Chapter Text
♱ ♱ ♱
The beauty of the campus lawn Mingi sits on is truly a sight to behold, especially during evenings this time of year. Autumn has thrown a shadow over the landscape with dark browns of fallen maple leaves and has infused the air with the chilly whisper of winter that will soon follow. As someone whose course demands creativity, he quite likes this spot. It has been his little refuge for the past two years. Everything from the earthy scent to the silence on this side of campus, soothes him, gives his mind the much needed tranquility it desires to let his thoughts run free and uninterrupted.
Today, however, the little moisture in the air settles on the short blades of grass forming droplets of dew that dampen Mingi’s dark blue uniform trousers, creating a clammy sensation against his skin. The bark of the tree prickles his back through the fabric of his blazer, and it’s staring to feel uncomfortable. There is also a persistent sound that comes from the clicking of his own mechanical pencil. He repeatedly presses the push cap till the lead extends all the way out, then presses it against his thigh, pushing it all the way back inside. It stings, but he believes it’s a well deserved punishment for his inability to think today.
He’s been sitting here for half an hour, yet the first page remains blank. He’s not supposed to fill it with classwork. Had that been his task, he’d have done it ten times over by now. No, this is a different kind of writing work. An initiative Mingi decided to take for himself - maintaining a journal. Because Mingi has thoughts. Lots of them. Sometimes they get so loud he doesn’t know what to do with them. When they consume him, he pours them onto paper and creates fiction. But in this journal he wants to do the opposite. He wants to write experiences that keep him anchored to reality, something that prevents him from drifting off. He tilts his head back, resting it against the rough tree trunk, letting it sting his scalp, as he fixes his gaze straight ahead. He keeps thinking about the last time he experienced something so good, it made him want to clutch onto it, but nothing comes to his mind.
His vision gets hazy until it fixes on the outline of a tower in a distance of about a hundred and fifty feet from where he is seated. Its stonework is of dull, greyish-brown bricks, dead ivies clinging to its walls and windows. It’s tall. It must have close to seven floors. It’s much like every other tower on campus - they are all old, though this one looks neglected, almost abandoned and rotten.
He’s heard things about this tower. He knows it’s been shut for well over a decade and a half, but he’s never cared for details. Never asked anyone for the story behind it, not his friend, not his seniors. He simply doesn’t care for rumours and gossip. All he knows is whatever it is about this tower, it keeps the students away, making the place quiet and empty, and that kind of solitude is exactly what he needs.. or has grown accustomed to.
He exhales as he focuses on it, trying to make its blurry lines appear crisp. As the shapes of the stones and the elaborate details of the metal frames of the windows begin to get clear, he catches sight of something else.
A figure.
Someone is seated on the steps that lead up to the entrance of that tower. Mingi can’t make out the features, not the shape of the face or the colour of clothes, but he’s sure it’s a body of a person. A person who seems to be staring back at him. Who else would the person be staring at? There’s no one else around except Mingi.
Mingi squints his eyes, tries to get a glimpse of its face, to see if he recognises that person. He doesn’t. Maybe it’s a guard or another student with a taste for solitude much like himself. Before he can dwell on it further, a familiar voice cuts in, pulling his gaze away.
“What are you staring at?”
Mingi knows who it is before he looks up. San stands there with his bag thrown over one shoulder, the other hand stuffed into the pocket of his trousers. The dark strands of his hair fall on the sides of his face, framing his soft features.
“Just-” Mingi looks ahead again, but there’s no one there now. He scrunches his brows in confusion, and glances around, but he sees no one. So he shakes it off. He must’ve imagined it, he tends to do that a lot. “Nothing, it seems,” he says, closing his journal and packing it into his bag, then standing up.
“You’re imagining things again,” San says, his head now tilted up to meet the taller’s eyes. They both start walking toward their dormitory building. Their dorms are in two separate parts of campus, but the initial path is the same. “Well, I was searching for you. I want you to come to the ball with me tonight.”
Mingi huffs. Every year, mid-September, the university organises a traditional ball to welcome the season of autumn. It’s the most anticipated event every year. A grand affair, or so a lot of people say. But Mingi isn’t the most fond of it. He’s never been one to enjoy big crowds and events. They make him feel small. He never feels like he belongs. The students who go there are the ones with partners they know will share a dance with them when the music gets slow. Mingi doesn’t have that. And neither does he have the sociability needed to ask a stranger for a dance.
It started young, when as a child his parents wanted to control every corner of his life to the point of deciding who did and didn’t get to be friends with Mingi. Only kids they deemed appropriate enough were allowed to play with him. He also wasn’t let out of the house much. They didn’t trust him, or perhaps they didn’t trust the world. They thought they were protecting him, but all they did was rip him off his ability to fit in.
“San, you know I’m not into such events. And I need to work.”
“Min, you’ve already skipped it twice. This is going to be the last one, and I really want you to come.” He holds Mingi’s arm and steps in his track, standing in front of him. “Just one night. Only a few hours. If you hate it to death, you can bail. And who knows, maybe you need a small break to get those creative juices flowing.”
Mingi knows San is not going to let it go. San is also probably the only person who could get Mingi to agree to do something so out of character. Even though he is fully aware of Mingi’s reserved and closed-off personality, he’s also always been a bit pushy. He says it’s to expand Mingi’s boundaries and to get him to try new experiences, and Mingi feels like he owes it to him. San was his first and only friend here. So he agrees. “Fine. I’ll come.”
Which is how, four hours later, he’s standing in the middle of the ballroom, dressed in a black suit, out of nothing but an obligation to his friend. San is around talking to a few of his other friends, occasionally pointing at Mingi and all Mingi does is offer a short smile. Otherwise, he just stands still by the railing of a staircase that spirals up, staring at the environment around him. He can’t bring himself to be a part of it. If there’s one thing he can do, it’s appreciating the decor of this place.
It’s splendidly decorated, yet still maintaining its elegance and sophistication. Fancy chandeliers hang gracefully from the high ceiling, extruding the light of bright, warm candles. The walls are adorned with paintings, all decades old, framed in gold, arranged in straight lines. The walls and pillars have intricate carvings, the floors are made of polished off-white marble. The orchestra playing in the background isn’t too loud or grating either. He’d loved to spend time in a place of such beauty if only the people crowding it could vanish.
He can’t have that though. So he takes a slow sip of his champagne, trying to savour it despite wishing it would’ve been a little sweeter. His eyes then catch San who is finally excusing himself from the group he had been talking to and making his way over to Mingi. “I assume you have spoken to zero people,” he remarks over the crowd separating them. When he reaches closer, he continues in a softer, secretive tone. “Do you want me to introduce you to any of my friends? I know a few pretty guys you may like.”
