyes are bloodshot, come on, you can’t push me away now-”

“Go away,” he rasps, and the voice doesn’t sound like his own at all. It’s a bit deeper, and it cuts through the air like a knife - straight and to the point. It’s familiar, the voice, but he can’t remember. He takes another large gulp and the next thing he knows, the bottle is on the floor, empty, and the person who’s next to him is trying to pull him back.

“Get back here, you’re sick, and you’re drinking.”

Kibum!

Taemin wakes up with a start, body drenched with sweat and gasping for air. His clock says it’s been almost half an hour since it’s gone off. Kibum, Kibum, Kibum, was that Kibum? He’s not even sure if that was a part of his dream, or his subconscious trying to put the pieces together and make sense out of nothing.

“Taemin? Are you okay?”

His head snaps to the side, almost too quickly, because it’s still sore from the awkward sleeping position, and Taemin whines in pain, bringing his knees up to his chest and cradling his head there. He turns to the side more slowly and sees his brother standing there, all ready to leave for school. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Sorry, give me a moment to get ready.”

“Are you sure?” Taesun asks and sits on the edge of his bed. “You look like you have a fever. You’re sweating and trembling.” He presses the back of his hand to Taemin’s forhead and grimaces. “Yeah, you definitely have something going on there. Stay in bed, I’ll tell mom.”

Taemin opens his mouth to protest but his brother’s already going down the stairs. His breathing is back to normal by the time his mom gets to his bedside, but his face is still flushed and he gets cleared for a day of rest at home. He shakes his head when his mom asks him if he wants her to stay home from her part time job, and she promises to come back at noon to check up him, going back downstairs for fever medicine and a glass of water.

“Don’t die, dongsaeng,” Taesun jokes, ruffling his hair. “I’ll tell your friends to get your homework for you.”

“I’ll die and then haunt you every day of your life,” Taemin deadpans. “Now go to school, or you’ll be late.”

“Yessir,” Taesun laughs, leaving.

After his mom comes in and watches Taemin down his medicine, she leaves too, and Taemin’s left alone.

Kibum. Taemin turns the name over in his head, along with the person, and looks at it from every angle for the millionth time in the past hour. He’s a spirit and used to be someone who could see spirits and he’s still here and Taemin probably needs his help if he wants to help Minho, which is so fucking frustrating that Taemin wants to open the window and scream as loud as he can. Too bad it would creep out the neighbors.

Well, if he can’t scream out the window, at least he can say things aloud without people looking at him weirdly.

“Kibum,” Taemin says loudly, staring up at the ceiling, “You are the most difficult bitch I have ever met and I hate your guts.”

“Gee, thanks,” a voice says from the foot of his bed.

Taemin doesn’t even bother looking. “C’mon, you know it’s mutual. Unless I suddenly became your most favorite person in the world, in which case, I would’ve liked a notification.”

Kibum sighs. “You’re right. I hate your guts as much as you hate mine. Maybe even more. Anyway, I’m only here ‘cause you called and I was hoping that you called because you finally gave up.”

“I didn’t,” Taemin says blandly. “I had a horrible dream about being a drunk bastard at a party and the hangover seemed to carry over into real life. And because all bad things are caused by you, I’m blaming you for it.”

There’s silence, then a squeak of bed springs as Kibum suddenly looms over Taemin, frowning. “Have you had any other dreams besides the stupid ones in which you strive to be the savior of mankind?”

Taemin feels a small spark of excitement, that maybe Kibum is really related to the dream he had and that the connection wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He decides to tell the truth. “Just another one. I was running.”

“From?”

“I don’t know,” Taemin confesses.

Apparently satisfied, Kibum disappears from Taemin’s view again. “Well, not all nightmares come from me, sorry to say. If that’s all, I’m leaving.”

There’s something off in Kibum’s reply, the undertone that Taemin hears whenever Kibum is keeping things to himself and not telling everything he knows. But Taemin’s not in the mood to piss him off, at least not intentionally, so he drops it and brings up a question instead. “You’re never going to help any of them?”

“No,” is the instant reply.

“But you know all their stories, right? How can you know but bear to do nothing?” Taemin lifts his head just enough to narrow his eyes at Kibum.

“Because most of the time, nothing can be done,” Kibum answers. “Why, does the Boy Wonder want a sidekick?”

Taemin lays his head back down and hums. “Yeah, I’m offering applications.”

“Well, count me out,” Kibum says, and the following silence tells Taemin that he’s gone.

Taemin sighs and sits up, making a face at the way his shirt is sticking to him with dried sweat. He pulls clean clothes out of his drawers and heads for the shower, all the way contemplating the impossibility of getting Kibum to help him. Not just how hard it’ll be on Kibum’s side; on his side, as well. Am I really willing to tell Kibum that I need his help after all the times I implied that I could do it myself? Taemin asks himself and searches for the answer and decides.

Yes. Yes, if it meant that Minho would get what he wanted and be able to leave.

