Built on Whims [ Part 1 ]
Taemin/Minho
PG-13, Romance
★ Minho had never been lucky with blind dates, but they could be the door to fortunate encounters.
The thing with blind dates set up by his sunbaes was that Minho had no idea what the girls liked and couldn’t make plans accordingly. He ended up either making plans in a shabby old café that had some sort of cachet (which the girls didn’t always like), or booking a table in an over-the-top fancy restaurant that ate up half of his weekly allowance. He found himself in the second scenario this time around and, as usual, he wondered if he’d made the right choice.
The girl was pretty, sure, but there was something about her personality that just didn’t match with Minho’s criteria of a pleasant date. In a mere half hour, he’d heard her moan and groan about her parents, her school’s administration, her ex-boyfriend, her classes...and still, nothing seemed to satisfy her.
Luckily, he was quite the patient listener. It helped that the table was lit by a candle because he found himself deeply entertained by the way the flame danced with every one of their breaths and the movements of waiters walking briskly around the table.
When their food arrived, she was talking about her last trip to Jeju Island with vivid hatred towards the resort her father had picked. He could predict that it was only a matter of time before she’d started noticing how dry her lettuce was or how acidic her tomatoes were.
“Would you like some sauce with that sir?” The waiter asked. He was quite cute, the waiter, and Minho couldn’t help his eyes from trailing after him as he walked away to wait on another table after he had received confirmation that everything was fine the way it was.
They had to call him again a few times during the night because the salad contained pecan nuts and, apparently, his date disliked that. Minho kept a straight face when he nodded at the waiter telling him he’d have to pay extra because the first salad was already half eaten. He really just wanted the night to end, by this point.
“I’m very sorry sir,” The waiter said. He looked genuinely empathic. “I’ll see what I can do to make it as light a difference as possible.”
Minho smiled, appreciating the kindness. He unfortunately had to return to his date who had moved on to ramble about a teacher who supposedly asked too much of his students. She made him sound insane but Minho was pretty sure she was exaggerating.
When she (finally) finished her meal, Minho excused himself to the bathroom. There was no way he could keep up a conversation without food to focus on. She grinned at him and agreed to wait, which he would have found nice if he hadn’t remembered that he still needed to pay for the both of them.
The bathroom wasn’t quite as chic as the restaurant. While the dining room was all velvet and silverware, the bathroom was a plain white room with obnoxious turquoise stalls. He sighed, walking towards the urinals, dragging his feet to make his stay as long as possible.
There was someone in one of the stalls behind him but he didn’t pay it any attention, that is, until he was washing his hands and heard curses and mumbles coming from it. He dried his hands and was about to walk out but curiosity got the best of him and he walked quietly to the stall. He knocked once and the door opened slightly. It was unlocked.
“Hello?” He asked, pushing open the door ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” A person was perched on the edge toilet and almost fell down in surprise when their eyes met. It was the cute waiter from earlier, holding onto the wall to gain his balance back, a roll of paper towel under his arm. One of his hands was covering markings on the wall, but Minho failed to read any of it.
“Sir, I’m sorry this stall is uh- out of order for now.” The waiter said; his black trousers and vest in complete contrast with their surroundings.
“What are you doing?” Minho asked, squinting his eyes to read the letters traced in black marker.
The waiter twitched, looking down at him with an obviously forced smile. “Thank you for your interest, but I’m just doing my job,”
Minho scoffed, walking forward impulsively to tug the waiter down from the toilet so he could see the letters. The boy was probably younger than him and his frail physique made it easy for Minho to pull him down. However, he could barely catch of glimpse of numbers on the wall before hands were covering his eyes.
“What the-”
“Sorry, sir, but you shouldn’t see that.” The waiter said with panic coating his voice. His hands felt rugged against Minho’s cheeks, most likely because of the paper towel. “My hyungs played a joke on me and I need to clear it up before the manager finds out.”
“What’s the joke?”
Minho could only see darkness but he made no move to get the hands away from his face. He found it amusing. Besides, the boy’s behaviour made him all the more curious about what was written on that wall.
“They-” The waiter sighed and let his hands drop from Minho’s face. “Okay, look.”
Minho could see again and his eyes immediately went to the black letters on the turquoise wall.
For a good time, give Lee Taemin a call, it read. A phone number was scribbled right underneath the message.
“Are you Lee Taemin?” Minho asked; eyes still on the letters.