Mingi almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “I doubt they’d openly dance with another boy, San.”
San chuckles. “I’m sorry. I wish people weren’t so narrow-minded. Maybe you could dance with a girl for tonight. Just have fun,” he suggests.
Mingi finishes the last of the overly bitter liquid in the glass, the sharp taste lasting on his palate, then sets the empty glass down on a nearby table. “Thanks, San.. but I think I’ll just exist in this corner for tonight.”
“Sure,” San says. “I know I’ve already pushed you enough, so I won’t push further. I just want you to have a pleasant time. And who knows, maybe someone catches your eye later tonight.”
“Maybe,” Mingi repeats softly.
Fifteen minutes pass. San has left again, having completely forgotten about him. Mingi knew this would happen. He knew he’d have San by his side for ten minutes before being left alone. But at the same time, it feels unreasonable to demand San’s attention. That boy is here to enjoy and it feels wrong to hold him back from having fun. The only person he can truly blame is himself. He should have simply refused the invitation.
Eventually, the orchestra gradually drifts into slower, more soothing music. People around him fall into a slow dance with their partners. In the midst of it all, Mingi gets nudged back into the dimmest corner of the hall. He tells himself he should like this. He’s always convinced himself that solitude is his best companion. But in this moment, he hates it. Because right now, he isn’t alone by choice. He’s alone because no one chose him. And standing amidst this massive sea of bodies, each held in the arms of another, he is forced to see the truth.
The truth being that he is lonely.
His eyes fall on San and the girl dancing with him - his girlfriend, Yiseo. They met in the first year of university. They’ve been together for two years now. So deeply in love, so perfectly compatible with each other. It shows in everything they do. Even now, as they dance, Mingi notices how their bodies move in sync, how easily they follow each other’s rhythm. And Mingi’s happy for them, but he also wishes he could find something like that. Wishes he could feel that sort of connection with someone. Someone who touches his heart.
But in his twenty-one years of being alive, he’s never felt it. It’s not like he’s never gotten intimate before. He’s had a fair share of bodies in his bed. But that’s all it has ever been. A night of meaningless sex with guys who only want the thrill of something hot and rough without the will to commit. He always had a stupid hope that on some miraculous morning, he’d wake up with a boy still in his bed. That they would take it further. Do cheesy things like holding hands under the classroom benches. But he’d always wake up in a cold, empty bed, and it’d leave him feeling hollow and unwanted. And Mingi understands their fear. After all, it isn’t often he sees two men holding hands openly.
Before the admiration can turn into jealousy, he squeezes past the pairs of bodies till he spots the exit doorway. When he steps out, it’s into a long, empty corridor. Wall sconces hang at every few feet, emanating a bleak yellow light. The sound of the ball inside reaches his ears in a muffled tone.
He leans against the wall, feeling the rough texture against his back, and exhales a breath into the cool air. He needs to be alone for a while, to gather his thoughts and to find some peace away from all the chaos inside, and for a moment, as he stands in the corridor, he thinks he really is alone. But then, a strange sensation washes over him, a presence that begins to make itself known. It starts as a chill that creeps through his entire body, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
He feels as though he’s being watched.
And then, in the corner of his eye, he catches the outline of a shadowy silhouette. When he turns his head, he becomes sure of it. There’s someone standing at the very end of the corridor, watching him. A figure much similar to the one he saw earlier that evening. And as if the figure knows it has captured Mingi’s attention, it turns to its side and starts walking away, disappearing around the far corner.
Mingi is not sure what compels him to follow, but there is an inexplicable force that urges him to move. He pushes off the wall and starts walking toward it. When he reaches the end of the corridor and turns, all he catches is the fleeting glimpse of the figure’s back as it walks out of the corridor into the night. And Mingi, almost in a trance-like state, keeps following. He trails behind the figure, away from the ball, across the campus, questioning nothing. All he knows is he feels drawn to whoever that is.
A few minutes into the walk, he realises where he’s being led - toward the abandoned tower. The figure walks in, but when Mingi reaches the entrance to the tower, he halts for a second, contemplating whether to go in or not. He knows he isn’t allowed to go in, he knows there must be consequences if he does, that the authorities would take action against it. Yet he enters.
He’s greeted by a vast, dark lobby enveloped in such profound silence, the sound of his own footsteps echoes off the walls. The air is so still, like it hasn’t been disturbed in years. Even dust has settled calmly, covering every surface around him. A grand staircase leads upwards, and when Mingi listens closely, he hears the faint creak of the wooden steps. He follows the sound and begins ascending the stairs till he reaches the second floor, and emerges into a corridor that stretches long ahead of him. There is a door at the end of it, hardly visible in the gloom. It creaks as it shuts, like someone had just walked through it.
He approaches the door, and this is the part where he truly hesitates. His pulse quickens, drumming beneath his skin. The smart thing to do would be to turn away, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. And Mingi is never one to turn away from something that calls to him. Moreover, what would be the point of turning away after he’s already come so far? So he swallows the unease and pushes the door open again. The hinges groan in protest, but the sight he finds steals his breath away.
It’s a library. A magnificent and beautiful structure. There are two floors within the library itself, and rows upon rows of dark wooden shelves stretch endlessly. The floor beneath him is dark mahogany, and so are the walls and tables. Massive glass windows line one wall, allowing the moonlight to spill in. The books on the shelves are few. Understandable. They must’ve been shifted into the new library in the main tower after this one had been shut down. Still, the place seems almost dreamlike. If Mingi’d known of it any earlier, he’d have made home here, refused to ever leave. What a shame it had to be locked away and left to decay.
He walks in deeper, in search of the figure that had led him up here. He turns down an aisle and sees nothing. So he moves on to another and another, till he hears a voice that startles him out of his skin.
“Looking for me?”
It has a timbre so deep it vibrates through Mingi’s bones. He turns sharply and that is when he finally sees him. A boy stands before him, not looking much older or younger than himself. He’s about Mingi’s height and has a lean and delicate build. He is dressed in a soft brown sweater, a crisp white shirt collar peeking from underneath the neckline, all neatly tucked into black trousers. His hands are clasped behind his back. And then there’s that look on his face. A grin on his peach-tinted lips and a twinkle in his eyes that hold mischief as he looks at Mingi with his head tilted. His skin is pale as porcelain, almost glowing under the moonlight. His hair is dark and tousled, and its stray strands fall over his forehead. There’s a scent to him too. It’s woodsy, like pines. If he closed his eyes and inhaled deeper near the boy’s neck, it would seem like he were standing in the middle of a forest.
“I didn’t expect you to follow me all the way up here.”
