IM SOBBING This Is What I Mean When I Want This Type Of Bf

IM SOBBING 😭😭😭 this is what I mean when i want this type of bf 🥺😭

Spring

making hyunjin love spring again.

i wrote this because hyunjin saying he doesn't like spring anymore devastated me. i didn't specify on why he doesn't anymore, so u can imagine whatever you like.

"I used to like spring, but I don't anymore." 

That's what Hyunjin told you on your third date when you asked about his favorite season. His answer might have seemed innocent to an outsider, but the way he said it made you pause in your tracks. 

There was a slight waver in his voice, so imperceptible you could've missed it had you not been listening to him intently. His hold on his spoon tightened, only for a fleeting second, before it returned to normal once again. But you noticed.

You didn't want to further press onto the matter, so you changed the subject, and Hyunjin smiled at you gratefully. But his confession stuck with you long after that night. There was something bittersweet in his tone- as if someone came and snatched his love for spring out of his hands, and all he could was helplessly watch it happen. 

So you waited patiently, as the seasons gently morphed into one another. As the summer when you've met- sticky fingers from molten icecream and the salty scent of the beach, turned into autumn- rustling orange leaves and golden sunsets reflecting in his eyes, then a winter- rosy nose tips and freezing hands that you warmed up in the pockets of his sweater. 

And then finally came spring.

i. march 21st

"Where are we going?" Hyunjin whines, blindfold wrapped around his eyes and you only giggle in reply. He's been asking you for the past half an hour as you drove outside of the city. 

"Be patient, baby," you chastise and he sighs, puckering his lower lip out. You lean over once you stop at a red light, kissing his pouty lips softly. 

"Better?" you ask and he grins at you. "Better."

You finally arrive at your destination, and you walk over to open the door for Hyunjin. You take his hand in your own, before leading him slowly to the surprise you planned. When you finally stop, you stand behind him and slowly remove his blindfold. 

You lace your arm around his waist, as Hyunjin blinks repeatedly, adjusting to the sudden light before looking around him. You are in a flower field, and a picnic is laid out for the two of you- seasonal fruits that you handpicked at the farmer's market, some cool beverages, sushi, and Hyunjin's painting supplies. You remind yourself to send Felix a text to thank him for setting all of this up for you.

"What's this?" Hyunjin asks in bewilderment and you shrug, "it's finally warm again. We should enjoy it, right?"

"I can't believe you did all of this for me," he beams at you, turning around to kiss your cheek softly. it feels more intimate somehow than a kiss on your lips.

Your afternoon is spent laying under the shades of a tree, the sun rays seeping through your bodies and warming up your souls. You feed Hyunjin some honeydew melon that you cut up in cubes beforehand. "It's really fresh during spring," you say, as his lips brush against your fingertips. 

"It's sweet," he nods, eyes softening as they look at you, "but I know how I can make it sweeter," he grins, before crashing his lips on yours.

He kisses you longingly as if you aren't near him and he wishes to make you materialize through the kiss. He tastes like honey and you find yourself getting drunk from his sweet taste, as your lips part only to meet again in a feverish dance. You finally pull apart dazed, and then he kisses you again, but softly this time, his lips simply pressed upon yours. As if you are their home and they are now resting in you. 

You then lay on the blanket, your hair fanning around you and Hyunjin grabs his sketchbook, asking you to stay put so he'd draw you. He pauses his movements, plucking a flower from the grass beside you and tucking it into your ear. "So pretty," he says, resuming his drawing. He makes sure to capture the faint blush now dusting your cheeks. 

On your drive home, Hyunjin sticks his head out of the window, watching silently the sunset unfolding in front of him. You place your hand on his knee reassuringly and he turns to look at you, a soft smile on his face. "I missed the sun," he says.

"Me too." Although you didn't really feel its absence- he was your sun. 

ii. may 5th

"We're going out!" 

"We are?" Hyunjin asks confused, but still grabbing your outstretched hand and standing up.

"We are! I'll be downstairs, okay? Put on your shoes," you grin, kissing his palm before heading first to the car. Hyunjin smiles to himself, shaking his head slightly before doing as you said.

A thirty minutes drive later, you arrive to a field of blooming tulips. Rows of red and pink and yellow, stretching onto the horizon. They paint the sky in the prettiest shades of pastel, the colors reflecting on Hyunjin's face who looks at them in amazement. 

While he takes in the beautiful scenery, you open the car trunk, taking out two bikes you rented for the weekend. 

"Wanna bike with me?" you ask, a huge smile on your face, and Hyunjin giggles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "You are insane and I love you." 

"I love you most, now come on," you hop on the bike, and he follows suit. You think to yourself that Hyunjin fits right in here, in the middle of this mesmerizing field. Your heart warms in your chest as he speeds past you, the wind ruffling his hair, and the sun peeking through his soft black locks. You can hear his giggles echo around the field, and you feel a strange sense of pride at being the one behind his joy. 

You finally stop biking, before venturing into the tulip field, hand in hand. The sweet citrusy scent of the blooming flowers wafts into the air and envelops you both. "Do you know the story behind tulips?" you ask.

"No. Tell me?"

"It's rumored that there were two lovers who were forbidden to be together. One of them died and the other, driven by his overwhelming love, rode his horse off of a cliff. A single tulip then bloomed on where his blood spilled..." you pause, taking in Hyunjin's lovestruck expression as he gazed at you, "why are you smiling like that?"

"I'm just really happy right now."

"You deserve to be happy," you tell him, your eyes looking straight into his so he'd know how serious you were being. In response, Hyunjin pulls you in for a warm hug- his hand is on the back of your head, and your arms are around his waist, keeping him close. Your ear rests directly on top of his racing heart- 'my heartbeat is spelling out my love for you' he wants to say. But he hopes you know.

Later on that night, Hyunjin paints the two of you hugging in the middle of the tulips field. You hang it on your fridge, right next to his drawing of you on your picnic. You go to move away when a small writing catches your eyes, there right next to Hyunjin's signature, the smallest inscription in cursive writing 'Spring is here.'

iii. april 10th

"Aren't we near Seokchon Lake?" Hyunjin questions while you're strolling around the city, bags of books and painting supplies in your hands.

"We are," you nod excitedly, "should we check it out?"

"Sure, angel."

You intertwine your fingers with Hyunjin's as he pulls you through the main entrance. It's nearly eleven pm and lights are illuminating the paths you are walking in. But that's not what makes Hyunjin gasp softly in awe. It's the imagery of cherry blossoms blooming all around you. Pink dainty petals swept away by the wind. They swivel around the two of you, before carrying on with their travels.

Hyunjin pulls you to a nearby bench, and as soon as you both sit, he guides your head to his shoulder, before resting his cheek on the top of your hair.

You're both silent for a while, quietly taking in the cherry blossoms surrounding you. It's truly magical, even more so with Hyunjin next to you.

"You wanted me to see this, didn't you?" he says, breaking the peaceful silence surrounding you.

"No. I just happened to want to go to the bookstore that's closest to this lake," you joke and he chuckles lightly before sobering up.

"Thank you. For letting me see the world through your eyes," he says, turning his head to look at you. His eyes are twinkling under the lights- tiny constellations binded by his love for you.

You swipe your thumb gently across his cheek, silently watching him too for a while. "You know," you finally speak again, "cherry blossoms only come out during spring. Don't you think there is a certain beauty that comes with blooming after times of hardship?" you whisper and you watch as his lower lip quivers slightly.

You didn't need to tell him 'just like you did', he knew.

iv. april 25th

'Come to the balcony!' Hyunjin reads on a note you left on the counter. He quickly drops his keys and removes his shoes before darting to where you told him to go. 

He opens the door to the balcony to be met with fairy lights dangling from the ceiling. You laid a floatable bed there, and on top of it you've thrown multiple colorful pillows and a heavy blanket. On a tray to your right, two steaming cups of tea were awaiting him. 

"My love," he calls out and you turn to look at him, a wide smile on your face. "Hyune, you are here!"

"I'm here, baby. What are you doing?" he asks, laying beside you on the bed. 

"It's a surprise!"

"Aren't you full of surprises lately," he smiles, running his hand through your hair gently. his heart was soring in his chest, he couldn't believe you were his. 

"It was too cold during the winter for us to use the balcony, but now we can again." 

"Are we sleeping here?" 

"Yeah, it'll be slightly chilly that's why I brought out this thick blanket. And I know you've been stressed this week, so we'll unwind here. I can read for you if you want. A little quiet time, just you and me," you explain and he sighs, burying his head in your stomach. 

"Do you not like it?" you ask cautiously and he shakes his head no.

"I do. I like it so much it's scaring me."

"Why is that?" you ask softly, giving him the time to collect his thoughts. 

"I'd go through this week's stress over and over again, if it meant I'd have you with me like this in the end." 

"You don't have to do that. I'll always be here with you." 

"You promise me?"

"I promise," you say, placing a tender kiss on the top of his hair.

When your cups of tea are finished, and Hyunjin's eyes are drowsy with sleep, you place your book down and turn off the lights. It's dark, save for the full moon's silvery light, as she watches over the two of you. 

"The weather is nice," he mumbles and you nod, "It is." 

"It's spring," he smiles softly, eyes closed and you feel a part of your heart heal and shatter at the same time. 

"It is spring, my love," you whisper, holding him even closer to you. 

v. may 13th 

"What if we go on a bus to the neighboring city?" 

"Good morning to you too," Hyunjin smiles, voice still husky from sleep. 

"It's only an hour's drive away. Please, baby?" 

"Like right now?" 

"Right now. Just for the weekend." 

"Okay." he nods and you beam at him, "Really? Okay?" 

"Mm. whatever you want, angel." 

An hour later, and with a lightly packed bag, you are sitting on the bus to the neighboring town. Hyunjin is fast asleep again, your shared earbud threatening to fall out of his ear. And you are checking your phone for the tenth time since you've gotten on.

They said it will rain today there- a 98% chance of rain to be more precise. You hoped the weather app didn't lie to you.

When you arrive, you quickly drop your bags at the hotel you reserved before getting on the bus, and then you are out to explore.

You walk for a while, stopping at a local café that one of your friends once recommended. They had a delicious spring specialty- cherry muffins with white chocolate drizzle on top. You can tell that Hyunjin is enjoying them too by the way his eyes crinkle closed each time he takes a bite.

Two hours later, you're starting to lose hope when it finally happens- the first droplet of water hitting your skin. Then another. You break out in a wide smile as a light rain falls on you. It's barely there, as if too shy to fully brush against your skin.

It's still sunny despite it raining, and you grab Hyunjin's hand, spinning him around. He almost trips on his feet and he erupts in loud laughter, his head tipped back. It is then that you finally see it, the reason why you came here to begin with- watching your first rainbow with Hyunjin.

"Look, there is a rainbow now," you point out, and he turns to look at it, a soft smile on his face.

"One of my favorite childhood memories was during spring. I was playing outside and then it started raining lightly, just like this. I stood there in awe as I saw my very first rainbow, peeking through the sun rays and the rain," you tell him, as you both watch the colors of the rainbow grow stronger by the second.

"It felt magical, and freeing. But also so serene. I think it was the first time I wanted to preserve a moment and live in it forever. And I've always wanted to experience it with you too."

Hyunjin's eyes soften completely as he gazes at you, the colors unraveling in the sky long forgotten by him.

