Entwined (1/2)
Pairing: Mino/Seungyoon
Word Count: 10,714
Rating: PG-13
Warning: A little coarse language, a little angst
Summary: Mino, born with the ability to find his soulmate with a single touch, has a brief encounter with fate in the middle of a noisy crowd on Christmas Eve.
Author's Note: I checked an item on my fic bucket list after writing this story. I've always wanted to write soulmates!AU and I'm so glad it's for Winderland. :) Shout out to Kat and her mind reading powers for keeping me sane as always, whose opinions and kind words I value dearly.
缘分 yuanfen: (n.) a relationship by fate or destiny; the binding force between two people.
It’s the stirring tingle that engulfs his hand, crawls all the way up his arm and settles around his neck, all from a gentle brush of fingers, that effectively stops Mino in his tracks. He looks up from his snow-stained phone screen, urgent message be damned. Seunghoon can wait, contrary to his friend’s claim of growing bald before Mino gets to their designated meeting place, his patience wearing thin due to Mino’s incapability to reply to any of his messages.
He’s always been exceedingly dramatic. He can wait.
In fact, everything else can wait, because of the three seconds it takes for Mino to realize exactly what it is; a frisson of contact that feels, at first, like static electricity, until it’s something more. So much more. What follows is the click of an innate turn switch that is undeniable, almost biological. There’s a flush that overtakes his entire body, electrifies his bones and his muscles all the way to his fingertips, and he could hear the thumping of his heart against his chest, feel the rush of blood to his brain - adrenaline, that’s what it is. The stories talk of the same thing, all vacant words before this moment.
And suddenly Mino is skittish and exhilarated and he wants. As though he’s never wanted anything else.
He turns around three seconds too late and becomes painfully aware of the chaos surrounding him as he frantically searches the sea of people for its source. It’s five in the afternoon on what is the busiest day of the year - streets swarmed with last minute shoppers and frazzled workers trying to get home to their families, the occasional carolers, and those who simply wish to drink in the festive spirit before it dies out into the new year.
Mino’s feet take him to the opposite direction of the restaurant where he should be meeting Seunghoon, going completely by instinct. He thinks maybe he hears bells, not the Christmas kind that fill the streets with jovial noise, but the kind that leads up to something majestic. Final. And somehow he believes, even when he’s a man of little faith in many things, he believes he’ll know when he sees it.
Bumping shoulders, scanning every street, every nook and cranny his eyes could reach, Mino hunts for a face - unknown, distinct, perhaps beautiful. Soulmates are always beautiful.
He trips on what appears to be a small box in shiny wrapping and careens to a wall palms first, a few passersby offering him fleeting, worried glances before going on their way. Mino shakes it off like he would the snow dusting his hair and trudges on, still seeking and eager.
One. Two. Three. Four blocks. Across a crowded corner with toys on sale is a bakery about to close, with one last customer inside whose forest green parka stands out in the yellow lights. Fate works amorously and with as much romantic flair, Mino thinks to himself, strides in, and reaches for her hand.
She’s beautiful when she turns in surprise, possibly irritation, but Mino feels nothing.
It takes a while before his heart drops as more faces pass and not one elicits the jolt he expects. He’s too far from where the contact was made, phone buzzing incessantly in his pocket, face numb from the cold. His hope is fading fast as the effervescence inside him wanes, until the bells stop ringing all he hears is the sound of a child’s cry above raucous chatter and Santa Claus is Coming to Town coming off of cheap speakers.
* * *
Mino’s family is special. This much he learned from his grandmother who loved to tell stories of fated meetings and entwined paths. He had been too young to fully grasp all of it, and every new tale was but a bedtime story for him and his doe-eyed sister who swooned at every word to roll off their grandmother’s tongue.