The boy blushed. “Yeah. That’s me.” He said. “And that’s my number. I keep getting really creepy texts because of that message. I’ve stopped wearing a nametag too and that’s against the rules here but I got sick of people fondling me under the tables.” Taemin spat out, all in one breath. He was almost panting.
It was hard to keep the laughter in, but Minho managed to do it. The boy seemed so flustered and the tinge red on his cheek made it even more hilarious.
“I shouldn’t be telling this to a customer, but you’re the one who asked.” Taemin said, pouting.
“It’s kind of a cruel joke,” Minho crossed his arms above his chest, leaning against the frame of the stall. “How do you get rid of Sharpie on painted metal?”
Taemin growled. “I don’t know. I’ve tried every one of our cleaning product and I tried alcohol, but nothing worked so far.”
“Did you try just scratching it off with your nails?”
“It just sort of glides across the lines.” Taemin got up on the toilet again and scratched at the T of his name. “See?”
Minho nodded. “You should put a sign up until you figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Taemin got down, looking mournfully at the message. “I need to get rid of it by Monday. I don’t know what’s gonna happen if the manager sees it.”
They stared the graffito in silence. The bustling from the restaurant echoed dully into the bathroom; clinking of plates, footsteps on carpeted floors and low chitchat all mixing together. Minho conceded that brainstorming ways to get ink off a bathroom wall was better than listening to his date ramble on. Date he should get back too, he presumed.
“I should, uh, yeah.” He pointed behind him, and then tried to squeeze past Taemin who shot him a dazzling smile.
“Your date seems to be difficult,” He said, chuckling.
“It was a blind date.” Minho hurried to say, unsure why it made any difference.
Taemin nodded, smile still on his lips. “Pardon my question, sir, but isn’t a 4 star restaurant a bit much for a blind date,”
There was pause. Minho shrugged, shooting Taemin an awkward smile before leaving the bathroom and coming back to the smell of expensive food and the sight of the dimly lit dining room. He saw the way the girl at his table scowled at him as he approached her.
“What took you so long?” She asked a bit too harshly. Minho only laughed, pushed away two empty candy wrappers from the leather folder where the bill rested and took out his credit card.
----------
The next day came and went like any other Sunday. Minho hung out with excited sunbaes who wanted to know all about his date. He didn’t want to elaborate on the details for fear of insulting their girl-selection skills, but made it clear that he had no intention of seeing her again. The rest of his time was spent at his apartment, staring at his computer screen and attempting to fool himself into thinking that it could be counted as productivity.
It was only when his alarm clock showed 4:30 that he remembered about Lee Taemin. He grinned, reliving their short encounter. He had been juggling ideas around all day. He wasn’t one to go out of his way for others, but he thought it could be fun to do something crazy for once. Beat staring a blank Word document.
A few minutes later, he was coming out of the hardware store at the corner of his street with their smallest can of turquoise paint and a brush. He hid them in his messenger bag, heading for the restaurant he had just been in not even 24 hours earlier.
He was fortunate enough to get a table for one without too many funny glances in his direction. The restaurant’s atmosphere was lighter than the night before, somehow. He ordered the cheapest item on the menu, eyes roaming around the dining room -and what he assumed were the doors to the kitchen- in hope to see the cute waiter. He couldn’t find him.
His fingers were clutching the bag at his side. He found himself hesitating now that he was there, a few feet away from the bathroom door. He had acted on an impulse, without any consideration. When his food arrived, he barely gazed at the parmesan fondue sitting on top of some lettuce.
Minho looked around. A woman raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He smiled and bowed his head solemnly, greeting her politely. From an outsider’s point-of-view, he must have looked pretty suspicious. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this nervous. He looked around again, making sure that no one would be alerted by his sneaking inside the washroom. After a minute or so, he put his fork down gently, got up and walked, as coolly as possibly, toward the bathroom.
Once inside, Minho practically jumped into the first stall, stopping a few seconds to acknowledge the handwritten ‘out-of-order’ sign stuck to the door with tape. He immediately placed his bag on the damp floor and got his earlier purchase out. He shook the can of paint, took off the lid, dipped the brush into the greenish liquid and looked up at the bold message, once again hesitant. He bit the inside of his cheek and put the brush down with the can on the toilet tank.
