Archive of Our Own

Minhee has always been an impulsive person.

This should come as a surprise to no one—least of all Hyeongjun, who’s been with him through it all. But here he is, currently staring at Minhee like he’s grown another head.

They’re sitting at their usual table at the campus cafe, the one tucked into the furthest left corner of the room. The light coming in through the windows hits them just right, and Minhee has a good view of all the other patrons, especially—Ah. Not here today.

“Are you serious? You’re switching majors?” Hyeongjun asks, interrupting Minhee’s thoughts. “Really?”

“That’s what I said, yeah,” Minhee says.

“I heard what you said,” Hyeongjun says, rolling his eyes, “I just can’t believe you’d…” He trails off.

There’s a precedent, to this. Minhee’s previous impulse decisions include (but are not limited to): bringing home a stray dog that he tried, and failed, to hide in his room; shaving his head in his third year of high school; asking out Lee Soojin just for her to agree to one date and then ignore him for the rest of the year. Trying to hide another dog a year after the first. Failing, again.

Minhee was something else in high school. He’s grown, a bit.

But not that much.

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?” Minhee says, purposefully talking around the heart of the matter.

“You change your mind all the time,” Hyeongjun says, “but this is different.”

It’s different because Minhee is supposed to be pre-med—like both of his parents were, like his older brother was. It’s the reason Minhee went to this school in the first place, the reason he sits in his room poring over textbooks instead of going out with Hyeongjun or Taeyoung. Hyeongjun knows it, too, has been the one sitting in Minhee’s bedroom while Minhee gets yelled at over a bad grade the next room over. That was high school, but it’s the same pressure, still, even miles and miles away.

Minhee’s only a sophomore. He hasn’t even officially declared his major, despite clearly being on track for medical school, all his classes clustered in the gray, drafty science buildings. But it’s the principle of the thing. Minhee’s made a lot of questionable decisions, but this one is up there.

“Yeah, maybe it is,” Minhee says, picking at his fingers.

Hyeongjun is quiet. He doesn’t look like he was expecting a serious conversation. Minhee came to meet him here after his organic chem class, grabbed their drinks, sat down and immediately blurted out that he was switching majors. He doesn’t blame him.

Hyeongjun recovers and then asks, tentatively, like it might spook Minhee, “What about your parents?”

“They’ll live,” Minhee says, instead of I can’t think about that yet.

“Will you?” Hyeongjun asks.

Minhee laughs, or maybe sighs. “I will,” he says. “I have to.”

-

Leblanc, the cafe, is special for a few reasons. The main one being: it’s theirs. Okay, it’s not, but it feels like it is—after the happiness of realizing they got into the same school, when they actually got here and it realized it was them against the world, they sat here together, in the far left corner, and cried. Well, Hyeongjun cried, and Minhee sympathy-teared-up. They both ended up fine, of course, but it solidified their friendship in a way most high school friendships never reach. This new place, these new people, but still us.

The other reason takes a while longer to crystallize, but it started like this:

-

Minhee has never liked the taste of coffee, but he struggles immensely with waking up, so it’s a necessary evil. God cursed him with a Monday/Wednesday/Friday 8AM class this quarter, so he drags himself out of bed at 7:15 on those days and speedwalks to Leblanc. One of the few reasons Minhee likes his lanky build, his (“obscenely” according to Hyeongjun) long legs—he can make it from his dorm to the cafe in under ten minutes. His record is just above five, but he had to lean against the front door to catch his breath for another minute, so. That probably wasn’t worth it.

At any rate, the baristas all know his order. Venti Americano with steamed milk and four pumps of vanilla syrup. Taehyun, his favorite barista and somewhat-acquaintance, was actually the one to give him the idea.

“Why do you keep ordering Americanos?” Taehyun asked, looking at Minhee trying not to grimace while taking his first sip. “Your palette obviously isn’t refined enough for big boy drinks.”

Wow. Are all math majors like this?

“Do you treat all your customers this way?” Minhee asked.

“Only the ones who keep ordering drinks they clearly hate,” Taehyun said. “You see that guy over there?” He points.

There’s a lot of guys. “Which guy?”

“The cute one,” Taehyun said. Minhee furrowed his eyebrows.

“Um, I’m not—” Minhee started, but then he saw him.

Black hair, messily parted down the middle, long enough to get into his eyes. Claiming one of the two loveseats near the fireplace. Sketchbook on his lap. Pencil in his mouth. Delicate hands, even from this distance.

Minhee cleared his throat. “What about him?”

“He gets the same thing,” Taehyun said, sounding amused, “but with steamed milk and five pumps of vanilla syrup. You should try that instead, next time.”

“Oh,” Minhee said.

So he did, but he asked for four pumps instead. Taehyun rolled his eyes but obliged, and now his arteries are constantly clogged, but he actually enjoys his morning coffee. He also can’t help himself but to scan the cafe for black hair, a sketchbook, every time he comes in. He has the best luck on Fridays, but mornings are usually a miss. His afternoons with Hyeongjun, though—he’s almost always there. Minhee doesn’t know why he cares so much.

It’s the mystique, probably. All this time occupying the same space, and Minhee doesn’t know anything about him other than the fact that he has a sweet tooth and soft-looking hair. He hasn’t heard him speak, hasn’t seen the right side of his face. Minhee’s always liked a mystery. That must be it.

-

When Hyeongjun got his first boyfriend, their second year of high school, Minhee was supportive. Of course he was. He’s a great friend.

Minhee had always kind of known, anyway. Hyeongjun hadn’t even come out to him—it was just an unspoken truth, clear in the way that he always hyperfocuses on the male leads in the KBS dramas they secretly binge watch together. Other reasons, too, obviously.

Minhee considered it, sure, but the conclusion he always reached is that he’s not the same. How could he be? At any rate, it’s easier this way. They don’t talk about it, though.

-

An “emergency” text from an upperclassman cut their conversation short, and Hyeongjun left before Minhee even told him what major track he was planning to switch to. A small blessing, honestly, because he would probably just laugh.

Half an hour later, Minhee is standing in front of the arts building.

Minhee isn’t an artist, not even close. He just likes memories. Keeping things nestled in his hands, in his heart. To have the way he sees something, understands something, live eternally. Photography, he thought. Film, maybe.

Standing here, though, he just feels a little nauseous. His phone is heavy in his pocket with the phone call home he still hasn’t made.

It’s fine. He already made his decision. He stands tall and walks inside.

Immediately, the building’s energy is completely different than what he’s used to. The walls—all different colors, murals, sketches and paintings hung messily, everywhere. The architecture is strange, too; Minhee didn’t realize he came in on the second floor, but when he takes a few steps he realizes he’s on a balcony overlooking the main room. There are people scattered all around the mismatched furniture, and Minhee realizes there are classes taking place here, too, instructors in their glasses and turtlenecks pacing and squatting next to students. Minhee squints, noticing something. Wait.

That’s definitely him, from Leblanc. Minhee doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. The boy is clearly an artist, considering Minhee’s never seen him without his sketchbook. But it just feels weird, seeing him in this new place, after weeks (over a month now, actually) of only seeing him sitting in his chair, by the fireplace. The most interesting part of the room. Here, Minhee is surrounded by art, carefully crafted beauty, and yet he still feels the same.

Minhee is five steps away from descending the left staircase before his brain catches up, his superego finally communicating to his id that he can’t just go interrupt a class because he’s intrigued by this random person he’s never spoken to before. He doesn’t even know his name. But I want to, Minhee thinks. Why do I want to, so badly?

But that isn’t why he came here. He came to get—a brochure, or something, or to track down someone official-looking so that he can annoy them with questions. There must be a faculty office around here, right? He sets out, forces himself to be productive. Pushes away any thoughts of delicate hands wrapped around a pencil.

-

Hyeongjun apologizes for ditching him the next day. He asks if Minhee wants him to come over so they can keep talking, but Minhee says they should meet at Leblanc after class instead.

“You’re way too obsessed with your ten-pumps-of-syrup coffee, Minhee-yah,” Hyeongjun says once they get there, which is unfair for multiple reasons. First, he only gets four pumps. Second, Hyeongjun is the one who orders whatever the most ridiculous special drink on the menu is every time, which he usually hates and forces Minhee to finish anyway.

But, it’s better than Hyeongjun knowing his other (minor!) obsession, the actual reason he wants to meet up there.

“It’s four pumps,” Minhee says, a token protest. “You order for me all the time. You clearly know that.”

“I could order you fifty pumps and you wouldn’t realize,” Hyeongjun says. “I think you’ve killed all your taste buds.”

“Go sit down,” Minhee says. “You’re killing my brain cells.”

“You still have those?” Hyeongjun says, over his shoulder as he turns away.

Minhee ignores him. Before making the trek to the counter, he surveys the room, eyes scanning—A-ha. There he is, in the loveseat by the fireplace, like always. His hair looks more windswept than usual. Did he just get here, maybe?

There’s only a couple people in front of him in line, but his thoughts start wandering anyway. The boy has on a dark brown sweater. To match his eyes? Minhee’s never been close enough to see what color his eyes are. He shakes his head. Jesus. He seriously sounds like a crazy person.

He reaches the front of the line and stops. The person standing behind the counter isn’t Taehyun, today. It’s a new guy—tall, probably Minhee’s height. Dyed blue hair. Minhee blinks a few times before reciting his order, picking whatever looks the most heinous on the menu for Hyeongjun.

