“Hi,” a casual greeting, voice nonchalant but smile familiar.

“The usual?” question courteous but unnecessary. It’s always Americano anyway.

A tip of the head – a yes unsaid, before he walks to his usual table. It’s empty, which he's thankful for; it'd be such a shame to have to move. His seat is familiar, a habit; his seat is a vantage point.

He waits for his coffee, waits for that smile, and then waits for their silent walk home.

Mingyu is at the café again.

---

“It’s been what – two weeks now since you’ve started stalking me?”

“I do not stalk you.”

“Then what would you call it?” asks Wonwoo, bemused, head turned towards this strange boy with a pout on his face, features drawn together as he tries to come up with a rebuttal, vehemently refusing to accept the barista’s accusation. And Wonwoo thinks that with that expression he looks more like a child than a man a head taller than him. And Wonwoo also thinks that from this angle, under the glow of the waning streetlight, exhaling mists of air into the frigid night – he looks divine.

“My stop is just two blocks away right now and you still haven’t answered my question,” he says after what feels like ages of quiet between them.

“Because I have no answer for that other than what I do is not stalking.”

And the tone of his voice, to Wonwoo, is stern, not wrought of conviction but a stubborn naiveté – that he legitimately does not know what he's doing but has stopped figuring it out. The tone of his voice, to Wonwoo, is a reminder to leave it at that.

They're rounding his street now, the roof of his house visible from the distance, and his mind races from all the ways to say goodbye to the other. Will I see you tomorrow feels like a request implied between the lines of a question, expectant; like he could have said he wanted to see him again and it'd mean the same thing. See you at school feels like a reality check, would be a jolt to Mingyu, reminding him that he is not in fact a stranger he'd first laid eyes on in the coffee shop but someone he goes with to school – a football star, a reputation, and someone with whom he is not supposed to have ties with. Because they don’t walk the same circle, have not been in class together, and them saying hi in the hallways would raise question over the circumstance of their acquaintance.

“Bye,” a syllable, that’s all, is what he ends up settling for as his feet automatically bring him toward his destination and his hands unlatch the gates.

Mingyu smiles then, a small one, almost imperceptible in the dark of the night but he sees it through the glow of the moonlight. He walks away silently, and Wonwoo stays just a bit more outside, wondering if he'd hesitate, if he’ll turn his head back. And he does, just as he's almost out of view, and Wonwoo stops berating himself for failing to say what he'd wanted to before there was no more time. Because that moment when their eyes meet, for the final time that evening, feels like Mingyu’s way of saying that yes –

I’ll see you tomorrow.

---

He's staring dazedly at his locker, simple deliberation over which book he was supposed to take turned into reminiscence of last night’s events – the tinkling of the chimes as he walks through the door, head bowed as if he were a spy incognito, avoiding prying eyes; the slight quirk of Wonwoo’s lips as he sees who’d just entered; the concealed lilt in both their voices as Mingyu places his order and they pretend that they don’t know each other – which they don’t, not really then, but there's still some sort of familiarity that they try to deny; his glances in the barista’s direction in between sips of coffee, when he's grown bored of watching other people or the cars outside the glass – timed glances, minutes apart, comforted in the illusion that no he isn't staring, his eyes just happen to skirt past; Wonwoo’s glances in his direction when he's not taking orders, or making them, pretending that he's looking out beyond the windows into the street when really his gaze is resting on Mingyu, and that’s what it is – resting, his rest, allowing himself two seconds of relaxation in the planes of Mingyu’s face.

And then there's the walk, the now daily routine, a silent agreement to fall into step with the other because they take the same path anyway. But then he talks, Wonwoo, he asks Mingyu a question, and that isn't routine. It startles him, the voice, even before he can process the question, which startles him too. It’s teasing, the way it’s asked, but Mingyu finds he doesn’t know how to respond except with a denial that sounds weak even to his ears.

He spends the rest of the walk contemplating what to say but not wanting to think about it, not wanting to acknowledge the idea that he is in fact stalking this boy, and he is letting him, and he doesn’t know what one or the other implies. Soon he hears Wonwoo pad farther away from their joint footsteps and bid him goodbye. What does he say? Nothing, his mind is still racing, chaotic, but he manages a nod if he remembers. He walks away as the sound of metal bars unlatching breaks the stillness of the night, pacing one torpid step in front of another, and then he is still conflicted – will he turn or keep moving; will he chance one final glance in Wonwoo’s direction even when he knows he'd probably have entered the house, hoping he's yet to have entered the house. He stops, heart racing, because the only way to still it is if he turns around. And he turns around, and he's there, just the outline of a boy against the backdrop of the sky. And he smiles, although the other won’t see it; he smiles and likes to think Wonwoo is smiling back – understanding, a silent agreement, because that’s what their relationship is – a silent agreement of company.

He turns, continues walking, emotions now less of a turmoil. Maybe next time he’ll break the silence.

---

A/N: I'm back!!! So sorry this took a while (who am I kidding it took forever), but I had two internships this summer and then it was straight back to school. But do not fret, my schedule won't be as hectic anymore as the past few months, so fingers crossed I can find ample time to write. Thank you for holding on, loves!