Getting up on the side of the toilet was a shaky business. He was consistently trying to find some kind of balance and he could only hope that a false move wouldn’t make one of his foot fall into the water. He grimaced at the thought. He took his cellphone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the message on the wall. For future reference, he thought.
Minho was slipping his phone back into his pocket when he heard the door to the bathroom open. He went to pick up the brush again, ignoring whoever had come in.
“Hello, sir?” He heard someone say. Minho’s mouth curled up on its own when he thought he recognized the voice. “There’s been some concern about you, could you please kindly step out of the stall.”
“You can come in,” Minho said. He started to spread color on top of some graffiti.
“I’d rather you come out sir, or I will call security.” The voice warned him.
“Just come in.” Minho insisted. He bit on the handle of the brush to free his hand. Holding the wall with one hand, he reached out to pull the door open with the other.
Taemin was standing in front of him, a puzzled expression on his face.
“I think I’ve found a way to make this go away,” Minho said after grabbing the brush back. The other remained quiet. His silence made Minho a bit anxious. “Did you not want to get rid of it?”
It took a moment, but soon, Taemin was laughing, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re the person from yesterday.” He said, still laughing. “You came back all the way here to paint over this, sir?”
Minho shrugged. “I had nothing to do anyway. Might as well do something useful for someone.” He painted over the first line. “And you can call me Minho,”
Taemin shook his head slowly, chuckling still. “You know I don’t actually do whatever the message implied. I don’t offer that kind of service.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” Minho covered Taemin’s name with a swift brush stroke. “You don’t owe me anything either. I told you I was bored.”
It was hard to focus on the wall when Taemin’s light laughter still rang in his ears. He wanted to see what kind of expression the other wore, but decided against it when he felt his foot slip. He went to dip his brush inside the green liquid instead.
“This is ridiculous,” Taemin said. “I should thank you somehow, though.”
“Coffee would be nice.” Minho suggested as the numbers on the wall vanished. “Do you think it’s a shade too dark?”
“It’s fine,” Taemin chortled. “Coffee’s fine too.”
There was a nice moment in which Minho finished spreading the paint, looking proud with his work, and Taemin leant against the wall behind him, looking amused yet thankful. It only lasted a minute, then the bathroom door was opening and Taemin was throwing a quick, panicked glance in his direction. Surprised, Minho backed up and his foot slipped, falling into the ice cold water he dreaded. A loud banging sound echoed as his back hit the wall. Taemin scurried to his help, holding the door closed with one foot and Minho up with his two hands.
“Are you okay?” A man asked from outside the stall. He sounded worried.
Minho glimpsed at Taemin who seemed to be about to burst out laughing any second. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” He yelled over the wall although he was everything but okay.
They heard water running as the man washed his hands, then they heard him leave. As soon as the door clicked closed, Taemin’s arms gave up. Minho slid down uselessly, gripping at the surface when he was too low on the wall.
Taemin laughed and laughed, clapping his hands in glee. Minho gave him an unconvincing glare. The can of paint was safe on the toilet tank but paint had dripped on his shirt when he’d let go of the brush to grab at anything that could save him from the fall. His shoe was soaking wet.
As much as he willed it, he couldn’t stay angry for long because Taemin was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.
“So coffee next Friday?” Minho asked, shaking the water off his shoe.
Taemin rubbed his eyes, heaving. “I’m working on Fridays.” He coughed a few times to get his voice back to its usual level. “What about Wednesday?”
“Can’t. I’ve got class.” Minho took his shoe off. Some water drops flew in Taemin’s direction. He scrunched up his nose. “What time does your shift end on Friday?”
“10pm.” Taemin pushed himself up.
“I’m free at 10 on Friday.” Minho gave him his best smile. He hopped on one foot as he tried to get his sock off so he could twist the water out.
“I have a pair of socks in my locker.” Taemin told him, walking out of the stall to give more space to the hopping boy. “Go back to your table. I’ll bring them right over.”
“Thanks” Minho said. “So, Friday-”
“10:15. I’ll wait for you in front of the restaurant.” Taemin said on his way to the door. Minho gathered up his belongings and went back to his -now cold- parmesan fondue with a smile. Maybe he should trust his impulsiveness more often.
---------------
As it turned out, getting coffee on that Friday night was the first of a series of late-night rendezvous. Every week, Minho would wait by the staff door at the back of the restaurant and Taemin would meet him; eyes tired and scarf askew, but smile as large as the moon shining above them.