Afterwards, Minhee leans against the pick-up counter, scrolling through Instagram. He gets distracted when he sees one of Taeyoung’s selfies on his feed, trying to figure out what Snow filter he used when he hears “—shots of syrup” from the new barista. He looks up, turns around, almost drops his phone.

The boy by the fireplace has magically teleported. He’s a foot away, and he’s reaching for what must be Minhee’s drink. Without thinking, Minhee puts his hand on the other side of the cup to stop him. The boy looks up, furrows his eyebrows. They’re perfectly groomed. His eyes, in fact, do match his sweater. He’s at least 10 centimeters shorter than him. Minhee wants to scream.

“Sorry, yours will be done in a second,” Blue Hair says, ostensibly at him. “You guys ordered basically the same thing, right?”

Oh. Right. How did Minhee forget that? And why did Blue Hair just say it? Taehyun would never do this to him. Or, well, he definitely would, but at least he would do it on purpose. This is somehow worse.

The other boy makes a weird face, glancing up at him before quickly looking away. He mumbles ‘thanks’ almost inaudibly, grabs his drink, and goes back to his seat.

“Do you two know each other?” Minhee hears. He finally looks at Blue Hair’s nametag. Soobin. “I’ve never seen two orders so weirdly identical minus a tiny difference. People don’t usually put milk in Americanos. Much less pumps of syrup.” He sets Minhee’s drink down.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Minhee says, irrationally annoyed at this guy who’s clearly just doing his job. “Do you know Taehyun?”

“Yeah?” Soobin says, finished with Hyeongjun’s drink. It’s bright pink.

“It’s his fault,” Minhee says. “You can ask him.” He grabs it, turns around and goes to where Hyeongjun’s sitting, tapping away on his phone.

“That took longer than usual,” Hyeongjun says. “Did you almost steal that kid’s drink?”

Of all the times for Hyeongjun to pay attention to his surroundings. “We ordered the same thing,” Minhee says.

“Huh? You’re telling me you’re not the only one who gets that?” Hyeongjun says, taking a sip of his drink. He looks surprisingly pleased, for once.

“Guess not,” Minhee says.

Hyeongjun, thankfully, accepts that at face value. “You probably scared him to death,” he says. “Why were you staring at him like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanted to eat him,” Hyeongjun says.

Minhee makes a face. “I don’t understand half of the things that come out of your mouth,” he says.

“I’m just saying! I don’t think you understand the way you look at people sometimes,” Hyeongjun says. “You’re going to give some poor guy the wrong idea.”

Minhee deliberately doesn’t think about what he could mean by that. “Didn’t we come here to talk about something specific?” he says.

“He does look cute, though,” Hyeongjun says, turned around in his chair to seek him out. “Smaller than me, even.”

“Are you done?” Minhee asks.

Hyeongjun turns back, looks at Minhee like he knows something he doesn’t. “Yeah, I’m done,” he says. “Are we going back to your other crisis?”

“Not sure I’d put it like that,” Minhee says, “but yes. I went to the art building yesterday—”

”The art building?” Hyeongjun says. “You?”

“Not that kind of art,” Minhee says, already exasperated. “You’ve seen me with my camera this year, haven’t you?”

Hyeongjun looks like he’s considering. “There were some good pictures,” he says. “But is it enough to…?”

“Yes,” Minhee says, before backtracking. “I think so.” How can he know for sure, really?

Hyeongjun makes a noise. “Well,” he says, “I’ll support you. You know that.”

Hyeongjun’s family has always been different. The unconditional sort of love. Him and his two older sisters were unbelievably close, the way Minhee and his older siblings were decidedly not. Minhee loves them, of course, but it’s different. The way expectations weigh on you.

“Appreciated,” Minhee says, before he realizes he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s different, feeling supported. Feels like he actually has to live up to something, isn’t just clawing his way up to being taken seriously.

Minhee changes the subject, and they talk until Hyeongjun gets another text.

“Duty calls,” Hyeongjun says, smiling and getting up.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Minhee says.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Hyeongjun says.

“Clearly,” Minhee says, eyes going to the seat by the fireplace against his will. Oh. He’s gone already? Were he and Hyeongjun talking for that long?

“Maybe I’ll introduce you two one day,” Hyeongjun says, pocketing his phone. “If it goes anywhere.” Hyeongjun has had a steady stream of boyfriends their past two years at college. Minhee has met maybe half of them.

“I can’t wait,” Minhee says, deadpan.

After Hyeongjun leaves, Minhee hesitates, looks back, as if expecting the boy to magically reappear. He doesn’t, obviously, but Minhee notices something on the seat. He walks over and sees that it’s a book, almost tucked into the crease. The title reads Foundations of Art and Design.

Well. Minhee was right about him being an art major, though it’s not like that was a particularly difficult deduction. Minhee looks at the swatches of yellow paint on the cover and considers. He knows where the art building is—he’d probably appreciate someone bringing it to him. Textbooks are expensive. What if someone stole it? Minhee’s just doing his duty as a fellow student. Really.

-

Minhee didn’t expect to be back here so soon. He wanted to be more sure about himself, about his decision, the next time he came, wanted to feel secure internally the same way he projects it to everyone else. But it’s fine. Right now, he has a job to do.

A job that is going to take longer than expected, Minhee realizes, when he sees the boy in the middle of his class again. Duh, Minhee thinks, shaking his head. He probably should have waited. But then what if he missed him?

Minhee wanders the halls, saying hi to one of the TAs he spoke with last time he was here. She looks pleased to see him here again so soon, asks if he’s signed up for next semester’s classes yet.

“Oh, not yet,” Minhee says, “I’m still not entirely sure about…”

“Completely understandable,” she says, swiftly. “It’s a big decision. You said you were in the sciences?” She starts walking again, carrying two easels in each hand.

“Do you need help with those?” Minhee asks, reaching to take them from her left hand. He always defers to ‘polite and charming’ when he’s unsure, a mechanism he started to hone in college. Ah, what was her name again? Siyeon?

“A charmer,” she says, laughing a little, handing them over. “You’ll be popular here with moves like that. The gender gap is pretty huge.”

Minhee laughs, a bit awkwardly, adjusting the easels in his hands. “Yeah?”

“You can already tell it’s completely different from your science building, right?” Siyeon(?) says, leading him down the staircase into the main room. She’s walking straight towards the class gathered in the middle, where he’s sitting, and Minhee hesitates for a second before following.

“Ah! Siyeon-ssi!” the professor says, waving her over. “You can leave those here,” he continues, gesturing to the legs of the table he’s sitting on. Minhee silently follows, trying to make himself invisible, or at least as invisible as someone who’s six feet can conceivably get.

“And who’s this?” the professor asks, looking right at him. “So handsome!” he exclaims.

Man. Why is everyone here so friendly? This would never fly in any of the classes he’s taken previously. If a random person walked into his biochem class, Minhee doesn’t think his professor would let them leave without making them cry first.

“A new recruit,” Siyeon says, smiling brightly. “Hopefully!”

“Siyeon here can be very persuasive,” the professor says, winking. “Hey, actually—we’re doing portraits. Do you have a minute? I think the kids need a chance to sketch someone other than Siyeon or myself.”

This really isn’t what Minhee came here to do, but screw it. It’s really not like he has anything better to do, now that he isn’t spending ten hours a day memorizing chemicals and muscle groups. “Sure?” he agrees, tentatively.

“Great!” he says, patting the table next to him. Minhee sits gingerly, looking out at all the unfamiliar faces. Minhee was a lot to handle in high school, but he never would have done anything like this, surrounded by all these new people.

“This is just a quick warm-up sketch,” the professor continues. “We don’t want to take up too much of…” he trails off, looking at Minhee.

“Minhee,” Minhee provides.

“Minhee-ssi’s time, here! I’ll set a timer for ten minutes,” he finishes, tapping on his phone.

“Should I…” Minhee starts, unsure if he should pose or something.

“You can do whatever,” Siyeon says, settling into a beanbag next to the table. “But we love a dynamic model.”

A dynamic model, huh? Here goes nothing, Minhee thinks. He props up a leg on the table, brackets his chin with a V made of his thumb and pointer finger, and looks dramatically off into the distance.

Scattered laughter. Minhee can’t help himself but look at where the boy’s sitting, and he sees him looking resolutely down at his paper, one corner of his mouth turned up. Score.

“You fit right in,” the professor says. “Hold that pose!”

Minhee gets a cramp in his leg five minutes in, but he holds it. He sits patiently afterwards, too, when the professor goes around and looks at all the sketches. He even asks if he can stay and watch the rest of the class, which gets a resounding yes.

“Do you want to try following along?” Siyeon asks, handing him a sketchbook as the professor demonstrates a shading technique.

Minhee tries to follow along. It goes about as well as expected.

“Oh,” Siyeon says, looking at his paper. “Unique.”

Minhee laughs at himself, instead of feeling embarrassed. “I prefer photography,” he says.

“Drawing can be much more difficult, can’t it?” she says. “Making something out of nothing.”

“Yeah,” Minhee says, turning that phrase over in his head. Making something out of nothing.

Everyone else has started packing up while they were talking. Minhee looks up, making sure the boy hasn’t left yet. He’s one of the last ones, actually, staring at something on his phone.

“So I’ll see you around?” Siyeon says, getting up to go talk to the professor, who’s gathering supplies.

“For sure,” Minhee says, waving. He digs around in his backpack, grabbing the Foundations of art textbook. He walks over.

“Hey,” Minhee says. Why did he not rehearse this conversation in his head before coming over here? “This is yours, right?” He holds the book out.