Each story began the same way. Many, many years ago, in an era of royal bloodlines and lands brimming with enchantment, a man was bestowed a gift by a powerful god as a reward for his extraordinary kindness. The gift of clairvoyance, their grandmother would tell them proudly, and it would carry on from generation to generation, for as long as his blood runs in their veins. A day later, he meets the woman of his dreams, and their souls live on, together, even in the afterlife.
Mino grew up with this lore, with the knowledge that while they weren’t much different from everyone else, there is something they possess that others do not. He was ten years old when he complained why their power couldn’t be more grand, perhaps something that could turn him into a superhero who fought bad guys, instead of a useless ability he couldn’t even brag to his friends about.
There is nothing grander than finding your purpose to live, his grandmother would tell him, her voice always soft, full of wisdom and unwavering faith. There is no greater triumph than finding your other half.
It manifests with a touch.
Mino had never let the idea consume him the way it did Dana, who spent most of her young life running after her destiny. And it wasn’t that Mino didn’t believe, how could he not when there were countless proof in the form of childhood memories, including his parents who, to this day, are very much in love?
But Mino has dreams of his own, plans that do not only revolve around finding the one destined for him. Besides, there are things that are best left to fate.
And fate, it seems, has caught up with him after twenty-seven years.
* * *
Mino unravels the thick scarf wrapped around his neck as he enters the cafe, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee improving his mood only slightly. The snowfall had been brutal all morning, and he supposes it would have been wiser to stay home and spend the rest of the holidays bundled up in front of his flat screen TV, watching the films he’d been meaning to and gorging on leftovers his mother had brought over Christmas morning.
But since his brush with fate, he’d been feeling restless, and there’s a buzzing that had taken permanent residence under his skin which causes him sleepless nights or vivid nightmares, both of which only leave him feeling awful in the morning. His apartment feels emptier than it is, than it should be, really. As someone who’s been living alone since college, there’s no reason to yearn for conversations over a meal, or a body to snuggle next to when he refuses to get up from bed.
Dana had told him in a rather excited tone how all of this was only normal. Once he’s made contact, it’s hard not to long for it. She proceeds to gush about being happy for Mino, that he’d finally felt it, and isn’t it fantastic? Mino wishes he could say the same, but all he feels is a barrenness that leaves him glum.
Work is Mino’s temporary way out, something that keeps him busy so his mind doesn’t wander off, pondering what ifs and going mad trying to conjure images of someone he has never even met.
He clips the case for the blueprints under his arms as he walks over to his usual table at Café Filorosso. It’s a quaint find, not one of those bland franchises that sell soulless drinks. Fortunately, it’s only a three minute walk from his office building and the most convenient spot to get his morning coffee.
It’s nearly ten o’clock and the café is empty. Understandable, since most people aren’t due for work yet and would rather stay home in this weather.
He opens his tab as soon as he sinks into his seat to go through emails he’d ignored for the past few days. He clicks one from Seunghoon and downloads the schematic designs for the small two-bedroom house he had sent him for closer inspection. They’d landed several clients in December, a strange yet welcome occurrence that Seunghoon attributes to humans’ inherent need to spend money when the holidays roll in. Thank God for Christmas.
It takes a while before he notices a figure hovered over him. He peeks at the trademark brown apron and mumbles, “the usual,” without bothering to look up, keeping his slim annoyance to himself at the interruption. In the two years he’d been coming to this café, baristas had stopped asking him for his order.
“Sir,” a deep, audibly guarded voice says. Mino sighs and tears his eyes away from the tab, to its owner. The face that greets him is unfamiliar, his smile a little too cheerful to match Mino’s mood.
“I’m sorry for bothering you. Jongup over there told me you always have an Americano, one shot of espresso,” the man continues, beaming without fail. “But can I interest you in a latte?”
Mino gives him a hard look, brows furrowed as he takes in the mussed hair, white button down and ripped jeans. Not the customary black uniform the baristas wear; Mino would have assumed he was a customer if not for the apron tied to his waist. Mino eyes the nameplate on his left chest: Kang Seungyoon.