They wouldn’t do much else than talk about hobbies, restaurant anecdotes and Minho’s sunbaes, but Minho soon found himself looking forward to meeting the younger boy more than any of his friends. They went to the same university but were in different years and faculties which made it unlikely for them to meet on campus. But their common knowledge of the school provided them with an easy topic to go back to if all else failed.
A month later, Minho was waiting outside the restaurant, hands deep in his pockets so that the late-autumn air didn’t freeze his fingers. Taemin joined him about 10 minutes after his arrival. A scarf was wrapped around his neck but his outfit wasn’t enough to stop the shiver that ran through his body.
“Hyung, wanna go to a park tonight? I heard they put up Christmas lights in the one next to school.” Taemin said happily.
Minho smiled. It had taken much coaxing to get Taemin to stop instinctively call him sir, but he was getting there.
“Sure. Won’t you be cold though?”
Taemin smiled, looking as bright as ever. “As long as we don’t stop walking, I should be fine.”
And they set off for the park. There were few people admiring the Christmas lights and Minho was thankful for the quiet and calm atmosphere. He buried his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, noticing his breath turning into white smoke.
“It’s really getting colder now,” Minho said.
“It smells cold too!” Taemin added, sniffing at the air like a puppy.
“Stop being cute,” He said, shoving the other playfully. “How was your day at the restaurant?”
Taemin was the youngest waiter and with that came a lot more jokes than pampering. Despite how irritated he’d get at his coworkers sometimes, Minho loved to hear Taemin talk freely about them. He was still reluctant to say anything remotely negative about his hyungs but after Minho promised he would never tell, he’d started to loosen up. His restaurant storied were always fun to hear.
They were talking about how much winter sucked as they walked through the park, but his attention was cut short when Taemin casually slipped his arm around his. Minho slowed his pace. Taemin hadn’t stopped talking, moving his free hand with great enthusiasm. He seemed unfazed by the sudden closeness he had created. Minho had only ever seen girls and couples walk like this before. He wasn’t sure where guys stood but guessed it’d be rude to pull away.
Walking arm in arm was much more trouble than he’d assumed. They constantly bumped into each other and their feet sometimes scraped the ground. He slowed down again. Taemin didn’t seem to notice how weirded out Minho was because he was rambling on about his roommates now.
Minho thought that he might be putting too much thought into it.
“Are you okay?” Taemin asked at some point. “You’ve been really quiet.”
Minho looked around. Christmas lights were surrounding them. It was a kind of electric yellow light that he could see reflected off Taemin’s skin and he thought he’d never seen someone’s eyes sparkle so brightly before. Biting the inside of his cheek he turned away from the younger boy.
“No I’m fine. My brain’s just mush tonight, I guess.” Minho said, wriggling his fingers in his pockets nervously. “What were you saying?”
Taemin brightened up and they continued to meander around the park. To say that Minho listened to everything Taemin was saying would have been a lie. He was much more concentrated on his heart beating a little faster every time he felt Taemin adjust his grip on his arm. He wondered if they would be holding hands, had it not been too cold for his fingers to be out in the freezing air. He found himself obsessing over the thought.
“So Kibum-hyung had this big bag of rice, right?” Taemin was already laughing. “And his plan was to make samgak kimbap for us, but he forgot to fill and season them so we had a fridge full of plain rice balls for a week!”
“That’s a lot of rice,” Minho agreed, arranging his arm so that Taemin had to walk a little closer. He wasn’t sure if his gesture was intentional.
“We had to throw most of it away ’cause it was getting moldy. Onew-hyung, our neighbour, got sick and it was like the end of the world for a week. I’ve never seen Kibum-hyung look so guilty before.” The younger didn’t pause and was suddenly so close to Minho that the latter was pretty sure they were sharing body heat.
It was already 1am when they got to the bus stop. Taemin had let go of his arm at some point, leaving him cold and doubting it had ever even happened. If it weren’t for the buzzing of Minho’s thoughts, the silence as they waited for their buses would have been comfortable. Taemin yawned widely multiple times and the water that had gathered in the corners of his eyes was glistening in the bus’ headlights.
Before he hopped on the bus, he turned to Minho, smiling brightly.
“I’ll see you next week?” He chirped, looking exhausted, but satisfied.
Minho could barely crack a smile as he dwelled on the realisation that maybe he was a little more than smitten.