All he has to do now is work up the courage needed to break down his stubborn pride and convince Kibum. And Taemin laughs at himself for making it sound as if it were an easy task.

He treats himself to another round of sleep, hoping for a soundless, calming nap.
He’s standing in a classroom and looking out the window as someone down in the courtyard below is being pushed around. Taemin wonders if he should stick his head out the window and shout at them to stop, but he hears a voice next to him and doesn’t.

“That kid is such a loser,” someone says next to him and snorts. “He can’t even stand up for himself.”

Another voice from behind him chimes in, and he turns around to see someone nod to him. He nods back, scanning the person. His tie hangs loose around his neck and half of his shirt is tucked into his pants. He rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows as someone says, “Wow, you look like a mess, dude.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Our homeroom teacher is such a bitch; she threatened to suspend me if I don’t wear my uniform properly. Sorry we have to wear these pieces of shit.”

Taemin’s about to point out how their uniforms - the one he’s wearing right now, at least - isn’t that bad, but that same fear from before bubbles up inside of him, effectively stopping him from saying anything back. Instead he chuckles. “I know, god, she’s such a prude, too.”

“Right? She caught Kyusun and his girlfriend and gave them both weekend detention.”

“That’s dumb,” the kid next to him says. “By the way, poor old Sangkyu is out in the courtyard. What a waste,” he laughs.

“Aw,” the boy behind him says. “But he’s our favorite, we love to play around with him, don’t we?”

Taemin nods without breaking out into tears and manages a quick “bathroom”, bolting out of the room.

He slams the door to the roof open and pants heavily, dropping onto his knees. There is something definitely fucked up here. There’s a kid being beaten to death out in the courtyard, and these two supposed kids are laughing about it and don’t care about anything and all of it makes Taemin sick to his stomach. It’s only been five minutes - barely - but he already can’t stand it. The run down school, the shady students, the fear that keeps creeping up on Taemin, it all morphs together into one giant wall he can’t break.

He manages to stand up and walks over to the edge of the roof, looking down below. He can still see the boy from where he is, but he’s alone now, sprawled on the ground in a messy, bloody heap. The sight makes Taemin want to heave, and the anxiety just won’t leave. Leave, he begs. Leave, leave, leave. It doesn’t, and Taemin would like nothing more than to escape this messed up place he’s stuck in. He starts to sob silently to himself, because the realization dawns on him that it all could be a bit different, he wouldn’t be stuck here with his own messed up group of friends slash bullies to other kids, and he wouldn’t be standing here on the roof with his spiked up hair and untucked uniform shirt if he had just said something. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and built the cage around himself, throwing the key somewhere far, far away. He stands up and wipes away his tears, though his shoulders still shake and his head feels empty. “I’m going to make at least one decision by myself,” he says. “I’m going to do this without anyone else’s opinion stopping me.”

When he looks down, there’s that same kid, with his face bruised and limping, as he makes his way over to where Taemin is.

“Hey!” the kid shouts from below. “What are you doing? Get away from there!”

Oh, Taemin thinks. His name is Sangkyu. It’s a fleeting thought though, disappearing as soon as it comes, because soon there’s nothing under his feet and the feeling is nothing like in books and stories they tell you in class. It doesn’t feel like flying, it doesn’t feel like floating either. It’s falling, in and out.

“Kibum!” someone screams hysterically, and Taemin’s eyes open immediately.

Oh, he tells himself. It was a dream. It was a dream, only a dream, nothing more, and nothing less. He gets up slowly and wipes the sweat off of his forehead, taking a glance at the clock beside him. It’s only been three hours, with both his mother and brother still out at work and school. He slides out of bed and makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, pulling out one of the huge mugs from the cabinet and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. He sits crosslegged at the table and takes one long drag from the mug.

“What were you dreaming about?” Kibum asks from across from him.

Taemin sets the mug down carefully and inspects Kibum’s face for any signs of anger. His face is stiff, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes narrowed slightly as he leans in closer for the answer.

“Nothing important,” Taemin lies, because he has no idea at this point what he should be saying about it - if he should be saying anything about it.

“Do you really believe that?” Kibum states more than he asks, but the question has got Taemin’s mind working.

“Have you been…showing me yourself?” he asks slowly, and waits for any changes in Kibum’s facial expression.

Kibum raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Can I ask you a question?” Taemin ignores his previous statement. “A couple, actually. Answer with only yes or no.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No,” Taemin frowns. “Okay, were you ever alive at one point?”

Kibum crosses his arms and watches Taemin carefully. “Yes.”

“Did your friends pick on others kids?”

Kibum’s lips set into a firm line as he answers begrudgingly. “Yes.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hate it?”

Kibum tenses. “Did I what?”

“Hate it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kibum growls and stands up. “First of all, I should be the one asking the questions and two, I’m the one who makes the rules here. I’m the creator of this game, and if you think you can fuck things up, you best be warned.”