The boy takes it, cycles through about five different expressions before settling on what looks like a mix of shock and confusion. He looks in his bag, as if to make sure it’s actually his book that he’s missing. It must be, because he says, quietly: “How did you…”

So he doesn’t recognize me, Minhee thinks, with a weird mix of sadness and relief. Lots of emotions in the air today. “I—”

“Wait,” he says, at a normal volume. “You’re the guy from Leblanc.” Minhee almost doesn’t register the words, because he’s too busy trying to equate the boy’s voice with the face he’s been looking at for months. It’s so high. Can people really sound like that?

He must be quiet for longer than is socially acceptable, because the boy furrows his perfect eyebrows at him again, the same way he did at the cafe.

“Yeah,” Minhee says, quickly. He can be normal. “I saw you sitting there, by the fireplace, and I noticed the book before I was about to leave, so…”

“Oh,” he says. “Thank you.” He makes eye contact with Minhee for a second before smiling, just slightly. “Your pose was ridiculous, by the way.”

Okay, they’re actually having a conversation. Minhee forces himself to keep being normal. “Yeah?” he says, laughing a bit. “It was dynamic, though, right?”

“You could say that,” the boy says, eyes sparkling up at him. “I guess it was good practice.”

Minhee’s been watching this person draw in his sketchbook for months now, at too far a distance to see anything. And now there’s a drawing of Minhee stuck somewhere in those pages. Minhee’s—god, he’s so curious. He can’t help himself.

“Can I see it?” Minhee asks.

“I don’t usually show my art to people who don’t even know my name,” he says, still making that tiny smile.

“Well, you already know mine,” Minhee says. “Can I have the honor?”

“You could have just checked the inside cover of the book,” he says, flipping it open. He points to the upper left corner, where Ahn Seongmin ☆ is written in cute, neat hangul.

“Ahn Seongmin,” Minhee says, almost to himself. “Are you a first year?”

“Is it that obvious?” Seongmin(!) says, putting his book away, pulling out one of the few sketchbooks in his bag.

“I think I would have noticed you if you were here before this year,” Minhee says, before his brain catches up. That’s a decidedly not normal thing to say to a guy you’ve just met. “I mean—”

“You’re not in the art department, though, are you?” Seongmin says, glancing up at him. “Didn’t Siyeon-noona say—”

“I’m not yet, no,” Minhee interrupts, needing to change the subject again. “Is your sketch that one?” Seongmin has his paper turned away from Minhee, analyzing it as if to make sure it’s suitable for eyes other than his own.

“It’s—really bad,” Seongmin says, “but…” He flips his book around.

Well. Ahn Seongmin is clearly one of those kids born with natural talent, because there’s no way a ten minute sketch should look like that. There’s two sketches, actually, one from a distance where you can see the entirety of Minhee’s ridiculous pose, and another one close up on his face. It’s the second one that has Minhee’s heartbeat quickening.

Hyeongjun wasn’t lying when he was shocked that Minhee came to the art building, because he truly knows nothing about classic art, but this—anyone looking at this would be able to see the beauty in it. Minhee almost doesn’t feel worthy seeing his likeness depicted in such a way.

“Wow,” Minhee says, instead of any of that.

“I know,” Seongmin says, turning his book back around and frowning at the page.

“No, I mean, that—that was a good wow,” Minhee says, quickly, “a really good wow.”

Seongmin looks amused, but he doesn’t look up. “You have an interesting face,” he says. Minhee waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

Is that a good thing? Minhee frantically wonders. He knows how some people perceive him, has received enough chocolate from girls in his classes to shed some of the self-consciousness that used to cling to him. But Ahn Seongmin, art major and modern day Picasso, is strangely difficult to read.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Minhee says, finally, when Seongmin stands up and makes to leave. “I’m sure I’ll see you around?”

“I’m sure you will,” Seongmin says, smiling. All of his smiles so far have been closed-mouth. Maybe he’s shy about his smile? Minhee doesn’t know why his brain keeps noticing all these things.

Minhee waves, and watches him walk away, pulse still hammering in his ears.

-

Surrounded by the pamphlets he’s collected over the past few days, sprawled at an uncomfortable angle on his dorm room bed, Minhee calls Woobin.

“Who is this?” Woobin says, picking up after a few rings.

“What? Did you get a new phone? It’s Minhee,” he says.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Woobin says.

“Why are you—” Minhee starts, before thinking. It’s November, already. Minhee hasn’t called since he could still walk to class without a coat, so that’s… “Oh.”

Minhee can almost hear Woobin rolling his eyes. “Yeah, oh.”

“I’m sorry, hyung, I—”

“It’s fine,” Woobin says, sighing exaggeratedly. “So, to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

Minhee and Woobin have been friends since grade school. Neighborhood friends, both of their moms always setting them up for play dates despite their two year age gap. They only had one year of high school together before Woobin packed up his life and moved to Seoul, but they’re usually good about keeping in touch regardless. Strange that, now that they’re both in the same city, it feels even harder to catch up. That’s adulthood, Minhee guesses.

Where should he start?

“I’m changing majors,” he says, after a second. It worked with Hyeongjun, right? Might as well rip off the band-aid a second time.

Woobin is quiet. He doesn’t immediately start hounding him like Hyeongjun did. His silence is almost worse.

“Did you hear me?” Minhee asks.

“I heard you,” Woobin says. “I’m thinking about how to reply.”

That can’t be good. “You could try ‘Wow, Minhee, I’m so proud of you for following your heart’—”

“Have you told your parents?” Woobin interrupts.

Minhee knows why everyone keeps bringing his parents up. It doesn’t mean that he likes it.

“Wow, thank you, I’m proud of myself too,” Minhee continues. “I feel so supported right now.”

“Minhee-yah,” Woobin says, sighing for real. “Have you thought about this? Actually?”

Minhee is an impulsive person. The joke here, though, is that he has thought about this. Actually. For years, even before he got into SKKU.

“Yes,” Minhee says. He doesn’t elaborate.

“So you realize what’s going to happen when you tell them?”

Worst case scenario: he’ll be cut off completely. Best case scenario: they think he’s joking and he can keep up the ruse until next semester’s grades are out. Beyond that, Minhee has no idea.

“Sure,” Minhee says.

“You know that you’re completely insufferable, right?” Woobin says.

Minhee knows. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m switching to?”

Woobin clearly doesn’t think he’s going to go through with it, because he indulges him. “What are you switching to?”

“Digital media,” Minhee says. “Photography and film. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds appropriately impractical,” Woobin says.

“I’ve been taking pictures, this year,” Minhee says. “I even bought a camera.”

“And it’s not just a hobby?” Woobin asks.

“I don’t want it to be,” Minhee says, jaw clenching. “I can’t—I never even wanted to be a doctor.”

Another sigh from Woobin. “I know you didn’t,” he says, gently. “I just didn’t think it was bad enough for you to give up on...well. You know.”

Woobin doesn’t say everything, but they both hear it anyway.

“I’ve got it under control,” Minhee says, and doesn’t believe.

He doesn’t bring up the other thing, the Seongmin thing. It’s not worth it.

-

Minhee sees him again, a few days later, at Leblanc. For the first time in all these months, though, he isn’t alone. Sitting next to him is—wait. Is that Kim Taeyoung?

Minhee doesn’t even get his drink before walking over. “Taeyoungie?” he says.

Taeyoung’s head whips up. Yup, thats him. But now that Minhee’s here, he’s not really sure what to say. They’re friendly, but Taeyoung is mostly Hyeongjun’s friend. Whenever Minhee gets invited to the dance team’s parties, on the rare occasions that he actually goes, those two always end up committing unspeakable acts of chaos together. Minhee films them, posts them on his Insta story with captions like Someone please come pick them up.

“Minhee!” Taeyoung says, smiling brightly. “What are you doing here?” He’s sitting, Minhee notices, very close to Seongmin.

“I come here pretty often,” Minhee says, weirdly wanting to stake his claim on the (very well-known, very public) cafe. “You?”

“Catching up with a friend,” Taeyoung says, an arm around Seongmin’s shoulders. “This is Seongminnie, he’s in the art department—“

“Ah, we’ve met,” Minhee says.

“Huh? Where?” Taeyoung looks genuinely confused. “Seongmin’s only been here for a few months, and he really doesn’t get out much!”

Seongmin tries to discreetly smack Taeyoung’s thigh. Taeyoung makes a noise and grabs Seongmin’s hand, moving it back to Seongmin’s lap before letting go.

“We met in the art building,” Minhee says, eyes tracking their movements.

Taeyoung doesn’t look any less confused. “Aren’t you pre-med? Why were you there?”

Minhee really doesn’t want to get into this again. “Just checking some stuff out,” he says.

“Hmm,” Taeyoung says. “Anyway, we just got here, too, so I’m gonna get drinks. Seongmin texted me what he wanted, but what should I get you?”

Um. “Same as Seongmin?” Minhee says, hoping that he’ll just leave it at that.

“It’s a weird drink, Minhee-yah,” Taeyoung says, getting up. “I’ll just get you a regular Americano.”

He goes to stand in the long mid-morning line. Minhee hesitates for a moment before taking his seat, except he does it at a reasonable distance from Seongmin.

“So—“ Minhee starts.

“I knew I remembered that correctly,” Seongmin says, looking at him. “The same drinks.”

“It’s—really not as weird as it looks,” Minhee says, ears starting to get warm. “I—“

“I’ve spent a lot of time perfecting my order,” Seongmin says, “just for it to get stolen like that.”