Mingi stands there speechless, barely able to comprehend the boy’s words as his heart stays caught in fascination. He should say something, instead of stupidly standing there with his mouth agape. But the boy’s beauty is unreal, and his mind can’t focus on anything other than how otherworldly gorgeous he looks.
The boy’s brows crunch, and a pout forms on his lips. “Hello?” He leans slightly forward and waves a hand in front of Mingi’s face. “You haven’t said a word. Can you not see me?” His tone is not rude, rather of genuine confusion and maybe even worry as to why Mingi is not responding.
Mingi blinks, momentarily taken aback. “I-I’m sorry, I can. I see you.”
“Sweet,” the boy pipes, the smile on his lips returning. He turns around and starts walking out of the aisle, and yet again, Mingi trails behind him like he’s on a leash. The boy stops when he reaches one of the windows and gazes outside.
“Was it you? Earlier this evening?” Mingi is the one to question this time.
“When you were sitting on the lawn on the forbidden side of campus?” The boy says, then gives a short nod. “Yes, that was me you saw.”
“And you left all of a sudden,” Mingi reminds. He stands right beside the boy, just a step behind so he can see the side of the boy’s face. “Where did you go?”
“To get ready for the ball,” he responds. His hands fold on the windowsill in front of him and he rests his chin on his arm, gazing outside with a longing look in his eyes at the main university tower where the ballroom is situated. “I put a lot of effort into getting ready. I thought if I looked pretty, someone might want to dance with me. But no one looked my way. I feel as though I’m invisible to them.”
Mingi stares, bewildered. How could anyone possibly ignore a face like that? Those round, expressive eyes half hidden by his hair, those pretty lips the boy was currently chewing on. More shockingly, how had Mingi not seen him? His eyes surely would’ve caught sight of him.
“You’ve gone silent again. Do you not want to talk to me?” The boy’s voice comes.
“No,” Mingi cuts in quickly. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised I didn’t notice you in there. I mean you’re..” He trails off, eyes roaming the boy’s features that keep drawing him in like he’s under a spell. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. Heat rushes to his cheeks the moment he says it and he drops his gaze to the floor. Had he said too much? Had he made him uncomfortable? But then he hears the sound of the boy’s giggle.
“You really think that?” He asks, eyes wide. Mingi nods and the boy steps closer to him. “Then will you dance with me?”
Mingi’s head snaps back up. “Oh, I-I don’t know about that.. I’m not good.”
“Please?” The boy urges. “It’s been so long since I danced with someone.”
Mingi finds himself in a state of quandary. But again, he remembers that pout he has seen on the boy’s face and how it had tugged at his heartstrings. He doesn’t want to upset him. With a resigned sigh, he agrees. “Fine. Tell me what I must do.”
“Really?” The boy claps his hands and a smile so carefree spreads across his face, Mingi feels he just got a few more years added to his life. He quickly throws his arms around Mingi’s shoulders, locking his fingers behind his nape and tugging him closer. “You don’t have to do anything specific. We just hold each other and dance. It’s supposed to be fun. C’mon, hands on my waist.”
The request catches Mingi off guard. He knew he’d have to hold the boy if he had to dance with him, but hearing him say it makes Mingi’s mind fuzzy. He breaks from his haze and guides both his hands to the boy’s waist. It’s slim, almost disappearing under his palms, but there’s one more thing Mingi notes. His body is cold to the touch. So cold that Mingi feels it through the layers of clothing. But he tries not to pay mind to it.
“Is this comfortable?”
The boy hums. “It’s perfect. Now, can you hear the sound of the music?”
Mingi tries to focus, and from the distance, the low melody of the orchestra seeps into his ears. “I can.”
“Good. Now we dance,” the boy says, and starts moving with grace. His movements are slow, swaying his body first as if he’s waiting for Mingi to find a rhythm that matches his. Once Mingi does, he starts moving his feet. Mingi’s feet move along with his, and gradually they begin to move in sync, their bodies flowing together as if they were always meant to dance this way. Mingi finds himself getting the hang of it as if it was something he was born to do. The boy smiles at him broadly. “Not that difficult, right?”
“You make it easy to follow along,” Mingi replies. This really does feel too easy. More than it should. It brings him a sense of peace and comfort that is almost overwhelming, like this is precisely what his heart and body have been yearning for all along.
The boy suddenly moves his arms, locking them more tightly around Mingi’s neck. He leans forward and rests his forehead in the crook of Mingi’s neck, making his breath hitch. Mostly because of the closeness, and also because his forehead feels awfully cold against Mingi’s skin.
“Hey,” Mingi calls him gently. “You seem cold. Let me give you my coat.”
“No,” the boy responds. When he exhales, a cool breath tickles Mingi’s skin. “Let’s just stay like this. Besides, you’re warm enough.”
“Oh..” Mingi swallows the bile. He’s sure the boy must’ve heard it go down his throat. And then, pushing aside all the odd things, he simply lets himself get lost in this feeling. Lets himself have this closeness, lets himself hold this boy, lets their bodies sway.
But as all good things come to cease, the melody of the orchestra stops.
The boy pulls away slowly, almost reluctant in his movement. His hands slide across Mingi’s shoulders, down his arms, and he turns his head around to look outside the window. “They stopped playing the music.”
“The ball must’ve ended,” Mingi says. For some reason, he doesn’t let go of the boy yet, still holding onto him. “Did you have fun?”
The boy turns to face Mingi again and nods. “Yes. So much!”
His smile makes one spread on Mingi’s face too. Unwillingly, he lets go of him and turns to the window himself, leaning his forearm against the sill. He sees small figures spilling out of the main tower, making their way across campus toward their respective dorms.
“We should leave too,” Mingi says.
“Yeah, goodnight,” the boy responds.
That is when he suddenly realises he never asked for the boy’s name. A slight pang of embarrassment hits him as he turns around. “Wait, what’s your-” The rest of the words get swallowed back.
The boy is gone.
The library is completely empty. Not a soul in sight. Mingi furrows his brows as he starts walking, peering into aisles to catch a glimpse of the mysterious boy he’d shared a dance with less than a minute ago. But he isn’t there. Neither can he hear the sound of footsteps that could hint at where he must’ve headed. Where could he have possibly run off to in such a short time? It’s like he vanished.
It’s strange, he thinks, but it’s possible he just left. It hurts that he did without offering a name, but maybe it slipped the boy’s mind too. Mingi just sighs and makes his way back to his dorm.
Ten minutes later, Mingi steps into the room. With a quick splash of water on his face and after changing out of his clothes into more comfortable ones, he takes a seat at his desk. He retrieves the journal and flips it open to the very first page. When he picks up a pen and starts writing, his thoughts flow out effortlessly.
