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Nothing reminds Jinki more clearly that it's been nine years than Jonghyun's figure on the window sill, silhouetted against the backdrop of Seoul's nightlife, unmoving, the curve of his nose and hair edged by streetlights.
Not Taemin's age inappropriate dances ("Where'd the cute bowl cut maknae go?" "He grew up, hyung. And I still have the bowl cut."), Minho's apologetic phone calls and text messages when he can't come to a show to support one of them, or even Kibum's fashion line, a dream ten years in the making.
Nine years ago, any free time longer than five minutes was unanimous, automatic nap time. Nine years ago, 3AM would see them in their beds, knocked out with snores filling the apartment.
Nine years ago was Jonghyun's shy smiles and trembling fingers, lips bitten and fingers twisting his rings, before a tentative -- "I like you. Can I kiss you?"
Now, it's -- "hyung, why are you just standing there? Come here."
It's kisses pressed against window sills, the sky the perfect shade of blue. It's hands curled on necks and fisted in shirts, eyes shut and lips gentle.
It's chasing away insomnia with each other, and chasing away unsurety in each other's arms.
"No reason. Just admiring the view."
Nine years, and Jonghyun's laugh never changes.