CLUB ELLUI, 1:57 AM|January 18th, 2010.
"C'mon, my lips are the gun, my smile is the trigger and my kisses are the bullets." Taemin chuckles, twirling a shot of amber skilfully between his index and thumb. He lifts his glass and winks as a provocatively dressed cheerleader flits past and smiles coyly at him; eyes narrowed in amusement as he looks at his friends - who are still in uproar over his comment. "Girls label me a killer. It's not that much of a surprise, her falling for me." His hand waves through the strands of white that fall into his eyes and he casts a quick smile at another girl - his girl, for the most part. "In any case, I've got to go take care of a certain someone." More hoots and laughter at this, for the guys trail his gaze to the pretty girl at the other end of the club. One thumps him on the back, and he starts forward, flipping the bird at said friend with a startled chuckle before he steps toward her.
HIS house, 3:29 AM|MAY 16TH, 2010.
She hasn't responded to his calls. Taemin glares at his ceiling, back pressed against the arm of his sofa. After fumbling around in his back pocket, he places a cigarette between his parted lips. He flicks open a lighter, making the end of the cigarette glow red, closing his eyes as he breathes in deeply. His head quirks to the side as he lets the smoke leave his lips lazily and swirl just above his body. He's trashed, as usual; but perhaps worse than usual. He's alone, now. He hasn't cherished what was there for him to cherish. Mom. He suddenly feels like a lost little boy, and he lifts his hand to the ceiling, watching the white light turn his palm translucent. In a different world, another hand would envelope his, one that yielded warmth and comfort. In a different world, then. Right, Mom? He chokes as the smoke doesn't leave the way it's supposed to, body jerking forward as he has a coughing fit. The tears begin to stream down his cheeks, and he's suddenly overcome with sadness. He crushes the cigarette under his boot heel. "."
Taemin is 24 years of age, and is a university professor. A calm and collected individual, he is given to fits of sarcasm and derogatory commentary. He teaches European History and Forensics. He is a bit of an enigma, for though he is friendly and pleasant to those he interacts with, he never lets them get too close to him - this is due to his past. His previous lifestyle is hinted, though, for he has a tattoo on his wrist, an occasional lip-piercing (he does not wear it during classes), and his platinum-blonde, almost white hair. To elucidate, he was born into good fortune (his mother was an heiress), and though he was the product of an affair his mother had had with an older man, she'd loved him nonetheless. As a youth, he had become angry when he had learned of his roots, and his relationship with his mother suffered immensely. Because of this, he was unaware of his mother's terminal disease, and was told of her death through a phone call. He did not have the heart to see her corpse, either; so he did not attend the funeral. Her urn with her ashes stands in a vault in his bedroom, delivered upon request by his uncle. He has not looked at it to this day - but her death was a turning point for him and his life. He stopped the partying and focused on his education, eventually obtaining his degrees and the necessary work experience to become a lecturer. And though he smiles, his heart is a mangled, bleeding mess. But he doesn't complain, for it was caused by his own dagger: one mockingly labelled after his arrogance and foolhardiness.