He starts to fade away, and Taemin yells out, “Wait, one more question!” He sighs in relief as Kibum solidifies himself again and stares at Taemin impatiently. “Can you help me?”

Kibum gives Taemin a look like he’s just grown a tail and an extra head. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Taemin says, putting a tight lid on the part of him that is screaming what are you doing this is Kibum you’re asking. “I have an idea about how to help Minho, and it’s my best bet. But I need another person if it’s going to work, and you’re the only one who I know that can see spirits and let spirits see you.”

Kibum is still staring at Taemin in disbelief, and Taemin stares back, waiting for an answer. Kibum seems to give himself a mental shake. “Sorry, but you must’ve missed the last ten thousand times I told you that I’m not going to do anything because I don’t agree with you.”

“Why?” Taemin asks quietly. “Why don’t you agree? You’re going to tell me that it’s because I don’t know. What don’t I know?”

Everything, Taemin is sure that Kibum will say, so sure that it stuns him when Kibum says, “Not little enough.” He regards Taemin with the same look from before, annoyed and angry and sort of kind of okay with it all at the same time.

Taemin’s left sitting alone, like every time. But every time, he’s inching a little further along the maze in Kibum’s mind.

He’s still on the table when his mom enters through the door, and gets told off, even though she looks relieved that he’s well enough to do things he’s not supposed to. Things he’s not supposed to, but nothing as bad as killing himself. Taemin closes his eyes as he slides off the table and imagines freefall again. Then what? A spirit roaming the school, maybe, until he got plucked by an invisible hand and set down with the world as his dreamspace, there to watch over everything until the end of forever.

Regret, Taemin thinks when he climbs the stairs back to his room. Regret, of not saying anything, of not helping anyone, people and spirits alike? Regret, of dying before anything was set right? Too many, Taemin thinks, for him to be sure which one is the worst one, the one that ties Kibum down.

“Okay,” Taemin says, “Let’s-”

“No,” Minho says tiredly, “Let’s not.” Taemin falls silent and gives him a worried look, so Minho attempts to paste a smile on his face. “I mean, I’m glad you’re helping, but nothing’s working.” A note of desperation enters his voice. “We’ve tried taking pictures, visiting a photo studio, dressing up in designer clothes, everything ridiculous and laughable on the off chance it would do something. But it hasn’t. How long has it been, Taemin? Too long. Too long,” Minho repeats, his voice breaking on the last word as he curls into himself, shuddering without crying.

Taemin wraps an arm around Minho’s shoulders and gives him an inadequate half-hug. It’s been two weeks, two weeks of no Kibum and trying, trying anything that Taemin can think of. Minho’s gone along with everything in good nature, but it isn’t like Taemin didn’t notice his dejected look for the past few days. Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. You promised to help but you haven’t, Taemin tells himself. Helplessness is filling him like water into a dam and Taemin cannot will not let it overflow because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He needs Kibum, a thought that makes him defiant and pleading and angry, but he keeps that in, too, as his mouth spills a useless river of comfort words to Minho.

Taemin spends the next day in a stupor, only nodding and shaking his head, wordlessly going about everything. He notices everyone’s faces, though, concern and uneasiness and he opens his mouth to grin and say it’s okay, I’m fine but he can’t bring himself to it.

This is what Kibum means, he knows, about not being able to help. He’s letting it consume him. And he’s willing to admit that to himself, able to say I can’t do it. That is, he can’t do it alone. It could be clinging hope that tells him that once Kibum agrees to helping, it’ll work, but he doesn’t think so. There’s that familiar feeling of this is the answer, so Taemin won’t give up.

Should he try to give up, though? That could be all it takes for Kibum to appear again, if he gives up and says it aloud. But Taemin isn’t willing to take the risk of jumping off the edge and hoping there’s someone close enough to grab his hand. Especially if that someone is Kibum.

All of a sudden, while he’s waiting for sleep to come, Taemin is furious. He speaks his mind in a whisper, hoping that Kibum will hear, wherever the hell he is. “Is this what you mean, putting me in my place? Not helping when you could help, letting me know that there’s a solution, but keeping me from ever using it. Fuck you.” And he’s so angry that unwanted tears find their way down his face and his fists gouge temporary scars into the blankets.

There’s this hazy sensation as he wakes up, and Taemin can’t see clearly at all. The sound of screams slowly register and he wonders if he did something incredibly stupid in his sleep and he’s on his way to the hospital because he tried to bite his tongue off or something along those lines. But they aren’t screaming his name.

“Kibum,” someone screams, “Shit, Kibum, Kibum, don’t die.”

Taemin feels a flood of realization as his senses return and he’s Kibum again, Kibum lying broken and dying on the cracked concrete of the schoolyard. A feeling of relief spreads through his mind, but the emotion isn’t his. It’s Kibum’s, and the relief is sullied by overtones of regret. Taemin wonders if he can find out more, wonders if Kibum’s life will flash before his eyes like everyone says it will just before you die or when you think you’ll die. But no, he has to search for it.