“You’re new.” Not a question. The employees there never bother to approach Mino anymore, unless it’s him who beckons.
The man’s smile widens and Mino notes how his soft, rounded features are punctuated by sharp, piercing eyes. The contrast is nice, from a professional standpoint. It gives his face a charming balance.
“It’s my first day,” he supplies without being asked.
Mino raises a brow. “Your first day on the job is a day after Christmas?”
“It beats staying at an empty apartment.” He flashes Mino a knowing expression that almost looks probing, like he expects Mino, of all people, to understand. Mino thinks he might as well have tattooed the word lonely on his forehead and it makes him flush in embarrassment. When he doesn’t respond, Seungyoon speaks again, as though he, too, knows Mino needs help changing the topic.
“I’m a latte artist. The boss thought it would be a nice quirk.”
“So you want me to order a latte instead.”
“Only if you want to.” His smile is all desire to satisfy. “It’s just- I’ve been itching to make one since we opened, but as you can see, we have an empty house and you’re our only customer.”
This one is extra friendly, Mino decides, and he doesn’t know whether he likes it or not just yet. Something tells him maybe this man shouldn’t be talking to customers this way, like he’s a friend rather than someone who gets paid to make coffee.
Then again, he was hired for the quirk.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” A thumbs up and glinting eyes. Like the man had just been told he won a thousand dollars. Mino couldn’t help the small twitch in his lips that’s nearly a smile. He nods and Seungyoon turns around excitedly, only to come back after three steps. “Any preference? Favorite animal? A flower, perhaps?”
Mino ponders this, smacking his lips together. He has to admit, this is sort of interesting. “Surprise me.”
Seungyoon gives him another smile, (he gives them away a lot), but this is less I-want-to-please-this-customer, definitely more sincere and one that reads approval of Mino’s answer.
Mino shakes his head as he turns his attention back to his tab, not giving the odd man any more thought. It takes minutes of scrolling up and down before Mino realizes he’s staring at his own fingers, hyperconscious to the sensation of skin against the surface. He runs a finger over the band aid at the base of his palm from the scrape he got while running aimlessly at Myeongdong just two days ago. When his mind drifts off further, he fixes himself on the present and concentrates on the words on the screen once more, shaking off the lingering prickle in his hand.
He’s halfway through his emails when a barista sets a mug in front of him, along with the usual two oatmeal cookies he gets with his Americano. Setting everything aside, he leans forward to take a look at the latte artist’s handiwork. He can’t help the soft gasp that escapes his lips when he lays eyes on what appears to be a skyline of skyscrapers made entirely of foam.
He’s never seen more beautiful coffee in his life.
Stuck to the saucer is a yellow note, scribbled in neat strokes.
For Architect Song. On the house. :)
* * *
“I say we switch. If we want to finish by Chef Park’s deadline, we have to work with a head engineer who actually knows what he’s doing,” Seunghoon pipes, looking more worked up than when he started this monologue twenty minutes ago. Mino gives him a cutting look before pushing the door of the café open. The bells chime above him and they’re greeted by the muted chatter of patrons and a heavy scent of cinnamon that perks Mino up instantly. God, he loves this place.
“You’re just pissed because Kim Jinwoo said something about your design.”
“He thinks it’s amateur. Like he can do better? There’s a reason why he’s just the one who executes, and I’m someone who actually has a vision.”
Seunghoon’s ears are beet red and Mino smirks as he throws his coat over the chair before taking a seat. The weather hasn’t calmed down one bit, and they’re expecting snowfall until after the New Year. Unfortunately, work couldn’t wait any longer, not with their deadlines looming in the horizon. Seunghoon is still grumbling when he sits across from him.