"That's what loving you feels like to me," he says as he brushes his lips against yours, "you feel like your spring rainbow."

vi. june 1st 

You knock on the door of Hyunjin's art studio softly, pushing down the doorknob once you hear a "come in." 

"Hey, angel," Hyunjin beams at you, "why did you knock?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

"You're never a bother, come here," he gestures to you, and you walk towards him, hands behind your back. 

"What are you hiding?" he smiles at you and you shift from one leg to another. "Um. A little something I made for you. You don't have to like it. Just, read it. I suppose." 

"Why are you nervous, hum?" he questions, grazing your arm with the back of his hand, "It's just me."

"Okay. Okay. Here it is." 

You suck in a deep breath before handing him a diary. Written in simple letters on the front page is Spring. 

Hyunjin slowly opens it, his heart beating wildly in his chest. 'To remind you of the beauty of spring' he reads in the first page, and he almost chokes out a sob. You remembered, he thinks to himself. You remembered and you love him.

He flips to the next page, and he has to bite his lower lip harshly to stop himself from crying. There glued on each page, he finds pictures of him through your spring dates. They are slightly blurry, since you tried to take them quickly without him noticing.

He sees himself, legs crisscrossed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, painting on your picnic. He sees himself, biking while the field of tulips stretch beside him, his arms open wide as if to store the sun's energy within. He sees himself, sleeping on top of your chest on the balcony, a peaceful look on his face. He sees himself, looking at the cherry blossoms in wonder, the city lights reflecting on his brown eyes. And finally a picture of him and the rainbow. He posed for that one, he recalls. He looks so happy in it, in all of them. He truly was. He always is with you.

And then with a shaky hand, he flips to the very last page. And there he reads,

"My love 

If you are reading this, it means that spring is over and I've gathered enough courage to give this to you. I don't think I have the power to rewrite your memories, but I wanted to give you a little taste of spring, the season you once loved. I think you have the most beautiful soul I've had the pleasure of encountering, you see beauty in everything, my beautiful Hyunjin. I didn't want spring to be a bitter exception for you. 

Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I hope that whenever you think of spring now, you'll think of picnics in the middle of grass fields, where the sun's rays gently caress your cheek. I hope you think of fruits that taste like honey and melt on your tongue. I hope you think of tulips and the countless love tales they carry with them. I hope you think of cherry blossoms falling so beautifully, like a cascading waterfall of petals. I hope you think of a soft breeze ruffling your hair, and the peace that comes with sleeping under the stars. I hope you think of rainbows and a faint rain while the sun still warms your soul. I hope you think of cherry muffins and the joy of witnessing it all. 

I hope you think of yourself existing during spring and for it to be gentle on your soul once again. Because you deserve to love spring my hyunjin, more than anyone I know." 

Hyunjin wordlessly gets up from his place and pulls you in a bone-crushing hug. You can feel his silent tears wetting your shirt, but you don't mind. You hug him back just as tightly, patting his back in what you hope is a soothing motion. 

Hyunjin pulls away, pressing his forehead on top of yours. Your hands cradle his face, gently wiping away the hot tears trailing down his cheeks. 

"When I'll..." he lets out a deep breath and it fans all across your skin, sending tingles down your spine. "When I'll think of spring, all I will think of for the rest of my life is you," he hiccups and you stand on your tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, as raw emotion bubbles within you too.

"Promise me you'll stay," he mumbles against your lips, "just like a spring, that you'll always be here to pick me up after it gets hard," his tone is urgent, and you feel as if he's unraveling between your hands, clutching onto you desperately so you wouldn't leave. You wouldn't dare of it.

"I promise, I promise you, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"My spring is you," he kisses you softly, salty tears mingling with yours, "and every hope I've ever had in my life is you."

"Good thing I'm never leaving then," you grin as he pulls away, and Hyunjin finally smiles again, and it feels as if every crack in the universe is magically mended back.

SAY THIS SHIT LOUDER !!!

One of my favourite aspects in the season 2 of Heartstopper is how unapologetically intolerant everyone is towards homophobia. Like.

Harry showing up at Tara's birthday party and Charlie shutting the door in his face despite that apology.

Nick freely calling out his brother's biphobic behavior. Tori literally sinking her nails in David's arm when he was mocking Charlie and Nick and planning to out them.

It's so refreshing. There's no moment where someone asks Charlie or Nick to be the "bigger people" and forgive anyone who undermined, mocked, dismissed, and harassed them for their identity.

Because that shit shouldn't be tolerated ever and it's not acceptable. Queer people aren't here to be your redemption arc.

---

i really needed this after my dad destroyed all my heartstopper books, thank you sm <3

Two things:

1) I really need to stop putting embarrassing little messages on my posts. I keep forgetting that people reblog this stuff and all my embarrassing words are out in the world permanently.

2) I just woke up from a sad dream where I really wanted to say something and couldn't. To compensate, I'll write down what I wanted to say.

You're all worthy of love and the company of the people who love you, I promise. That traumatic event or the fact your father's gone doesn't make you any less of a good, strong human being. I hope you manage to work out all your issues one day. I'm so excited to see the person you're going to become.

I am so proud of you.

Okay, weird, sad rant over. I'm happy now. Back to bed. Goodniiight <3

Also I'm so going to delete this when I wake up, after the embarrassment's fully set in.

---

KIWI — [18+!]

“Can you… cuddle me to sleep, please?”

His head snaps up to you, “Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna sleep outside, okay?”

You’re the one to wrap their fingers around his wrist now, pulling him towards the van. “Nooo, it’s too cold. You’re gonna get sick. Stay a little longer?”

He sighs, “Okay.”

🥝 SYNOPSIS: After graduating from college, you decide to travel around New Zealand and celebrate your freedom. But when you buy a van for the journey, the salesman scams you, selling the exact same car to both you and another person who’s no other than your childhood best friend you haven’t seen in years—and still have a huge crush on…

This is my entry for @skzwritingcafe 's July/August event “Summertime Confessions”! (I am a little over the deadline but still wanted to post this since the event inspired me to pick up this WIP again)

🌴 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, dj chan, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, travel au, only one bed trope, fluff/angst/smut, mutual pining, based on a dream I had about my childhood best friend whose name happens to be felix but I changed this story to chan lmao, prices for cars might be unrealistic but a) i don’t own a car and b) i don’t know that much about new zealand’s economy (i did research tho!!), warnings and smut tags under the cut

🛻 WORD COUNT: 12.0K

🗺️ CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption (also includes excessive consumption once as well as mention of underage drinking in the past), short mention of breakup, scam/fraud, jealousy (both chan and reader), reader once calls chan daddy but sarcastically and non-sexually lmao

🧩 SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-protected sex, choking, spanking, creampie, name calling (doll, dear, slut, good girl)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

Well. That’s a bumpy journey so far. What a start.

A drink spilled all over your shirt, crumbs of crisps in your hair and a bruise on your knee. And if this isn’t already too much for your stressed out and anxious heart—the man you’ve never ever expected to see again stands right in front of you.

But let’s start again from the beginning and how you ended up here. A quick recap, shall we?

Exactly one week and three days ago you finally graduated from college. Hard work pays off—more or less—and since your new full time job will start in a month, you finally have a little bit of vacation in what feels like years. 

So, that’s how you found yourself spontaneously booking a flight to Auckland, ready to spend some time and money traveling through New Zealand’s nature and taking in all the landscapes you’ve dreamt about. You just need this—need to do something different before you will actually start being an adult and drown in boring everyday life.

The flight went quite well but the airport you arrived at was a disaster—due to many delays of other connections you had to wait for your huge backpack for a few hours, totally exhausted and tired from the trip. The hostel you have reserved a bed in for your first night is overbooked and now you have to share the room with ten other people. Well, that is a normal hostel situation but you're just too sleepy to deal with anyone right now.

Which is why it’s ironic that you’re out of all places at a club instead. But no matter how tired you are, it was too noisy in the bedroom so you decided to go out again, hoping to get a little more tired so that you will be able to pass out due to exhaustion and fall into a deep slumber once you’re back.

And then the snowball effect hits you—the people in here are already drunk, too drunk, and possibly on other substances and you arrived sober. Spontaneous ideas aren’t your thing and maybe that's why you underestimated that whole scenario.

The music is quite good though and the drinks aren’t expensive as you would have thought—although they are still ridiculously high in alcohol percentage. So, you stick to sipping on one beer throughout your first hour of being here.

Every man inside here seems to pretend he’s in a zoo, hunting for the next woman that accidentally looks in his direction. It’s disgusting, really.

God. This is a very touristy place. Yes, you are a tourist, too. It doesn’t make any sense but you’re not here to make any sense. You’re here to forget about your exhausting travel to Auckland and you’re here to forget about the past two months or rather your whole life.

It’s a shame he’s still under your skin. That stupid ex boyfriend that decided to break up with you during the last week of you writing your thesis. You still managed to finish on time but you’ve been an emotional wreck ever since.

That was a lie. You’ve always been an emotional wreck but you developed to a whole new level.

However—that’s why you’re here now. Ready for a fresh start. Ready to possibly get a little tipsy and enjoy the music. At least the DJ is doing a good job. You seriously would have expected them to play some shitty cheap produced rap music or whatever young people listen to these days.

All those kids from far away that search for the meaning of life after highschool graduation by exploring either New Zealand or Australia—of course, far away from home, thinking they will come back with a whole new personality.

Well… the longer you think about that harsh thesis, the more you realise the irony layered in your thoughts. This might, partly, apply to you too.

Nevertheless, you didn’t come all the way to New Zealand and crossed the Tasman Sea to worry until your last brain cell melts.

You’re here to forget.

You’re here for a fresh start.

Far away from the troubles. Far away from your past. Far away from Sydney.

And everything that connects with this.

Maybe, the best thing is probably to get another drink—which is more than beer—one or two will be enough. After all, you don’t want to get shitfaced on the first night and the hot temperatures will do the rest anyway. You’ve got an important appointment tomorrow and need to appear at your best.

Heading towards the bar, you ignore the comments of the men that get a little annoyed about you pushing them to the side to get to your destination. Maybe they would react differently, if you gently shoved them aside, placing your hand on their lower back or—accidentally, of course—even a little more south.

After all, that’s what they usually do when the roles are reversed, right?

You manage to get to the bar, a little furious and still way too sober, someone’s drink spilled over your shirt and some crisps in your hair, but you waste no time and order your favourite drink.

You rummage around in your little purse, fishing out your wallet. Opening the pocket in which you stow away your coins, your fingers stumble across a shimmering object.

You’re not surprised. Yes, even after all these years you still have that necklace, carrying it with you wherever you go. You wonder if the magnet still works, if the charm would connect to its opposite one—the one that is owned by someone else. Of course, in case that person hasn’t thrown their necklace away yet. Which you’re convinced they have.

An hour and two drinks in, you’re hovering over the dance floor, still very much enjoying the great choice of music until the unexpected happens.

You take a closer look at the DJ, deeply mesmerised by his skills—when it clicks.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

The one and only Christopher Bang.

He looks so different but he also looks the same. His dimples are visible even in the dim light of the club. He wears his hair curly and black again—he used to straighten it a lot back then and occasionally get it bleached with your help. His face is filled with some piercings, his arms are decorated with tattoos.

His… wow. His arms.

