There is nothing wrong with it

[colorwinged]

Title: There is nothing wrong with it
Genre: Fluff, Angst, AU
Pairing: 2min
Word Count: 5,751
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slight stalking, yaoi
Summary: He couldn't have lost it. Absolutely not.
A/N: Sequel to "I just want to look at you". It's quite longer - double the size - and yeah. Nothing much to say, haha. There is also a third part, it'll be uploaded some other time~ I hope you enjoy this. (I would port the first link here but I fail at finding out how to not have the entire link on here but just 'Part 1' bla bla bla so if someone wants to tell me... I'd be so thankful. I'm a bit of a fail at this stuff.)



Minho was on his way out of his apartment when he remembered that he almost had forgotten the most important thing.

Running back down his hallway, the made his way into his living room and snatched the paper block off of his coffee table.

It was the third of its sort.

Every one of those thick sketchbooks was dedicated to just one person. One model that Minho couldn’t get enough of, one boy that wouldn’t leave his mind.

It was as if Lee Taemin had taken anchor in Minho’s entire being. And Minho, on his part, wouldn’t have it any other way.

It had been a year now since Minho had noted the boy on just as a sunny day as today. He remembered everything: The heat, the café’s air conditioning, Taemin’s clothes.

Every part of the memory was a part of him. How would he ever be able to forget the day Taemin’s light started illuminating his world?

Minho was standing in his living room as if in trance, the face of the other male visualized in front of his eyes once again, like so many times before. A small smile spread across Minho’s lips.

Even if he had only watched the boy from afar for the past eleven and a half months, Minho couldn’t believe that there would be a person more happy and satisfied than him.

Only watching Taemin was able to make him feel complete, whole.

Minho had found out that Taemin was everything he would ever need. Taemin inspired him artistically like nothing else ever could. Taemin’s smile, even if only seen from a distance, brightened up his entire day. And Taemin’s voice, brought over by the wind during some lucky moments, was like music to Minho’s ears.

Minho knew that he would never be able to forget Taemin. Not now, not ever.

The approaching of his graduation had made him realize that. It was only one year, one more year until he was free from college.

But it was also only one more year that he would be able to look at Taemin.

Some people would call him weird. A freak. Sick in mind and thoughts. But what was he, really, except an admirer?

Didn’t readers admire the book in front of them as they read it?

Didn’t art lovers admire the color brushes on a white canvas as they looked at it?

What different was he from them?

Minho sighed, packing his sketchbook into his backpack. He should really be going to college by now. Letting another slightly defeated sigh escape his lips, he made his way back out of the door, closing it behind him.

Taemin’s laugh echoed over the grass as he was drowning his feet into the small pond in the middle of the campus’ park. His eyes were lit up by the rays of the sun, his now short, hazel hair reflecting the light beautifully.

Minho watched him from a safe spot sitting under a tree, close enough to see everything and far enough not to be detected.

He had his sketchbook open on his knees, and his fingers were busy catching the way Taemin’s hair looked so soft under the summer’s sun.

Minho liked Taemin’s new haircut. Not that he didn’t like the long, reddish-brown bangs he had had before. They were breathtaking, and something you didn’t see every day. No, Minho had loved that long hair.

But something about Taemin’s new, shorter hair was captivating. Maybe it was the fact that even with short and lighter hair, Taemin still looked more beautiful than any guy, or girl for that matter, Minho had ever seen.

In the sun, Taemin’s hair captured the light around his head like a halo. It was just another proof for Minho that Taemin just couldn’t be of this world.

A smile danced about Minho’s lips all the while he was drawing. Seeing the other male just made him feel at ease. He couldn’t describe well what emotions ran through him at his mere sight.

How could such feelings like his be looked down upon? It wasn’t like Minho was following Taemin home, like he would wait in front of his apartment all day and night, take photos of him in his sleep and terrorize his answering machine.

Lost in his thoughts, and too engrossed in his drawing, Minho didn’t realize a figure coming nearer to him from the side.

Hesitant at first, the person became more and more curious as to what Minho was so concentrated on. Edging closer, the person looked over his shoulders, only to be met with the exact likeness of the popular kid Lee Taemin.

Too curious for her own good, the girl snatched the sketchbook out of Minho’s hands and ran away before he could even react.

Minho could do nothing in his shock but sit there, under the tree, his body entirely frozen. His eyes followed the excited girl, and deep shame and anger started to boil in his chest as he watched her flip through the pictures.

