When Minho thinks of late night stargazings on old rooftops, he doesn't think of Taehyun's sudden ramblings and confessions, or of their eyes meeting and speaking in their own language, or of them stumbling back to his room, bodies pressing too close. 

When Minho thinks of rainy mornings and cold coffees, he doesn't think of Taehyun lying on his bed, whispering a good morning, or of fingers treading through his hair, cupping the nape of his neck, or of them rolling around the blankets, smiling like fools.

When Minho thinks of Taehyun, he convinces himself that stargazings and old rooftops and rainy mornings and cold coffees are nothing more than memories that should be forgotten.