{ This

Minho steps into the small café elegantly on a calm Thursday afternoon, a black notebook under his arm and a pen sticking out of his ear. The soft bells attached to the door tinkle, and the soft jazz music hits Minho’s ears warmly, and it’s all a very familiar and comfortable place.

He nods his head to the person behind the counter politely and he makes his way to the small, enclosed space in the corner that they had reserved specifically for him, because, after all, Minho was a regular customer and usually sat there, and no one else really wanted to; they all found Minho’s mere presence intimidating.

Maybe it was his dark eyes, or perhaps it was his height. They all found Minho intimidating, which automatically meant he was cold-hearted.

It was all rather silly in Minho’s book, but it’s not like anyone really cared either way.

He takes out his notebook and places it on the table, and fumbles around for his pen before remembering where it was.

Pulling out his pen, he flips to the first page of the notebook, and his mouth twitches upwards at the wish-wash yellow pages with patterns in the corner. He likes it like this.

Gently, Minho placed the pen on the table as he looked around for inspiration. He was writing a short essay on World War II for his History class—one his mother told him to pick, mind you—and was currently racking his brain on how to start.

Captive introductions are important, and that’s a fact.

Minho looks around for inspiration, and his eyes land upon a pretty boy with strawberry blonde locks behind the counter, and he decides it’s a good day for procrastination, just like it always is.

He stands up and makes his way to the counter gracefully, and the blonde boy behind the counter (his name is Taemin, it says on his name tag) smiled brightly, but it still seemed as if he was somewhat bored.

“May I have a strawberry cake please?” Minho asks, words deeply rolling off his tongue.

A brief flash of a rather odd expression appears on Taemin’s face as he lets out a quizzical hum. Minho doesn’t like it; it’s unreadable.

“You’re him, huh?” Taemin inquires out loud; leaving Minho rather confused, but oddly flattered as he shifts his weight to his right foot. “I expected you to be different, but this is a rather pleasant surprise.”

Taemin quickly bobs down to the display cake and slowly but carefully takes out the cake Minho had wanted.

No one usually ordered the strawberry cake; the chocolate cake usually stole the show. In fact, people buying the strawberry cake were so rare that the staff in the café spread rumors about seeing the mysterious person who always bought the strawberry cake.

Sometimes they even held bets on when a customer would buy one.

Taemin, however, finding this mysterious person with shaded eyes rather interesting, it only added up to him ordering the strawberry cake.

“That’s-”

“Thank you,” Minho cuts him off, placing the money in his hand, a sure way to know he’s been ordering the strawberry cake more than once. Taemin almost doesn’t notice that their hands touch for a fraction of a second, and his hands are as cold as ice.

Taemin takes off his pink apron and hangs it up on the sole hanger at the back, then bringing his hand up to comb through his hair in a somewhat attractive manner, he walks towards the strawberry cake loving customer, who was currently still staring at his blank page where the oh-so-amazing history essay was to be written on.

Taemin bows slightly when he reaches Minho, and a soft smile grazes across his features.

“Hello,” he begins nervously. “May I sit here?”

Minho doesn’t actually look up, but just nods, biting his lip as Taemin takes a seat in front of the dark male.

“What’s your name?” Taemin asks, trying to begin a conversation. He really didn’t picture his first meeting with the sole other strawberry cake lover to go anything like this.

He was hoping for a nice chat, perhaps to make friends, but as awkward as Taemin got, he knew better that that.

The taller boy finally looks up, dark eyes scanning Taemin as he mentally nods to himself, allowing himself to talk to the stranger.

“Minho,” he says after a while, deep voice echoing through the empty café.

Taemin smiles ever-so-slightly and repeats the name, an undetectable glint in his eyes. Minho only sighs in annoyance; he can’t be disturbed at an important time like this.

“What are you doing now?”

Minho’s lips turn into a small scowl as he mutters, “A History essay”.

A bright, bubbly laugh escapes Taemin’s mouth as he brings his hand up to cover it and the corners of Minho’s mouth immediately twitch upwards into a small smile of some sort, despite actually not knowing the boy, though he decides he likes Taemin’s laugh more than he should, and admittedly wants to hear the boy laugh again.