“He only said the design needs more research,” Mino shrugs, taking pleasure in pushing his friend’s buttons under the guise of logic. Insecure Seunghoon is actually amusing, and he can’t believe it’s the innocuous, unassuming engineer to bring out this side of his friend. “This is your first restaurant. He has five under his belt. To be honest, I trust him more than I trust you.”
A look of pure offense flashes across Seunghoon’s face, but whatever he’s about to say is cut short when a server slides next to their table, giving Mino a smile before handing the menu to Seunghoon.
“I’ll have a steaming, piping hot Americano to go with my feelings of rage,” Seunghoon tells the woman with a smile. “If in case it’s too hot to drink, I can just throw it at my ex-best friend and soon to be ex-business partner over here.”
The girl claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle and Mino rolls his eyes. “I’ll have the sam-“ he pauses, taking one curious glance at the coffee bar. Hmm. “You know what, I think I’ll have a latte today, double shot of espresso.”
He turns to the bar again as the girl walks away and pushes the door to what should be the kitchen. Mino spots the two regular baristas busy at work, but where is… what was his name again?
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on?” Seunghoon asks, his tone more serious. Mino cocks a brow when he turns back to his friend, pretending not to know what he’s talking about. Seunghoon sighs, seeing through Mino, of course.
“You look like you haven’t gotten any sleep in a week, and you’ve been distracted a lot. This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”
The coffee couldn’t come fast enough when Mino is avoiding these talks with Seunghoon, but it’s hard to hide anything from someone who’s known him for almost ten years, only made worse by the guy having more intuition than most people. The soulmates issue has never come up in the past, but how is Mino supposed to explain what’s happening to him without sounding like a deranged person? Even to Seunghoon.
“Just the holiday blues, I guess,” Mino tells him, putting on his most honest face. Seunghoon cannot easily be fooled, the guy detects a lie from a mile away, but Mino tries anyway. “I’m starting to feel my age this time of the year. It gets lonely, too.”
To his surprise, Seunghoon nods. “I know what you mean. I can’t believe I spent Christmas with my sister again. If I don’t find someone soon, I’m going to die an old, bitter man with amateur architecture skills.”
“How about Kim Jinwoo? He’s not half bad.”
“Shut the hell your mouth.”
Mino is still laughing when the server arrives with their coffee. She sets down Seunghoon’s first, and Mino finds himself anticipating his mug, even though he isn’t sure the guy is around. When he looks down at his latte, he sees an intricate snowflake stamped in foam. A much simpler design than the last time, but Mino finds himself smiling wider when he sees the small ‘hi’ scribbled in chocolate syrup.
When he looks to the bar again, leaning languidly against the metal surface is the latte artist whose smile conjures the name Mino commits to memory this time. Kang Seungyoon. Right.
* * *
The dreams become less nightmares, morph into bursts of color that are more lucid than Mino remembers dreams to be. He still wakes up panting, a heavy feeling at the pit of his stomach and a profound sense of incompleteness that sends him staggering his way to the fridge for a glass of water, then to the kitchen sink to splash some more on his face.
Mino is learning the hard way exactly how much the encounter during Christmas Eve affected him - it’s burned at the back of his head, seared in his skin, growing exponentially stronger in the silence.
He should have turned around sooner. He wishes they had never shared contact more so.
Through phone calls that grow more frequent by the day, Dana continues to assure Mino that they’re inevitably going to meet again. It’s destiny, she tells him boldly, with little trepidation. Sometimes Mino thinks Dana’s belief numbs her to all else. But it’s her confidence in fate that spills over to him in increments - when they talk, when he recalls all his grandmother’s stories, and when he convinces himself there must be, written in his stars, a definitive end to all this.
* * *
Today, he gets a woman in a hat sitting by the window, and Mino could swear her chocolate eyes look sad. When he glances up, Seungyoon is hunched over a cup at the bar, his fringe hiding half of his face as he works on someone else’s coffee. Mino’s eyes flit to the window beside him where snow lightly falls. Not as beautiful a view, but it will do.