Going to the gym and swimming must pay off.

But the worst part is…

You believe you’re gonna fall for him all over again.

And then his gaze meets yours.

Fuck.

You should have been more careful. Pretending this didn’t happen, you focus on the drink in your hand, watching the ice cubes swirl around when you stir the straw.

Until the unexpected happens once again.

He plays your favourite song.

Kiwi. Yes, you were a Harry Styles girl back then and even though eighteen year old Chan was too cool to admit it, he liked his music too.

What you don’t know is that Kiwi is still number one of his most listened songs on Spotify of all time until this day.

2017. Your last year of highschool. You listened to it all the time.

When Chan and you were cramming for your finals. When that guy from your chemistry class broke your heart. When you realised that you’re in love with your best friend.

You’ve always thought the both of you would end up together. Everyone thought so.

It’s an absolute cliché. You met when you were only one year old in kindergarten. Your mothers were best friends, glad about the fact the two of you could grow up together. Of course, they’ve always made some sort of joke about it—how Chan would marry you once you would be older.

For a long time you thought so, too.

He was your first kiss. Rather an experimental one when you were sixteen and just wanted to get it over with.

You had already had a small crush on him at that time and wondered, if he would return those feelings after making out with you. For a second you were so sure about it. You will never forget about the sparkles in his eyes when he let go of you again, lips even puffier than before from all the kissing.

Then he went on a date with Maya and everything went downhill.

That was in eleventh grade. They dated until your last year of highschool while you throughout that time… well, made zero experiences.

However, in eleventh grade as well, Chan started bringing you to Friday evening parties at the nearby beach. The people with you were other students from your year but they were Chan’s friends and not really yours. Those meetings basically only consisted of getting drunk in the sun and moonlight.

Maya was always there, too. For two years. Jealousy was basically eating you alive at that point but you obviously didn’t want to destroy Chan’s relationship. He seemed so happy. He really was. But you weren’t the one responsible for that.

One night at the beach, one of your classmates—Minho—and you got a little closer than planned. He used to be popular for being the typical high school fuckboy, quite known for changing his girlfriends every other week.

Of course, you fell for it, too. You’ve never regretted it. Although losing your virginity to him a week before graduating, right in the open, in the woods near the beach wasn’t the most romantic experience. But he was gentle. He made you feel wanted and loved although he was far from having any serious feelings for you.

But that was okay. You were still in love with Chan anyway.

This whole thing went on until the start of college and during that summer, your back then still best friend caught Minho and you one night.

Maya and him broke up some weeks after graduation since she was about to start studying in Japan and the relationship was basically doomed. There was another reason that you’ve never known about that also caused their bond to crumble.

Chan’s feelings for you.

But, well, it was too late now anyway. Even if there wasn’t Minho, Chan was still about to go to another country as well, leaving you in Sydney.

You get dragged back into reality when the song ends. However, your former best friend is still looking at you—a huge smirk decorating his beautiful face.

It’s an instinct kicking in. Survival mode, if you will. You turn around, almost bumping into a group of guys.

Downing the rest of your drink, you place the empty glass on some random table before making your way out of the building.

The way back to the hostel is a blur. You realise a little late that your eyes are stained with tears, ready to flood down like a waterfall.

You’ve never expected to see him again.

Well, you probably won’t another time after tonight. There’s no way you’re gonna go back into that club again.

🥝

You’ve underestimated the impact of seeing Chan again for a quick second. Your dreams were wild—partly in a bad way, partly in an embarrassing way that you don’t want to think about.

However, the fact that there’s a superstition that says that whatever you dream about when sleeping in a bed for the first time turns into reality, lets the spiral of worrying wander further.

Fuck. All these years in college you thought you were finally over him.

But Chan was your first love. The older you’ve grown, the more you have realised he has always been more than just a crush. 

But well—you missed that chance.

You’re torn between regretting leaving the club so impulsive and being convinced it was the right decision. You could spend the whole day wondering what would have happened if you stayed.

But well—you missed that chance once again.

After putting all your stuff into your huge backpack, you get ready for the day—taking an unfortunate ice cold shower in the shared bathroom and choosing a comfortable outfit—and leave the hostel once you’re ready.

The next bus brings you to a car dealership you made an appointment with online for today.

Because—you of course can’t start a van tour experience without a van, right?

You usually listen to your gut feeling and in at least nine out of ten cases it’s very dependable. However, with all the overthinking going on, your brain decides to ignore the fact that something about this store and the owner in specific feels… off. Quite oddinary.

The vans all look good, especially the emerald coloured one he is currently showing and presenting to you but you really should have spent at least a minute to look into the Google reviews… because they are either bad or fake. But you’re not aware of that.

You need a car anyway, it’ll be fine.

As long as the car functions and doesn’t cost you your whole year’s income, it’ll be okay.

“What do you say?” the salesman asks you, pointing at another vehicle in a similar shade to the previous one.

“Oh, I love the colour. What a beautiful green,” you tell him.

“It is! And it’s pretty spacious although it doesn’t look like it,” he exclaims.

The man walks around the car and opens it with the keys—he realised you seem to prefer this colour and luckily he’s got a few pieces to offer with it.

“What does it include in the price? It seems pretty cheap,” you ask, realising after speaking how negative your words come off.

But you saw a sign that read $ 2750 and fairly speaking—that is not a lot for a vehicle like that. Not even if you consider that it’s secondhand.

“That’s just because of the vehicle’s age,” the man starts explaining. He opens the door on the side completely, showing off the inside. “It has all the necessities. A mattress, enough storage space, a built-in table that you can let down when you open the trunk and it comes with free camping chairs.”

You take your time to examine all the details, checking if everything works fine.

But there doesn’t seem to be a single issue. He allows you to drive for a few minutes, take a short trip through the parking lot and everything is indeed absolutely fine.

There will probably never be a chance like this. You should definitely purchase it.

Or at least your very sad bank account is whispering that to you.

“I’d like to buy this one.”

The salesman brings you back to his little office which takes you at least a five minute walk but you don’t mind. You get that he wants to sell the car first before handing the keys to you.

“$ 2500 and it’s yours,” he offers once you arrive at the destination, lowering the price a little.

And you’re not here to complain.

Oh, Y/N. You should see all those red flags but apparently you’re a little colour blind. Not a surprise, considering that car you’re about to buy is green.

Or is it?

You pick out your wallet to grab your credit card, when you stumble across the magnet necklace again.

After seeing Chan for a brief moment, you start wondering again, if he still owns that necklace or—possibly—even wears it.

Okay. Slow down, Y/N. It’s getting ridiculous and delusional.

The beeping sound of the payment terminal wakes you up again. The salesman hands you the receipt, before grabbing a metallic object that is hanging on the wall behind him.

“Here. The keys for you.”

“Thanks,” you say, giving him a kind smile.

“I have to thank you,” he replies. “I’m off work now, have a safe trip.”

Oh.

Well, you’re probably gonna find your way back to the car, right?

In a parking lot filled with what feels like thousands of vehicles.

The walk back takes you at least fifteen minutes but there’s no need to hurry anyway.

You’ve got your car. You’ve still got enough money. You’ve got a great journey ahead of you. Everything paid off for this moment. You manifested it and now you’re luck is within reach.

Arriving back at near car, you place your huge backpack on the ground for a second in order to grab a thin jacket—it’s gotten a little chilly and you have to adjust things in the new van first, prepare Google Maps and make a general plan before you’re ready to start the adventure.

You close the bag again, before you walk towards the green vehicle.

You walk closer. And even closer.

Until you spot someone behind the car, hovering a big backpack—that isn’t yours—into the trunk.

You check again if it’s indeed your car but from what you can tell it is the one that the salesman showed and—most importantly—sold to you. It’s the same shade of sage, the little lanterns are hanging inside and the mattress has the washed out grey colour from earlier.

It is your car. The keys fit and you remember all the details from half an hour ago.

You unlock the door on the driver’s side and place down your bottle of water, before you carefully lean the huge backpack against the car. The waist bag stays on, the little keychain with the kiwi dangling around.

“Oh, what a surprise.”

Oh, God.

No.

That is impossible.

The odds are basically zero. Minus one hundred, if you will.

But of all people who could have been here, doing something to the car you just bought, it’s none other than Christopher Bang.

“Hell, no,” you let out.

Your former best friend walks around the corner until he fills your vision completely. It allows you to take in his full figure. He is wearing a black tank top, showing off his ridiculously muscular arms and—of course—fucking grey sweatpants.

“Hell, yes,” he giggles.

But why the fuck did he just put his backpack into the trunk of your car.

How did he even get it in there? How did he open the door?

You keep wondering until two objects cross your gaze.

A key.

And a receipt.

For that exact pastel green vehicle that you just bought.

“He sold that car to the both of us?!”

“Seems like it,” Chan says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Aren’t you… annoyed?! He fucking scammed us!”

Your childhood friend is so different. It’s not just that he looks older, even more tired than he used to in his teenage years but he is behaving so strangely.

Chan used to be the dad of the group, the one who took care of everyone, the one that made sure to pack enough water, tissues, sunscreen and plasters—just in case. He was the first person you came to after a fight with your parents or after getting back a test you failed.

He used to be your anchor. He used to hold you close when the waves hit the shore, clinging onto you.

But from the short conversation you can tell that five years can do a lot to a person. It feels as if there’s someone standing in front of you that looks a little like Chan but isn’t actually him.

“We can go back, if that’s what you want. But I’m not leaving the car to you. I spent four grand on it,” he says.

Your former best friend crosses his arms in front of his chest—just like he used to when you were children. At least this gives you a bit of comfort and familiarity, although it’s pretty stupid.

Then another thing clicks and you giggle.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Chan’s words come off way more annoyed than he intended. This is not how he imagined to meet you again. He’s dreamt about this day for such a long time now—both wanting to see you and to avoid you for the rest of his life.

After all, you were the one who didn’t show up at the airport when he went to Seoul five years ago. Sure, you weren’t on great terms back then—although you never got into a fight, simply stopped speaking as regularly as you used to—but he expected you, his oldest friend, to at least say goodbye.

He’s still convinced it was because of Minho. Even though it didn’t seem that serious in the beginning, Chan has been wondering throughout all these years if that guy turned into your boyfriend.

But seeing you here alone lets those chances shrink.

Similar to his patience.

Opposite to those feelings that are reborn inside his heart.

“I only paid $ 2500,” you tell him.

Yeah, Chan definitely made a very bad deal here, for sure.

“Then you should leave it to me,” he replies with a smirk.

“Oh, no. Forget that.”

You turn around on your feet, yanking the door open to reach for your water bottle. Downing most of the liquid, you throw it back onto the seat.

Chan is still standing there, watching every move with a smile that turns into a smug whenever your vision crosses his.

“Then we should talk to him,” he offers.

Chan isn’t an asshole. He won’t take the car away from you. Besides that, he got scammed, too.

“He left the lot… said his work day is over,” you share, letting your gaze meet the dirty floor you’re standing on.

“What a coincidence… not.”

Chan lets his head sink down as well, feeling defeated. It could be such a great, almost romantic, reunion but something seems off.

You’re so different.

It feels as if there’s someone standing in front of him that looks a little like you but isn’t actually you.

“What do you want us to do?” he asks, his voice turning a little smaller.

“I’m not gonna be in a car together with you,” you immediately let out.

