Sehun keeps up the bubble tea dates-but-not-dates for another week. It’s seven days of staring, mute giggles, and appreciating just how beautiful the other male is. He discovers several more flavours of bubble tea that he never would have found if not for the other guy having all sort of likings for stuff he didn't even know existed. Things like soursop, mint, and even watermelon soon become some of his favourite drinks after seeing the other drink them on the balcony far away. Previously, he’s only known peach, vanilla, chocolate, green tea, and all the other typical, boring flavours.

He owes that to the guy, at the very least.

But it’s not just that. It’s just not all about new flavours, it’s the way they somehow manage to come out at exactly the same time, every day. Except for those few days at the beginning, those were exceptions. It’s the way Sehun can actually see his face light up at the sight of him, and feel his own heart speed up when he sees the bright, toothy smile the other male flashes at him every time they ‘meet’, even though they’re at least ten metres away from each other.

And so, each day, he never fails to go out to his balcony with the flavour of bubble tea the other guy bought yesterday, equipped with a light heart and a spring in his step.

That day, it’s the piquant taste of passion fruit which accompanies him to the soon-to-be battleground that is his balcony.

There’s nothing different that day, nothing to warn him about the impending storm of emotions. He still goes out of his house at a quarter past two to buy the bubble tea, spends another fifteen minutes walking, and the rest organising his collection of bubble tea lids. At two forty, he walks downstairs to collect his half-frozen drink from the freezer. At exactly, two forty-five, he pulls open the balcony door and steps out into the shade provided by the gigantic umbrella he had installed a few days back.

He immediately knows something’s wrong. Maybe it’s the pungent smell wafting faintly through the air, or the slightly guilty look that hangs from the other’s face as he sits there, cross-legged with, not a plastic cup of bubble tea in his hands, but a white ceramic cup with a sparse decoration lining the bottom. As he takes a slightly shaky sip, Sehun sees the brown liquid that is messily smeared on his lips just before he it off.

His squints at the guy and the offending drink as his grip tightens around the rigid plastic in his hand. His upper lip curls as he realises what that is.

Coffee. The putrid liquid that Sehun hates with a passion. It all started when he was a kid. He’d taken a sip of his father’s morning energy drink when his back was turned to get the milk and sugar.

To say the least, the sugar-less coffee didn’t suit the little five-year-old kid. His tongue had gotten burnt too.

As he grew, so did his repulsion towards coffee. It