He sounds...amused? It takes Minhee a few more seconds to realize. Oh. He’s joking.

Minhee breathes a laugh. “Have you considered copyrighting it?”

“I would if I had known Taehyun-hyung was giving away my intellectual property,” Seongmin says, smiling now.

“You know each other?” Minhee asks.

“I come here pretty often, too,” Seongmin says. “And Taehyun works way too much.”

“You’re right about that,” Minhee says. “What about you and Taeyoung?”

“We have a class together,” Seongmin says, trying to sound long-suffering, but ultimately coming out fond. “He likes to drag me around.”

He is the perfect size to drag around. Not like Minhee can blame him for that.

“You guys seem close,” Minhee says. Taeyoung said a friend when he introduced them, but Minhee can’t help but wonder if there’s something else going on. (Minhee knows he’s been friends with Hyeongjun for too long when he starts speculating like this.) He tries not to think about why the idea makes him vaguely sick.

“I mean,” Seongmin says, staring at his sneakers, kicking the ugly carpet. “You heard him. I don’t really go out much.”

“Me neither,” Minhee says, looking at Seongmin’s ankles where they peek out from between his jeans and his shoes. Delicate, like his wrists, like his hands.

Seongmin looks up. “Really?” he says.

“Is that a surprise?” Minhee asks.

Seongmin looks slightly sheepish. “Your whole,” he gestures uselessly, “vibe, I guess.”

“You mean the way I embarrassed myself in front of your whole portraits class?” Minhee says.

Seongmin laughs. Smiles, with his teeth, his incisors sticking out just a little. It’s the first time Minhee’s made him laugh, properly, and he already knows he’d embarrass himself ten times over to see it again.

“I’m seeing that, now,” Seongmin says. “Maybe you do have hidden depths?” He’s still smiling, a little coyly, and Minhee almost doesn’t notice when Taeyoung comes back and kicks him out of his seat.

Hidden depths, huh. Minhee guesses you can only wade water for so long before the weight takes you—before you find yourself face to face with the creature that lives down there.

-

In their second year of high school, right before finals, Hyeongjun broke up with his boyfriend. Or, rather, Beomgyu broke up with him, after a long-winded fight that Minhee listened to Hyeongjun rant about for what felt like hours. They were sitting on Minhee’s bed, and Hyeongjun had his head on his shoulder, his sleeve still wet from tears. They had demolished an entire box of choco-pies, and Minhee was picking at the crumbs on his shirt when Hyeongjun said:

“Things would be so much easier if you were my boyfriend.”

Silence, for at least ten seconds. Minhee had so many thoughts rushing through his head that they all coalesced into white noise. It would be easier, Minhee thought, irrationally. Feeling like his brain was separate from his body, he put his hand on Hyeongjun’s knee where he was curled up into his side.

He felt Hyeongjun freeze. A beat passed like that, until Hyeongjun lifted his head to look at him.

“Minhee-yah?” He whispered, eyes huge.

Minhee couldn’t tell you what he was thinking when he kissed Hyeongjun, that day in his bedroom. He remembers a few, fleeting things—Hyeongjun, pressed against him, looking so sad. Bravery from an empty house, his family all gone for the evening. Wondering, selfishly, what it would be like, with a boy.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Minhee and Hyeongjun talk about everything, but they don’t talk about this.

-

Minhee and Seongmin end up exchanging numbers, after, Taeyoung smoothing along the interaction in the way that he’s so good at. Minhee almost forgives him for sitting so close to Seongmin—he never would have been able to get his number in such a natural way without him.

Minhee debates whether to text him that same day, but like with most things, he does it anyway. He isn’t sure what to say, so he starts off with a classic.

Kang Minhee 19:56
thoughts on flat earth?

A reply, immediately.

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 19:56
?????????

Kang Minhee 19:57
you know, like
whether the earth is flat or not

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 19:58
aren’t you supposed to be in the sciences?
why are you asking me this… ;;

Kang Minhee 19:59
i just think the theory has its merits

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 20:02
>.<
you’re kidding, right?

He is, mostly, but he’s also never been one to shy away from making himself the butt of a joke to make other people laugh. Especially (cute, interesting, talented) people like Ahn Seongmin. Any attention is good attention, right?

Kang Minhee 20:04
what if i’m not?

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 20:05
;;;
then maybe it’s a good thing you’re switching to the arts, kang minhee-ssi =____=

Kang Minhee 20:05
maybe it is ^__^

Kang Minhee 20:06
and you can call me hyung ^___+

And that was that, really.

-

Hyeongjun invites Minhee to one of the dance team parties, a week or so later. Minhee still hasn’t decided if he cares enough to end this semester on a high note or if he’s given up completely, grades-wise. But regardless, he goes.

Taeyoung texted them the address—the party is at one of the off-campus apartments. Minhee lets Hyeongjun talk his ear off on the subway ride there.

“I’m pretty sure they’re dating, anyway,” Hyeongjun says, at some point.

“What? Who?” Minhee says, quickly, clocking back into the conversation.

Hyeongjun rolls his eyes. “Nice active listening skills,” he says. “Taehyun and Jiyoon, one of the girls from dance. I’m pretty sure they’re both coming tonight.”

“Oh,” Minhee says. That’s fine. Good for Taehyun.

“Who did you think I was talking about?” Hyeongjun says. “You don’t usually care about this kind of gossip.”

“No one,” Minhee says. “I was trying to be an active listener.”

Hyeongjun laughs. “A for effort, Minhee-yah.”

The place is packed when they get there. In reality, there’s only maybe fifteen or twenty people, but the apartment is ridiculously small. Jungmo, an upperclassman that Minhee’s taken a few classes with, rents it by himself. He isn’t even part of the dance team, but he’s somehow adopted at least half of it.

Hyeongjun gets dragged off by a guy with fluffy brown hair as soon as he spots him, so that leaves Minhee alone. This is to be expected. Taeyoung, perpetually (“fashionably”) late, is nowhere to be seen.

Minhee gets roped into a low-key drinking game with some girls he only vaguely knows the names of, and they’re laughing at his poor tolerance when Minhee sees the door open.

“I’m here!” Minhee hears, over a chorus of Taeyoungie! Minhee isn’t surprised that he already has the upperclassman girls wrapped around his finger—his ‘dally’ cover is easily the most popular video on their Youtube page. Flashes of it are running through his head when he notices the figure behind Taeyoung. There’s no one to chorus Seongminnie! other than the five brain cells knocking around in his head, but frankly, they’re doing a stellar job all on their own.

“Who did you bring with you?” Minhee hears one of the girls (Soeun?) say. “He’s so cute!”

“Everyone, this is my friend Ahn Seongmin,” Taeyoung says. “He’s shy, so please be nice!”

Seongmin steps on his foot. “Hi,” he says, over Taeyoung’s yelp, smiling. No teeth. He looks like he’s scanning the room, and then his eyes land on Minhee. His eyes scrunch up, just a bit.

Minhee waves, trying to look normal levels of happy to see him. He almost pats the space on the floor next to him, gesturing for him to sit, but Seongmin’s already trailing Taeyoung to the kitchen, presumably to say hi to Jungmo. He always camps out in there during these parties, for reasons unknown to Minhee.

“Did you hear his voice?” Soeun (it must be, he remembers her smile) says, to the group. “Are we sure he’s a college student?”

“Seriously cute,” one of the other girls says.

Minhee thinks I know, thinks Wait ‘til you see him smile for real. He says, “Wow, I feel so appreciated right now.”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” Soeun says. “You know you’re cute.”

“Maybe if you shrunk a little!” Another voice says. Jimin. Maybe he does know their names.

Laughter, and then Taeyoung comes barreling back in, almost spilling his drink on Minhee when he plops down next to him.

“Can someone tell me why there’s all this weird tension between Seongmin and Jungmo-hyung?” Taeyoung asks. Minhee doesn’t know why he’s addressing the entire group, considering no one here even knows Seongmin beyond the two of them. “Do I have to figure out everything myself?”

“But you’re so good at sticking your nose into everyone’s business~” Jimin says.

“Someone has to,” Taeyoung says, long-suffering. “You guys would be so bored without me!”

Minhee waits, but Seongmin never comes back to the main room. He gets a text, about ten minutes later. His pulse jumps when he feels his phone vibrate, but when he looks at who it’s from, it flatlines.

Mom 21:04
You haven’t called?

And then starts racing, once it registers. Minhee and his parents usually have bi-monthly phone calls, which are generally fine, if draining. But that’s when he was still following their lead. Their orders, really. But right now Minhee has a 67.84 in organic chem, and no idea what to say.

Suddenly everything feels just a little too loud. “I’m gonna get some air,” Minhee says, and escapes through the sliding doors.

It doesn’t quite register how idiotic of an idea this was until Minhee realizes he left his sweatshirt inside. A second realization, that the last time he checked the weather his phone showed him, unfeelingly, 2°C. He has the third realization when the cold actually hits.

Like most other things, Minhee ignores it. He’s lived with the ramifications of his idiocy a hundred times over. But when he turns the corner, after the next block, he’s suddenly glad that he decided the cold air would clear his head. Because, sitting delicately on the curb, is perfect pocket-sized Ahn Seongmin.

He has a long coat on, his knees pulled up, his chin resting on his forearms. Minhee hesitates, wondering if Seongmin wants to be alone. Minhee came out here to be alone, too, but it’s like some invisible gravity is pulling him over, to this presence on this Seoul sidewalk on this unmemorable Friday.