He saw her eyes widen when she realized that every single picture was of Taemin.

Minho knew that she would look his way soon enough, and that confusion and maybe disgust would taint her eyes. He had already lost the few friends he had when they found out about his attraction towards Taemin. It wouldn’t be much different this time.

Someone had seen his little sanctuary of hope. His little world of infatuation, where nothing else existed but Taemin. And he knew it was about to be judged, just as any person would judge him. He could deal with people calling him sick. But he wouldn’t be able to deal with people calling his devotion to Taemin sick.

Because in Minho’s eyes there was nothing more pure.

But to Minho’s surprise, the girl didn’t look disgusted or confused as she returned, handing his sketchbook back to him silently. Her dark brown eyes conveyed nothing but gentleness.

She smiled at Minho as she put the sketchbook back onto its spot on his lap.

“They are beautiful.”

Those words were the only ones spoken as she turned around, walking away in the direction she had come from in the first place.

Minho was sitting in the grass, his eyes for once fixated on something else than Taemin, and watched her walk away.

Only when he was sure that she disappeared did he turn his gaze back towards Taemin. His shoulders slumped down slightly when he realized the hazel haired boy had gone. Then Minho let his eyes travel down onto the drawing before him.

She had called his pictures beautiful.

It was weird to Minho how some small words from another person could either destroy you or support you.

Ever since the girl had voiced her admiration for his art, he knew for a fact that his feelings, his devotion to Taemin couldn’t only be sick. Minho felt pride and joy at the thought that those emotions others would look down upon could elicit such a compliment.

It was the first time in a while Minho felt like his feelings were nothing but right.

It didn’t matter what others said. It didn’t matter what others thought. The only thing that mattered, Minho realized, was that he felt the best when he was watching and drawing Taemin.

It was weird how just one sentence from an unrelated stranger could have made him realize that the opinion of others varied too much to trust it.

One would condemn his feelings, one would admire them.

Once more Minho realized how similar emotions were to art. It always depended on the one looking at it. Some would like the classical, structured and realistic painting of the old masters, while others would find their soul in an impressionistic work of the contemporary artists.

Attraction, Minho thought, was just like that. Some would understand it, others wouldn’t.

Minho stopped in his tracks. No, it wasn’t mere attraction anymore that he felt towards Taemin. It had been more, much more than that for the last few months.

Minho knew there were just four letters that would escape his lips when he thought about Taemin.

L-O-V-E. Love.

Today was a hard day for Minho.

He had just gotten out of a lecture on Contemporary Artists and their Part in Today’s Society. And for some reason the professor had decided that poor distracted Minho would be the perfect little victim.

In the middle of lecture, as Minho’s mind was set on yet another picture of Taemin, who was currently writing down notes. Minho couldn’t believe his luck the day he found out that he and Taemin shared another lecture in the new semester. The butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t leave him, and just as the year before he would come to the auditorium extra early.

But that particular day, the lecturer had decide to take a stroll around the hall filled with students as he kept on talking about the way people received art.

Minho was too engrossed in his drawing to notice the lecturer approaching, and before he realized it, it had already been too late.

“Now, I am all for art, but I would rather you’d take notes on the subject instead of portraying a fellow student.”

The voice, just next to his ears and yet amplified for the entire auditorium around him, made Minho jump in his chair. He quickly slammed his sketchbook shut, and looked up at the professor with wide, shocked eyes.

Minho saw the lecturer’s gaze on him, one eyebrow cocked up, just as he could feel the stares of a few hundreds of students on him. It was a wicked feeling, one he didn’t like one bit, being the socially awkward young man he was. He didn’t dare to look around the auditorium in fear of meeting with a certain pair of eyes. He was sure that the hazel haired boy had his head turned in his direction, like about all the others had. An embarrassed blush spread on his cheeks as he looked down.

“I’m sorry. I will pay attention from now on.” He mumbled, his head hung low.

The professor smiled. “Good. Now, let’s get back to topic, shall we?” And with that the lecturer resumed his presentation.

As bad as that incident might already have been for Minho, the day didn’t get better.

After the humiliation in front of the rest of the student body, Minho couldn’t get out of the auditorium fast enough after the lecture was closed.

He hastily packed his belongings into his backpack, and without another look back at his seat or into the room he strode for the door as fast as he could. He had felt suffocated for the rest of the lecture, still feeling unwanted eyes on him from time to time.