* * *
It’s New Year’s eve when the dream changes, when colors swirl and take the shape of a faceless man. This doesn’t take Mino by surprise. Souls know no genders after all.
He takes in the lean figure, taut shoulder muscles that slide up to a long, immaculate neck. Then there are slender fingers that touch his waist, burn his skin. Mino reaches for the man’s arms but he recoils before Mino could catch him, moves in willowy steps until he disappears into nothingness.
Mino is smitten.
He wakes up with a faint headache. It’s getting worse. Or better, if it’s any indication that he’s closer to meeting him. He can’t know for sure.
And like most days when the residual shivers creep up and down his spine, when he longs for someone he shared but a brief contact with, Mino decides to immerse himself in work, pushing away urges to melt into recollections of the man in his sleep.
* * *
He develops an attachment to Seungyoon’s latte.
The visits to the café are more frequent; he forgets his old, bland drink, cultivates a fondness to a certain taste after several combinations. A shot and a half of espresso for the extra kick, with just a hint of nutmeg and a swirl of chocolate, as per Seungyoon’s suggestion.
But it’s the sight of foam curved in various, unique shapes every day that brings his ordinary morning coffee to life.
Seungyoon has outdone himself today, as two beady owl eyes stare into Mino’s soul, feathers expertly contoured almost too realistically he has to stop himself from running a finger over the milky froth. Mino doesn’t know how Seungyoon does it, and something tells him he’d enjoy watching the man at work. Creating art is all passion and intensity, things that Mino very much appreciates.
He thinks maybe Seungyoon wouldn’t mind. He mumbled something to Mino in passing the other day, about how he gauges whether his creation is good or bad based on Mino’s initial reaction.
Mino wonders just how much Seungyoon observes him from the bar to pick up this ability, but he doesn’t ask.
“Hi.”
Mino looks up at the voice and sets his mug down when Seungyoon’s face comes into view, having slipped into the chair across from him almost too casually. Something about his smile appears mischievous today and Mino is curious, but he doesn’t pause to ponder how and when he began telling the man’s different smiles apart.
“Uh, hi?” Mino squeaks, unable to mask the query in his tone as to why Seungyoon had suddenly made himself comfortable in front of a customer.
He looks around the café filled with patrons. Seungyoon has made quite an impact with his creations and word travels around. All the more reason for him to be busy, which right now, doesn’t seem to be the case.
“I’m off the clock,” Seungyoon pronounces, an answer to his unspoken question.
“It’s eight in the morning.”
Seungyoon sucks in a breath before his shoulders slump animatedly. “Okay, I’m not off the clock. But I’ve been dying to talk to someone. I’ve run out of topics to talk about with Jongup,” he juts his chin towards the bar where the young man with blond hair looks to be making a fortress using paper napkins.
“The boy barely speaks. And you look like you need a friend.”
Mino’s brows furrow, and his finger flips the lid of his tab, a click sounding very much like Mino giving in to what should be an unwelcome disruption, but isn’t. Not even close.
“I look like I need a what?” Mino sets aside the feeling that he was just insulted and lowers his voice. “Wait, wouldn’t you get in trouble for this?”
Mino scans the room on instinct, in search of a seething manager or a disapproving co-worker, but gets distracted when Seungyoon leans forward, propping his chin atop his knuckles supported by elbows that are anchored to his thighs. And suddenly he looks so much younger, like a kid, or he’s acting like one, and Mino finds himself amused instead of appalled - a far cry from his reaction when it’s Seunghoon who pulls out his disgusting aegyo.
“I have a small confession to make,” Seungyoon starts, lower lip sticking out and yeah Mino doesn’t mind so much. “I’m close to the boss. Actually, I sort of live with my boss.”