“I take it you don’t like History very much?”

Minho just shakes his head lightly before biting his lip in concentration as he stares at the rather blank page. It’s not supposed to be like this.

Taemin picks up the coffee with both hands and takes a sip (it’s probably Minho’s coffee, oops, but the taller boy doesn’t seem to mind), and smiling at the taste of both the coffee and the silence, he hums to himself.

It’s not at all awkward.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Minho says after a while, and Taemin perks his head up immediately at the sudden outburst (if you could even call it that) from the quiet male. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Taemin doesn’t mind his asking; he’s actually rather happy Minho spoke to him—more than rather happy, actually. “As a matter of fact, I just got off.”

Minho hums in understanding and puts his paper down, the only word on it is ‘in’; he decides it’s time for a well-deserved break.

He picks up the fork slowly and pokes at the cake a bit, and with his one free hand, pushes the coffee towards Taemin. It’s not that he doesn’t want it anymore; it’s just that when Taemin drinks, he has a rather playful expression Minho as quickly become rather fond of.

“You can have it,” Minho smiles, and Taemin picks it up again with both hands, but just looks into it, the warm brown is a nice and inviting colour, he decides, bringing the cup back up to his mouth to take a small sip.

Minho brings up a small piece of strawberry cake to his mouth and he eats it, the cake so soft it almost melts on his mouth.

He closes his eyes as the strawberry flavour hits, and this was Minho’s favourite part of the strawberry cake. It wasn’t too sweet; neither too sour, and Minho thought the general public was stupid to not want this beautiful delicacy.

Perhaps they just didn’t know what it tasted like.

Minho’s eyes flutter open to a Taemin that’s grinning and laughing cutely, his head tilted to the side and the back of his hand covering his mouth.

“It tastes good, doesn’t it?” Taemin mutters dreamily as he takes Minho fork and pokes into the cake, taking a small strawberry and a bit of the cream for himself.

Now, Minho didn’t usually like people taking his food—in fact, he hated it, but Taemin was an exception. Cute, bubbly and fun, three words to describe a person Minho would probably hate, but for some odd reason Taemin was an exception.

His eyes closed cutely and he popped the strawberry into his mouth, and a large smile broke out on Minho’s face.

Who knew strawberry cake could bring two people together?

Minho unconsciously looks over to the counter where Taemin had been, and confirms that Taemin actually was on break when he sees a slightly shorter male with brown hair taking an old man’s order.

“That’s Donghae,” Taemin perks up, seeing where Minho was looking. “He’s a great senior, and he gives great advice. I seriously don’t know what I’d do without him.” Taemin looks a bit solemn when he continues. “He’s my only friend.”

Minho takes note of this Donghae character and decides to make it his personal goal to make Taemin his friend, and he bites a bit more of the cake, and that’s when he realizes there’s barely any cake left.

Leaning his head back, he sighs and Taemin tilts his head; the coffee is barely touching the bottom of the cup.

“I like this,” Taemin says under his breath, and Minho’s head pops up at the rather uncharacteristic depressing tone in Taemin’s voice. Minho nods and lets Taemin continue. “I actually have no friends usually, so this is fun. Is this what you usually do with your friends?”

“I don’t know,” Minho admits, and this time, it’s Taemin’s turn to be curious. “I don’t exactly have any friends either.”

Taemin laughs a bitter laugh, and Minho almost hates this one, but then Taemin turns to Minho with a sheepish grin.

“You know, everyone thinks I’m too nice,” He begins, and Minho already doesn’t see any problem with being too nice. “They think I’m really, truly cold-hearted inside.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Minho murmurs softly, because it really doesn’t seem to make any sense.

Taemin hums and drinks a bit more coffee; it’s only the last mouthful of coffee now, and Taemin hates that bit the most. It tastes the weirdest, how all the sugar and coffee is stuck up in all the corners, all the weird lumps still floating around. Taemin pushes the cup to the edge of the table and rests his face on his right hand.