Friday, September 14, 1984
If I were to confine this night with one word, it would be serendipitous. Because tonight, quite unexpectedly, I met him. He appeared dreamlike. He had the fairest skin, almost luminescent under the moonlight. He had the most gorgeous set of brown eyes that drew me in the longer I stared. He had the loveliest pair of lips that curved into a carefree grin. I hadn’t meant to find him. He just so happened to be there. I just so happened to follow him, instinct rather than reason. We just so happened to share a dance. There was a feeling of bliss when I held him close. A feeling of disappointment when he left without uttering his name. But I do not call it an ending. Because he will return to me, or I to him. I will search for him. I will find him. He kept me grounded like nothing ever has and I will not let him slip away. Luck has played it’s part. The rest belongs to me.
♱ ♱ ♱
It’s fifteen minutes to eight o’clock, and Mingi is in his early morning class, settled in his usual seat - second row, fourth from the left. It has been two whole days since that encounter, and he hasn’t seen the boy since. Mingi’d taken rounds of the campus over the weekend, hoping to find him, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. So Mingi’d convinced himself that it was possible he lived off campus. He must’ve gone back home.
Another part of him wonders if that moment in the library had just been a part of his dream. Maybe a figment of his imagination. A scenario he created in his head fuelled by his loneliness. But the memory of it feels too tangible, and there was that page in his journal sitting on his desk which tells him it was in fact real. For now, though, he tries to focus on something else. He can’t have his thoughts wandering around that boy. The students are slowly settling in, class is about to begin soon, and he needs to focus. He tries to fix his gaze on something random so that the image of the boy doesn’t return.
But instead, all he sees is his classmates sitting in large groups with their friends. Couples being cheesy with each other. He hears conversations about all the fun they had at the ball that night. Mingi needs to block out all of it, so he decides to drop his head to his desk and close his eyes.
Though before he can, he notices San standing by the door. Next to him is Yiseo, laughing and teasingly smacking San’s chest. San hugs her and places a small kiss on her cheek. Mingi doesn’t mean to stare. He also doesn’t mean to feel that prick in his chest at the sight. He almost loathes himself for feeling that way, but he just wishes he had that too. Quickly, he looks away as San enters, and a few seconds later, his friend slumps down on the chair beside him, tilts his head against the backrest, and exhales.
“You don’t look too good,” Mingi remarks.
“I’m not good. I have a really bad headache and I have no idea what caused it,” San groans. He presses his hand to his forehead, massaging his temple.
“Did you get enough sleep?” Mingi asks.
“You know I sleep like a dog on weekends,” San humours. Then, as if he’s remembering something else, he looks over at Mingi with furrowed brows. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask.. where did you go that night? I was searching for you before leaving, but you weren’t there.”
“Yeah, I-” Mingi pauses. Would it make sense to tell San about the boy he met? Would San even take Mingi seriously if he gives him no name? There are two possibilities. San would either laugh at him for being stupid enough to not ask his name. Would make him feel foolish without really intending it. Or he would simply dismiss the story as unbelievable. So Mingi settles for the safer option. He lies. “I left early. Went back to my room. I really wasn’t enjoying it.”
San nods to it. “Well, I’m sorry. I know I’m the one who dragged you there and then.. left you.”
“Don’t be. Don’t let my brooding stop you from having fun with her. She’s your priority,” Mingi waves it off, too used to pretending like it doesn’t bother him. He offers a smile to ease some tension. But it does hurt a little. He just wishes San would see him. After all, San has known them both for the same amount of time, so why is Mingi always easier to forget? Why is it that no one ever chooses him? He’s always been nothing more than a forgetful shadow in other people’s lives. He’s never had a best friend to call his own. Never a lover. Not once in his life.
“Still, Mingi,” San says. “I feel terrible. How can I make it up to you?”
“San, really you don’t-” Before Mingi can finish the sentence, his gaze drifts to the door of the classroom. Through the narrow glass cutout in the middle, he sees him.
The same boy from that night. He’s standing there wearing a serene expression, so perfectly still like he’s been there for a while, simply watching. His lips are curved into a faint smile, and his body looks so pale against the dense corridor. The boy lifts his hand to offer a wave. His pupils dilate till they swallow the chocolate brown of his irises whole. And then, he drops his hand to his side, turns, and walks away.
“Min,” San calls, shifting to cut into Mingi’s view. He follows Mingi’s gaze with a furrowed brow, then turns back to him. “What are you looking at-”
“You want to make it up to me?” Mingi cuts in. “Tell Professor Shin that I’m terribly sick and will be a little late to class.” Saying that, he grabs his bag, not giving San a chance to reply as he rushes out, hoping to catch that boy. But when he steps outside the classroom, the boy is gone.
Mingi pauses there. He scans both ends of the corridor, darts his eyes toward staircases that lead to different parts of the building, but he doesn’t see the boy anywhere. He starts walking. He peers into the classrooms he passes. Perhaps the boy had simply come to say hi before heading into his class. But the boy isn’t in any of the rooms either.
Feeling a sense of unease and frustration, Mingi decides to follow his gut. He begins to retrace his steps from the night of the ball. He heads right back to the tower where the boy had led him to. He enters the lobby, then walks up the stairs to the second floor right into the library. A part of him feels foolish for thinking he’d find that boy here again, but hope is all there is on his side right now.
He walks through the aisles, growing more nervous every second that he fails to find him, but after a while of making his way around the library, he spots him. The boy is sitting on a short wooden ladder in an aisle. He’s in uniform today, and Mingi notes how good he looks in it. In his hand is an open book with a dull red cover and his eyes are fixed on its pages. He’s slouched over as he reads. His knees are glued to each other but his feet are placed slightly apart. Mingi’s heart skips a beat at the sight before relief settles.
The boy, perhaps sensing Mingi’s arrival, lifts his gaze and his expression immediately gets painted in surprise. A smile plays on his lips and he closes the book, keeping it back in its spot on the shelf. “I didn’t think you were going to follow me again,” he says.
“Why would you think that?” Mingi questions, walking closer.
“Most people don’t wish to see me,” the boy responds.
“Those people are ridiculous,” Mingi says as he reaches him, now standing in front of the ladder. He offers the boy his hand. He takes it as he stands, descending the steps carefully. When he’s on the last one, he holds Mingi’s shoulder for extra support. When his feet touch the floor, their faces get a bit too close, and Mingi takes a step back to give him some space. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Mhmm,” the boy says. “You could even say I live here. It’s such a beautiful place. Wouldn’t you like to spend time here?”
“I would live here if I could,” Mingi replies. This place really does bring him an odd sense of comfort. He doesn’t know if it’s the books, the silence, or if it’s the boy.