Taemin slips into the feeling of regret and rides it like a wave, pulling memories that are not his closer and closer until he can examine them.

Childhood. Seeing what his mom calls imaginary creatures, unable to explain that no, the people he sees do not have ears and tails and flippers like the cartoons on the TV do. They are real people that nobody else seems to notice, not even other kids, although they’re willing to play along at first. A mild sense of panic when these people don’t disappear as he grows older, understands more. Understands that this isn’t what it’s supposed to be like, that he shouldn’t see what he sees.

And because it’s Taemin experiencing this as Kibum, not Kibum himself, Taemin catches the complex as it forms, the idea and need and want to fit in and be normal, be part of the in-crowd. It starts with new clothes, a willingness to laugh at jokes that everyone else laughs at, following along with the kids that everyone notices. Then more and more and more, like a deluge, with Taemin only catching glimpses of everything. The smell of marijuana in a car, cigarettes stubbed out in the dirt behind school, tingling of new piercings in his ear and the feeling of hair gel on his fingers before he uses it. The smell taste sight of beer gone warm, gross as it hits his tongue and slides down his throat, and other drinks, vodka and rum and whiskey, mixed to improve the flavor but not helping, not helping at all as Taemin switches to seeing himself heave into a toilet, feeling like someone is going at his head with a sledgehammer. He still sees spirits in flashes between everything else, but he tries not to pay attention, the same way he tries to not pay attention to kids handing over their lunch money and allowance to his friends. Tries to ignore what he’s doing when he catches a boy pushed at him and holds him while someone else taunts him kicks him. Laid over everything is the sharp sense of fear; what if somebody still finds out what if I speak up against this no I can’t or I’ll be hurt and picked on and I can’t take that I can’t.

No, Taemin thinks, no more, pushing everything he pulled to him away but feeling their disgusting residue on the boy who is not himself because he doesn’t let himself be.

His sight returns to the ground in front of him, and Taemin frantically claws through Kibum’s mind to look for the answer that he couldn’t bear to find through memory. Then he dies.

Taemin is drenched in sweat and breathing hard when he wakes up, but he shoves everything out of head to hold onto the last of the nightmare snaking away from him.

I was right, he thinks, thankful to the ordeal for letting him find that out. Regret, of dying instead of helping the people he could see like so many other kids like him had tried to do. Because if Kibum hadn’t, there were so many maybes, so many then I wouldn’t have dones. But regret isn’t the only thing holding Kibum back, because unlike the others, he’s doing it himself, consciously, because he thinks he deserves to be here forever. Taemin doesn’t agree.

I can convince him. Then, because he feels a little stronger, a little more faithful in what he’s doing, I will convince him. About helping Minho, about helping himself.

“Morning!” Taemin tells Taesun, who’s just come down the stairs to find Taemin munching cereal half an hour before he’s usually down.

His brother does a double take and walks over slowly, making a big show of putting a hand on his own forehead and another on Taemin’s to check his temperature.

“I’m fine,” Taemin protests, poking Taesun’s hand away with his spoon.

“You are so bipolar,” Taesun says with a shake of his head. “Though I guess it’s a good thing that you’re happy today. Yesterday it was like your dog just died or you were a senior who didn’t get accepted by any colleges or something.”

“Bleh,” Taemin replies eloquently, finishing off his bowl and placing it in the sink.

“I have to go somewhere,” Taemin tells his friends at lunch. “See some of you next period!”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Minjae jokes, and everyone nods solemnly. Underneath the joke, though, they’re all still pretty worried about him being more out of it than usual the day before.

There’s nothing Taemin can do to ease that except continuing to be himself until any doubt fades away, so he rolls his eyes and says, “Yes, mother.”

Where he goes is the roof, walking out to the railing to stare down at his own school’s courtyard. Next to last sights, Taemin thinks. Not that he’s planning to pull a Kibum or anything, but this is one of the only places that he can talk freely without anyone hearing, since nobody bothers going up all the flights of stairs.

What is he going to say? He’s not entirely sure. Something that will make Kibum come out so that Taemin can talk to him and convince him to help. The sooner the better; Taemin’s promised himself that he won’t see Minho again until he’s gotten Kibum to help. Partly because Minho’s had enough false hope from Taemin, partly because Taemin doesn’t think he can watch Minho break down again and know deep down that he hasn’t tried hard enough.

Taemin runs through his last dream in his head, takes a deep breath, and starts talking through Kibum’s memories like the other is there, listening. He moves from the first realization through the growing fear into where Kibum was twisted by his complex, tearing everything down bit by bit and voicing it exactly the way he saw it. Taemin swallows bile before he can recount every detail of the first time Kibum helps beat up someone, a kid who is too small too scared to be able to do anything. He’s only halfway through when he wonders how he’ll be able to continue on through everything, how long he’ll be able to go without retching at these memories that aren’t even his. He doesn’t wait long.