Minhee must have walked over more quietly than he expected, because when he sits down next to Seongmin, entering his peripheral, he shrieks. Loudly.

“Hi to you, too,” Minhee says, plugging his right ear. “Are you prepared to pay for my hearing aids?”

“Why did you sneak up on me like that!” Seongmin says, a little shrill. “What did you expect?!”

His cheeks are pink from the cold. His knuckles, too, where they’re resting on his knees. His pale hands.

“A little more awareness of your surroundings?” Minhee says, kindly. They’re sitting maybe half a meter apart, but Minhee can almost feel Seongmin’s warmth from here.

“Why in the world are you wearing short sleeves,” Seongmin asks, presumably with his newfound situational awareness. “It’s freezing.”

“Nothing a country boy like myself can’t handle,” Minhee says, teeth chattering.

Seongmin looks at him in that way he does, like he can’t believe a person like Minhee exists. From anyone else, it would make him self-conscious, but from him…

“You’re insane,” Seongmin says, eyes piercing. After a few seconds, he finally looks away, then starts shrugging out of his long-padding.

Is he…? Minhee is ridiculously charmed, but he also can’t stop himself from laughing.

“Seongmin-ah,” Minhee says, trying to be serious, “I’m flattered, but I really don’t think that’s going to fit—”

Seongmin scrunches up his nose, looks determined. “Just take it,” he says. Are his cheeks pinker than before? “I can’t stand to look at you like that.”

Seongmin has another thick sweater underneath his jacket, so Minhee doesn’t press the issue. He puts the jacket on. His wrists peek out from outside the sleeves, but it is undeniably warm.

The residential area they’re in is quiet at this time of night, even on a Friday. The streetlights are dimmer than he’s used to, on campus. It reminds him of home. Which reminds him of the text, unanswered, in his pocket.

“Any reason you’re sitting out here instead of in Jungmo-hyung’s heated apartment?” Minhee says, trying to ignore the reason why he’s out here, too.

“My reason surely can’t be worse than whatever caused you to walk outside in a t-shirt,” Seongmin says, blowing on his hands for warmth.

“I really think you’re underestimating my ability to survive the elements,” Minhee says. He feels closer to Seongmin than he should for someone he’s only been talking to for a few weeks, but he’s not about to unleash his entire sob story on him right now. That would be something else, even for him.

“Hmm,” Seongmin says, eyeing him. He must see something there, because he, thankfully, drops it. He continues, “Well, I’m out here for the scenery, clearly,” gesturing across the street to where a trash bin has been overturned, the black bag flapping in the wind, leftovers on the sidewalk. Looks like Seongmin isn’t going to tell him the truth either. That’s understandable.

“That’d make a good picture,” Minhee says, retrieving his phone from his jeans. “I’ll post it to instagram with the caption ‘my mood.’”

Seongmin laughs as Minhee zooms in, standing up and crouching to take the picture at an angle. “Photography is all about the symbolism, huh?” he says. Minhee’s sent him a few of his better pictures, over text. He’s still not—good, but every time Seongmin replies with a stream of excited emoticons, Minhee feels a little better about himself.

“Is drawing not the same?” Minhee asks, sitting back down, looking at the few shots he took. The lighting is horrific, but Minhee keeps one anyway, as a memory.

“It is,” Seongmin says. “That’s one of the things I love and hate about it. The way you can make something mean whatever you want it to.”

“I think that’s a good thing,” Minhee says, turning back to Seongmin, surprised to find him looking back. “Don’t you?”

“Until you realize you were wrong,” Seongmin says.

Minhee is quiet for a moment. “And if you end up being right?”

“Then I guess that’s a different story,” Seongmin says, after a second. Another pause. “Can I see your picture?”

Minhee tilts his screen. “Not bad,” Seongmin says, rubbing his chin like an art critic. “Have you considered rotating it three more degrees to the right?”

“I’ll try that,” Minhee says, laughing. Making a split-second decision, he raises his phone so that Seongmin’s in the frame. “Can I try something else?”

“What?” Seongmin looks confused for a second, before he realizes. “No!” he shrieks, covering his face with his hands.

“Come on,” Minhee says, still laughing.

“No!” Seongmin says.

“I just took a picture of literal trash,” Minhee says, “I desperately need something else to balance it out.”

Seongmin lowers his hands, so that only his eyes are showing. Click. “What a flattering comparison,” he says, eyes turned up at the corners.

“The bar’s pretty low, Seongminie,” Minhee says, the diminutive slipping out. “Please?”

Seongmin finally lowers his hands all the way, and this time, his cheeks are definitely pink from more than the cold. He looks shy, but pleased. A little determined. A little beautiful. Click.

“Are you happy now?” Seongmin asks.

“Yes,” Minhee says. Thank you, he doesn’t.

-

When Minhee gets home that night, past one in the morning, he lies in his bed and stares at his phone. He looks at the text from his mother, the follow-up he got from his dad an hour later. (His reply: Really busy right now, can it wait a few weeks?) But more than that, he looks at his pictures. He always transfers all of his photos from his actual camera to his phone, so he can edit and look at them whenever. The few aesthetic short films he’s made, too, which are almost too embarrassing to talk about.

He looks at them and thinks: Am I good enough for this? Is it worth it, really? He doesn’t know, still.

And then, inevitably, like one of the laws of nature, his thoughts turn to Seongmin. He replays the night in his head, the way Seongmin told him to keep his jacket, the way he laughed at all of his dumb jokes, the way the soft street light illuminated his face. The way their hands brushed when they walked side-by-side back to the apartment.

He thinks about what Siyeon said, weeks ago in the art building, about being able to make something from nothing. This—this feels like something.

-

Hyeongjun didn’t talk to Minhee for the entirety of their finals week, that second year of high school. It was one of the worst weeks of Minhee’s life. But now, when Minhee forces himself to look back, he understands why.

What happened, after the kiss, was this: Minhee was an asshole. Plain and simple.

“Oh,” Hyeongjun said, when they pulled apart, after an agonizing, revelatory twenty seconds.

“Oh,” Minhee echoed. So that’s what it’s like, with a boy, he thought, heart almost beating out of his chest. It’s…

Hyeongjun looked like he was thinking very hard about something. “Do you…?”

The room was silent. Distant voices, outside, an entire world beyond the two of them.

Minhee doesn’t know what Hyeongjun was going to ask. Still. He doesn’t know what he would have answered, either, to any of the possibilities.

But Minhee ran, anyway. And when Hyeongjun tried to talk to him about it, he ran again—not physically, but from himself.

“Are you really going to ignore me about this?” Hyeongjun said, catching Minhee behind their school, where the track team practices.

“Why are you bringing this up, here?” Minhee said, not meeting his eyes. There was a first year walking by a few meters away, noise from further down on the field.

It was different, seeing Hyeongjun genuinely upset. It made Minhee’s chest ache, fiercely. “You’re the one who—” Hyeongjun said, stopping himself. “Whatever, Kang Minhee.” A note of finality.

And then he left, and then it was finals. And then Minhee asked out Lee Soojin. And then Hyeongjun got asked out by Cha Woonggi (somehow, even more short-lived than Minhee and Soojin). And they made up, eventually, when Minhee asked for forgiveness in the vaguest way possible.

Minhee doesn’t know what Hyeongjun thinks, now. He remembers him saying ‘you’re going to give some poor guy the wrong idea,’ weeks ago at Leblanc. Thinks about what he meant by that, really.

Minhee’s quick, at a lot of things. Impulsive to the bone. But sometimes: things take time.

-

The following weekend, he meets up with Seongmin again. Seongmin’s a surprisingly quick, emotive texter; if Minhee thought Hyeongjun used a lot of stickers, he wasn’t ready for Ahn Seongmin. Their most recent conversation started at music (Seongmin, an unabashed pop music lover, Minhee, a generic indie music-liker) and somehow ended up at whether the squirrels at the park near the art building are rabid or not.

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 13:04
i swear to you those squirrels are out to get you
i dropped a piece of my sandwich once and i got swarmed!! i almost didn’t make it out alive!!!

Kang Minhee 13:04
understandable, they probably saw you as an easy target

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 13:05
eeehhhh??!
that’s not very nice =___= i can take care of myself (ง'̀-'́)ง

Kang Minhee 13:06
i don’t know if i believe you!
i guess i’d have to see firsthand how vicious these squirrels are… :)

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 13:08
i’m just finishing up a piece
do you want to meet there?

Obviously yes. They agree to meet at two, and when Minhee gets there a few minutes late, Seongmin is still nowhere to be seen. Minhee takes a seat on one of the benches scattered around. He brought Seongmin’s jacket with him, and he has it draped over his legs, for warmth.

The park is pretty full, for a winter day. Minhee’s saying hi to an acquaintance, a girl he definitely stole notes off of in first-year bio, when Seongmin enters his peripheral. Seongmin’s scanning the park, and when he notices one of Minhee’s extra-long arms waving at him, he hesitates before walking over. First-year bio acquaintance is saying something about catching up later, which Minhee nods at, despite knowing it almost definitely won’t happen. She leaves, and Minhee feels his smile turning more genuine as he watches Seongmin walk across the park. He’s wearing a scarf.

Minhee notices something, when Seongmin finally gets close enough and sits down. On his left cheek, a stripe of lavender paint, right at the edge of his cheekbone. He must have been pushing his hair back without realizing his hands were dirty. Minhee doesn’t know why even this is endearing to him.