The boy takes a step closer, and Mingi can’t move further away for his back is already touching the shelf. He studies him with his head tilted. “You should. Then we’ll be able to spend so much time together. I’ve read the few books that are left here. I can narrate them to you and you can read me the ones I haven’t gotten a chance to read.”
Mingi just smiles, going along with the joke. “Sure. I’ll apply to room here next semester if you promise to arrange a comfortable bed for me.”
The boy giggles. “Come, let’s sit,” he says, curling his long, slender fingers around Mingi’s wrist, tugging him along toward a table.
Mingi shivers at the touch, still just as cold as a previous night, but he decides he’ll just have to get used to it. He lets himself get dragged to a chair and he takes a seat there. The boy, however, doesn’t sit next to him. He hops onto the table in front of Mingi, legs parted, hanging on either side of Mingi’s chair.
Mingi’s cheeks turn pink. He leans against the backrest of his chair and drifts his gaze away. “Uhh, are you.. okay with this?”
“I am. You’ve got a very pretty face. I want to look at you while we talk,” the boy says. The words are enough to make Mingi’s heartbeat drum faster, but then in an unexpected touch, the boy holds Mingi’s face in both his hands and coaxes him to look forward. “I would like if you could look at me too. It makes me feel seen. Can you do that for me?”
Mingi’s face heats, not enough to override the coolness of the boy’s hands but enough to make his cheeks go from pink to red. He feels mesmerised by the sight in front of him. Sunlight spills into the library from a window right behind the boy, creating a glowing outline around his figure, catching his hair at angles that make it look soft and flowy. Dust particles swirl in the air around him, shining like glitter. It gives him an almost fragile beauty. Mingi hums and nods like he’s in a trance. “Yeah, I can do that for you.”
“Thank you,” the boy says, hands sliding down Mingi’s face, brushing against his jaw, before settling back in the boy’s lap.
“So,” Mingi clears his throat, attempting to shake off the tingling sensation, and to make sure that his next question doesn’t sound like a harsh interrogation. “You were outside my class. And you just waved and left. Why’d you do that? Why not wait for me?”
“I wanted to see if you’d know where to find me,” the boy says.
A bit odd, Mingi thinks. Maybe the boy is playful. But there is one more thing that bothers him. “How did you know which class I was attending?”
“I asked around,” the boy replies, his words coming out swiftly and somewhat vaguely, as if he had already rehearsed his response beforehand. “You’re Song Mingi, right? From the Literature Studies department.”
“Wow, yes, I am. And I’m a bit embarrassed,” Mingi says. The boy had gone out of his way to find him. He came back to look for him. It’s not a competition, Mingi knows that, but he wishes he had been quicker and found the boy first. “Can I know your name? Or do you want me to match your effort and dig it up on my own?”
“You’re funny.” The boy laughs. He then leans down, close to Mingi’s ear, lips brushing against the lobe as he whispers his name like a secret. “I’m Jeong Yunho.”
“Jeong Yunho,” Mingi repeats, savouring the three syllables as they roll off his tongue. He doesn’t know what he’d expected to hear, but he couldn’t have imagined a more fitting name. It suits him perfectly. Like it was crafted specifically for this boy and no one else. “You’ve got a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” Yunho smiles, softly at first. Then his teeth catch his lower lip, like he’s trying to keep the smile from appearing too shy. He blushes too. It’s the lightest shade of dusty pink but it’s vibrant against the pale canvas of his skin. “You’re really nice to me. I like you.”
Mingi only smiles. He clears his throat and tries to aim for normalcy when he asks, “And what department are you in?”
Yunho goes quiet for a second before he answers rather unwillingly, “History.”
“Oh?” Mingi exclaims. “My friend’s girlfriend is in the History department. Her name is Yiseo. You two must know each other-”
“We don’t,” Yunho cuts in all of a sudden, in a sharp, clipped tone. The smile is quick to wear off his face, replaced by an unnatural stillness. The blush washes away too, and when he speaks, it’s with a straight face. “She doesn’t know me. And I don’t know her. I’m a quiet student. I rarely talk to anyone. I don’t talk to anyone. So don’t ask her about me.”
Mingi’s lips part, but no words come out. Mostly because of how taken aback he is. That dull tone, that strange, borderline warning look in Yunho’s eyes. What was that? When Mingi replies, what comes out is not really coherent. “Umm, y-yeah, okay.. I won’t.”
“Sweet,” Yunho quips, the smile creeping back on like nothing happened.
Mingi forces a laugh. He gets a strange, uneasy feeling in his chest. He looks down at his watch and sees there are still two minutes for his class to begin. “My class will start soon. I told my friend to put in a word, but I think it would be best if I try and get there in time. I should probably go.”
“Oh, okay.” Yunho nods, like he’s processing the words slowly. The light in his eyes is gone and he clearly seems upset, like he’s caught on.
Mingi doesn’t waste more time as he gets off the chair and makes his way to the door, but before he can leave, a hand circles around his wrist, causing him to stop abruptly and spin around. Yunho is holding his hand.
Mingi doesn’t have a chance to get a word out before Yunho leans in and places a small kiss on Mingi’s cheek, just above his jaw. Mingi’s breath betrays him and he goes still as a rock. Shocked, he brings his hand to his cheek and slides his fingers on the spot where Yunho’s cold lips had just been.
Slowly, he meets Yunho’s eyes. “W-what was that for?”
“It’s an apology,” Yunho says. His lips hold a tiny apologetic pout and his eyes carry genuine guilt. His hands stay clasped behind his back and his stance conveys sincere worry. “I know you’re leaving because of how I just behaved. And I’m sorry for how I talked to you. I don’t want to leave a bad impression and scare you away too. I just don’t want you to mention my name to anyone.”
Mingi exhales and presses his lips into a thin, assuring smile. “Then this is how you should’ve said it, Yunho. I was worried I did something wrong and upset you.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Yunho says with sincerity. “You didn’t say anything wrong. So can you forgive me.. please?”
“Hey,” Mingi says, placing his hand on Yunho’s shoulder and giving it a gentle caress. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologise. And don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell anyone. Our secret is safe with me.”
Yunho’s smile returns. “You’re a very good boy, Mingi.”
Mingi lets out a soft chuckle that carries a hint of amusement. “Now, I really have to go. Professor Shin is quite strict. You must know him. I’ve heard she takes a few classes in the History department too.”
Yunho doesn’t react to it. He remains unfazed and only shrugs, not giving a straight yes. “Hmm, sure,” he mumbles.
Mingi chooses not to analyse it further. He takes it at face value, then, with a final nod, he walks out.