It’s too late when Mino realizes he’s mirroring the owl on his coffee, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, and only when traces of a smirk appear at the sides of Seungyoon’s mouth that Mino recovers and pulls his expression together. But if Seungyoon was trying to get a reaction out of him, he’s successful, and smug. He doesn’t even hide his amusement when he says next, “My Mom- she’s the boss, and she loves me a little too much to fire me over this.”
“Huh,” Mino reaches for his mug and takes a sip. Something like relief washes over him, but maybe the warmth in his cheeks is just the coffee. “You own the place.”
“If we’re being technical, then no. Not yet? But I do manage it now.”
“Okay,” Mino regards Seungyoon curiously again, shifting in his own seat anxiously. More often than not, he wouldn’t really exchange work for a conversation with a stranger, but Seungyoon somehow no longer feels like one. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know, politics? The situation in Africa? Why McDonalds charges people for gravy when they take out but gives people who dine in access to unlimited amounts?”
“Wow. That’s very specific.”
“I was just thinking about it on the way to work and it still baffles me,” Seungyoon chuckles. It’s the first time Mino hears it and it’s melodious and hearty, Mino’s cheeks heat up some more. Coffee. It’s the coffee.
“Or we could talk about ourselves, if you want.”
“That, you wouldn’t want,” Mino waves him off. “I lead a very boring life.”
“Oh I highly doubt that,” Seungyoon grins. “You look like someone who’s lived on the edge at least once or twice.”
Mino bites down on his lower lip, sifting through his limited arsenal of anecdotes prepared for when he has to talk about himself - to be funny, to be sociable. But he smiles a genuine smile when he turns to Seungyoon.
“When I was sixteen, I vandalized on my Chemistry teacher’s desk after class, a very lewd sketch. The old fart was failing me.”
Seungyoon gives him a look of pure bewilderment and Mino nearly shrinks in on himself for failing to be funny. Embarrassing. He makes a mental note to keep his mouth shut next time, that is, until Seungyoon puts a hand over his chest, bunching some of the crisp white fabric into his fist. “Ugh. Bad boys make me weak.”
Mino swallows the lump in his throat at the new smile Seungyoon gives him after that.
* * *
Holidays have come and gone, but winter is as cold as it’s ever been, dropping to negative twelve when Mino leaves his apartment shy of fifteen minutes before he typically does - to account for the weather, and maybe add just a few extra minutes at the café. A blanket of normalcy envelops the city, Christmas trees and decors that used to be littered in every street replaced by renewed vigor that comes only with the beginning of a new year, when most people are still eager to fulfill resolutions and leave old woes, committed to being better people than they used to be.
Mino finds out that when he talks to Seungyoon, he doesn’t think of the dreams as much.
He smiles behind his mug as he takes in the arcs Seungyoon’s eyes have been reduced to as the younger man laughs at the latest development between Engineer Kim and Architect Lee. Not very effective code names, but Mino couldn’t be bothered with subtlety, especially when the story is that good.
“And what did Engineer Kim say?”
“What do you think? He told Architect Lee that if he can’t design a restaurant, there’s no way in hell he’s getting dinner with him in one.”
“Ouch,” Seungyoon wrinkles his nose, something he does a lot, Mino noticed. “Your friend needs to step his game up.”
Mino doesn’t remember when Seungyoon began bringing his own cup of coffee with him during their talks, or when Mino stopped bothering to get a head start on work at the café. But that’s what happens anyway, as natural as two old friends who meet up regularly to catch up. And those twenty to thirty minutes he spends drinking fantastic coffee and listening to Seungyoon’s boundless stories before the stress of work are easily the highlight of Mino’s day.
Seungyoon, Mino discovers, is a year younger, but insists that they’re the same age since he was born early in the year, and Mino doesn’t put too much effort arguing with him about it. Besides, he can’t really imagine Seungyoon calling him hyung, not when he seems infinitely more mature than Mino at times, more eloquent with his words and his silences. He’s certainly seen more of the world than Mino will ever dream to see.