Chan wants to be respectful. That’s just how he is or, well, how he used to be. Five years can do a lot to a person, being left without a goodbye can break a heart—even of those who seem to be the strongest.

He won’t let you go. Hit two birds with a stone. He could tease you for two reasons—revenge and regret.

Of course, Chan was the one who used to be in an almost two year long relationship with another girl but that was before his feelings. At least that’s what he’s telling himself, up until this day, secretly knowing it’s not the truth.

It’s not entirely your fault. Even though Chan is convinced that you have never reciprocated those feelings at some point, he still feels awful for kind of ignoring you as his best friend once Maya and him became a couple.

He dragged you to all those bad parties at the beach and then complained that you decided to have your own fun with Minho.

Chan is such an idiot. He knows that.

That’s why he decides to take his chance this time instead of letting it slip.

“It doesn’t seem like you have another option, doll.”

Doll.

That’s new.

Chan used to have many nicknames for you.

Angel. Dear. Honey. Darling.

All platonic—of course.

Something tells you he’s only using it to tease you and you might be right about that.

“Let’s just drive together for the first—I don’t know—few days, we’ll get some money and then we’ll buy a second car, okay?”

His offer is the most rational option.

You don’t have enough money to buy another car and even if you were able to, you wouldn’t. The both of you got scammed and the salesman is nowhere to be found. So, just make the best of it and pray that you’ll get a second vehicle as soon as possible.

Or well—let him get the money for that. This isn't how you envisioned your trip, after all.

“I’m on vacation here. I wasn’t planning on getting a job and even if I was, I doubt I will find something that pays well,” you say.

Chan sighs, getting a little closer to you, mainly out of habit. Your heart skips a beat, nevertheless.

“I’m working as a DJ tonight again. In a club by the coast in Tauranga. I heard they hire for other jobs as well,” he informs you.

Shit. Unfortunately—or fortunately, however you view it—that is your next stop on your route anyway.

“What jobs?” you ask then.

He chuckles, a little embarrassed this time, while he simultaneously scratches the back of his head.

“Uhm… dancers.”

His voice is so quiet, almost inaudible, as if he’s hiding something.

“Dancers?”

“Well, yeah… more like… strippers but not exactly,” he replies with a shy smile.

“Yeah—no. I am not doing that,” you instantly shoot back.

Chan sighs again, looking up to the blue sky until his eyes meet yours.

“Well, either that or you have to spend additional days with me. The choice is yours.”

That fucking smirk.

He is already getting on your last nerve.

How the fuck are you supposed to survive this?

Maybe you should indeed drive a little with him—just for a few kilometres until you stop at a gas station and accidentally leave him there when he goes into the store to pay.

That sounds like a plan.

“Get in the car, then.”

🥝

You haven’t abandoned Chan yet as if he’s some dumb little puppy—although that isn’t far from reality, considering how he follows you everywhere and seems to constantly crave your attention.

The only hour of the day that he didn’t spend annoying the shit out of you was when you made a stop at the Hobbiton Movie Set to participate in a tour that he booked. He paid for your ticket since it was his idea and wish to join the journey but you would have rather had him save the money for the second car you need to buy.

However, it reminded you of your childhood—when Chan and you used to do Lord Of The Rings movie marathons. It had always been a tradition, an annual celebration, if you will. Until your paths separated.

You’ve spent a lot of time suppressing those thoughts, pushing away your guilty conscience that told you it was your fault how things ended. After all, you were the one who didn’t say goodbye. Something tells you this is why Chan has been teasing you since yesterday.

But in your opinion this isn’t the full story. Sure, you were the one to cut things off—or rather ghosted him—but he was the main responsible part of why your friendship started to crumble.

God, you were so dumb back then. Well, you were teenagers and they tend to be a little dense and stupid.

You keep wondering how things would be if the both of you would have been able to communicate.

But then again—you believe a little too much in destiny and it can’t be a coincidence that Chan and you met again. Twice. Just when you’re entering a new stage, when you’re finally at a point in your life that isn’t the most satisfying and happiest but you can say that you’re the truest form of yourself that you have ever been.

Maybe it’s meant to be.

However, you’re not ready yet to fully grasp that idea.

“Kiwi juice?”

Your head snaps towards Chan, who is sitting in the driver’s seat. You switched after the Hobbit adventure, currently on your way to the beach in Tauranga.

“Hm?”

He offers you the paper carton in his hands.

Fuck. Those pretty hands. You could get lost at the sight.

Pull yourself together, it’s getting embarrassing.

“You want some? It’s the brand from… when we were younger,” he says, taking a little pause in between the words.

He’s nostalgic, he can’t deny it.

Chan has been wondering if it can really be a coincidence that the both of you met again.

Twice within twelve hours.

“Oh, sure,” you say, reaching for the juice. Your hand brushes his for a second in the process and your heart skips a beat, synchronising with Chan’s a second later.

When his gaze switches back to the road ahead of him, yours stays fixated on his face. You think he doesn’t notice but he does. However, this time he holds back that teasing comment that is tingling his tongue.

Happiness erupts on your face, when you taste the kiwi juice again for the first time. They’ve always been your favourite fruit—of course—and it would be a lie if you said this didn’t have an impact on you for choosing New Zealand as your travel destination after graduation.

“Is good?”

You nod, smiling at Chan and he gives you the same expression. It feels so natural—you look back into those same beautiful brown eyes from five years ago.

A thin pink layer appears on his cheeks and Chan is fast to bring his attention back to the street.

You can’t hold back the enormous smirk that is decorating your face now.

The journey flies by, until you reach the campsite and search for a nice spot to stop the car. Just when he’s about to turn off the engine, no other song that Harry Styles’ Kiwi is playing again. The both of you chuckle, suddenly feeling some kind of connection again.

Oh, Lord. That is gonna be an interesting evening.

Especially, once you remember the job Chan mentioned.

“Wait–“ you say, when you have gotten dressed and join Chan again who is currently busy preparing some dinner.

“What is it? You don’t like pasta anymore?”

You take a closer look at the dish he is currently cooking, as the delicious scents start entering your nostrils. Nostalgia hits you like a fucking train on highspeed once more.

“I– I do, that’s not what I meant.” Sinking down on the seat next to Chan, you help him place down the plates and cutlery. “I am… I don’t think I can do this… dancing job. I know it’s unfair if only you are working, especially since you spent the most on this car but I just can’t–“

“Woah, slow down,” Chan says. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what has gotten into me earlier, I just wanted to… tease you, I guess. The club does hire dancers but you seriously don’t have to do this.”

“Okay,” you let out with a small voice and relief washing down your spine.

The pasta is finally ready and served. Chan’s cooking skills seem to have improved by at least ten levels since high school and you compliment him, causing the blush to come back to his cheeks again.

“Do you still want to come to the club with me, though?” he asks or rather offers.

You’re unsure. If you’re honest, you’re not in the mood right now for partying, you would rather have some introvert time and maybe you can get that once Chan leaves to work.

“I… I think I’m gonna lay down for a bit, I’m still tired from yesterday, the flight to Auckland was kinda exhausting.”

What a pity. He would have loved to have you there. Now that Chan has finally gained some confidence and feels the chemistry between the both of you come back to what it used to be—although so many things are still left unspoken—it would have been a great chance to at least build some trust again.

He kind of regrets annoying you in the beginning, pretending to be some douchebag although you deserved the initial teasing. But he rather wants to get closer to you all naturally and he does still believe that the both of you meeting is a sign. A fucking obvious neon sign.

It is ridiculous that after all these years, his feelings haven’t changed in the slightest for you.

He hopes that he won’t make that much money tonight so that you have to travel around together for a little longer.

“Sure. The club is straight this way, like two hundred meters, in case you change your mind.”

🥝

You did change your mind. A nap later and the clock hitting half past midnight, you decide to at least check out the venue. Getting ready takes you a little longer than expected but this can mainly be blamed on the way you packed your things in the huge bag.

You decide to go for a dark shirt combined with a skirt that has pockets—yes, pockets! Your favourite sneakers complete the look and transport you to the club. You follow the sandy path until you reach your destination.

Considering the night is already in full swing, it doesn’t take the employees long to check your ID and sell you a ticket. The venue is partly in the open—turning this into a party by the coast. A lot of people got rid of their initial outfit, deciding to stay in their swimwear. You’re glad you did the same, choosing a bikini over a bra and panties as if you already expected it.

The atmosphere is phenomenal—you’re glad you came here. You missed being at the beach. It’s where you belong. It’s where you truly feel at home.

A beautiful melody fills your surroundings, immediately pulling you closer to the bar that is located near the stage. You order a drink, before you head back into the crowd of people.

Chan—busy showing off his skills—spotted you right away. Even in a gallery filled with the most beautiful art pieces, he’d still be staring at you.

You catch him observing you, allowing your eyes to connect with his and he gives you a soft smile. It’s when your two drinks into the night, that you notice a shift in the situation.

Of course, you aren’t the only person having alcohol and some fun and it’s a club at a very touristy place after all. So, you shouldn’t be surprised that a lot of people, especially women, are approaching Chan, probably asking for certain songs, complimenting him, flirting with him.

It’s mainly groups that try to start a conversation with him, giggling along whenever he replies to one of their questions. That’s fine. You’re fine.

He's a DJ. He is at work and just doing his job, maybe hoping to get tipped or something.

It’s alright. Really. Until those groups turn into individual women that gather up enough courage to talk to him alone. The conversations—despite the insane noise—become longer and he gets closer to them.

An hour passes and another hour follows, filled with girl after girl flirting with your former best friend.

Another one approaches him. She’s even more beautiful looking than the previous one and your stomach turns when you realise she looks a little like Maya.

It’s not her—without a doubt. But when you see the smile on Chan’s face and how he leans closer to her to catch what song she’s suggesting, you know he must have a type.

That type being quite the opposite of you. 

You try to not read too much into his mimics, concentrating on the sound of the music roaming around and the taste of the alcohol on the tip of your tongue instead. 

Then you see him reach for her phone, definitely typing down his number.

That’s it. You’ve had enough.

Why the fuck did you have to meet him again?

Why the fuck is he flirting with all these women?

Why the fuck is he flirting with you too?

And most importantly—why are you jealous?

You spin around on your feet, storming towards the bar. With your back turned to Chan, you don’t see the enormous smirk he has on his face once again. He’s not oblivious—he noticed you staring at him for literal hours and he would be lying if the very obvious jealousy that you are carrying isn’t the main reason for his flirting in the first place.

He enjoys seeing you like this. Chan would have never believed to be such a tease with someone but you seem to provoke a side of him that has been slumbering inside him, waiting to be woken up.

The women that approach him from now on finally become transparent—it’s not as if he’s seriously been interested in any of them, flirting is sometimes part of his job and you shouldn’t read too much into it. However, Chan will use whatever to his advantage when it comes to getting a reaction out of you.

In the meantime, you order a vodka shot at the bar, downing it in one go before you immediately get another one. And another one. In this angle, Chan can’t tell what and how much you’re drinking but when he sees you come back, dangerously confident, heading towards the dancing stage, he knows it’s more than you’re possibly able to handle.

There are other guests on the stage as well, having some fun, letting out their inner desires, getting loose. The paid dancers are somewhere else but it’s still ironic that you’re becoming the spotlight of the whole club now—after being all shy with dancing.