That evening, after hours of continuous classes, Mingi is exhausted by the time he returns to his dorm. Normally, he’d crash onto his bed and simply lie there for a good fifteen minutes before sitting down to study, but today, he heads straight to his desk. There’s a thing he needs to get done before he rests. He needs to spill out his thoughts. So, he reaches for the journal he keeps in the corner of his desk, placing it open in front of him. He turns a page after the first entry and begins writing again.
Monday, September 17, 1984
I was half convinced that our first encounter had been a fluke of circumstance. But today, he returned to me. He must care for me to go to the extent of seeking me out. When he spoke my name, all I could think of was how I wanted him to say it again, and again. Not too loud and clear, I wanted him to whisper it close to my ear so I could feel his voice under my skin. In turn, I also learnt his. I won’t write it here - he insisted I mustn’t mention it to a soul. But I will say, it was just as beautiful as him.
Then something changed. He got upset, spoke with such detachment, it unsettled me. But then, just as abruptly, he apologised with a kiss on my cheek. It was brief. I don’t know what to make of it. It felt less like affection and more like reclamation. I found it rather odd, but perhaps that’s simply who he is. I should be careful around him, learn his boundaries, understand what pleases and displeases him. I must give him no reason to ever be upset again. I don’t like seeing him that way, and I especially don’t want to be the reason behind that look ever again.
♱ ♱ ♱
Evening classes have always been Mingi’s least favourite part of the day. Typically, by the time these classes end, Mingi is exhausted and drained, but not anymore. Because now, as dusk seeps in through the windows, Mingi finds himself restless for an entirely different reason. He has something that makes these long hours worthwhile, rewarding even. It’s because he gets to meet Yunho after. The thought alone makes the monotony bearable.
It’s been a week since their secret meetings in the library began. Every day, after class, Mingi makes his way to the lonely library in that tower, and every day, without fail, Yunho is there waiting for him.
When they talk, it’s always Yunho who starts with a small question. So Mingi responds, tells Yunho about his day, his classes and professors, little details of his life like a stupid dream he had. These small things, so trivial otherwise, feel more meaningful just because he’s sharing them with Yunho. And Yunho listens to him attentively, so much it makes Mingi a bit self-conscious at times.
Yunho talks too. He talks a lot, really. Between the two of them, it’s clear Yunho is the one who carries their conversations. He knows how to fill the silence. He talks easily. But there’s something else Mingi notices. For all the words Yunho offers, he doesn’t reveal much about himself. He never talks about his classmates or his professors. Never complains about how tedious his studies are. Mingi doesn’t know which dormitory building Yunho lives in. He’s probably never heard Yunho mention a friend. It’s like Mingi knows nothing about him outside of the time they spend together in the library.
Even when Mingi asks, Yunho smiles over his pale features. Sometimes he says ‘I read books.’ Other times, when he’s in the mood to tease, he says, ‘I spent my day waiting to meet you.’ That, with a curve of his lips, a bat of his lashes, and an affectionate tone is enough to make Mingi’s composure falter. All his rationality dissolves. He forgets to insist and ask again.
But maybe Yunho is just private. Maybe trust takes him longer than others. And Mingi is fine with that. He’s ready to wait. Something about Yunho makes him want to wait. He wants to believe that all this must be leading somewhere. After all, would Yunho kiss Mingi’s cheek every evening if it didn’t mean something? And they’re no longer the apologetic kind. He does it simply because he feels like it. And he’s always there in the library before Mingi arrives, always reading a book, or maybe simply holding it open in his hands, but he’s there.
Mingi has also stayed true to his word. He hasn’t broken his promise. He hasn’t told anyone about Yunho, not even San. But despite that, he’d started getting curious glances thrown at him. He zones out often in the thoughts of Yunho, and San always has to nudge him back to reality, which is always followed by a look of concern. Even now, he rests his elbow atop the desk with his head resting on his palm, hardly registering the contents of the class. He’s more focused on the ticking of the seconds hand of his watch, mentally counting down numbers till it strikes six o’clock.
As soon as it does, Mingi is shoving his belongings into his bag. He’s only getting up to leave when San calls him from the side. “Mingi, where are you going? I thought we were going to study together today.”
Mingi halts. Right. The study session. He and San had planned it a few days ago. To go over a few topics together and help each other prepare for the mock test that would be conducted a week later. And while there is nothing he wants more than to run straight to Yunho and look into those eyes, he can’t break a promise he made to his friend. So he plays it off. “I do remember. I was just about to ask.”
San quickly stuffs his bag and throws it over his shoulder walking out with Mingi. Together, they make their way toward the library. This is a different one located on the fourth floor of the main university tower that was opened shortly after the previous one in the abandoned tower had been shut down. They make their way to it, and much like every hour of the day, it’s packed. It’s the busiest spot on campus after the cafeteria.
Mingi follows San inside, who leads him to an empty table he’s lucky to find at this hour. They settle down on it, take out their material, and begin. They mostly work quietly on their own, helping out the other when it is needed. And Mingi likes this. It’s been a while since he spent time with San. These days, San’s world revolves around Yiseo, and who was Mingi to demand San’s attention? Even Mingi’d busied himself with Yunho in the past week, so their interaction had reduced further, only to a minimum during the classes they attended together. So this feels like a pleasant change.
But of course it has to be short-lived. After all, how could Mingi ever be the sole focus of anyone else’s attention for longer than ten minutes?
Fifteen minutes into their session, the chair next to San screeches as it gets pulled back by a girl. Yiseo stands there, smiling. “Hi,” she greets and leans down to press a kiss to San’s cheek.
“Yi,” San remarks, startled but happily so. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to get some work done, and there isn’t a single empty table,” she tells her boyfriend, utterly unaware of the tiny pinch it caused to Mingi. Then her eyes flicker toward Mingi, “I know you two are studying, but do you mind if I sit here? I’ll do my work quietly.”
“Oh, not at all. Please, sit,” Mingi says. It’s a lie, but it’s the right thing to say. It’s not resentment he feels. It’s the ache of being so easily replaced. But still, Mingi says nothing further. He tries to keep his eyes and mind fixed in his material, trying to block out everything else around him. He thinks he can ignore her presence, that if he focuses on his work, he can forget she’s sitting here, intruding on a time between two friends. This was supposed to be their time. Now, she’s here.
But then he hears a giggle. He looks up to see San and Yiseo nudging shoulders. And Mingi shouldn’t care. He should feel happy for the love they share, but instead a part of him gets triggered, and the spark of frustration grows. It’s a small, ugly thing. Jealousy mixed with longing. He feels it crawl up his throat and he hates himself for it. He tries to shove it back down, but it doesn’t go away. Instead, a voice in his head tells him that he should leave.
So he gets up abruptly, the wooden legs of the chair creating a shriek as they drag against the floor. It turns a few heads towards him, including San’s and Yiseo’s. The two of them go silent and exchange concerned glances.