He’s too focused on speaking to notice exactly when Kibum appears, anger making his face dark and his eyes a storm. When he notices, he looks Kibum in the eye and pushes on until Kibum cuts him off through gritted teeth. “What the fuck,” he says, “do you want.”

Taemin abruptly cuts off his sentence with, “I want you to help me help Minho.”

He’s on the ground before he realizes it, pain surging through his cheek where Kibum’s fist collided with his face. He clutches his jaw and looks up as Kibum laughs, mocking and hysterical as he looks down on Taemin. “You want me to help? Oh really? And do you think I should? Think it’s funny to go through someones memories and tell it to their face again?” He voice keeps on gaining volume until he’s screaming at Taemin with his eyes bloodshot and arms visibly trembling. “Do you think it’s funny to show someone how they died, all over again? I thought you said I had the sick humor, didn’t you?”

Taemin grits his teeth from where he’s seated and pounces on Kibum, punching him back. “Yeah, and do you think it’s funny to watch these people live their regrets all over again, every day for forever? Think it’s a big joke to see people grow old and fade away peacefully while these spirits are stuck in the fucked up continuum forever? Kibum is so selfish, if he can’t leave from this world, then no one else can!” he yells and punches him one more time. “You know what it’s like, first hand, don’t you? Being held back, not being able to do what you wanted to do. All that pressure on you to go ahead and blend in with the rest of the crowd. Just to follow someone else’s orders. Minho isn’t that different from you, you know that? It may have ended differently, but it’s all the same. He hid himself to please his parents and you hid yourself to please all your friends.”

“Get off me,” Kibum barks and throws Taemin off him, who rolls a couple of meters away.

“Think about it,” Taemin says harshly. “You’ll both be helping each other.”

“What are we, some type of free trade?”

“That’s not the point!” Taemin yells. “I want you, no, I need you to help me with Minho!”

Kibum’s silent for a long moment where he whispers, “I’ll consider it,” before disappearing.

The enormity of what he’s just done sinks in, now that it’s over, and Taemin breathes heavy relief as he lets all the things he’d planned to say peter out to nothing. The taste of Kibum’s memories is still sour in his throat, sick in his stomach; if it’s this bad for him, how did it feel for Kibum? Pretty fucking bad, Taemin concludes, and he clears his throat. “Sorry,” he tells the sky, because maybe Kibum can hear him from wherever he’s gone off to think. “I really am.”

“D’you get into a fight with yourself?” Sungjong asks, pointing at his own cheek. “Maybe we should’ve walked you to wherever you were going.”

“Shut up,” Taemin laughs, sitting down at his desk. “I saved a defenseless dog from getting run over by a car and got hit instead. This is my battle scar.”

“You’ve got to tell me how to make such believable reasons,” Sungjong replies, “I’ll need them the next time I come home late and my mom is pissed off.”

“Yeah, just put your faith in me,” Taemin says. “I’ll keep you outta trouble.”

Sungjong laughs, and Taemin grins in response, even though it hurts to. Then he settles down to watch the clock. And wait. Wait for however long it takes for Kibum to agree to what he’s asking, because he can’t go back to helping Minho until that happen. Don’t let it be a long wait, Taemin pleads to nobody in particular.

The rest of the day finishes rather quickly, though that might just be because all his teachers take pity on him after seeing his bruise and don’t scream at him for looking out into space. There’s a flower pot on the side of Yeonhee’s desk that Taemin realizes isn’t really there when Yeonhee places her pencil case in the space where the pot should be. It’s an interesting thought - flowers can have regrets too, and become spirits. Maybe there’s a live flower out there that can see them and is trying to save them as well. Though at the same time, there might also be another plant that’s trying to stop them. Taemin imagines it to be a weed.

The bell rings, and Taemin rushes his way out of school faster than he’s ever done before. He’s not really sure where he’d go, no matter how fast he goes, but it’s the fact that’s going somewhere that comforts him. Home sounds like a great place to start, and he manages to slip past his brother and mother unnoticed and slinks into his own room, collapsing on the bed. Dreamless sleep, he pleads with himself, please give me a dreamless sleep. Maybe this is how all the kids Kibum was talking about went insane. So tired of having the burden of helping other people and seeing other people without help go by. He’s granted his wish though, and he wakes up feeling better than he has in weeks. It’s a bit past eight when he wakes up though, and he mentally berates himself for not waking up earlier. He quickly does all his homework and grabs some leftovers before slinking back into bed. Part of him wishes that Kibum would show up with an answer, the other half is too scared that Kibum will reject him.

The next school day goes by without any incidents, and Taemin decides to take a visit down to Minho. He has no idea what he’ll say or do, but at this point not visiting Minho makes him feel like he’s abandoning him, even though they both know he wouldn’t do that.

The bus driver knows him by name now, and always gives him a pat on the back before cooing at him for not sleeping enough at home. “You poor thing,” he says, “probably floored with so much homework you have no time to sleep.”