At least the professor didn’t get to see his picture long enough. How would he have reacted if he could have taken in the way Minho had drawn Taemin? The desire he had for the boy showed clearly in his still unfinished drawing. And he knew that his professor, being much longer into art and its interpretation, would have immediately known his feelings for the other male.

Now, running along the corridors towards one of his sanctuaries on the campus, a little tree not too far from his favorite café, Minho felt the tension after the class begin to fade. He felt less embarrassed, and also less watched.

As much as Minho enjoyed watching, the feeling of being watched himself was one of the worst he had ever experienced. It was a kind of unwanted attention he would never ask for, something that made him uncomfortable beyond belief.

He wondered if that was how Taemin must feel every time Minho had his eyes on the younger boy.

But Minho dismissed the thought as fast as he came to it. There was no way Taemin could feel his stare if he wasn’t even aware of Minho’s existence. How could you feel watched when you didn’t know that there was a person actually watching you?

And Minho figured that by the way Taemin was surrounded by people almost non-stop, he must also have the attention of even more people on him that weren’t standing next to the other male.

After all, Minho was one of those people.

It was a thought that made Minho’s forehead crease. He had never liked Taemin’s popularity, the way others would look as him and be perfectly able to see his beauty just as much as him. But no, Minho was different from them.

Minho felt different about Taemin than any of those other people ever could.

It wasn’t mere admiration anymore, or the want for Taemin’s body like Minho had seen so many times reflected in gazes of others. It was something much deeper. Minho’s infatuation came with Taemin’s person itself, not with his popularity. There was so much more to Taemin that Minho couldn’t put into words, and that was what captured him every time again.

His interest just would just never touch the end to Taemin’s physical and mental beauty.

Sitting down on the green grass below the tree, Minho let his back fall against the trunk. It felt good being outside in the warm summer air again, even more after such a stressing lecture.

Rummaging through his backpack, Minho wanted to finish what he had started. He wasn’t a person to let something unfinished. It would gnaw at his thoughts if he did, and he wouldn’t feel at ease until he was done. Drawings of Taemin were particularly important, too.

Minho’s hands kept brushing through his backpack, and his forehead creased again when they didn’t come into contact with the familiar object. He looked inside, and a wave of sheer panic started to pump adrenaline into his veins.

Where was his sketchbook?

His hands now darted agitatedly through the bag, pulling every object it contained out of it. With more and more objects thrown into the grass, Minho’s panic grew.

He couldn’t have lost it.

Absolutely not.

Minho dragged his feet heavily on the way back to his apartment the next day.

He went back to his lecture room yesterday after realizing that his sketchbook, the sketchbook containing Taemin’s drawings, was not in his backpack. It wasn’t in the lecture room, either.

Minho had spent the entire day between classes differently to the past year. For once, not one of his thoughts was directed directly at Taemin. He didn’t watch the boy at all. He had searched the campus in hope to find his lost treasure.

Because a treasure it sure was.

And a secret one at that, too. Minho couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to imagine into what hands his sketchbook had fallen into. He knew that there wouldn’t be a difference if someone had kept it or returned it to the Lost and Found corner of the college. Which no one did, as Minho had also checked that possibility. He knew that the person looking into it, as he couldn’t believe noone would, would be appalled by what he saw. And Minho’s bad mood became even worse when he realized that it was the sketchbook where his ideas had become… well, a little less innocent than in his other two.

All in all, Minho’s situation was one of the worst he could have faced. Just because he didn’t know what to do, and who had it.

And the uncertainty about that drove him almost crazy.

Minho figured that there was no other way. He knew that he must have left it in the lecture room when he was too much set on leaving the auditorium as fast as possible. And that meant that one person out of those hundred and something took his sketchbook. And as much as Minho hoped that that person wouldn’t know it belonged to him, he knew hope was scarce. Because his professor had made sure that the entire room had given Minho more than enough attention that day. So for Minho, there was no other way than hoping that person wouldn’t confront him in a way which would make him get even more attention from everybody.

And as much as Minho hoped for it, the majority of his being told him that was very unlikely.

Two weeks had passed, and Minho still didn’t hear anything about his sketchbook. He started to wonder who the person was that had found it, and the curiosity was starting to gnaw at his gut.

Minho knew how most of the students around campus were. They were set on teasing, enjoying their youth with putting socially awkward students in situations that were nothing short of humiliating.

So why had none of his drawings yet resurfaced on the halls of the college, on the college’s contact blog on the internet, as flyers in the cafeteria? Normally his fellow students would never let such a glorious chance of exposition pass by.