“Mingi, you okay?” San asks.
“Yeah,” Yiseo adds. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing. I can leave-”
“No, please. You don’t have to go.” Mingi says quickly to not build doubt. “I just.. I don’t feel too good. My head hurts.” He turns to San. “I’m sorry, San. I know I promised we’d study, but..”
“I understand. It’s okay, Min,” San assures. “Is there anything I can do to help? Should I walk you to your room ?”
“I’ll manage<“ Mingi says. “I’ll just go and get some shut eye.”
“Okay, take care. Let me know if I can do anything.”
San gives him a small wave, and Mingi offers a forced smile in response, turning quickly to leave before they can catch the disappointment on his face. When he walks out, he doesn’t go back to his dorm. He goes back to that old library. To Yunho.
His thoughts spiral as he walks there. Is he the insufferable one here? Is he wrong for letting that bother him? He made a promise to San and he kept it. He delayed his meeting with Yunho. So couldn’t San ask her to leave, or keep it down at the very least?
He’s so lost in thought that as he steps into the library, he doesn’t notice the figure that lunges at him in an inhumanly fast motion, making a loud sound. Mingi stumbles back, a startled voice tearing out of his throat, and his shoulder slams into the edge of the doorframe. He clutches his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath his palm. But when he looks at the face.
It’s just Yunho.
Mingi exhales, his pulse still pounding, but Yunho is breathless with laughter, barely able to keep himself upright. “You-” Yunho gasps between fits of laughter, clutching at his stomach, really amused and proud of himself. “You should have seen your face. You looked so cute. Like a scared little child.”
Mingi’s heartbeat hasn’t settled yet. “Why would you do that, Yunho?” He says slowly, pressing on each word.
“It’s like you saw a ghost,” Yunho teases. His laughter is still spilling out, and somehow, it makes Mingi’s alarm thaw under it. Even the bitter feeling in his chest that had been provoked during the study session begins to fade just from the sound of the boy’s carefree laugh. It really is the kind that calms and heals.
“You’re worse than a ghost,” Mingi murmurs finally, shaking his head.
All of a sudden, Yunho’s laughter quiets down. His doubled over posture uncurls. The smile on his face lingers for a second before it presses into a thin line, disappearing completely. He stares into Mingi’s eyes and blinks once. “Worse?” he repeats, tilting his head to the side. “Does that mean you think ghosts are bad?”
Mingi frowns at the question, caught off guard. “What?”
Yunho continues. “You said I’m worse. So you must think all ghosts are bad.”
Mingi lets out a breath, unsure of whether he can laugh or not, because looking at Yunho, it doesn’t seem like it’s a joke to him. So Mingi decides against it and shrugs. “It was just an expression.”
Yunho doesn’t look satisfied. His brows knit together, like he expects more. But Mingi doesn’t know what to say, so he moves past Yunho, walks further into the library, and lowers himself cross-legged onto the floor between two shelves. When he looks to his side, Yunho has followed him, and he’s still standing and watching.
“Is something wrong, Yunho?”
Yunho doesn’t answer right away. He first sinks down onto a spot beside Mingi, resting his back against one of the shelves, knees drawn to his chest. Then he faces Mingi with a mildly disappointed gaze. “I just want to know,” he says, voice stripped completely of all remaining playfulness. “Do you really believe all ghosts are bad?”
Mingi sighs when he glances at him. “Why does it matter so much to you, Yunho? It’s not like they exist.”
Yunho stares at him. His curiosity is now gone, replaced by an expression very close to hurt. “You don’t believe ghosts exist?”
Mingi finds it a bit strange, the way he sticks to this. But again, it’s just what Yunho does. He tries to stretch out these far fetched conversations to kill time and make Mingi believe they’re spending quality time together. The worst part? Mingi always falls for it.
Mingi shakes his head. “No, not really. But if they did exist, then no, I don’t think they’d all be bad. I think they’d be what they were like as humans. If they were good human beings, they’d become benevolent spirits. If they were bad, their spirits would be malevolent and vengeful.”
Mingi watches as the smile on Yunho’s face returns. It’s slow, as if it’s growing more with every word he processes. He looks almost satisfied. No, not just satisfied. He looks.. “Relieved?”
Yunho shrugs. “Just wanted to know, that’s all,” he replies simply. And before Mingi can even think of responding, of pressing any further with questions, Yunho is swiftly changing the subject like he’d been waiting for the right moment to do so. “Why did you get so late today?”
Mingi blinks. That was strange to say the least. But then again, when does Yunho not do something to throw Mingi off balance? It’s become such a regular occurrence, Mingi could almost say he’s grown accustomed to it. “I had promised San we’d study together. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It had slipped my mind too.”
“It’s okay,” Yunho says, surprisingly calm and sincere. “Your studies are important.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I could get much done.” He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth.
“Why is that?”
“We were supposed to study together. Then Yiseo showed up, and they started talking. I got a bit distracted,” Mingi avoids Yunho’s eyes when he says it, because it’s not the entire truth, not even a third of it.
But Yunho knows how to read him. “That’s not all, is it?” he says. His hand reaches for Mingi’s cheek, and he slowly turns his face to meet his eyes. “You can talk to me, you know that, right?”
Yunho’s voice is so persuasive that it makes Mingi want to reveal the truth despite himself. “I felt.. overlooked. It was supposed to be just us. It’s rarely the two of us spending time anymore. I thought today we would have that. But when she showed up, he was so quick to divert his attention onto her and forget about me.” He feels the embarrassment crawl under his skin with the words out in the open. “I.. I’m sorry. I know it’s childish. I must seem so insecure and stupid.”
“You don’t,” Yunho says almost immediately before the shame can fully settle. “You’re not insecure or childish. You care about your friendship with him. He doesn’t value it the same. You have every right to be hurt.”
“I’m not hurt because of what happened today,” Mingi says, eyes lowering to his hands as he fiddles with his thumbs. “I’m just disheartened by how often it happens. I never knew friendship before I met him. Whatever time and attention he gave me, I was satisfied with it. I believed that was the nature of friendship.” He takes a short pause, really considering his next words. “But now that I’ve met you, I have learned what friendship can feel like. So I can allow myself to feel disappointed.”
When Mingi glances to his side, Yunho has a faint smile on his lips and his eyes are fixed distantly on some point ahead. “I’ve never been too lucky with friendships. I also gave love a chance. I fell really deep. But eventually, it failed me.. failed me miserably. It left me shattered. I have healed from it now; I’ve had a long time to heal, and I pulled myself through it all alone.” Yunho takes a sudden pause to exhale, like he’s worried he got too carried away.
