Chapter Text
Jinwoo ties his shoelaces, muttering under his breath, over under pull it tight make a bow pull it through to do it right. He unties them right away, cursing a little, dammit over under pull it tight make a bow pull it through to do it right, pulls the string tight. He sighs and pulls on a lace, unraveling his knot once more. Over under pull it tight make a bow—
With a groan of annoyance, Jinwoo gives up the whole affair, tossing the shoes aside before reaching over and righting them. He puts the shoes away in their cubby, making sure that they’re perfectly aligned before perusing the rest of his shoe collection. He settles on his usual pair of runners, sitting back down on the step and getting to work. His first try results in the right shoe being perfect and the left shoe being wrong; the Velcro is just a hair out of place. He undoes both shoes anyway.
Jinwoo is no longer on time anymore, too much time wasted on tie-up shoes. With his shoes finally to his satisfaction, he picks up his satchel and double-checks the papers he’d put in them. And then checks again. He grits his teeth and closes the satchel, sneaking one last peek before settling the bag around his shoulders.
Jinwoo doesn’t allow himself to take public transportation. There are simply too many things that can go wrong, and there was that one disastrous time when his inability to push the bus door open made him go almost half an hour longer on his ride. The walk home had been miserable and he’d vowed never again.
Now, Jinwoo is relieved that’s a relatively nice day out. A little windy, but otherwise manageable. He’s very good at avoiding the streets with the particularly unpleasant cracks in the roads, like the ones a block away where the city has neglected to maintain.
Stop.
Hesitate.
Stop.
Hesitate.
He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, only exhaling when he’s forced his feet over the crack. He feels the familiar race in his heart, even at this little action. He wonders if maybe one day he’ll develop heart problems. The pill he takes in the morning to handle his anxiety helps some, but it’s not perfect.
And if that doesn’t bother him like crazy, then he’ll be damned.
It takes him a while, but eventually he makes it to the coffee shop exactly five hundred and seventy three steps away from his house. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tissue, and carefully opens the door, making sure that the metal never actually touches his skin. It’s busy inside, the rush of school letting out and teenagers waiting for their coffee-and-sweet fixes making him vaguely nervous. He’s not socially anxious, per se, but the number of people in a room with him and the chances of him possibly getting touched by their filthy hands is directly proportional. He’d just rather not.
The wait in line isn’t all that bad, since he gets preoccupied with making sure the clip on his satchel is properly clasped over and over again, because he doesn’t remember checking it when he left his house earlier. When he gets to the front counter, he smiles because it’s Nam Taehyun and he is familiar.
“Hiya, Jinwoo-ssi.”
“Hello. Hello. Hello. Hell— Hi.”
It’ll do, and Taehyun’s grin doesn’t waver. “Just the usual, then?”
Jinwoo nods and reaches into his pocket, where his wallet lies safe. He knows; he’s checked four times.
“10 000 won, even.”
They’d worked this out a while ago. One bill, crisp and new from the bank. No change, no receipts. Very safe.
Jinwoo shuffles to the side to wait for his hot chocolate and apple strudel. He chats to Taehyun a little, tells him about the new chapter he’s just finished. Taehyun promises to do a proofread and presents Jinwoo his special order. Hot chocolate, paper cup. Strudel, china plate. Jinwoo has come often enough to trust Taehyun, so he thanks Taehyun again and goes to find a seat.
He’s a little disappointed to see someone already sitting in his usual seat, a corner table meant for two people. He hesitates a little before moving to the neighbouring table, discomfort rising at this change. It’s not that he’s attached to the table, or anything. It’s just that he kinda is.
A quick disinfecting wipe later, Jinwoo settles into chair and sets his satchel down on the table beside his food and drink. He takes a cursory sip, it’s still too hot, and pulls out his manuscript. He can do this at home, of course; it was one of the luxuries of at-home working that Jinwoo was eternally grateful for. However, after a couple of months of essentially never leaving his house unless necessary, Jinwoo had realized he needed a little social interaction.
Even if that just meant Taehyun the barista and the constant bustle of the café.
He’s in the process of underlining a sentence for the fifth time when he realizes someone is watching him. He looks up and catches eyes staring at him, the stranger looking away quickly, a faint pink blush colouring his cheeks. It’s the man who’d stolen his seat earlier. Jinwoo watches as the man discreetly peeks back at him, flushing even darker after being caught a second time.
Jinwoo is a little confused, until the man smiles shyly at him.
Oh, he thinks. He’s interested in me.
The notion is not altogether novel; he has some friends. Acquaintances. Whatever. He’s met them in various situations; it’s a little funny that he finally gets to have a cliché’d coffee shop encounter like the ones he sees on the TV dramas he likes to watch in the evenings.
“Hi,” he offers, pleased when it only takes him once.
The other man smiles deeper at this. “Hi,” he replies, white teeth flashing. He’s got a pleasant voice, deep. Calm. “What’re you doing?” he asks, looking down at the manuscript in Jinwoo’s hands.
“I’m editing.” He lifts the book a little to show the stranger. “My book.”
“Cool! You write?” The other man makes to get up from his seat, but Jinwoo stops him quickly.