Chan is a bit worried, if that’s really what you want to do or just the alcohol speaking. But you seem to feel comfortable and you really enjoy what you’re doing, you can’t deny that. He still keeps an eye on you—both for caring but also absolutely selfish reasons.

It’s alluring, how you sway your hips to the melody of the songs he’s playing, how your body moves to the beat so perfectly. Chan knows you’ve always been into dancing and music but unfortunately were too insecure to show it.

You’re having the time of your life, you really are.

Until you feel that last shot kicking in, realising it was one too many.

Leaving the stage, you sit down on some sofa for a bit, feeling your head spin like a carousel. When Chan has chosen the following song and switches his gaze back to the dancers, he can’t find you anymore. Hastily, his eyes roam through the club and he feels his chest tighten in anxiety. Possibly, you just went to the bathroom but you are also extremely intoxicated.

Searching for a nearby colleague, he informs them that there is an emergency that he has to take care of. Not quite pleased, the person tells him that if he leaves now, he will be fired from the job.

But Chan doesn’t care. All he cares about is you and your well-being. 

He knows you enough to know that you tend to underestimate the effect alcohol has on your body, at least it’s been like this when you were teenagers. Leaving his own stage, he starts searching for you.

You’re not sitting on the sofa anymore. A kind girl gave you a bottle of tap water and offered to comfort you, however, your emotions washed over you, making you rush towards the beach. She follows you, wanting to know you’re okay.

That’s where Chan finds you, lying in the sand, absolutely shit-faced. The girl next to you immediately senses him approaching you and enters defending mode.

“Who are you?”

He realises now how weird the situation for her must be. He’s a man she hasn’t seen with you before, so of course, hesitation is the right option.

“I’m her friend, just wanted to make sure she’s okay,” he explains.

Chan feels awful for not grasping it sooner. Sure, it was comforting seeing you have fun but he underestimated it. But then again—how was he supposed to help you while being at work?

He’s here now. That’s what counts.

“You really think I would believe that, hm? Any guy could just say that, you better leave her alone,” the girl says, severely annoyed by Chan and worried about you.

“Yeji… it’s good,” you tell her, “I know him. We are on vacation together, we’re childhood friends.”

She lets out a relieved sigh, giving Chan a small smile and telling him to sit down next to you as well.

Unfortunately, in your drunken state you don’t notice him getting closer because, if you did, you wouldn’t say those following words at such a high volume, when you lean towards Yeji.

“I have a huuuge crush on him but he doesn’t seem to notice.”

Chan’s heart stops beating.

What?

This can’t be. His pulse is running at the speed of light and he feels himself getting dizzy now, despite not having even a single drop of alcohol in his system.

“Okay, so you’re good?” Yeji asks.

You nod and pull her into a hug.

“You’ve got my number, just in case, okay?” she says, before saying goodbye and leaving you alone with your friend.

Chan makes sure you drink the rest of the water until the bottle is empty, as he watches the shimmer of the night sky reflect in your eyes.

“Y/N,” he begins.

“Huh?”

You look at him with big eyes, almost like a deer that stops in the middle of the street when a car approaches the animal.

“Let’s go back,” he says, getting up from the ground. Chan offers you his hand and helps you stand on your feet again. You’re stumbling a little but he makes sure to help you gain back your balance, holding your figure.

“Dancing? Sure, but my head it– spin-spinning and–“

“No, to the van,” he says.

You pout, letting your shoulders sink.

“But I wanna daaance, pleeeaaase…”

Chan seems frustrated.

“Party’s over, come on.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist, dragging you after him, as he guides you towards the campsite.

“You’re so mean!”

Chan sighs, deciding to not pay too much attention to your childish behaviour. After all, you’re pretty drunk and he’s glad you’re fine. Going back to the club is the worst idea.

First, you’re not in the right state of mind to be dancing again. Let alone drink something.

Second, the security will probably tell you to leave anyway, once they notice how intoxicated you are.

And third, it would be embarrassing for Chan to go back there, after he basically got fired.

“We’re gonna get you sober and ready for bed, yeah?”

You pout again, letting a whimper follow, as you obediently walk next to Chan.

“Okay, daddy,” you reply sarcastically.

He ignores your teasing now—and the way this dumb name makes him feel flustered—instead helping you brush your teeth which turns out to be a lot more complicated. You’re so absolutely stubborn and not able anymore to control your body and balance. However, he manages to take off the rest of your makeup and put your hair in a comfortable style for sleeping.

There’s one thing that’s still on the list. You can’t go to sleep with your outside-clothes.

“Pyjamas?” he asks you.

“In the backpack.”

Chan gets up from his seat, making you drink another glass of water, as he walks towards your bag. You’re carrying so much stuff with you that it seems impossible for him to find what he’s looking for. His fingers accidentally brush over a pile of panties, feeling the lace material against his skin. Your childhood friend is glad that the blush on his cheeks isn’t visible in the dim moonlight.

“I can’t find your sleepwear,” he says, giving up.

“Then I’m gonna just stay in my party outfit.”

“Oh, no,” he says, “you’re not wearing this worn stuff from outside on the mattress.”

You remember now. Chan has always been like this. When you used to visit him as a child, he made you change your “outside clothing” in case you wanted to sit or lie down on any type of furniture in his parents’ house. 

Your pants came in contact with the bus seats, that’s yikes, Y/N, he used to say. As a teenager you didn’t care but the older you got, the more you adapted to this philosophy.

“Fine,” you groan.

Chan decides to just grab something to wear from his backpack, it’ll do. He finds a nice oversized shirt and some boxers that he hands to you.

“I… you want me to wear your underwear?”

He sighs. Once again. “It’s clean, oh my God. Just change your clothes already.”

The curly haired turns around then out of respect, while you slip into the baggy fabrics.

“Done.”

“Good,” he says.

You crawl into the van, sinking down on the bed sheet, as you feel the weight of the mattress shift underneath you.

Chan gets ready for bed, too. In the meantime, you plug your phone to the power bank and send Yeji a quick text.

She answers within a few seconds.

[Yeji 04:57]: Sleep well, darling. Thanks for texting me. Goodnight 💕

It doesn’t take your phone long to receive another message from her.

[Yeji 04:58]: Also, get that man. He seems to like you back ;)

You chuckle, still way too tipsy to fully grasp what she says. How is she supposed to tell? She spent like three minutes with him and doesn’t even know you that well, either. Yeji is just a random but very kind girl you met while waiting in line in the bathroom.

Chan drags you out of your thoughts when he walks around the car, stopping in front of you to place his toothbrush back into his bag. He’s changed into some sweatpants, not bothering to wear a shirt to sleep.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still swimming in your veins.

Maybe it’s the light of the lanterns tinting his naked chest in the prettiest glimmer.

Maybe it’s the pent up feelings and all those unspoken words.

Or it’s all of those things combined that make you speak the following words, “Can you… cuddle me to sleep, please?”

His head snaps up to you.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna sleep outside, okay?”

You’re the one to wrap their fingers around his wrist now, pulling him towards the van.

“Nooo, it’s too cold. You’re gonna get sick.” Chan can’t resist that annoying pout on your face. “Stay a little longer?”

He sighs, crawling into the van as well, as he takes the space next to the door.

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall into a deep slumber, while Chan holds you close—you being the small spoon and him being the big one. Whereas you are already deeply occupied in your dreams, insomnia seems to take the best of him again.

He can’t believe he’s got you back in his life.

He can’t believe that you’re getting along again, especially compared to eighteen hours ago after buying the van.

He can’t believe you told your new friend that you have a crush on him.

If that’s really the truth that would mean… that would mean you have had that crush for some time, right? Considering you only met one and a half days ago, you must have already had feelings for him before that.

Fuck. Chan is possibly the luckiest guy on this earth. He dearly hopes this isn’t that dream he’s dreamt a thousand times before.

Just when he’s about to finally get some rest, too, you stir around and change positions, before your eyes open and in your half asleep state, you start speaking,  “You left, Channie…”

His own eyes widen, pulling you closer. Maybe you’ve got some of those nightmares again that you used to have when you guys were younger.

“But I’m here, darling,” he reassures you, using that nickname again for the first time.

“No,” you mumble, “you left and went to Seoul five years ago. You left me.”

His heart stops and then breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.

That might be true but you were the one to literally ghost your lifetime best friend.

“And you didn’t say goodbye, Y/N,” Chan spits back.

He can tell you’re not fully awake. Maybe that’s what gives him enough confidence to speak what’s on his mind. It feels so good to finally let that out.

God, he’s such a coward.

Your eyes open a little more, although you’re still not really awake.

“Is that why you’re mad at me? Why you were teasing me?” you ask him.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, “Yes.”

You roll onto your back, hiding your eyes behind the palms of your hands.

“Chan…”

He interrupts you, already regretting that he told you about his feelings, “Just forget it–“

“I couldn’t say goodbye…”

“Just… cut it–“

“My heart couldn’t handle it,” you say, “I was, well, I still am too much… too much in love with you to let you go.”

That’s when you doze off back into sleep.

It’s real. You’re real. Your feelings for him are real.

All these years. All the time waiting pays off—just for you to confess in your sleep. Well, better than nothing. Chan will see what the next day holds for you.

He knows you won’t hear him. However, he still speaks his words out loud, when he says, “I love you too, Y/N.”

🥝

You wake up around two in the afternoon the next day, feeling your pulse pumping inside your head.

Chugging down the rest that’s inside your metallic water bottle, you come to the realisation that you have no idea how you made it back to the van last night.

Speaking of—you find yourself alone in here, the space beside you still a little warm but that could also be caused by the sunbeams that are making their way inside the vehicle.

When you push the blanket away, you observe yourself in clothes that aren’t yours. Looking down at the bottoms, you notice you’re wearing boxers, probably Chan’s.

Why are you wearing his clothes? You guys weren’t so drunk that you… no, Chan wouldn’t do something like that.

However, you were indeed drunk. That is a fact. Otherwise you wouldn’t have a mental blackout about yesterday’s night.

“Morning,” Chan says, appearing in front of the van’s door. “I made some tea for you.” He hands you the beverage, painfully obviously trying to avoid your gaze.

What the hell happened?

“How are you?” 

Chan takes a seat beside you, leaving respectful space between the both of you.

“I’ve been better before. I feel very tired and sore. I also don’t remember much… my mind is blank after… getting up that stage– oh God, I probably embarrassed myself and–“

“You didn’t,” he reassures you. “You were the life of the party.”

You roll your eyes, “That sounds even worse.”

He chuckles and you join him. It feels good and so familiar to be with him.

Chan feels like comfort. He feels like home.

“Do you feel good enough to go on a two and a half hour trip to Cathedral Cove?”

Wow. Your plans once again seem to match.

“That was my next stop on my route, too,” you tell him with a smile.

“I know. I saw the little sheet of paper you pinned to your backpack. Sorry, I hope it’s okay I read–“

“Of course,” you say.

“Then, take your time to get ready. I have a job again at a club tonight but only for the first few hours.”

After taking a shower—a cold one again—in the public bathroom of the campsite and changing into some comfortable shorts and a baggy shirt, you head back to the van. Chan hands you a bowl, filled with your comfort breakfast.

“You made porridge?”

He nods, “Yeah. We didn’t have fresh fruits and the little market over there was already closed, so I used canned tangarines. It tastes good, though.”