“Oh, Yunho..” Mingi whispers. “I’m so sorry that happened. You’ve got a precious heart, and I’m sure one day you will find someone who handles it delicately.”
Yunho’s eyes grow glassy. He turns to Mingi and smiles wider now. “I have never had such a genuine bond with anyone. So thank you.. for calling me your friend.”
Mingi’s heart sinks a little. This must’ve been the first time Yunho revealed something about himself, and it was painful. It was vague, sure. Yunho didn’t give him details, but Mingi knows better than to press on such a sensitive topic. “I’m sorry, Yunho,” he says, feeling guilty all of a sudden. Because while he’s out there, prioritising people who’d forget him in the blink of an eye, Yunho is here, waiting for him just to show up. “I’m sorry I made you wait today.”
“Mhmm,” Yunho hums. Then he shifts, moving to fold his legs under him. He leans forward toward Mingi, the corner of his lip twitching into a smile. “You did make me wait a lot. So, how are you going to make it up to me?”
Mingi gulps. He doesn’t know what to make of his gesture. The words seem playful, but the look in his eyes and the curve of his lips tell Mingi that he has something very specific planned in his head. He clears his throat and, in a smooth, mildly theatrical voice, asks, “What is it that I must do to be deserving of your forgiveness, Jeong Yunho?”
Yunho chuckles, biting onto his lower lip, cheeks tinting pink. Then slowly, he composes himself, his expression growing more serious as he gazes deeply into Mingi’s eyes. If looks could hypnotise, this would be it. And then the words roll off his tongue.
“Kiss me.”
Mingi blinks, caught off guard by the request. He gulps and despite the confusion, he leans in close to Yunho’s face, tilting his head to aim for Yunho’s cheek like the boy had himself done to Mingi multiple times. Maybe that is what he meant. A kiss on his cheek in return. But before Mingi’s kiss can land, Yunho moves his head to the side, causing Mingi to still and retreat.
“Why did you pull away?”
“I don’t want a kiss on my cheek,” Yunho clarifies. His hand raises to his face and he presses his pointer to his own lips, sliding it across the seam. “I want you to kiss me.. here.”
Mingi’s pulse stutters, beating in every part of his body, his mind still processing Yunho’s words. His heart begins to race so fast, he feels it may rip out through his ribs. It’s as if time slows down, and every sound around him fades into a dull static, and he’s convinced his ears are betraying him. But then his eyes drop to Yunho’s lips. Slightly parted, tongue subtly gliding across the thin, peach skin as the boy takes in a deep breath, eager and waiting. So Mingi leans in to close the gap.
The moment their lips meet, Mingi isn’t sure is he’s breathing too fast or not breathing at all. Every hair down to the thinnest strand of peach fuzz stands on end. Yunho’s lips are cool like Mingi’d expected but so soft it feels like he’s nipping at the ends of a cloud. Their lips lock like they were carved especially for his moment. Like they were made for the purpose of being against each other’s. And for a moment, he simply stays like that. Not moving his lips, not pressing them any further. Just keeping them where they are, soaking in the stillness, savouring the feeling as it seeps into his lips, into his skin, flesh and bones, giving his brain all the time it needs to convince himself that this moment is in fact real. That his lips are against Yunho’s, and he’s kissing him.
When he pulls back, his eyes remain shut, chasing after the coolness he felt too reluctant to let go off. When his eyes flutter open, Yunho is already looking at him, a similar expression on his face.
Mingi is first to break the silence, tentative with his words as he speaks them. “Did that make up for it?”
For a while Yunho stays silent, but his eyes burn with desire, giving away the truth before words do. He shakes his head. “You’re not forgiven until I say so.”
And then, Yunho is leaning in to kiss him again. He doesn’t hesitate like Mingi. He doesn’t take it slow. He doesn’t give Mingi time to prepare himself for what is to come. He crashes their lips together with so much force it knocks the air out of Mingi’s lungs and makes his entire body shudder. Yunho doesn’t let the stillness linger. He moves his lips, encouraging Mingi’s to move in sync. When Yunho nibbles at his upper lip, Mingi reflexively takes the bottom one, trying to do his best to match Yunho’s pace. But Yunho is fierce in the way he kisses him, and Mingi eventually submits.
Soon, their lips aren’t the only things moving. Yunho shifts, his entire body growing closer, till he’s crawling onto Mingi’s lap, and Mingi lets him. He lets the boy straddle his thighs, uncrossing his legs to let Yunho get comfortable. His skin tickles when Yunho’s arms snake around his shoulder blades, staying put on his back for balance. And Mingi, unsure of what to do with his hands, slides them around Yunho’s waist, pulling him closer and holding him there.
Yunho is light as a feather, eerily so, but with how foggy Mingi’s mind is, he forgets to dwell on it. When Yunho pushes their bodies closer together, Mingi loses balance, his back slamming into the bookshelf behind, but neither of them take it as a reason to stop.
Yunho pokes his tongue, grazing the seam of Mingi’s lower lip, asking for permission. And Mingi obeys. He parts his lips without restrain, letting Yunho in, letting him do as he pleases. When their tongues curl against each other’s, Mingi gets a burst of that sweetness in his mouth, so rich and addicting he could get drunk on it. A hand slides up to Mingi’s nape. Yunho’s fingers graze his scalp, fisting a bunch of his hair on the back of his head to tilt his face up. He nibbles and chews at Mingi’s lips, pulling at his skin, his tongue simultaneously working to coat their lips with spit.
Mingi lets out a whimper, the embarrassing sound getting swallowed into Yunho’s mouth who smiles and slowly begins to pull away. He finally breaks apart, like the last thing he wants Mingi to remember is how sensitive Yunho was able to get him. Yunho looks at him with that same innocent smile, like he didn’t just drive Mingi to the brink of unraveling, and through those swollen red lips he murmurs, “Now you’re forgiven.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. For Mingi to completely pull himself back to reality. “I don’t know much about friendship, but I know friends don’t forgive each other like that.”
“We can be more than friends, Mingi.”
Tuesday, September 25, 1984
He was so playful today, so full of joy and energy. It made me happy just to watch him. His grin was so wide and he laughed with such abandon, it was impossible not to smile along with him. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the way his irises glimmered with a light that seemed to come from within him. My heart sank a little when that smile suddenly dropped. It’s a feeling I experience too often when I’m around him. That little trip in the beat, my pulse thudding loudly in my ears. But it will go away soon. I’m slowly growing used to it. Used to these sudden emotional shifts, to the strange, sometimes bewildering topics of interest he has. But I may never get used to those lips. They tasted so painfully sweet, they felt so incredibly delicate, and yet were filled with so much fervour. Like he was taking over every part of me. And I wanted nothing more than to hand myself over to him.
♱ ♱ ♱