Taemin shrugs noncommittally before slipping into one of the back seats and staring out the window. It’s already dark and raining heavily, and even though the rain usually calms him and helps him sleep, now it keeps interrupting him right when he’s about to doze off.

“I was waiting for you to notice me,” Kibum says, and Taemin jumps.

“You don’t have a reflection,” is all Taemin says, and Kibum shrugs like it should be something obvious. Taemin waits for Kibum to say something, but when he doesn’t, Taemin asks, “So?”

“So I think,” Kibum answers, settling a little more into his seat and not looking at Taemin, “that I’ll go along with whatever stupid plan you have. Just this once.”

“If we didn’t have a history of wanting to strangle each other, and the bus driver wouldn’t think that I’ve completely lost it, I’d tackle you and scream obnoxiously happy things in your face.” Taemin’s already grinning so wide that if his smile spreads any further, it’s going to hit his ears.

“I’m glad you have self control, then.” Kibum discreetly scoots a couple of inches away. “Because that would’ve made me seriously reconsider my decision. Well?”

Taemin blinks.

“What is it that you want to do that makes you so desperately need my help,” Kibum rephrases.

Taemin wrinkles his nose at that, but starts to explain. He finishes with, “So I wanted you to scout him, basically, and then give him the experience of a photo shoot. I can’t do it, because he’ll know it’s fake, and it won’t have the same effect.”

“Question,” Kibum says, “How am I supposed to convince him that the photo shoot I’m doing isn’t fake? You can’t very well show up and be like hey Minho this is my photographer friend Kibum. That has will not work written all over it.”

Taemin mulls it over, knowing that this is a bump in the road he knew existed but didn’t want to think about. “You’re a spirit, right?”

“Why yes,” Kibum says drily, “Thank you for reaffirming your conclusions.”

“That’s not how I meant it,” Taemin protests, then goes on. “You’re a spirit, so you could pose as one that is stuck looking for the right model. That way you can say that I’m involved without making it seem fake, because he’ll think you’re really a photographer looking for a model.”

Kibum nods slowly. “Alright.”

“Are we going to do this now?” Taemin asks. “Or do you want to wait?”

Kibum gives him a look. “You don’t want to wait, do you?”

“No,” Taemin admits, “but I was wondering if you-”

“Let’s get it over with” Kibum interrupts, “I can send us into the dream instead of waiting for you to fall asleep, you know.”

Taemin bites back a comment on him not using that ability sooner and nods, closing his eyes. He hears Kibum say, “You’re one trippy little kid for thinking up solutions so fucking quick,” before he’s in the temporary darkness of sleep.

They’re both sitting next to each other on the bench watching Minho pace back and forth again. Taemin mentally wilts as he recognizes the habit from before he first started giving Minho a glimmer of hope. “How do I introduce you,” he hisses, hoping Minho doesn’t hear him.

“I don’t know, run up and talk about how I’m the coolest guy ever,” Kibum whispers back.

Taemin shoots him a glare before hopping up and jogging over. Minho turns around at the sound of his footsteps and raises an eyebrow at Kibum. “Who’s... that?”

“Minho,” Taemin grins, “Minho, I got it. I really did, it’s going to be the best. I’m going to set you free, just like I promised you.”

“O-oh,” Minho says, quiet and disbelieving, Taemin tries to ignore the undertone of reluctance. “How is that?”

“You see that guy?” Taemin asks, pointing towards Kibum. Kibum looks uninterested as he kicks his legs out from under him. “I found out how to take a spirit from another dream and bring it into this one. It’s a little difficult to explain though. But look, Minho! He’s a photographer for a magazine, and we’ve just recently discovered his biggest regret, which is not being able to find ‘the perfect model’.”

Minho’s lips form an ‘o’ as he considers the circumstances. “But... he’s a little young, isn’t he?”

Taemin pats him on the back and shakes his head. “Shows how little you know about the entertainment business.”

“Right.” Minho raises an eyebrow and lets Taemin call him over.

“Minho,” Taemin grins a bit too wide, “this is Kibum. Kibum, Minho.”

“Nice to meet you,” Minho greets formally and holds his hand out.

Kibum eyes it for a moment before taking it and sending Taemin a warning glance. “Ditto,” he mutters.

There’s a rather large awkward silence, in which they both look at Taemin impatiently. “So!” he bursts, “Kibum here was, um, going for a city type of look, so this place is perfect, don’t you think?”

“Splendid,” Kibum says dryly and looks back at Minho. “You do seem rather modelesque. Be warned, though, I don’t like slackers.”

Minho looks a bit taken aback as he swallows. “O-of course not. Um, where’s your equipment, Kibum-ssi?”