And it really does. The citrus fruits and sugar give you a lot of energy and fight against your hangover, the oats fill your stomach and awaken you.

“Did you make enough money yesterday?” you ask Chan, once you’re done with eating and washing the dishes, before packing everything.

“About that,” he starts, scratching the back of his head.

“What happened?”

“They kinda fired me… because I took a break to look if you were alright,” he explains.

Shit. That’s all your fault. You feel like a helpless child that he has to look after. The fact you drank so much because of your jealousy, lets your guilty conscience wash all over you.

“Chan, I– fuck, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have drunk that much I am so dumb–“

“Hey, it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t care. I don’t want money from a company like this, anyway.”

He waits until you give him a little nod. Chan hovers your backpacks into the trunk again, before you take the passenger’s seat.

The door to your right opens, as Chan sinks down next to you, starting the engine.

“Shall we?”

🥝

You got a little more sleep while Chan drove the two of you to the new destination. Dinner was on you tonight—your speciality, instant ramen, homemade by you. Maybe not the most nutritious meal, but a good and greasy base for possibly drinking alcohol again.

However, when entering the venue—well, it’s really just four neon lanters creating a makeshift square at the beach—you decide to ditch the drinks tonight, instead going for lemonade and water. Once again, Chan isn’t drinking either, knowing he is more focused on his work when he’s sober.

His talent is insane. He even makes you enjoy songs that you don’t like at all, solely by the remix versions he creates. You’ve always known that he’s a virtuoso. 

You’re feeling freedom rush through your veins, letting go of all the worries, as you dance along to the beautiful music.

Until you take a look at Chan and once again find a group of women surrounding him.

That’s when it clicks.

You got drunk yesterday, after watching the exact same scene that is turning into a déja-vu now. He flirted with them and as immature as you were, you decided to drown your jealousy in vodka.

Yeji, the kind girl from the bathroom, comes back to your mind. How she took care of you until Chan was–

Oh, no. 

You also remember now how he got you ready for bed—which explains the shirt and boxers—and how you begged him to cuddle you to sleep.

There’s another distant memory in the back of your head that you can’t quite grasp yet. You can’t differentiate if it was a dream or not, but something tells you, you poured your heart out to Chan and accused him of leaving.

You don’t remember your exact words. You do remember, though, how you told Yeji about your crush on Chan, while he was literally next to you.

Fuck. You’re so embarrassing. This year’s world wide loser award goes to none other than Y/N Y/L/N.

“Fancy a drink?”

The male voice startles you at first, however, you still turn around to search for its owner. In front of you is standing a beautiful man, a bit taller, his long black hair almost reaches his shoulders.

You said you didn’t want to drink. You want to be mature. But when you catch a glimpse of a girl whispering something into Chan’s ear, you know you’ve had enough. He doesn’t like you back, give up already. You confessed having a crush on him and he doesn’t do anything about it, time to live your life and show Chan what he is missing.

“Hm, one drink won’t do much harm,” you tell the guy.

He pays for the beverage and every water and lemonade you order after. It’s fun spending time with him. He’s without a doubt the best dancer you’ve ever seen, encouraging you in your own moves.

You didn’t get his name when he introduced himself due to the noise inside—you don’t know if he’s called Hyunjin or Hyungmin but it doesn’t really matter anyway. He’ll help you get your mind off all the mess nonetheless.

He’s dancing behind you, his crotch pressed against your ass, only a few layers of fabric separating you from him. His lips land on your neck, destined to draw a pretty pattern on your skin.

The clock hits two. Chan’s shift is over.

And you can be sure he will waste no time to do what he’s wanted to do since that prick laid his hands on your hips.

A minute later, Hyunjin feels someone touching his shoulder, making him pull away a little from you.

“Sorry, but the party’s over.”

Why is Chan always ruining the fun? You aren’t even tipsy. What’s his fucking problem?

“What do you want, dude?” Hyunjin says, clearly annoyed.

You stay in his hold, but your gaze finds Chan’s.

“I want you to let go of my girl and piss off, to be honest,” he answers, clicking his tongue.

What?

Your head starts spinning like yesterday, but this time you’re drunk on emotions.

“Man– I didn’t know–“

Hyunjin doesn’t get to finish his sentence, when Chan is already dragging you out of the club and towards the empty campsite.

The curly haired doesn’t say a word, but the tense atmosphere fills the whole beach even until you get closer and closer to your car.

Chan is furious. Sure, those girls talked to him as well, flirted a little but that’s what all there was. But when he saw Hyunjin’s lips on your neck, that straw broke the camel’s back.

Meanwhile, you feel like you’re in trance. You’re obediently following him just until Chan spins you around and watches your back meet the side of the green car.

He cages you between his firm body and the vehicle. The sight makes your knees go weak, makes you lose even the last molecule of sanity. You know you won’t have to say much, it’s obvious what it is.

Maybe it’s the fact you’re thinking clearly, no alcohol in your system this time.

Maybe it’s the way the moonlight covers Chan’s muscular arms and how the stars reflect in those beautiful brown eyes.

Maybe it’s the pent up feelings and all those unspoken words.

Or it’s all of those things combined that make you speak the following words.

“Just kiss me already.”

Chan may be an idiot from time to time, but he won’t let this chance slip. His lips smash into yours, making time stand still, letting the earth and the whole fucking universe stop for a minute.

Every cell in your body wants him. 

And you show him exactly that, when you invite his tongue in to explore the insides of your mouth. Your heartbeat starts echoing in your ears and a moment later, it synchronises with Chan’s.

His hands find their way to your hips, wandering a little further until they meet your ass. He squeezes the soft flesh through the fabric of your skirt, listening to the beautiful moan you let out.

It’s only now that you get aware that you put on the metallic necklace tonight—your friendship accessory that connects you, literally, with Chan. You wanted to get some reaction out of him. But he doesn’t seem to have noticed yet.

He’s too busy placing one kiss after another on your lips anyway, until he decides to change the course and wanders down with his artwork. Your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, back to your lips, right in that order. He wants to make sure that every centimetre Hyunjin touched, will be drawn over.

He’s driving you insane. You already feel yourself getting absolutely lightheaded. Maybe that’s how you justify that next whimper that spills from your lips, when his hand travels between your legs. He wonders if you put on a skirt on purpose but, nevertheless, this will make his mission a lot easier.

“Chan– stop teasing–“ you let out, knowing you won’t be able to withstand any anticipation.

But Chan isn’t done yet with provoking you. Not after you danced with that guy in the club, not after you let him kiss you like that.

“Don’t complain too much or I’ll fuck you against the van, here outside, for everyone to see.”

Oh, God. In the state you're in, you’d probably even allow him that. However, after falling asleep in his arms on the bed inside the van, you should finish what you’ve started exactly there.

And Chan seems to read your mind, as it seems.

“Get your pretty ass on the mattress, doll.”

But you decide to change plans a little, for the sole reason to tease him now. Beating him with his own weapons sounds like the most entertaining thing you can imagine.

Your lips land on his neck, rough bites leaving an astonishing memory of tonight. Chan’s the one to let out a moan now, as he feels his boxers tighten, his growing erection brushing against the fabric.

But he won’t let you defeat him so easily.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns you. Chan catches your face, squishing your cheeks together in an attempt to make you look at him, which you immediately do.

“I’ve had enough of your behaviour.”

His other hand is back between your thighs, disappearing under your skirt, wandering up to your very much soaked panties. Of course, he has to chuckle out loud, when the tips of his fingers brush over that embarrassingly wet spot.

“For me, baby?”

But you won’t let him defeat you so easily.

Chan finds it hilarious that you’re getting shy now but your body speaks what your mouth doesn’t want to—especially, once he carefully pushes the laces aside, grazing over your wetness.

“Fuck– please–“ you let out.

Well, it seems as if you let him defeat you easily. But you don’t care.

“Get inside, doll.”

He yanks the door of the car open, making you crawl inside.

And he wouldn’t be Chan if he didn’t tell you to take off the skirt before sitting down on the bed sheets. After all, you’re wearing outside clothes. Or maybe it’s just a cheap trick. However, when he takes off his jeans as well, leaving him in his underwear and the view of the pretty outline of his hard dick, you giggle a little.

When lying down on the soft cushion, the pendant that’s attached to the chain somehow wanders underneath your shirt, hiding it from Chan completely. But you don’t even notice. Not when the man above you is ready to devour you like a five star meal.

“Maybe I should fuck the brat out of you, make you come to your senses again,” he says, making you scoot a little more upwards.

He places your legs over his shoulders, before he starts kissing the inner sides of your thighs, gradually wandering towards your clothed core. A long stripe meets your panties, as you desperately hold back another moan.

“You’re all talk but no doing, Chan,” you let out.

He just chuckles and wastes no time to pull down your underwear, getting right back to his task. 

“Weird way of begging, but if that’s what you’re asking for…”

As if you’re on autopilot, you spread your legs even further, allowing your friend better access. His tongue comes back into play, as his fingers help him push your pussy lips apart.

Then your mind turns off.

“I– Fuck–“

It feels like heaven. The kitten licks. The vibrations his moans send through your whole body. His fingertips that circle around your throbbing hole.

Chan pushes two digits in at once, adoring the little whimper you let out. Your walls immediately clench around him, sucking him in, telling him how much you missed him.

It’s embarrassing how close you already are. But you’ve lost track of time—you can’t tell if it’s been seconds, minutes or hours that Chan’s head has been between your thighs.

You’ve never been with a guy that enjoys eating pussy that much. How you regret not doing this sooner with him…

“Chan– I–“

He just hums against you, enjoying every bit of your helplessness. You should have done this sooner. How he regrets not confessing to you earlier…

Squelching sounds are filling the car and in the back of your head you’re quite glad that Chan remembered to close and lock the door. His fingers already feel so absolutely amazing inside you, you wonder how great his cock is gonna fill you.

You get a taste of the idea, when he once again swirls his tongue around your clit and changes the angle of his fingers a little. He’s knuckles deep inside your aching hole, now hitting that certain spot just right.

Just a little later, your mind goes completely blank, the sight of the darkness inside Chan’s eyes hidden, when the white sparkles fill your vision instead. The feeling takes over your whole body, legs shaking, when you reach that sweet relief. You cry out his name, forgetting any other syllable you’ve ever known. Almost struggling to catch your breath, Chan helps you ride out your high.

Painfully slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you, watching you squirm at the loss of contact. He licks his fingers clean, making sure to let his eyes stay on your own.

You feel hypnotised.

You feel drunk.

“Hmm, still so confident that you don’t like me back, huh?” he teases you.

Like him back?

Well, you aren’t surprised he must at least find you attractive. Otherwise, Chan probably wouldn’t have eaten you out like a starving man. But you weren’t aware that there are feelings that are thrown into the mix.

“Like you back?”

“Don’t you remember what you said last night?”

Is this about the confession while Yeji was with you or did you…

Oh, the memories are slowly coming back now. You said something to him after accusing him of leaving, after pouring your heart out to him.

Did you, perhaps, tell him more?

“W-What?”

“Right before you fell asleep you confessed that you have romantic feelings for me, honey,” he says, shamelessly clicking his tongue.

“I…” 

You don’t know what to say, so the logical solution is to catch his lips in a heated kiss instead. You pull him closer, tasting yourself on his tongue but you don’t mind. He gives in for a solid minute, until he stops, knowing he has to speak further first.