“You have—” Minhee starts, before realizing he has wet wipes in his backpack. He crouches down to get them.

“What?” Seongmin asks.

Minhee grabs one from the pack, reaching forward to wipe Seongmin’s face without asking permission.

“What are you doing?” Seongmin asks, again, trying to lean away from Minhee’s hand.

“You have paint on your cheek,” Minhee says, putting his other hand on Seongmin’s neck to keep him steady. “Stop squirming.”

“Maybe if you told me what you were doing,” Seongmin says, his voice a little breathy, staying still now. “Weirdo.”

“Excuse me for trying to be helpful,” Minhee says, laughing, still trying to get the last remnants of paint off. “Why is this so hard?”

“It’s acrylic,” Seongmin says. “Let me do it.”

“I’ve got it,” Minhee says, face close to his.

“Do you?” Seongmin says, exasperated and amused in equal measure. Maybe a little flustered, too.

“Yes,” Minhee says, finally finished. He holds the wipe up to show Seongmin the paint, annoyingly close to his face. “What were you painting?”

“An assignment for class,” Seongmin says, swatting his hand away. “It’s going pretty well, but I feel like I never have time to make anything just for myself anymore.”

“But it’s what you love, right?” Minhee says.

“Yeah,” Seongmin says. “It’s just a little different.”

Minhee wonders if it’ll be different when he starts taking photography seriously, too. Probably. But will that make it worse?

“Being an art major isn’t all fun and games, huh?” Minhee says.

“Did you think it was?” Seongmin says, not unkindly. “It’s different from the sciences, sure, but it’s hard work all the same.”

“I don’t think my parents would see it that way,” Minhee says, or blurts. “They think I’d be just…” A pause. “Throwing my life away.”

Seongmin is looking at him intently. “Have you told them?”

The million dollar question. “No,” he says. “Last weekend, that was actually why I…”

“Almost froze to death for no reason?” Seongmin says.

Minhee laughs, a little. “Yeah,” he says. “They want me to call. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s hard,” Seongmin says, looking at his sneakers, his patterned socks peeking out at the top. “I’m not great at that sort of thing either,” he continues. “Being honest.”

Minhee considers that for a moment, before deciding to ask anyway. “What about you?” He says, turned on the bench, one leg up so that he’s facing Seongmin. “That night?”

Seongmin looks embarrassed, suddenly. “Ah,” he says. “It’s really dumb.”

“I don’t think you can say that to me,” Minhee says, trying to get Seongmin to feel less self-conscious.

“For once, your reason is actually pretty valid,” Seongmin says. “Mine’s just…”

“You can tell me anything you want, you know,” Minhee says, trying to be casual.

Seongmin finally looks up from his feet, glancing at Minhee before staring off at some point in the distance.

“It was, um, I guess it was a couple things,” Seongmin starts, biting his lips. “You know Jungmo, right?”

“Sure,” Minhee says.

“I learned that he’s, uh, he’s dating someone I know,” Seongmin says.

Minhee waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Good for Jungmo?” Minhee says, carefully.

Seongmin huffs a laugh. “I mean, yeah,” he says, “it’s just…”

“Is it someone you...were with?” Minhee asks, already nervous at where the conversation is going. Minhee doesn’t know what he’ll do if he finds out that Seongmin is deeply pining for whoever Jungmo’s mysterious partner is.

“No,” Seongmin says. “Not really.”

“Not really,” Minhee echoes.

Seongmin’s still chewing on his lips, hands twitching in his lap. “I had a really close friend, when I was in high school. Probably my only close friend, actually,” he says. “They were two grades higher, but we were also neighbors.”

“Hyeongjun and I were neighbors, too,” Minhee says, before realizing Seongmin probably doesn’t know him by name. “My best friend.”

“I know Hyeongjun,” Seongmin says, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Taeyoung mentions him all the time.”

That makes sense. “Right. Sorry for interrupting,” Minhee says. “Continue.”

Seongmin takes another breath. “I was…” he blinks a few times. “Kind of a lot to deal with in high school.”

“So was I,” Minhee says. “I’m sure you weren’t so bad.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Seongmin says. “But no, I was… I had these terrible mood swings. It was a miracle that he was able to put up with me at all,” Seongmin says. Then he must register the pronoun he used, because his eyes widen, slightly.

He. He. It’s not that Minhee is that surprised, really, but the confirmation is nice. It’s also nice to hear it said outright by someone other than Hyeongjun, even if it was unintentional. Seongmin is holding himself very still. Minhee should say something.

“He must have liked you a lot,” Minhee says, which is maybe a little strange, but better than what he almost said, which was: I’d put up with your mood swings in a heartbeat if you’d let me.

Minhee sees Seongmin take a deep breath, at that, still not meeting Minhee’s eyes. “I think…” Another breath. “I think he did.” The sun is finally peeking out from behind the December clouds, and the first beam of light hits Seongmin’s face perfectly. “I think I did, too.”

“But you never…” Minhee says, looking at the light, looking at Seongmin’s face.

“No,” Seongmin says. “Even when Wonjin-hyung stayed local for college, and we still saw each other, I…”

Minhee prompts him with a soft noise.

“I guess I was scared,” Seongmin says. “And I didn’t feel worthy, either. And we still talk, but we sort of grew apart. I didn’t even know that he was…”

“Dating Goo Jungmo?” Minhee says.

“Yeah,” Seongmin says, his head in his hands now. “Sorry about this. I don’t know why I unleashed all of this on you, when you’re…”

“The best and most supportive listener ever?” Minhee says.

“Straight,” Seongmin says, or at least that’s what Minhee thinks he says, with his face still in his hands.

“Um,” Minhee says.

“Sorry, ignore me,” Seongmin says, sounding pained, at a higher pitch than normal. “Please.”

Even if he was, Minhee’s not sure why it would matter in this context, but Seongmin’s mind clearly operates on a different plane than he’s used to.

I guess I’m doing this, Minhee thinks. He’s not as clueless as he used to be, after these past few months. Not as scared, either.

“I’m not,” Minhee says.

He doesn’t even get a chance to elaborate, because Seongmin’s head shoots up so fast Minhee’s scared that he may have gotten whiplash.

“What are you saying,” Seongmin says, sounding annoyed. “Every time I see you, you’re talking to some girl.”

“Isn’t that pretty heteronormative?” Minhee says.

Seongmin looks shocked. “Do you even know what that means?” he asks.

“I really think you’re forgetting about my hidden depths,” Minhee says, deeply glad that Hyeongjun taught him that term earlier this year.

“What is even happening right now,” Seongmin mumbles. “So you’re saying…?”

“I’m a great listener,” Minhee says, “and I’m not straight, either.” As for what he is, well. He’ll figure that out eventually.

“Why are you the most confusing person I’ve ever met,” Seongmin says, his fourth rhetorical question in as many minutes.

“Sorry,” Minhee says. “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty confusing to myself, too.”

“It’s not,” Seongmin says. His ears are red. “You’re raising my blood pressure.”

“You pay for my hearing aids, I’ll pay for your blood pressure meds,” Minhee says, smiling. “Deal?”

“You’re completely ridiculous,” Seongmin says, trying to look mad, but really, he just looks radiant—the winter sun, the flush high in his cheeks, the smile he’s failing to hide. “I’m not even that loud.”

“You kind of are,” Minhee says. “But I don’t think I mind it.” Was that too much?

Seongmin shakes his head, and Minhee wants so badly to take a picture of his soft, reluctantly pleased expression. He knows it’ll stay with him, regardless.

-

Minhee calls Woobin again, on Tuesday, making sure to catch him after he’s gotten home but before he’s gone to bed. Minhee doesn’t envy the nine-to-five lifestyle—especially since Woobin attends classes, too, and doesn’t get home until nine most nights.

He picks up after the second ring. “Should I be expecting consistent phone calls, now?”

“Consistent might be a stretch,” Minhee says. “But hi, hyung.”

Minhee is three hours deep into revisions. Finals are coming up. He’s already given up on ending on a particularly high note, but he doesn’t want to fail, after all this effort. So here he is.

He also spent most of the day online, looking at and deciding on the classes he wants to take next semester. There’s a class in the photography track named Ways of Seeing I, which confused and intrigued him, and thus he immediately signed up for.

Minhee says all of this over the phone. Woobin hm’s and ah’s in all the right places, but when Minhee finishes, he’s quiet.

“And you’re still doing all of this secretly, right?” Woobin asks, after a while.

“If you want to put it like that,” Minhee says.

“How else would you put it, Minhee-yah,” Woobin says, sounding exasperated. “You know I want to support you, but I...”

The thing is, Minhee gets it. He knows what Woobin’s given up—a future in the arts, in entertainment, a chance for the world to hear his voice. He did it for his family, too, because they couldn’t handle any more uncertainty, the way they were going financially. And now he’s in his last year of college, and he already has a deeply respectable job in business. Minhee doesn’t know if he regrets it. Doesn’t know if he should ask. If it was him, he wouldn’t want anyone to.

“It’s not the same type of situation, hyung,” Minhee says. “With your family, that was—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Woobin says. “I was there. Still am.”

“I know,” Minhee says, trying to figure out how to put this. “I’m just saying, for me—my family doesn’t need me, the way yours does. It’s not about that, it’s—”

“Minhee,” Woobin interrupts. “I know. I know your family. And I’ve…” He sighs. “I’ve already made my peace with my life. I’m just worried about you.”