Minho wouldn’t believe that he had once again bitten into the unspoiled apple. He couldn’t have had just as much luck this time as he had had when the girl had seen his drawings, could he? Such luck would be unreal.

And Minho really had never been the lucky guy.

And so Minho wondered, his mind playing with every logic possibility as his eyes were following a happy Taemin, who was currently sitting on a bench and enjoying his coffee.

Minho smiled despite his thoughts being occupied by something else as he saw the younger male sip at it, his eyes obviously lighting up as the taste of the beverage filled his mouth. There was nothing cuter than seeing Taemin’s expressions on various occasions.

How Taemin’s eyes would light up when he smiled or tasted something he liked.

How his lips would stretch into a huge smile when he was surprised by something in a positive way.

How his face would become utterly serious, his eyebrows drawn together as he took notes.

How his mouth formed into the most adorable pout whenever someone teased him.

Minho had seen it all. He had seen every bit of Taemin that was to be seen when he was in public, and he doubted that others would even bother to look as closely as he did.

Minho really wanted to get to know Taemin during his private time, too. He blamed himself at his lack of courage. He knew that with his confidence leaving him every time he even so much as thought about approaching Taemin, he would never be able to do it.

And so Minho still sat at a safe distance, watching Taemin starting to pull something out of his backpack. But just as the contours of the object could have been seen, the loud bell indicating the start of the next lecture rang. Taemin hastily put whatever he had in his hand back into his bag, and slung it over his shoulder as he rushed into the next building.

Minho sighed. He, too, should be getting in to class. But something about the prospect of a room without Taemin anywhere close to it wasn’t helping his motivation.

It was a beautiful fall day, the slowly coloring leaves of the trees rustling with a gush of still warm wind.

Minho was sitting outside on a bench again, like he did so much during the passing summer. The light and the warmth was something that attracted him, and even now in the fading season it was mild enough to still spend his time under the trees.

Over the past few weeks, Minho had given up on hoping to ever see his lost treasure again. Nothing had changed. It hadn’t shown up, nor had anyone said anything about it to him. It was a mystery to Minho, but over the days he had gotten accustomed to the thought that it would probably not turn up again.

It was sad for him, though. Just like every other artist, Minho had put a part of his soul into those drawings. Having lost them was like losing a part of him at the same time. It was a feeling Minho didn’t enjoy, but he knew that he couldn’t change it.

To get over that uncomfortable feeling, Minho had bought a new sketchbook. It was weird for him to have to start a blank one, after not having finished the other. After all, finishing something was like a pet peeve of his. The guilty feeling was still in his chest, even if the fact that he couldn’t help it diminished it over time.

But the need for a new sketchbook had been dire.

Taemin had seemed have become even more beautiful during the last few weeks.

Minho didn’t know why, but there was the other male had started to practically glow.

Taemin had always been beautiful, always just so mesmerizing and breathtaking. Minho wouldn’t have thought it possible that he could become even more so. Something about the atmosphere of the boy had changed, and Minho didn’t know what it was. Taemin seemed more content, more happy than he had the months before.

It intrigued Minho. What could have happened to the boy that made him almost shine every new day? The only thing he knew was that it must have been something good.

And Taemin’s new glow had sent Minho’s feeling rocket into the sky.

The clenching feeling in his chest that he always got when he looked at the pretty boy amplified, and the urge to sob because of his beauty had become something Minho had a hard time to control.

Just as his love for the boy had become sweeter, his desire for him had, too.

Minho had never been so overwhelmed by the want to make Taemin his like he was now. He wanted to have the boy to himself, to be the one that elicited such a glow in the boy.

He wanted it more than anything. Instead of his drawings, Minho wanted to treasure Taemin.

This new want that had settled within Minho had also taken over his drawings.

Sitting on the bench, Minho was setting the lines of Taemin’s warm, hazel hair. They fell around his face in the softest way, and the drawn eyes of the boy looked back at Minho with so much love that he almost believed it to be real.

Sunken into his concentration, Minho didn’t feel the presence of someone sitting down next to him. It was like that everytime. Minho always forgot the world around him when he indulged in drawing.

The figure next to him, albeit shyly, slowly and carefully bend to look over his shoulder at the drawing. The person didn’t want to make any sound, in fear they would interrupt the deep moment.

But as their eyes set on the drawing, the face of the model, with the essence and the pure emotions it conveyed, made them gasp.

Minho was startled by the sudden noise. He almost jumped in his seat, and as he turned to see who the intruder was, his mind turned blank.