“Kibum is fine,” he shrugs, and there’s a burst of smoke behind him, which when clears, is an open suitcase with a large cameras and other applications. “Right there. So I was thinking for the first couple shots we’d just walk around and try to get a clean view of the urban style.” He picks up the camera and turns back. “Shall we start walking?” Minho nods quickly and tries to start with a casual strut, one which Taemin has to try to not laugh out loud at. “You’re too stiff,” Kibum snaps, to which Minho loosens up and puts his hand in his pockets, giving an awkward laugh.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m a bit of an amateur.”

Kibum shrugs as he takes two more pictures. “You’re doing pretty well, actually. Really well.”

Minho can’t help the grin that slips, and Taemin can’t help but grinning along. “You’re doing great,” he says and gives a thumbs up.

“In here,” Kibum barks and shoves them into a cafe. “You,” he says to Taemin, “pretend to be the waiter.”

“But I’m in my school uni-”

“This is why we have photoshop,” Kibum shoots back and gives him a warning look. Taemin trudges over to the table Minho’s seated himself at.

“I guess I’m supposed to pretend to ask you what you want,” Taemin says rather sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t cross your legs,” Kibum orders. “Actually try stretching them out a bit, confident-like. Taemin is the shy waiter and you’re the confident model. That’s kind of really cute, now that I think about it.”

Taemin purses his lips to keep himself from saying anything and watches while Minho hesitantly follows Kibum’s directions, then approaches him, trying to fit into his role. “Would you like to order anything?”

Minho leans forward, elbows on the table, and smiles a bit when he looks up at Taemin. “Yeah, could I get the shaved ice?”

“What do you want on it?” Taemin asks, aware of Kibum taking continuous shots and shifting his position behind him.

Minho tilts his head, as if in thought. “Frozen yogurt, kiwi, and whatever other fruit you have.”

“Okay,” Kibum decides, “Let’s go back to the streets. Get him a soft drink as a prop,” he adds, looking at Taemin. When Taemin comes back with it, they head back out. “Look like you’re drinking from it while you’re walking around, looking at things. Be natural.” Kibum walks backwards in front of Minho and takes a couple of pictures, moving to the side and keeping pace. “That’s it.”

Another block and Kibum takes away the prop, signalling Minho towards a bench. “Looking tired, like you’ve been walking for a while. Lean against the armrest part - yeah, like that. The sun’s in your eyes, shield them - great, smile, like it’s a happy day - now act like you’re waiting for someone to come,” Kibum says, snapping off a quick succession of shots as Minho assumes each pose. “Great, let’s move on.”

The longer it goes on, the more Taemin feels amazed at how Kibum is pulling off his role with ease. He doesn’t know if Kibum is pulling from experience watching other kids or if he has a natural talent for this, never used, but he’s more than just good at this. Taemin notices that Minho turns from opaque to translucent and feels excitement build in his chest. Soon, he chants in his mind, soon. Kibum knows it too, Taemin can tell, when he catches his gaze and raises his eyebrows slightly.

Minho is all but gone by the time they make their way back to the bench Taemin always sits at. Kibum motions at Minho to sit down and at Taemin to get into the picture. “You’re waiting,” Kibum tells Minho, voice a little softer than it’s been every other time, “and the person you’re waiting for is here.”

When Minho looks up, his eyes are bright with the knowledge that he will be going, going, gone. “Thank you,” he laughs, turning from Taemin to Kibum, “Both of you.”

“Bye,” Taemin says quietly, and Kibum merely nods.

Taemin continues looking at the spot where Minho was sitting until he hears the clatter of something hitting the ground. He turns around, and Kibum’s dropped the camera. He looks stunned. Taemin starts towards him, about to say something, but-

“I didn’t know,” Kibum says, hushed, “I didn’t know how it would feel like.” He seems like he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. There’s a pause, and Kibum looks confused, but he takes them back anyway.

When Taemin wakes up, Kibum isn’t there anymore.

Kibum doesn’t show, not for the rest of the week, not for all of next. Taemin pushes the festering worry into the back of his head and goes about things the way he always does - being stupid with his friends, being half-assed about his homework, looking for spirits. It’s strange, he thinks; there seems to be less of them around him, and he doesn’t find anyone to help during the whole week.

It isn’t until two weeks later where he’s walking down in the city and he sees Kibum standing in front of a little girl with blonde curly hair and a frilly dress, waving goodbye. He watches in awe as the girl waves back and disappears into thin air. A wave of fury takes over Taemin as he watches Kibum shoves his hands into his pockets and continue to walk down the road. Then Taemin notices it - the majority of Kibum has disappeared, only the ghost of a shell of Kibum remains.

“Kibum!” he yells, not caring if anyone else on the street looks at him weirdly, because Kibum turns around and looks at Taemin, surprised. He runs over and beams at him, laughing. “I thought you had disappeared forever. I was scared for a while, y’know.”

Kibum nods silently and looks at the spot where the girl left. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, “helping these spirits out and all... maybe it’s not such a bad idea. I always wanted to do that, possibly. Maybe.” He continues walking down the street and motions for Taemin to follow. “You know,” he says, “everytime I see a spirit that needs help, I get reminded of that kid, the day I killed myself. The one who was beat up by my friends. He probably hated me for that, but when I jumped, he was the only one who came running.”