Minhee takes a deep breath. Decides to be honest. “I’m worried, too,” he says. “But I’ve already made my decision.”

“You’ve always been good at doing what you put your mind to,” Woobin says. “I just hope this time the aftermath won’t be…” A pause. “You know.”

Minhee does. “Yeah,” he says. “How have things been with you, though?”

“He has manners!” Woobin says, laughing. “I’m fine. Same old. But one of my colleagues is trying to set me up with someone.”

“Oh, really?” Minhee says. “What are they like?”

“Cute,” Woobin says, “but I don’t really know yet. Are you still perpetually single?”

“Um,” Minhee replies, before realizing what a mistake that was. He literally is, he just—

“Um?!” Woobin says. “You finally found someone other than Hyeongjun to put up with you?”

“Okay, that’s kind of uncalled for—”

“Aren’t you going to tell me about her? Wait, is this why you want to be a photographer—”

“No, that was before,” Minhee says, ignoring the pronoun. “Can you slow down?”

“Sorry,” Woobin says. “I’m just surprised!”

“I’m surprised, too,” Minhee says. “But we’re not anything yet, really, I just…” desperately want to be, his brain finishes.

“Well, I’m sure you have it in you to make the first move,” Woobin says. “Good luck with everything. Will you let me know how it goes? With your photography, too.”

Minhee forgets, sometimes, how much he likes Woobin. Why he was his closest friend other than Hyeongjun in middle school. Adulthood is a bottomless chasm, but it can be bridged, with effort, and with time.

“I will,” Minhee says. “You too, yeah?”

-

Next week finds Minhee and Hyeongjun at Leblanc. Hyeongjun, acutely stressed about a group choreo project, and Minhee, unable to remember all twelve cranial nerves for the life of him. It’s an obscenely early morning for both of them, and Seongmin is almost never here in the mornings. Minhee’s picked him up from class a couple times, once from a morning class, and Seongmin was still half asleep at nearly eleven o’clock.

Minhee has textbooks and notes scattered across the tiny table, and Hyeongjun is frantically sketching formations on scratch paper when Hyeongjun’s phone buzzes. Somehow, his phone ended up on top of one of Minhee’s books, and Minhee can easily see it when it lights up.

❤️❤️❤️
Good luck >__< See you soon?

“Are you ever going to introduce me?” Minhee says, looking at the notification. Hyeongjun never saves anyone by name—Minhee’s pretty sure Hyeongjun still has him saved as the bald man emoji, after the stunt he pulled in their third year, something that Minhee viscerally hates every time he thinks about it.

“Huh?” Hyeongjun says, looking up. Minhee holds up his phone. Hyeongjun snatches it out of his hands. “Why are you looking at my messages?”

“Your phone was literally on my textbook,” Minhee says.

Hyeongjun’s tapping away, presumably replying. “I just…” He puts his phone down. “I really don’t want to mess this one up.”

That’s new. “That’s new,” Minhee says.

Hyeongjun sighs. “You wouldn’t get it,” he says.

Minhee frowns. That’s the second time Hyeongjun’s said something like that. “Why wouldn’t I get it?”

“Oh, are we actually talking about this?” Hyeongjun says.

“Talking about what?” Minhee says.

“I know you’re oblivious,” Hyeongjun says, “but you’re not this oblivious.”

Minhee’s still frowning, but he tries to force his face into something more neutral. The tables around them are all empty. Only the faintest light coming in through the window.

Minhee considers. Once’s he’s made his decision, he decides to rip the band-aid off, as usual. “I’m sorry,” he says. “And I’m sorry for not saying it until now, too.”

Hyeongjun looks shocked, but gratified. He tries to look nonchalant and says, “Sorry for what?”

Minhee huffs. “You’re going to make me say it?”

“You made me cry when I was eighteen,” Hyeongjun says. “Do I not deserve a proper apology?”

“You cried?” Minhee asks, alarmed, though he really shouldn’t be—Hyeongjun still cries at everything, and it was even worse in high school. It’s just that usually, Minhee’s the shoulder he cries on.

“Don’t pretend to be shocked,” Hyeongjun says, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m…” Minhee takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being a coward,” he says. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Well, I’m clearly over it now,” Hyeongjun says, but his eyes are soft. “Would have been nice to hear a few years ago, though.”

“I know,” Minhee says, “I’m—”

“It’s funny, really,” Hyeongjun interrupts. “I liked you so much, you know?”

Minhee didn’t. Know. “I—”

“But recently I realized that I just…” Hyeongjun is fidgeting, turning his phone over in his hands. “Really wanted someone to like me, back then. To know me, like you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Minhee says, again, looking at Hyeongjun’s hands. “I was an asshole.”

“You were,” Hyeongjun agrees. “But I know you. You’re my best friend anyway.”

Minhee kicks Hyeongjun under the table, because he doesn’t have any other way of expressing his emotions. “Thanks,” he says. “For understanding.”

Hyeongjun kicks him back. “Oh, I understand all right,” he says. “Repressed little Kang Minhee.”

Minhee kicks him again, hard. Hyeongjun yelps. “I thought we were having a serious heart-to-heart.”

“I’m not having a heart-to-heart with someone who just almost broke my shin,” Hyeongjun whines, reaching down to rub his leg. “Also, I am being serious. You were like a ball of repression—I’m honestly surprised you got over it. You almost had me fooled, for a while.”

Minhee looks at the fireplace, the empty seat. He almost had himself fooled for a while, too. But everything catches up with you eventually.

“I, uh,” Minhee laughs, shortly. Whatever, he’ll bring it up himself, before Hyeongjun has a chance to get mad at him for keeping it a secret. “Do you remember that guy by the fireplace? The one I almost stole the drink of?”

Hyeongjun squints, before making an exaggerated face of shock. “Oh my god, is that who you’ve been texting nonstop lately?”

“That’s—” Minhee starts.

“Wait, oh my god, this is completely unsurprising,” Hyeongjun says. “Why is your type so obvious?”

Is it? “Why are you completely insufferable? I’m trying to tell you something—”

“I get it, Minhee-yah, you’re in love with the 170cm kid who you’ve been minorly stalking for months,” Hyeongjun says. “Wow.”

Minhee represses the urge to kick him again, because, well. It’s not like he’s wrong. “I’m literally never introducing you two.”

“I’ll just ask Taeyoung,” Hyeongjun says, “I saw them at the party together.”

“Unbelievable,” Minhee mutters. “Then will you introduce me to your secret boyfriend?”

Hyeongjun purses his lips. “I’ll consider it,” he says.That could have gone worse, Minhee thinks. “Can I be serious for another minute?”

“If you must,” Minhee says, nervous.

“I’m happy for you,” Hyeongjun says, meeting his eyes. “For finally deciding to do things for yourself.”

Minhee leans back in his chair, looks up at the ceiling. He’s not an overly emotional person, usually, but he feels suddenly overcome. They’ve come so far, the both of them.

“Thanks, Hyeongjun-ah,” Minhee says. Another chasm, bridged.

-

Two days later has Minhee laying on his dorm room floor, legs up on his bed, head pillowed on an anatomy textbook. He has his phone open to his messenger app, watching Seongmin complain about lack of inspiration for his final piece. Minhee decides to take a leap.

Kang Minhee 17:53
maybe you just need a change of scenery?

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 17:54
where would you suggest i go?
it’s already dark out u___u ;;

Kang Minhee 17:55
i know the second year dorms are a bit of a walk
but maybe my interesting face would inspire you? ^___^
i have hot chocolate~~

Minhee watches Seongmin type.

Ahn Seongmin ☆ 17:57
okay :)

Minhee’s going to be honest—he wasn’t expecting that. He looks down at his ratty sweatpants. Well.

Kang Minhee 17:58
:)
i’ll meet you out front
see you in ten?

“You have your own room?” is the first thing Seongmin says to him, when Minhee meets him at the dorm’s front steps. It really is dark out, Minhee thinks, the last remnants of sunset already faded, the lights on the floor the only thing barely illuminating Seongmin’s face. Cold, too.

Minhee leads Seongmin inside. “My roommate from the beginning of the year transferred,” he says. “I guess they didn’t need the room for anyone else.”

“Lucky,” Seongmin says. “I like my roommate, but I think I’ve heard Lalalilala by April about a thousand times by now.”

Minhee’s unfamiliar, but he can commiserate. He’s friends with Hyeongjun, after all. He says so, and Seongmin laughs.

“I think they’d be friends,” Seongmin says, smiling. “He said he wanted to join the dance team, but I don’t know why he hasn’t yet.”

“Another dance team member for Jungmo-hyung to adopt,” Minhee says. They’re finally at Minhee’s room, on the third floor. He opens the door. “This is it,” he says, eyeing the books he didn’t have time to put away. “Excuse the—everything.” He spent the past ten minutes frantically forcing himself to look presentable. He even put on jeans.

Seongmin’s in jeans, too, and a soft looking sweater. It’s the same one he was wearing at Leblanc, months ago now, the one that matches his eyes. Seongmin sits on the edge of his bed, gingerly.

“I like your walls,” Seongmin says, looking around. Minhee has prints of his favorite pictures taped all over the tiny room, both things he’s taken and things he just thinks looks cool. Seongmin’s eye catches on one of the more recent additions, hung just above his bed—the two pictures he took of Seongmin, the night of the party. “Those are…”

“I think they turned out alright,” Minhee says, not mentioning how long he spent fiddling with the exposure so that they wouldn’t be so dark. He sits down next to Seongmin on the bed.