Taemin, with his cheeks blushing in the most adorable shade of red Minho had ever seen, was sitting next to him, eyes averted in embarrassment.

Minho’s heart was pounding so loud that it tuned out every other noise around him.

And he couldn’t do anything but stare.

Taemin was seemingly quite uncomfortable with the intense gaze that was set on him, but he knew that he had brought it upon himself by sneaking up like this. His eyes darted back and forth between Minho and his hands in his lap, and he bit his lip slightly as he thought about how to get over with the tension in the air.

In the end, his mouth reacted before his mind could.

“Hey.” He said, a bit stupidly. He mentally facepalmed at the phrase.

Minho just kept on looking at Taemin, his eyes still wide, too shocked to even bother covering up the drawing he still held in his hands. His voice had left him, and so he just sat there in silence and stared.

Taemin didn’t know how to go on, so he brought a hand behind his head, running his fingers through his hazel hair awkwardly.

“I just… I guess I wanted to… I mean…” He blushed again at the obvious lack of explanation he was giving. He glanced down at the picture that was still in place on Minho’s lap, a small smile making its way to his lips.

And Minho’s world exploded into a million of little stars.

“That drawing of me is… breathtaking.” He said and his eyes were soft as they looked at the paper on Minho’s lap.

At a loss about what to do, Minho followed Taemin’s gaze and looked at his drawing. He couldn’t believe that the person in it was sitting next to him and talking to him. He was so close, so unbelievably close. If Minho wanted, he could touch him, run his fingers through his hair, over his rosy cheeks. He could feel Taemin’s soft skin if he just as much as held out his arm.

And that realization froze Minho into place even more.

As Minho still had his gaze fixated on his drawing, Taemin turned and rummaged through his backpack. Hearing the rustling noise, Minho turned his head towards the younger boy, curiosity and wonder evident in his dark brown orbs.

Was he dreaming? He must be.

With a small ‘Ah-ha!’, Taemin turned back around to face Minho, his face lit up as he held something in between his hands.

Minho’s eyes dropped to the object Taemin’s small and knobby hands were holding onto, and his eyes widened even more, as if that was possible.

Clutched in Taemin’s hands was his lost sketchbook.

Minho stared at it in shock, not knowing how or why Taemin had it. His mind couldn’t process the situation, as much as it might have been obvious to others.

Taemin still smiled a bit embarrassed as he started speaking again.

“I-I found it in the auditorium some weeks ago. You know, that day the professor scolded you? You must have left it behind. You seemed pretty rushed to get out of there.” Taemin’s solft laughter filled Minho’s ears, and Minho could swear he heard an angel’s bell chime. “Anyway, I was really curious as to what you were drawing… Call me too curious. I always poke my nose into stuff that’s not business…”

“I know I probably shouldn’t have. I mean, I am not really an artist, but I know that you shouldn’t take people’s stuff, and even less an artist’s drawings. But when I saw the first picture… and that it was me on it…” Taemin’s voice drifted off, the slight pink shade returning to his cheeks. He bit his lip, and looked down for a second, and Minho’s heart leaped at the sight.

Then Taemin started again. “At first I thought that this was so weird. Seeing myself being drawn over and over again by a person I didn’t even know, someone I had never actually seen until that day… I didn’t know how to react.” Taemin stopped again, and this time it was Minho’s turn to look away and at the hands that were clutching his drawing in his lap.

Of course Taemin would feel like that - who wouldn’t? Minho had been judged because of this more than one time. After all, his friends, ex-friends, had called him weird and sick. Why would Taemin, the subject of those drawings, feel any different?

Minho felt shame wash over him at Taemin’s words.

“But the more I looked at them… The more I saw the way I was drawn, I couldn’t help but feel flattered. Every picture showed just how much the artist must feel for me, how much I must mean to him… to you.”

Minho didn’t know what to think. Was Taemin actually alright with seeing Minho draw him like that? Slowly Minho turned his eyes to meet Taemin’s, uncertainty reflecting in them. But Taemin’s eyes weren’t hard, or cold. They were soft, and so gentle that Minho forgot to breathe.

Taemin’s gentle smile tugged at his lips as he spoke. “The way you draw me is absolutely beautiful. Yes, of course I thought about the fact that for you to draw me like that, you must have watched me quite some time.” Minho’s cheek turned pink at those words, and his face showed guilt, like a criminal caught during his theft. “But the more I thought about it, the more I felt… special. I felt so unbelievably flattered that someone could feel like this about me. I never thought that I could be the subject of such… …” Taemin searched for the right word. “Of such adoration. And there is just nothing wrong with that.”