[ Part 2 ]
PG-13, Romance
★ Minho had never been lucky with blind dates, but they could be the door to fortunate encounters.
The thing with blind dates set up by his sunbaes was that Minho had no idea what the girls liked and couldn’t make plans accordingly. He ended up either making plans in a shabby old café that had some sort of cachet (which the girls didn’t always like), or booking a table in an over-the-top fancy restaurant that ate up half of his weekly allowance. He found himself in the second scenario this time around and, as usual, he wondered if he’d made the right choice.
The girl was pretty, sure, but there was something about her personality that just didn’t match with Minho’s criteria of a pleasant date. In a mere half hour, he’d heard her moan and groan about her parents, her school’s administration, her ex-boyfriend, her classes...and still, nothing seemed to satisfy her.
Luckily, he was quite the patient listener. It helped that the table was lit by a candle because he found himself deeply entertained by the way the flame danced with every one of their breaths and the movements of waiters walking briskly around the table.
When their food arrived, she was talking about her last trip to Jeju Island with vivid hatred towards the resort her father had picked. He could predict that it was only a matter of time before she’d started noticing how dry her lettuce was or how acidic her tomatoes were.
“Would you like some sauce with that sir?” The waiter asked. He was quite cute, the waiter, and Minho couldn’t help his eyes from trailing after him as he walked away to wait on another table after he had received confirmation that everything was fine the way it was.
They had to call him again a few times during the night because the salad contained pecan nuts and, apparently, his date disliked that. Minho kept a straight face when he nodded at the waiter telling him he’d have to pay extra because the first salad was already half eaten. He really just wanted the night to end, by this point.
“I’m very sorry sir,” The waiter said. He looked genuinely empathic. “I’ll see what I can do to make it as light a difference as possible.”
Minho smiled, appreciating the kindness. He unfortunately had to return to his date who had moved on to ramble about a teacher who supposedly asked too much of his students. She made him sound insane but Minho was pretty sure she was exaggerating.
When she (finally) finished her meal, Minho excused himself to the bathroom. There was no way he could keep up a conversation without food to focus on. She grinned at him and agreed to wait, which he would have found nice if he hadn’t remembered that he still needed to pay for the both of them.
The bathroom wasn’t quite as chic as the restaurant. While the dining room was all velvet and silverware, the bathroom was a plain white room with obnoxious turquoise stalls. He sighed, walking towards the urinals, dragging his feet to make his stay as long as possible.
There was someone in one of the stalls behind him but he didn’t pay it any attention, that is, until he was washing his hands and heard curses and mumbles coming from it. He dried his hands and was about to walk out but curiosity got the best of him and he walked quietly to the stall. He knocked once and the door opened slightly. It was unlocked.
“Hello?” He asked, pushing open the door ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” A person was perched on the edge toilet and almost fell down in surprise when their eyes met. It was the cute waiter from earlier, holding onto the wall to gain his balance back, a roll of paper towel under his arm. One of his hands was covering markings on the wall, but Minho failed to read any of it.
“Sir, I’m sorry this stall is uh- out of order for now.” The waiter said; his black trousers and vest in complete contrast with their surroundings.
“What are you doing?” Minho asked, squinting his eyes to read the letters traced in black marker.
The waiter twitched, looking down at him with an obviously forced smile. “Thank you for your interest, but I’m just doing my job,”
Minho scoffed, walking forward impulsively to tug the waiter down from the toilet so he could see the letters. The boy was probably younger than him and his frail physique made it easy for Minho to pull him down. However, he could barely catch of glimpse of numbers on the wall before hands were covering his eyes.
“What the-”
“Sorry, sir, but you shouldn’t see that.” The waiter said with panic coating his voice. His hands felt rugged against Minho’s cheeks, most likely because of the paper towel. “My hyungs played a joke on me and I need to clear it up before the manager finds out.”
“What’s the joke?”
Minho could only see darkness but he made no move to get the hands away from his face. He found it amusing. Besides, the boy’s behaviour made him all the more curious about what was written on that wall.
“They-” The waiter sighed and let his hands drop from Minho’s face. “Okay, look.”
Minho could see again and his eyes immediately went to the black letters on the turquoise wall.
For a good time, give Lee Taemin a call, it read. A phone number was scribbled right underneath the message.
“Are you Lee Taemin?” Minho asked; eyes still on the letters.