Seungyoon comes from a relatively well-off family, graduated with a business degree that, according to him, he begrudgingly finished only because he’s the type to never half-ass anything he starts. He’s creative at heart, having dabbled in sculpture and music, something his family never quite understood. But Seungyoon decided he’s a filial son first and foremost, and there’s a right time and place for his dreams. After two years working at his uncle’s company, he ups and travels the world with money he saved up since he was twelve years old.
It was a small coffee shop in Madrid that drew him into latte art, when the owner prepared Seungyoon’s coffee in front of him with the most passion he’s ever seen from any one man. Next thing Seungyoon knew, he was living in a tiny apartelle in Italy on student visa, learning the art from the master himself during the day, and sweeping floors for a living at night.
Mino listens with rapt attention to Seungyoon’s stories, observes the way his eyes light up when he talks about the music he loves, the places he’s been, and the people he’s met.
* * *
“Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?”
Mino thumbs the handle of his mug before he meets Seungyoon’s eyes, the younger man’s lips in a taut line as he looks at Mino through the rim of his cup. Mino can’t say it’s a question that blindsides him; he’d proactively avoided conversations that focus on his life, and Seungyoon is too quick-witted not to notice, but kind enough to never pry.
“I told you, my life is boring.”
The look Seungyoon gives him is almost offended, setting his cup down. “You create buildings for a living - your sketches on paper come to life before your eyes, and these structures can last lifetimes. You design houses that become homes to families and hold countless memories. And that’s just what you do, not even who you are. And there’s nothing boring about that.”
“You make it sound so romantic,” Mino chuckles, a weak attempt at lifting the mood, but his eyes don’t waver as he holds Seungyoon’s gaze. He acknowledges the earnestness there, and he’s never met anyone who’s wanted to know about him this much without needing many words to say it.
“I have a tendency to romanticize everything,” Seungyoon says, a resigned smile on his lips that doesn’t puff his cheeks. “But I believe in the power of perspective. How you see things affects how you live your life. I guess I like how it makes things more interesting.”
Mino reads the disappointment that etches onto Seungyoon’s expression and it cracks something inside him. Truthfully, he’s a little scared of how this is happening more and more with Seungyoon. He kneads his hands, looking at the faint snowstorm outside the glass walls.
“I like drawing,” Mino says before he turns to Seungyoon again. “I can lock myself inside the room and just draw all day without stopping. It was a cause for concern to my parents, but it wasn’t really anything serious. I just liked to draw, you know?”
Seungyoon nods, shifting to a more comfortable position in his seat, and Mino chuckles at the excitement coloring his cheeks at something as mundane as Mino telling a story of his own.
“And my family,” Mino continues, “they can be quite free-spirited themselves. We moved around a lot on my mother’s whim, made more and more friends, you can say. But I’ve always gravitated towards permanence. Something constant. I think that’s why I chose architecture. There’s art to it, the element of creation and whimsy. But there are rules, structure. And like you said, buildings last lifetimes. The balance between those two drew me in. And here I am now.”
Seungyoon takes another sip from his cup, hiding what Mino knows is a victorious smile. “See, that wasn’t boring,” he chirps. “Maybe one of these days you can even tell me why you always have that look.”
“What look?”
“When you look outside the glass,” Seungyoon says, his gaze dropping to Mino’s cup. “Or when you look at your hands. You have that habit, you know. It’s like you’re trying to understand something, or you’re searching for answers.”
“Do I?”
Seungyoon responds with a shrug. “You know how people say bartenders are the best type of listeners? Well, baristas are better. They’re not drunk, they’re fully awake and rational, thanks to caffeine. But Latte artists are the best.”
Mino scoffs, humoring him. “How so?”
“We have patience. And we know messing up the art doesn’t change the taste of the coffee. It only means we can try again.”
“Wow. That’s deep.”
This time, Seungyoon laughs and it rings in the space, louder than the buzzing in Mino’s skin.
Part Two