Taemin’s eyes held Minho’s gaze, and the emotions that were reflected in them made it hard for Minho to withstand looking away. But this was the chance Minho had hoped for the past year. The moment he had dreamt about so many nights.

It was his chance to get to know Taemin, to break out from his weird habit of only watching the boy. If he got to know Taemin, no one could ever again call him sick for looking at the younger the way he did.

The moment between the two boys drew on, each bathing in the gaze of the other. Minho wasn’t afraid anymore to show the feelings he had for Taemin - what was the point? Taemin had seen his deepest emotions in his drawings, and he accepted them. He didn’t find Minho weird, he didn’t judge him. Hell, Taemin felt special through Minho’s drawings.

The pride that spread in Minho’s chest at being able to make Taemin feel that way through only his drawings, was numbing him. He felt so elated, so light headed. The clenching at his heart wasn’t making him want to sob anymore - it made him want to call his happiness out to the sky above.

Taemin didn’t say a word during their silent exchange of gazes. He didn’t need to. The emotions that Minho had portrayed in his drawings had pulled at his heart, and he felt just so thankful and special like he never thought he could. With just his drawings, Minho had made him so much more confident and happy.

Still in silence, Taemin extended his hand forward, and offered the sketchbook he had found to its righteous owner. Minho looked at it and already started to extend a hand to take it, when a thought hit him. Looking up into Taemin’s eyes and then at the ground at Taemin’s feet, a blush crept once again across his face.

“You… You can keep it. I mean, if you want.” Minho said, his voice merely above a whisper.

Taemin’s smiled widened at the statement, and he squealed happily. Without a second thought, he rushed forward and engulfed Minho in a gentle and soft hug. Minho’s eyes widened at the sudden contact, and he froze. Not knowing what to do, he just sat there, the lingering feeling of Taemin against hi body overwhelming his senses.

Much too soon for Minho’s liking, Taemin pulled back again. But the expression the other male wore on his face was none of goodbye. His expression was excited, and he grinned at Minho with the most illuminating smile. Minho couldn’t help but let a small, small smile graze at his lips, too.

Taemin looked at Minho, his head cocked to the side in, hope evident in his eyes as he said his next words.

“Uhm… Would you, by any chance… want to drink a cup of coffee with me?” He asked, the pink shade back on his cheeks.

Minho looked at Taemin, surprised by his straightforward offer. It was all Minho had hoped for, being able to meet Taemin and having a chance to show the boy how breathtaking he was to him. He had already succeeded in that. An invitation to a cup of coffee was like a bonus.

Minho nodded at Taemin. He knew that he should probably be talking more, showing the boy who he really was and getting to know him.

“My name is Minho, by the way.” He said once again very softly, but it was loud enough to be perceived by the other boy. Taemin’s eyes glinted at the announcement.

“Minho.” He let it roll off his tongue in a first try. Minho could feel a small shudder run down his spine at the way the name rolled off of Taemin’s tongue. “It’s a really nice name.”

And Minho, as the socially awkward student he was, didn’t know what to say to that. But he figured that he didn’t have to say anything. Taemin seemed just as happy without Minho answering more than small bits of words.

It was like Taemin could feel what he felt or wanted to say.

Minho knew it would take time for him to show Taemin just how much he actually meant to him. It would take time to portray his feelings to Taemin. The other had grasped only a little part of them as he had looked at Minho’s drawings. And Minho wanted to show the hazel haired boy so much more.

Yes, it would take time. Meeting his long time crush unexpectedly had shocked Minho into silence even more because he didn’t expect it, because he hadn’t counted on it.

But now, hearing Taemin talk, Minho knew he would be able to show Taemin just how much he felt eventually.

Someday he would run his fingers through Taemin’s hair like he had dreamed to for the past year.

Someday he would caress Taemin’s soft, soft skin under his fingertips like he had longed for all this time.

And someday, he would tell Taemin just how much he loved him, and show him that with all the passion that had bottled up in him since the first time he had laid eyes on him.

It wouldn’t be today, but that day would come a lot faster than Minho thought. And this time, there would be nothing wrong with Minho’s feelings.

Because, like Minho had always said, there was nothing more pure than the feelings of love he felt towards Taemin.

And now he wouldn’t spend them watching, but he would be living them.