The boy blushed. “Yeah. That’s me.” He said. “And that’s my number. I keep getting really creepy texts because of that message. I’ve stopped wearing a nametag too and that’s against the rules here but I got sick of people fondling me under the tables.” Taemin spat out, all in one breath. He was almost panting.
It was hard to keep the laughter in, but Minho managed to do it. The boy seemed so flustered and the tinge red on his cheek made it even more hilarious.
“I shouldn’t be telling this to a customer, but you’re the one who asked.” Taemin said, pouting.
“It’s kind of a cruel joke,” Minho crossed his arms above his chest, leaning against the frame of the stall. “How do you get rid of Sharpie on painted metal?”
Taemin growled. “I don’t know. I’ve tried every one of our cleaning product and I tried alcohol, but nothing worked so far.”
“Did you try just scratching it off with your nails?”
“It just sort of glides across the lines.” Taemin got up on the toilet again and scratched at the T of his name. “See?”
Minho nodded. “You should put a sign up until you figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Taemin got down, looking mournfully at the message. “I need to get rid of it by Monday. I don’t know what’s gonna happen if the manager sees it.”
They stared the graffito in silence. The bustling from the restaurant echoed dully into the bathroom; clinking of plates, footsteps on carpeted floors and low chitchat all mixing together. Minho conceded that brainstorming ways to get ink off a bathroom wall was better than listening to his date ramble on. Date he should get back too, he presumed.
“I should, uh, yeah.” He pointed behind him, and then tried to squeeze past Taemin who shot him a dazzling smile.
“Your date seems to be difficult,” He said, chuckling.
“It was a blind date.” Minho hurried to say, unsure why it made any difference.
Taemin nodded, smile still on his lips. “Pardon my question, sir, but isn’t a 4 star restaurant a bit much for a blind date,”
There was pause. Minho shrugged, shooting Taemin an awkward smile before leaving the bathroom and coming back to the smell of expensive food and the sight of the dimly lit dining room. He saw the way the girl at his table scowled at him as he approached her.
“What took you so long?” She asked a bit too harshly. Minho only laughed, pushed away two empty candy wrappers from the leather folder where the bill rested and took out his credit card.
----------
The next day came and went like any other Sunday. Minho hung out with excited sunbaes who wanted to know all about his date. He didn’t want to elaborate on the details for fear of insulting their girl-selection skills, but made it clear that he had no intention of seeing her again. The rest of his time was spent at his apartment, staring at his computer screen and attempting to fool himself into thinking that it could be counted as productivity.
It was only when his alarm clock showed 4:30 that he remembered about Lee Taemin. He grinned, reliving their short encounter. He had been juggling ideas around all day. He wasn’t one to go out of his way for others, but he thought it could be fun to do something crazy for once. Beat staring a blank Word document.
A few minutes later, he was coming out of the hardware store at the corner of his street with their smallest can of turquoise paint and a brush. He hid them in his messenger bag, heading for the restaurant he had just been in not even 24 hours earlier.
He was fortunate enough to get a table for one without too many funny glances in his direction. The restaurant’s atmosphere was lighter than the night before, somehow. He ordered the cheapest item on the menu, eyes roaming around the dining room -and what he assumed were the doors to the kitchen- in hope to see the cute waiter. He couldn’t find him.
His fingers were clutching the bag at his side. He found himself hesitating now that he was there, a few feet away from the bathroom door. He had acted on an impulse, without any consideration. When his food arrived, he barely gazed at the parmesan fondue sitting on top of some lettuce.
Minho looked around. A woman raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He smiled and bowed his head solemnly, greeting her politely. From an outsider’s point-of-view, he must have looked pretty suspicious. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this nervous. He looked around again, making sure that no one would be alerted by his sneaking inside the washroom. After a minute or so, he put his fork down gently, got up and walked, as coolly as possibly, toward the bathroom.
Once inside, Minho practically jumped into the first stall, stopping a few seconds to acknowledge the handwritten ‘out-of-order’ sign stuck to the door with tape. He immediately placed his bag on the damp floor and got his earlier purchase out. He shook the can of paint, took off the lid, dipped the brush into the greenish liquid and looked up at the bold message, once again hesitant. He bit the inside of his cheek and put the brush down with the can on the toilet tank.