“I told you before—well, you were asleep—but I return the feelings.”

You gasp. It’s now or never. There’s no reason to hold back anymore.

“Channie… I’m in love with you, have been all this time.”

There appears the brightest smile his face has ever experienced.

“I’m in love with you… have been even before that first kiss together,” he admits.

“You… what?”

Even in the weak light of the LED lanterns, you can still make out that cute pink curtain on his cheeks.

“I was scared… so I decided to hide my feelings but I’m done with hiding now.”

He kisses you then and you give in completely.

Fuck. You can’t believe this is happening.

He loves you back? He’s loved you all this time? You’re so happy that you don’t even care that it took you seven years to realise. 

Your childhood friend turned lover stops the kiss for a second, as he gets back in a seating position. Chan suddenly takes off his tank top, revealing his stunning chest to you.

As well as something else.

The necklace.

He’s wearing it.

That’s what makes you take off your shirt and your bra, too, revealing the metallic chain and pendant to him.

“You’re wearing the necklace?”

“I thought you would have noticed sooner.”

And he kisses you again, enjoying how beautiful you look underneath him, until a clicking sound startles you.

The magnets inside the pendants make the necklaces connect. You’ve expected them to not work anymore after storing the chain wherever for over five years.

“Fuck, I love you so much. I’m gonna show you, baby.”

And, oh God, that’s exactly what he does. His fingers are right between your legs again, playing sensually with your clit, as his tongue is attached to your tits, making out with one of the hardened buds.

But you need more and you need it now.

“Channie?”

He looks up for a second, “Yeah?”

“I need you… need you inside me.”

Chan wastes no time and takes off his remaining clothes, as you watch his length spring free. He’s pretty—maybe a bit above average but the girth is what basically makes you drool at the sight. The tip is already covered in precum, telling you to not wait any longer.

You ask him to come closer, but Chan still has something on his mind.

“I– I don’t have a condom with me right now… it’s in the trunk in my backpack but I can–“

“I have an IUD. If that’s okay with you,” you offer.

“Of course, dear.”

He’s positioning himself between your legs again, reaching for his length and stroking it a few times. Chan could get lost in the look you have on your face—desperately waiting for him to bury his cock inside you. Your fingers wander down to your heat, playing a little with your clit and that’s when he knows he won’t have you wait any longer.

The tip circles around your wet entrance, before he pushes only a few centimetres in first, watching you get used to the feeling. When you nod, he enters further, until he bottoms you out completely. You’re more than glad that he prepared you so well earlier.

After a quick kiss on your lips, he starts thrusting into you, observing every move and noise you make. You’re getting completely lost in the sensation, allowing him to take care of your body.

It doesn’t take long for the windows inside the car to gain a foggy layer from all the panting. Chan positions your legs over shoulders, similar to how he did earlier, as his hand wanders towards your chest.

He squeezes one of your breasts for a little, before his fingers travel further, circling around your throat, adding pressure to the sides. What a beautiful view—he’s dreamt about this so many times. Having you underneath him. Having full control over you and your body.

“Channie– fuck–“ you let out.

His cock is brushing that spot inside you again, it’s as if he’s fucked you a thousand times before.

And you feel so deliciously warm and tight around him, Chan for sure can’t get enough of your cunt.

He has to make sure you remember this. Even now that you’re finally his, he wants to hear those words coming from you.

“Who do you belong to, hm?” 

Fuck. That possessive side is something you sure can’t get enough of.

“I– fuck–“

Chan’s initial idea was to make pure love to you, although he sensed you enjoy him being less gentle, as well. So, the roughness takes over him then. Passion and desire are marking his words.

“Say it, baby. Whose good little slut are you?”

Slap. His hand collides with your ass, when you don’t answer within a second.

“Y-Yours, Channie– yours,” you then immediately let out. You could get used to this side of him.

“Good girl.”

It happens in the blink of an eye, it was inevitable. Waves of pleasure are traveling through your body, conquering your whole existence. Chan holds you close, helping you through the overstimulating sensation of your second orgasm.

After you’ve begged him to cum inside, he then paints your walls, all with the prettiest whimper spilling from his plump lips. 

The necklaces stay connected throughout the entire unholy scene, reminding you that this was indeed meant to be.

Once you’ve both come down from your high, Chan pulls out of you. He watches the mixture of his liquids spill out of your hole, before he brings two fingers right there, scooping up some of the droplets and guiding them towards your mouth.

You obediently lick them clean, before he places a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’ve always wanted to be your first, to be honest.”

“Yeah… me, too,” you confess.

“But that doesn’t matter.” Another kiss on your forehead. “‘Cause I’ll be your last.”

💚AUTHOR'S NOTE: *taps on mic* is this thing on? yeah, hi I'm back. This fic had been chilling in my drafts half-chilling for the past few months and I am a dramatic libra so that's the first thing I post. I hope you guys have been well and enjoying your summer (or winter for my beloveds who live on the southern hemisphere and yes I know it's ironic I post a New Zealand summer story in August pls don't cancel me). I hope you enjoyed this one, I feel a bit insecure this time, if I'm completely honest with you. Please consider reblogging and/or commenting, if you want to give something back to the author! Messages via asks are fine, too. Lots of love and take care!

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

im sobbing, this is such a good fic. i would die to have minho as my local barista

The only exception

barista Minho x reader. strangers to lovers. slow burn. if you can, listen to The only exception by Paramore while reading :)

Minho was content with straying away as far as possible from love. That is until you stumbled into his café on a rainy night, and unwittingly, into his life.

skz song series masterlist

i.

Minho sweeps the countertop with a blue rug, wiping away the scattered droplets of spilled coffee. He grabs a pastry from the showcase- a blondie with a raspberry drizzle on top, placing it on a plate decorated with dainty flowers. And then he gives it to the middle-aged man sitting near the back of the café. 

Minho is in Aurora, completing his mid-day shift, and yet it feels as if he's only physically there. His body is moving on auto-pilot, mechanically performing the familiar tasks etched into his memory by now. And he likes it, since it drowns out the tumultuous thoughts plaguing his mind.

Minho used to look forward to the days when Marta- Aurora's exceptional baker, would prepare blondies. The alluring aroma of the freshly made pastry would waft through the café, enveloping both Minho and the customers in a soothing embrace. He enjoyed preparing the coffee and drawing different pretty patterns on top of it. He also liked the music playing, and sometimes, the manager would even let him play some of his own playlists. 

But that was before Minho got his heart broken, torn in half, carelessly, as if it didn't belong to a breathing human, but rather to an unfeeling entity. Now, his lattes are void of intricate designs, the blondies prepared by Marta remain untouched, and his mind doesn't register the music playing. 

He's just existing, in a stillness he perfectly curated. He's a placid river, undisrupted, running its usual course day after day. 

Minho watches as the man clad in a polished suit finishes his treat, before getting up and leaving Aurora with hurried steps. He eats alone now, Minho has noticed, and his ring finger is void of the gold band he used to wear.

Perhaps that's what Minho's fate would also be. Eating alone in cafés he used to bring his lover to, basking in the chatter surrounding him, in the desperate hope that it'll fill the void inside him. 

ii. 

it's a Thursday, which means Minho is working the night shift at Aurora. It's pouring rain outside, the incessant water droplets a misty veil that fogs up the café's windows. Amidst the downpour, he catches sight of a couple dashing through the rain, hands tightly clutched into one another. They're giggling, as if the rain falling isn't a nuisance, but rather an elixir heightening their love. Minho looks the other way. 

The door to Aurora is pushed open, and Minho watches as you set foot inside. You're drenched in rain, from head to toe, strands of your hair sticking to your cheek. You exhale in relief, closing your eyes for a split second as the warmth of the café surrounds you- like a childhood blanket tightly wrapped around your being. There is a hint of a smile as you walk to the counter. It only grows when your eyes set on Minho. 

"Hi!" you greet cheerfully and he simply nods in return. The weather was horrible and you were probably uncomfortable from the clothes clinging to your skin, so what were you exactly joyful about?

"Can I have hot chocolate, please? Oh, and a piece of that brownie," you point to the showcase, and he follows your line of sight. 

"Sure, anything else?" 

"No, thank you," you smile, and he nods once again. "That will be 10 dollars." 

"Here," you hand him a crumpled bill and he takes it from you carefully, ensuring your hands don't brush against one another. 

You sit down on a chair near the window, and Minho dutifully prepares your order. He brings it to you once he's done, and you grin at him once again. You smile a lot, he thinks to himself. 

Minho goes on with his tasks, cleaning the dirty cups in the sink and grounding the coffee beans. When he's done, he can't help but notice you grabbing some napkins from the table and dabbing your neck and face dry with them. He sighs to himself before retreating to the café's backroom.

"Here, to dry your hair with," he says, handing you a clean towel.

Minho leaves before you could smile at him again. 

iii. 

It's Tuesday, and Minho has just served a freshly baked cinnamon roll to Mark- the middle-aged man who just introduced himself to Minho after months of frequenting Aurora.

Minho liked having regulars in his shifts, familiar faces to look into. This was part of the reason why he picked being a barista as a part-time job- he enjoyed people-watching. Not in a noisy way; he simply liked imagining the lives of the people surrounding him. It served as a distraction from his own. 

Among the regulars was a woman in her thirties who only ordered a chaï latte with a blueberry muffin. Then there was that one student, with blonde hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. He really despised bitter coffee, always ordering his with abnormal amounts of syrup.

And now, there was you too. You've been coming to Aurora regularly for the past few weeks since your initial visit. Minho still hasn't memorized your go-to order because you don't have one. You pick a new drink each time as if you were on a mission to taste everything on the menu. 

You come here alone, occupying the same seat by the window with your chin resting on your palm. He suspects you enjoy people-watching too since you often gaze outside. You also bring books with you, reading them while sipping on your beverage. Sometimes you write too, in a tiny sage notepad. 

And you smile, god do you smile a lot. At young children passing by in the street, at an elderly couple holding hands, at the black cat that sleeps on the edge of the window. And you smile at Minho. Each time you order, each time your eyes meet his from across the café. Minho likes to believe that happiness was so deeply ingrained within you, it became the very essence of your soul- an intrinsic part of your being you could not part with.

The door to Aurora is pushed open and Minho isn't surprised to see you entering once again, your bag loosely hanging from your shoulder. 

"Hi!" you greet excitedly as you usually do, and Minho simply nods, as he usually does. 

"I'm sorry if this is a bit weird," you preface, piquing Minho's curiosity. "I'm not really craving anything today, so can you make me your favorite drink?"

"My favorite drink?" he repeats, a bit incredulously and you nod eagerly. "Yes, I drink anything and I don't have any allergies, so whatever you prepare is fine!" you smile hopefully at him.

He stays silent, mulling over your request. He goes to say no, but the smile slowly slipping from your face makes a strange pang of guilt wash over him.

"On second thought, I'll just have-"

"Okay," he interrupts, "I'll bring it to you when it's done," he quickly says and the smile etches itself on your lips once again. Minho feels an unexpected relief dawn on him at its sight.

"Thank you! I'm yn, by the way," you introduce.

"Minho," he says, although you can read it on his nametag. 

"Minho," you repeat, and he finds himself itching to hear his name dripping from your lips again.