And then the entire room goes dark.

Minhee feels Seongmin startle next to him, a small shriek echoing in the dark. Minhee looks at the dying light of his space heater. Of course. Another power outage. He’s convinced the second-year dorms are cursed—why else would there have been five power outages in the four months he’s been here?

“Um,” Minhee hears from his left.

“Power outage,” Minhee says, unnecessarily. “And it’s not even storming,” he mutters.

“Does this happen a lot?” Seongmin asks.

“Has it really never happened in your building?” Minhee says. What the hell.

“No,” Seongmin says. His voice sounds very small.

“Let me go find my RA,” Minhee says, standing up. “He’s probably already called the—“

“Wait!” Seongmin says. “I, um. You should stay.”

“I’ll be right back,” Minhee says.

“Um!” Seongmin says, high-pitched. “Um. Stay. Please. If you want.”

Minhee blinks a few times before it registers. “Are you afraid of the dark?” he asks, trying not to smile.

“That’s, ah,” Seongmin says, quietly. “A liiittle?”

God. Minhee almost can’t believe someone this cute is allowed to exist.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Minhee says, sitting back down. “Wouldn’t want to leave you alone with the ghosts.”

Minhee feels Seongmin’s hand graze his arm, before he gauges the distance between them and hits him again, properly. “Was that you or one of the spirits?” Minhee says.

Another hit. “Can you stop!” Seongmin says.

Minhee laughs, leaning back on his hands. Without the heaters, the room is slowly but surely getting colder. He still can’t see Seongmin, eyes not having adjusted yet, but if Minhee’s cold, Seongmin probably is too. He decides to take another leap. They’re already here, right?

“It’s cold, right?” Minhee says. “Do you want to get under the blankets?”

He hopes that didn’t come out too greasy. Seongmin is quiet for a second before he says, “Okay.”

Minhee deliberates on how to make this happen in the dark before he realizes he can just use his phone flashlight. “Close your eyes,” he says.

“Huh?” Seongmin says.

“Just close them for a sec,” Minhee says, before turning the flashlight on. He blinks away the light behind his eyes.

“Oh,” Seongmin says. “Smart. Thanks for not blinding me.”

“There’s still time,” Minhee says, just to be annoying. “Come here,” he says, climbing to the head of the bed to get under the covers.

He watches Seongmin hesitate before following him. Despite having the room to himself, Minhee still only has a twin size bed. He becomes acutely aware of this when Seongmin sits as far away from him as he can without falling off, and yet their shoulders are still touching. The blankets, now draped over them both.

Okay. Ahn Seongmin is in his bed. He can be normal about this.

“I’m still waiting on that hot chocolate you promised,” Seongmin says, burrowing deeper under the covers. Minhee still has his flashlight on, face down, so the room isn’t completely dark anymore. When Minhee looks over at Seongmin, he sees the tiny smile he wears when he’s teasing.

“How do you suppose I should heat up the water?” Minhee asks, laughing. “I know I’m hot, but to that extent—”

Seongmin elbows him, hard.

“How many times are you going to hit me today?” Minhee asks.

“As many times as it takes,” Seongmin sniffs. “Stop bragging.”

“That you’re hitting me?” Minhee says, confused.

“No, the other thing.”

Huh? “That was a joke,” Minhee says. “I know no one can live up to Ahn Seongmin, but I have to keep my self-confidence up somehow.”

“Very funny,” Seongmin says, somehow so deep under the blankets now that only the top half of his face peeks out. “I can clearly see that you own a mirror.”

Minhee needs a few seconds to process this. Did Seongmin really just go from hitting him to hitting on him? This really might be the most roundabout way that he’s ever been called attractive. And another thing—is Seongmin really trying to say that he isn’t? Does he own a mirror?

“You’re joking, right?” Minhee says. He doesn’t know what else to say. The idea that Seongmin doesn’t see himself the way Minhee sees him is preposterous, an impossibility.

“Why would I be joking,” Seongmin mumbles, “you’re like a hundred and ninety centimeters tall and my entire portraits class is in love with you.”

“Um, that’s—”

Seongmin makes an unintelligible noise and ducks his entire head under the covers. He says something else, but Minhee has no idea what it was.

“What?” Minhee says.

More noises. This is going nowhere. Minhee lifts the covers up, scoots down beneath them so that he’s lined up with Seongmin.

“What did you say?” Minhee asks, trying to make out Seongmin’s face, so close to his.

“I said I used to have a better filter than this,” Seongmin says, looking at Minhee. His eyes look so bright in the dark. “I don’t know why you’re so…”

Minhee has never had a filter, which is the only reason why he says, “So charming? So ridiculously hot—”

“So horrible,” Seongmin says, swatting at his chest with a fist. Hits four and five of the day. “I literally don’t know why I—”

“You’re charming, too,” Minhee says, gently grabbing and holding Seongmin’s wrist. He hears Seongmin inhale, sharply. Good enough motivation to go on.

“Cute,” he says, moving his hand from Seongmin’s wrist to his hand.

“Beautiful,” he says, interlocking their fingers.

Minhee feels unbelievably greasy, has never done anything like this before—and especially hasn’t meant it—but the way Seongmin is holding his breath, eyes wide like twin moons, makes Minhee feel like it was worth it.

“Should I keep going?” Minhee says, thumb drawing patterns on the back of his hand. “Because trust me, I can.”

Seongmin sits up on an elbow. “You’re not just playing around, right?” he asks, as uncertain as Minhee’s ever heard him.

“I’m serious,” Minhee starts, “I—“

“I don’t want to be your, like, art department gay experiment—“

“You’re not,” Minhee says, laughing against his will. Ahn Seongmin, really.

“Why are you laughing,” Seongmin says, but it sounds like he’s smiling too.

“You make me laugh,” Minhee says. “I really like you, if that wasn’t already exceedingly obvious.”

Seongmin rests his other elbow on Minhee’s torso. Minhee doesn’t know if it’s the pressure on his chest or the way Seongmin’s looking at him that’s making it so hard to breathe. The fact that they’re both under a blanket can’t help, either.

Minhee’s eyes must have completely adjusted to the dark, because in this moment, he feels like he can see Seongmin perfectly. The fall of his hair, long enough now to be tucked behind his ears. His dark, perfect eyebrows, his upturned nose, the mole on the left, the hint of his teeth behind his slightly opened mouth. The lip tint he always wears, the one that smells like watermelon.

Minhee’s about to say something else, the silence between them after his confession becoming unbearable, but right as his mouth forms the first syllable—oh. Seongmin’s kissing him.

Minhee has only known Seongmin for a few months, and every new thing he learns about him feels like a gift. Like the way he kisses—shy and bold in equal measure. Seongmin in general feels like a series of contradictions to him: this person, hands like a sculptor’s, with two left feet. The way he’ll push Taeyoung away with one hand while taking care of him with the other. The way he knows himself so viscerally, but doesn’t believe that anyone else could too. One person, so many sides.

This person, here, in Minhee’s bed, in Minhee’s arms. Perfect, pocket-sized Ahn Seongmin.

When Seongmin pulls back, all Minhee can think is tastes like watermelon, too, before he reaches back up to kiss him again.

And when the lights buzz back on, half an hour later, Minhee feels a deep kinship with them—like something inside himself has turned on, too. Like something inside him has awakened from a long, long slumber.

-

“I really don’t know if I can do this,” Minhee says, weeks later.

“Just do it like we practiced,” Seongmin says, propped up against the pillows in Minhee’s bed, socked feet in his lap.

After finals, Minhee finally had an honest conversation with himself. Keeping the fact that he’s switching majors from his parents, at this point, was just making his stomach hurt. It was time.

But now that he’s here, staring at his phone screen, his stomach really, really hurts. He looks at the Fighting!!!<3 text from Hyeongjun and despairs.

“What if they…take it badly?” Minhee says. An understatement, most likely.

“Then they take it badly,” Seongmin says. “And then we lay in bed for the rest of the day and eat the ridiculous amount of chocolate I brought.” He gestures to his bag on the floor somewhere. “And then we figure out what to do next. One step at a time, hyung.”

Minhee guesses it doesn’t sound like the end of the world when he puts it like that. Minhee leans his head back against the wall, wrapping his fingers around one of Seongmin’s delicate ankles. “And you’ll stay? Even if I fall into a depression and don’t get out of bed for weeks?”

“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Seongmin says. “Not the depression, obviously. But staying in bed for weeks with you.”

“Cuddling is one of my many strengths,” Minhee says, tapping aimlessly on Seongmin’s leg. “In fact, why don’t we do that instead of—”

“Cuddling privileges revoked until you get off the phone,” Seongmin says, removing his legs from Minhee’s lap to sit with his knees up.

“I think that’s extortion,” Minhee says.

“You don’t know what that means,” Seongmin says, grabbing his phone. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’m really doing this?” Minhee says, looking at his phone on the other side of the bed like it’s going to grow teeth and bite him.

Seongmin looks back up at Minhee, eyes big and honest. “Yeah, and I know you can.”

Minhee looks at Seongmin, his perfect face, the tiny expressions that he’ll never get tired of figuring out. The way he somehow always knows what to say. He’s—Minhee doesn’t have words for what he is. He wishes he did. For now, smiling back at him is enough.

As Minhee’s about to press call, Seongmin puts his feet back in his lap. Okay? he mouths, and Minhee nods, already feeling more relaxed at the contact. The world isn’t going to end, one way or the other. He’s already made it this far.

He holds the phone up to his ear.