Taemin searches for something to reply with. “Maybe he could tell that you didn’t want to do it. Maybe he knew that you weren’t really one of them. Maybe he understood that you weren’t strong enough to stand up to them.”

“But I’ll never know, will I,” Kibum non-asks, sighing. “Another regret to pile onto my list.”

“But you can get over them,” Taemin says, walking a little faster so that he can turn back and lift Kibum’s arm. “How many people have you helped, if you’re already this much gone?”

“A few,” Kibum confesses. “The first one was just an experiment, to see if I could do it just by myself. The ones after just...happened.”

“Well,” Taemin grins, “Let’s look for some more, then.”

Kibum looks a little taken aback at his smile, but awkwardly returns it. “Sure.”

Taemin wonders if his being there hinders Kibum’s progress; he might work faster with his set of abilities if Taemin wasn’t there, but Kibum never brings it up, and Taemin feels somewhat reassured when Kibum springs random questions on him, searching for an answer he can’t find.

It’s one month, then two, and Kibum is more like an illusion than ever. It’s the pace that they’re working at that lets Kibum shed so many years of control and regret so quickly, and each time someone fades out of existence in front of them, Kibum looks a bit happier, laughs a bit more.

A new person, Taemin realizes, the one that has been hiding somewhere underneath everything else Kibum has layered on for protection, for a hiding place. A person who likes to crack weird jokes and laugh at Taemin and say mean things that he thinks about after the matter and sometimes apologizes for. I could’ve been friends with him, Taemin thinks, a bit sadly. Maybe he wouldn’t have needed to do all that, ended it like that.

But he of all people should know better than to think back and think if only and maybe, so Taemin decides to spend his time with Kibum, be the friend that he’s never had.

Taemin goes to sleep thinking that this is one of those days, his subconscious is jumping up and down and screaming this is it because they’ve spent a little over a week on a particularly hard-to-help spirit and it’ll all work out today, it has to.

It isn’t until Taemin whispers good-bye that he notices that the giddy feeling is a bit different than usual, still full of anticipation. He turns to Kibum to tell him and sees Kibum staring down at where his feet should be but aren’t. Oh. Oh, and the understanding of it hits him like a punch to the stomach, so instead of being something good, it’s something bad. And it shouldn’t be. Taemin desperately tries to change it, but the feeling is persistent, nagging, sinking into his skin.

Regret, Taemin thinks, but no, it’s just the fear of it, fear that he will do something wrong sometime soon. What? Kibum is disappearing with every second he spends trying to think of it, his sense of dread increasing at an even faster pace. No no no stop just stop, he begs, clawing through possibilities as fast as his brain can churn them out. This can’t be the end, Taemin screams, it just can’t. It’s barely been a year, but it’s a year that Taemin will hold onto forever. Kibum is something that Taemin would like to hold onto forever, but he knows he would hate that even more.

The answer is perfect and impossible and twists Taemin’s insides into knots and he has no idea how he’ll do what he needs to do, what he wants to do. But he will, he decides against the half of him screaming at him not to. “Wait,” he says, and Kibum looks at him in surprise. Taemin moves close enough to place his hands on Kibum’s shoulders. “Just. Hold on.” He leans in awkwardly, having never done it before, but Kibum realizes what’s going on and flinches. Taemin keeps his hands firm on his shoulders. “If you don't let me do this,” he says slowly, “then this will be my biggest regret. And I'll end up just like the rest of them.” Kibum eyes are wide with fear and some other emotion Taemin can’t place a finger on as he exhales harshly. Taemin looks back, insistent as he moves in closer and presses his lips to Kibum’s. It’s brief and barely there, but Kibum’s shoulders loosen up and body relaxes. When he pulls away, there’s no one there anymore. “Bye,” Taemin whispers again, but this time, his voice breaks.

Bye, he thinks he hears, like Kibum is being stupid and invisible, but Taemin’s unwilling to believe that what he heard isn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I don’t know which college to go to,” Minjae complains, tossing his empty drink into the trash. “I mean, I know which one I like, but the one I like and the one with better academics are different.”

“Go to the first one,” Taemin says through a mouthful of food.

“Easy to say when you’re not the one choosing,” Minjae jokes.

“Nah.” Taemin swallows and laughs. “If you end up with a suckier job or something, I’ll pay for your living expenses.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Minjae says at the same time Sungjong says, “Wow, if I go to a worse college, will you let me freeload off of you?”

“Hell no.” Taemin sticks out his tongue and turns back to Minjae, cocking an eyebrow.

“I guess,” Minjae sighs. “I’ll talk it over with my parents.” He laughs a little. “You’re so sure about it, Taemin.”

“Yes, I am.” And Taemin nods so emphatically that his friends stare at him and burst out into laughter, and Taemin laughs along with them.

It’s a good day, Taemin thinks.

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