Getting up on the side of the toilet was a shaky business. He was consistently trying to find some kind of balance and he could only hope that a false move wouldn’t make one of his foot fall into the water. He grimaced at the thought. He took his cellphone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the message on the wall. For future reference, he thought.
Minho was slipping his phone back into his pocket when he heard the door to the bathroom open. He went to pick up the brush again, ignoring whoever had come in.
“Hello, sir?” He heard someone say. Minho’s mouth curled up on its own when he thought he recognized the voice. “There’s been some concern about you, could you please kindly step out of the stall.”
“You can come in,” Minho said. He started to spread color on top of some graffiti.
“I’d rather you come out sir, or I will call security.” The voice warned him.
“Just come in.” Minho insisted. He bit on the handle of the brush to free his hand. Holding the wall with one hand, he reached out to pull the door open with the other.
Taemin was standing in front of him, a puzzled expression on his face.
“I think I’ve found a way to make this go away,” Minho said after grabbing the brush back. The other remained quiet. His silence made Minho a bit anxious. “Did you not want to get rid of it?”
It took a moment, but soon, Taemin was laughing, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re the person from yesterday.” He said, still laughing. “You came back all the way here to paint over this, sir?”
Minho shrugged. “I had nothing to do anyway. Might as well do something useful for someone.” He painted over the first line. “And you can call me Minho,”
Taemin shook his head slowly, chuckling still. “You know I don’t actually do whatever the message implied. I don’t offer that kind of service.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” Minho covered Taemin’s name with a swift brush stroke. “You don’t owe me anything either. I told you I was bored.”
It was hard to focus on the wall when Taemin’s light laughter still rang in his ears. He wanted to see what kind of expression the other wore, but decided against it when he felt his foot slip. He went to dip his brush inside the green liquid instead.
“This is ridiculous,” Taemin said. “I should thank you somehow, though.”
“Coffee would be nice.” Minho suggested as the numbers on the wall vanished. “Do you think it’s a shade too dark?”
“It’s fine,” Taemin chortled. “Coffee’s fine too.”
There was a nice moment in which Minho finished spreading the paint, looking proud with his work, and Taemin leant against the wall behind him, looking amused yet thankful. It only lasted a minute, then the bathroom door was opening and Taemin was throwing a quick, panicked glance in his direction. Surprised, Minho backed up and his foot slipped, falling into the ice cold water he dreaded. A loud banging sound echoed as his back hit the wall. Taemin scurried to his help, holding the door closed with one foot and Minho up with his two hands.
“Are you okay?” A man asked from outside the stall. He sounded worried.
Minho glimpsed at Taemin who seemed to be about to burst out laughing any second. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” He yelled over the wall although he was everything but okay.
They heard water running as the man washed his hands, then they heard him leave. As soon as the door clicked closed, Taemin’s arms gave up. Minho slid down uselessly, gripping at the surface when he was too low on the wall.
Taemin laughed and laughed, clapping his hands in glee. Minho gave him an unconvincing glare. The can of paint was safe on the toilet tank but paint had dripped on his shirt when he’d let go of the brush to grab at anything that could save him from the fall. His shoe was soaking wet.
As much as he willed it, he couldn’t stay angry for long because Taemin was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.
“So coffee next Friday?” Minho asked, shaking the water off his shoe.
Taemin rubbed his eyes, heaving. “I’m working on Fridays.” He coughed a few times to get his voice back to its usual level. “What about Wednesday?”
“Can’t. I’ve got class.” Minho took his shoe off. Some water drops flew in Taemin’s direction. He scrunched up his nose. “What time does your shift end on Friday?”
“10pm.” Taemin pushed himself up.
“I’m free at 10 on Friday.” Minho gave him his best smile. He hopped on one foot as he tried to get his sock off so he could twist the water out.
“I have a pair of socks in my locker.” Taemin told him, walking out of the stall to give more space to the hopping boy. “Go back to your table. I’ll bring them right over.”
“Thanks” Minho said. “So, Friday-”
“10:15. I’ll wait for you in front of the restaurant.” Taemin said on his way to the door. Minho gathered up his belongings and went back to his -now cold- parmesan fondue with a smile. Maybe he should trust his impulsiveness more often.
---------------
As it turned out, getting coffee on that Friday night was the first of a series of late-night rendezvous. Every week, Minho would wait by the staff door at the back of the restaurant and Taemin would meet him; eyes tired and scarf askew, but smile as large as the moon shining above them.