“Wait, wait,” he says, gesturing at him to stop. “Can I come sit over there, instead? It’s just that that’s kind of my usual seat,” he explains after seeing the other’s face falter. Jinwoo gathers his things and moves over to the seat opposite.
“My name’s Jinwoo,” he says, carefully arranging his cup and his plate to make room for his satchel. He tries not to encroach on the other man’s space too much, but his satchel has to stay on the table.
“Mino,” is the reply. “Song Mino.” Mino smiles at Jinwoo again, eyes disappearing. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
Jinwoo laughs. “I actually come here pretty often. I’ve never seen you around.” Jinwoo feels justified in saying this because he visits the café once every three days, like clockwork.
Mino’s lip juts out. “Alright, you caught me. I didn’t know what else to say.” He leans forward a little and although Jinwoo has to lean back on reflex, he can’t help but notice how straight Mino’s nose is and how white his teeth are.
He’s really pretty, he ends up thinking.
“Well, I did mention the book that I’m writing…” Jinwoo offers as a conversation piece. He quickly erases the last line he’d made in the book, because it’s crooked, and tries again. Finally, it’s straight. I should have brought a ruler.
Jinwoo’s hot chocolate is safe to drink now, and he makes sure not to leave any crumbs on his plate. Mino’s only nursing a cup of coffee, which he takes sips out of now and then and Jinwoo is happy when there isn’t any residue on the lid. Mino is a really good conversationalist, and Jinwoo has to physically remind himself not to spoil the whole book by giving away the plot when Mino wheedles to know. He’s really proud of himself for not stumbling over his words too often, not like he normally would in otherwise simpler conversations. He finds that Mino’s laugh is contagious and that the tiny wrinkles that appear when he smiles are endearing rather than irritating.
Beautiful, Jinwoo amends.
“Why do you do that?” Mino asks, gesturing to where Jinwoo had just erased another line after having already drawn it five times. “Keep drawing it over and over again?”
It’s been a little over an hour (sixty-five minutes, according to Jinwoo’s watch) and Jinwoo had taken to editing while talking to Mino, since he’d finished his hot chocolate already. He’s never talked to anyone for this long before. He’d always get distracted by something they would do, or remember that he hadn’t checked whether or not his satchel is clasped properly.
He feels a pang of sadness, because he really had liked talking to Mino.
“I. I just do.” It’s all Jinwoo can offer. “The lines aren’t straight.”
“Obsessive-compulsive disorder?” Mino asks, but he doesn’t really mean it. Nobody ever does. They never expect it when Jinwoo nods, head
bowed in shame.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yes.”
As if it weren’t embarrassing enough.
“Oh.”
Jinwoo avoids looking at Mino. He knows it’s over; Mino’s going to leave. It’s too weird, too different. Technically, a mental disorder, and that just makes it worse, somehow. He waits for Mino to make some excuse, or worse, a joke, just like most people do.
So it surprises him when Mino says neither.
“What’s it like?” The curiosity in Mino’s voice is innocent, sincere. This makes Jinwoo look up, and Mino only looks curious, like when he’d asked about the names of the characters in Jinwoo’s book.
Jinwoo laughs a little, out of relief. “It sucks,” he says truthfully. “It’s a hassle even getting out of bed in the morning. Tying my shoes is impossible.” He smiles a little. “I never quite outgrew Velcro.”
Mino grins in response. “That’s cool. I can barely tie my shoes either, but that’s just because I’m kind of an idiot. I trip a lot.”
And just like that, the anxiety Jinwoo had felt creeping up on him dissipates. Jinwoo assures Mino that clumsiness is adorable, actually, and the warmth he feels is really pleasant.
They stay for half an hour longer, talking about other things. Jinwoo’s obsessive-compulsive disorder never comes up again, and it’s not like it’s being avoided. It’s just something Mino doesn’t feel the need to talk about. Mino leaves first, after carefully spelling out his phone number to Jinwoo because Jinwoo couldn’t actually accept the napkin he’d written it on. Jinwoo writes it down instead, on the margins of his manuscript. It surprisingly doesn’t bother him all that much. Mino waves and calls out a goodbye from across the café at the door, making Jinwoo blush and wave in return, not quite trusting his voice to reciprocate the farewell.
It’s as Jinwoo is making his long trek back to his house that he suddenly realizes he hadn’t once checked the clasp on his satchel since he’d first gotten to the café. He’d also forgotten to wipe down the table before sitting, forgotten to Purell his hands before leaving. And while he’s remembering all of this, he accidentally steps on a crack, and it doesn’t even make him stop. Of course, he pulls his hand sanitizer from his bag right away, and triple-checks the clasp afterwards. It hasn’t gone away, after all.
But meeting Mino had made him forget, if only for a little while, the little things that made him anxious. And that has never, ever happened before. Even now, Jinwoo finds himself preoccupied with the way Mino tilts his head a little when he laughs, and how his shirt was pressed.
It’s exhilarating.
Jinwoo carefully makes his way up the steps to his door, locking and unlocking it fifteen times behind him, hoping he’d be able to pluck up the courage to call Mino the next day. The smile on Jinwoo’s face stays there for the rest of the night.