Minho prepares you an iced americano with cold foam, and two pumps of white mocha, since you seem to enjoy drinks on the sweeter side. He watches breathlessly from the counter as you take a sip of it, closing your eyes to fully relish in its taste. Your nose scrunches up in delight before you quickly turn around to shoot him a thumbs up from afar. 

Minho nods, before turning his back to you. Unwillingly, a small smile tugs at his lips. He's glad you liked it. 

iv.

Another Thursday unfolds following its usual routine. Mark occupies his customary spot in the rear of the café, while the scent of Marta's lemon madeleines permeates the kitchen.

Except you're not smiling. 

Minho finds it odd, how there was no cheerfulness in your steps as you walked to the counter. You did not smile while ordering, and your voice carried a tinge of sadness when you thanked him.

You did not ask about his day, nor about his cats- that was also something unusual for you to do. You've asked about them each time since Minho told you about them. He didn't plan on doing so, he just saw you one day eyeing the stickers of his three cats on his phone case, while he was counting your change.

"Are they your cats?" you asked, pointing at them and he nodded, a faint smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

"They are."

"You must love them a lot. They almost managed to make you smile," you teased, grabbing the rest of the money and walking to your usual seat. 

Minho steals brief glances at you, as he prepares your matcha latte, a drink you seemed to enjoy a lot lately. You're gazing at the window almost soulfully, your back slightly hunched as if there was an invisible weight crushing you underneath it. 

Minho nibbles on his lower lip, contemplating his next move, before grabbing the frothed milk. For the first time in months, he draws a little cat on the surface of your drink, just like he used to do a long time ago.

He brings it to you, and his heart flutters nervously as you gaze down at the cup. He almost second-guesses his action, that is until you beam at him, and Aurora suddenly feels brighter than it did seconds ago. 

v. 

"When does your shift end?" you ask Minho as he sets your perfectly crafted matcha latte on the table- an order he has committed to memory by now.

"In an hour, why?" he asks curiously and you wave your hand dismissively. "Just wanted to know." 

The seconds trickle by slowly, as the hour almost comes to an end. You watch as Minho takes off his apron, running a hand through his hair. It's gotten longer now, silky bangs he tucks behind his ear to keep them from obstructing his vision.

He talks a bit to Seungmin, the other barista that works there. And then he steals a quick glance around the room, where he finds you already looking. You wave him over, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion, before walking to your table. 

"Sit down," you smile, gesturing to the chair in front of you. Minho complies silently.

"Here," you take out a container filled with brownies from your bag. "I never properly thanked you, for the towel and for the little cat you drew on my coffee last week. So, here, thank you," you beam at him while sliding the box in his direction.

"I don't- it's nothing, you didn't have to," he says, and you notice a tinge of pink blush covering the tips of his ears.

"I wanted to. I hope you'll like them, I'm not as good as your baker, but I tried," you confess, smiling sheepishly, and Minho feels a sudden urge to vehemently contradict you, to tell you that they must taste good. And even if they didn't it wouldn't matter, because you baked them for him. And that is enough. 

But he bites the inside of his cheek harshly, physically stopping this rush of words eager to escape his mouth.

"Let's eat them together, hum?" he simply suggests, opening the container and placing a brownie on your plate before taking one himself.

"Is it good?" you ask tentatively and he pretends to contemplate your question for a moment.

"They're horrible, right? I shouldn't have taken creative liberties with the recipe and-"

"Yn, I'm just kidding," he stops you, a soft smile on his face. "They're delicious, see," he says, finishing the brownie in one bite. "Really good," he compliments, reaching for another piece. 

"Okay," you smile in relief, eyes crinkling closed. The sunlight is streaming through the window, casting a golden shadow on your face. You are swaying contently in your place, as you take another bite of the brownie. And you look happy, with him. Minho thinks the brownies are the best he's ever had because he's sharing them with you. Because he got a taste of your happiness through them. 

vi. 

"Can you believe that professor? He failed half the class and he still thinks he isn't the problem." 

You are venting to Minho about your stuck-up Economics professor, while leaning against the countertop. He's listening intently to you, drinking in the details of your face as you talk to him. For some reason, he finds the smile lines on your face mesmerizing, that and the way your eyebrows move with your every word. 

These subtle details have been engraved into his memory since the day you gave him the brownies, two months ago. He has grown fond of you, sitting at your table at the end of his shift without you having to ask. You also hang out outside of Aurora, going on frequent walks and discovering new food spots. He never felt that the conversation between you two was strenuous, or forced. It flowed naturally, like a waterfall knowing exactly where it should go.

He also finds that smiling is easy with you. At your jokes, your stories, and your existence. He's lost count of the times he found himself grinning widely at your words, or smiling softly to himself at the thought of you coming to Aurora soon.

"He's too full of himself to admit he's the one who sucks at teaching," Minho comments and you clap in agreement. 

"Right! And it's so funny because..." You're still talking but your words go unheard by Minho, like a mindless buzz in the back of his mind. He's frozen in his place, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage as he notices the couple who just came in.

His ex, with the man she cheated on him with. 

"Minho? What's wrong?" you call out, snapping him out of his daze. You're eying him worriedly, and only then does he realize how tightly he's holding the countertop. 

"Nothing," he curtly replies, as he plasters a neutral expression on his face. 

He watches as his ex's eyes widen slightly when she sees him. She forgot he was working here. Of course, it'd be easy to do so since she never visited him at Aurora anyways. Despite the flood of emotions cursing through him, Minho maintains a stoic facade, taking their orders as if she's a mere stranger and not the one behind his shattered heart.

As Minho attempts to prepare their coffee, his hand trembles uncontrollably, forcing him to stop before dropping the milk.

He didn't love her anymore, he was certain of it. But still, the sight of her brought unpleasant memories back to the surface. Ones he tried so hard to bury in the back of his mind. And Aurora was his sanctuary. One, she never tainted with her presence. Has she not taken enough from him already? 

"Minho?" you call out softly, and Minho feels guilty because he left you alone with no explanation. Still, when he turns around, he can tell you aren't upset. You are worried, looking at him cautiously. 

"Is everything okay?" you ask once again, and this time Minho can't find it in him to lie to you, so he simply shakes his head no. 

"Your hand is shaking," you observe, before gently grabbing it in yours. You cover his hand with both of your palms, squeezing it lightly to steady the tremors cursing through it. 

Your hand is warm, and very soft, a stark contrast to the sharp emotions surging within him, like pine needles puncturing his heart.

"Would you like me to serve them?" you ask softly, and Minho isn't surprised you picked up on his unease. You're perceptive, it's one of the things he likes about you. 

"Please," he responds quietly. You simply smile, reaching for an apron and wrapping it around your waist. You look adorable, intertwining yourself with his world, and the sight of you eases the ache in Minho's soul.

A few minutes later, you grab the tray from his hands and walk over to their table. Minho chuckles inwardly when he notices that you didn't smile at them, serving them with a blank face, and his chest warms a little.

He has you on his side. 

Five days later, you're sitting besides Minho on a bench; watching the sun as it dips into the ocean, painting the sky in hues of orange and yellow. Yet, the dazzling colors are the last thing on Minho's mind. All he can think about is you. How you helped him with serving the rest of the drinks that day, how he taught you how to work the coffee machines- a solace from the ugly feelings that roared in him.

"Thank you," he abruptly says and you turn to look at him, perplexed.

"For what you did the other day, with the couple that came in. That was, um... my ex and the person she cheated on me with," he confesses quietly, fiddling with his earlobe. He didn't need to tell you, but he wanted to. "I've moved on, it's just... seeing her again hurt. I don't know why." 

Your eyes soften at him, not in pity, but in care. And Minho doesn't mind being vulnerable with you. It's scaring him, but he doesn't mind.

"It's normal for it hurt, it would honestly be weird if it didn't," you smile gently and he sighs in reply, running a hand through his hair. 

"I wish it didn't."

"Love is a powerful feeling, it consumes our entire beings. That's why it hurts when our hearts are toyed with. But love itself doesn't hurt, I feel like it's what makes our world move. You know, the little gestures humans do for one another, that are fueled by love. Like, um... scratching someone's back or peeling someone's fruit. You don't have to do those things, but you do. Because you love the person, and it makes your existence feel gentler, and softer on the heart." You explain, the words leaving your mouth and wrapping around Minho's soul, healing parts of him that he didn't know were bruised.

"My point is, it's normal for you to be hurt. But I hope you don't close your heart entirely to the feeling. Because we may not have grand things in our life, but if there is a hand that brushes our tears away and one that folds our laundry, then that's enough for us to lead a beautiful life."

Minho blinks repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to keep his tears at bay. He felt as if the letters you uttered unfolded and stretched in front of his eyes, morphing into a gentle hand patting his back. Yours.

You smile softly at him, the water's reflection shimmering in your eyes. And Minho thinks that he's standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to dive into the unknown- into you. 

"How do you do it?" he chuckles in disbelief, as he leans a bit closer to you. "You make me want to believe in love again," he pauses, before adding quietly, "but only if it's with you." 

You remain silent as Minho fidgets with his fingers, before tentatively grabbing your hand in his. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixated on the way your fingers naturally intertwine with one another- as if finding each other after a lifetime of being apart.

"You know, I'd thought I'd always live like this, keeping a comfortable distance between me and people," he says, raising his head to finally meet your eyes, "and up until now I thought I was content with it, with loneliness, I mean. But... but brownies taste sweeter when I'm with you, and Aurora is brighter when you are in it, and smiling feels like second nature around you. And I don't... I don't think I can go back to being lonely again, not when I've had a taste of you in my life." 

Minho's heart is beating wildly into his chest, and he can hear the blood rushing through his ears, frantically, as if to warn him against what he's about to say. But your thumb caresses his palm reassuringly and he wants to try again. With you.

"I- I never wanted to love again, because no one, none of it was ever worth the risk, but you... You are the only exception."

Minho exhales breathlessly and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to your chest. You hoped that your warmth would ease his nerves a bit, that your hand on his back would feel gentle on his soul. You didn't want to rush your answer, trying to think of something that will patch up the deeply carved scar in his heart, a perfectly made band-aid in the shape of syllables.

It's a foolish hope, you realize, to instantly quiet the cries of a bruised spirit. So you simply settle on saying the truth sitting on the edge of your tongue.

"It will be quite hard, and scary for you," you whisper placing a tender kiss on his shoulder blade. "But I'll help you, if you'd let me. I'll take care of your heart better than I do with my own."

vii.

"Hey, baby," you smile at Minho, slipping behind the counter to be by his side. He pulls you by your waist, kissing your cheek softly.

"I missed you," he pouts, and you giggle, playing with strands of his hair, "I missed you too."

"Do you know what day it is today?" he asks, a shy smile gracing his face.

"No...?" you trail out and he chuckles, taking your hand in his.

"Don't worry, you didn't miss my birthday. It's just... it's been a year since you first came into Aurora."

"You remember?" you ask in amazement, your heart swelling with love for the man standing before you.

"Mm, how could I forget you? Also," he sneakily points to a table near the back, "my favorite couple is back."

You turn around, a soft gasp escaping your mouth as you find Mark gently holding the hands of his date. You smile happily when you finally notice it- the wedding ring, finally back on his finger.

absolutely fucking beautiful. a masterpiece.

Invisible thread

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.