They wouldn’t do much else than talk about hobbies, restaurant anecdotes and Minho’s sunbaes, but Minho soon found himself looking forward to meeting the younger boy more than any of his friends. They went to the same university but were in different years and faculties which made it unlikely for them to meet on campus. But their common knowledge of the school provided them with an easy topic to go back to if all else failed.
A month later, Minho was waiting outside the restaurant, hands deep in his pockets so that the late-autumn air didn’t freeze his fingers. Taemin joined him about 10 minutes after his arrival. A scarf was wrapped around his neck but his outfit wasn’t enough to stop the shiver that ran through his body.
“Hyung, wanna go to a park tonight? I heard they put up Christmas lights in the one next to school.” Taemin said happily.
Minho smiled. It had taken much coaxing to get Taemin to stop instinctively call him sir, but he was getting there.
“Sure. Won’t you be cold though?”
Taemin smiled, looking as bright as ever. “As long as we don’t stop walking, I should be fine.”
And they set off for the park. There were few people admiring the Christmas lights and Minho was thankful for the quiet and calm atmosphere. He buried his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, noticing his breath turning into white smoke.
“It’s really getting colder now,” Minho said.
“It smells cold too!” Taemin added, sniffing at the air like a puppy.
“Stop being cute,” He said, shoving the other playfully. “How was your day at the restaurant?”
Taemin was the youngest waiter and with that came a lot more jokes than pampering. Despite how irritated he’d get at his coworkers sometimes, Minho loved to hear Taemin talk freely about them. He was still reluctant to say anything remotely negative about his hyungs but after Minho promised he would never tell, he’d started to loosen up. His restaurant storied were always fun to hear.
They were talking about how much winter sucked as they walked through the park, but his attention was cut short when Taemin casually slipped his arm around his. Minho slowed his pace. Taemin hadn’t stopped talking, moving his free hand with great enthusiasm. He seemed unfazed by the sudden closeness he had created. Minho had only ever seen girls and couples walk like this before. He wasn’t sure where guys stood but guessed it’d be rude to pull away.
Walking arm in arm was much more trouble than he’d assumed. They constantly bumped into each other and their feet sometimes scraped the ground. He slowed down again. Taemin didn’t seem to notice how weirded out Minho was because he was rambling on about his roommates now.
Minho thought that he might be putting too much thought into it.
“Are you okay?” Taemin asked at some point. “You’ve been really quiet.”
Minho looked around. Christmas lights were surrounding them. It was a kind of electric yellow light that he could see reflected off Taemin’s skin and he thought he’d never seen someone’s eyes sparkle so brightly before. Biting the inside of his cheek he turned away from the younger boy.
“No I’m fine. My brain’s just mush tonight, I guess.” Minho said, wriggling his fingers in his pockets nervously. “What were you saying?”
Taemin brightened up and they continued to meander around the park. To say that Minho listened to everything Taemin was saying would have been a lie. He was much more concentrated on his heart beating a little faster every time he felt Taemin adjust his grip on his arm. He wondered if they would be holding hands, had it not been too cold for his fingers to be out in the freezing air. He found himself obsessing over the thought.
“So Kibum-hyung had this big bag of rice, right?” Taemin was already laughing. “And his plan was to make samgak kimbap for us, but he forgot to fill and season them so we had a fridge full of plain rice balls for a week!”
“That’s a lot of rice,” Minho agreed, arranging his arm so that Taemin had to walk a little closer. He wasn’t sure if his gesture was intentional.
“We had to throw most of it away ’cause it was getting moldy. Onew-hyung, our neighbour, got sick and it was like the end of the world for a week. I’ve never seen Kibum-hyung look so guilty before.” The younger didn’t pause and was suddenly so close to Minho that the latter was pretty sure they were sharing body heat.
It was already 1am when they got to the bus stop. Taemin had let go of his arm at some point, leaving him cold and doubting it had ever even happened. If it weren’t for the buzzing of Minho’s thoughts, the silence as they waited for their buses would have been comfortable. Taemin yawned widely multiple times and the water that had gathered in the corners of his eyes was glistening in the bus’ headlights.
Before he hopped on the bus, he turned to Minho, smiling brightly.
“I’ll see you next week?” He chirped, looking exhausted, but satisfied.
Minho could barely crack a smile as he dwelled on the realisation that maybe he was a little more than smitten.
[ Part 2 ]