Golden yellow rays of sunshine flicker across the tiles, colors blindly passing by Sungyeol’s eyes as he stirs the mug resting in his hands. A gentle breezes plays with the loose strands of hair that he can never seem to tie back into his ponytail and he can smell the scent of lemons from the neighbor’s tree. Myungsoo is perched up on his windowsill as usual, a sweet bun stuffed in his mouth and the swaying of his head distracting Sungyeol from finding any peace. Most days it’s like this. Simple, warm days where Myungsoo appears from nowhere only to pester and distract Sungyeol from work. He never comes through the front door and neither does he leave from there. It’s always the back window. The window by the lemon tree that Sungyeol always forgets to lock or often times leaves open to air out the kitchen.

Myungsoo slips in like a cat, a plate of sweet buns welcoming him and coffee that’s more sugar and milk than anything. He comes and goes as he pleases, sometimes for days in a row before vanishing again. Sungyeol can’t keep track of how long it’s been going on, a year perhaps, but he runs a business and has no time for Myungsoo’s silly games.

The cafe is small and situated in a bustling city where students and workers alike all pile in and out before it’s even 10AM. Sungyeol has gotten used to it here in the big city, a small town boy such as himself. Myungsoo is another story, though one that Sungyeol hasn’t completely figured out quite yet. He doesn’t talk about himself, just shows up when he likes and takes what he wants. He laughs at Sungyeol’s ridiculous jokes and asks him questions about things that Woohyun has once called boring and trivial. Sometimes, Myungsoo gets shy or embarrassed and doesn’t speak at all. It’s easier to read him during those moments, when his messy hair and ripped jeans don’t look as intimidating and he seems almost like an overgrown child, which Sungyeol is beginning to suspect is a little true. He’s simple, apologetic and wanting to please.

But there are days when Myungsoo is perched against that window and there are no smiles and no embarrassed greetings. On those days Myungsoo is beaten purple and black, dried blood on his busted lip and a limp to his walk. He doesn’t talk at all, doesn’t move or speak without Sungyeol pulling gently on his hand, leading him to the bathroom where he cleans and bandages him up. Those days are silent and cold. There is no sunshine, no warm breeze or scent of lemons. Myungsoo becomes empty.

Sungyeol doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t try to figure out what is wrong or who did this. Part of him can already piece it together. It isn’t his place to ask, to meddle with Myungsoo’s problems. All he can do is be a safe place, a place where Myungsoo can stumble to easily in the dark, one where he doesn’t have to explain or beg or even ask Sungyeol for anything.

Those moments are painful. Myungsoo leaves all too quickly, doesn’t return for days after.

And Sungyeol waits. Days, weeks, months, he waits. Sunshine or rain, winter or summer, he waits. He waits until Myungsoo comes back, a smile on his face and the sound of his laughter echoing in the kitchen.

But, he knows. 

One of these days Myungsoo won’t be coming back.