“People think I’m cold-hearted too,” Minho continues. “But that’s just because I don’t like to talk.”

Taemin mutters a small ‘I see’, before rubbing his hands together and smiling happily at Minho.

“What’s that, by the way?” Taemin asks, pointing at the small black notebook Minho was holding loosely with one hand. “More specifically—don’t just say ‘a History essay’.”

Minho sighs but laughs a bit, and looks down a bit before mumbling, “I was supposed to be doing an essay on the Second World War, but to be quite honest, I don’t really want to do it.”

“Ah, school,” Taemin shakes his head disapprovingly, and a rather short girl with a straight fringe and a high ponytail bounces along and takes the plate and cup and walks off, a little bit too chipper for a normal human.

Minho looks up, and Taemin’s gaze is already on him. They exchange eye contact for a while before Taemin tears away to cough awkwardly.

With eyes like that, Minho wants to stare even longer, but he doesn’t; that’s a bit too odd for his liking, and if someone were to stare at him, Minho knew he’d feel uncomfortable.

“Hey, Taemin,” He hears a deep voice from next to him, and Minho looks up at the new voice. “Who’s your friend?”

It’s the brunette Taemin was talking about before. His only friend, Minho recalls, as he tries to remember the name.

Donghae—the nametag might or might not have helped.

Donghae takes his apron off and places it over his shoulder; his chocolate brown hair is swept messily to the side. Taemin’s eyes brighten as he pulls a chair up and invites Donghae to sit down. Chuckling, he sits down, and almost sends a knowing glance over to Minho.

Minho finds himself oddly frightened for a second or two.

“Oh, Donghae, this is Minho!” Taemin exclaims, immediately brightening up. “We just met, but he’s a great person,” He looks over at Minho, and a warm feeling flutters inside of him. “I can tell.”

Donghae smiles warmly and places his hand on Taemin’s head. “Tae, you’re always doing this.”

Minho’s eyes widen in the slightest and the conversation begins to tap dance all over his interests. Minho admits he wants to know more.

Taemin’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. He knows what Donghae is on about, and he really doesn’t want him to continue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grits out.

Donghae chuckles and withdraws his hand, bringing it over to Minho, wanting something of a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Minho looks down at his own hand, and back up to Donghae’s eyes before taking the man’s hand in his own and shaking it gently before taking it back.

“You too,” he mumbles.

Donghae looks at Taemin with a pitiful glint in his eyes, but is suddenly distracted by a fiery red head that enters the store.

His face structure is very odd, Minho notes, and he resembles that of a monkey. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all, he was just… odd.

“Hyukkie,” Donghae smiles widely and turns around, immediately met by the red head’s lips. Minho is slightly taken aback by the affection. “I’ve missed you.”

He laughs (it’s an odd laugh, he admits) and cups Donghae face lightly, planting a small kiss on the brunette’s forehead.

“I’ve missed you too.”

Minho’s insides swirl around in a bit of a fury; he had no one to do that with. Unconsciously, he brings his gaze over to Taemin, who happened to already be glancing his way.

A small smile gets stuck in its way to Minho’s lips, so he nods his head out of sheer politeness and Taemin laughs a breathy laugh and turns his way back to the couple in front of them.

“Tae, we’ll be going now,” Donghae laughs and waves to the two of them, and the red head—Hyukjae—sneaks his arm around the brunette’s waist and pinches his side.

Minho can’t help but feel that one day he would very much like to have a relationship like that.

After the two lovers leave (it takes a while), Taemin turns to Minho with a question in mind.

“What did you think?”

Minho turns, rather confused now, to the shorter boy’s direction and tilts his head, barely knowing what Taemin is on about.

“What?”

“What did you think,” Taemin repeats, his eyes boring into Minho’s with a strict expression as if saying ‘you shouldn’t joke around; I’m asking you a serious question here,’ “about Donghae and Hyukjae. They’re gay, you know.”

“You want my opinion on homouality, then?” Minho asks, and receives a small nod of confirmation from the strawberry blonde boy, “so what?”

Taemin is taken aback—one of his eyebrows is raised, and is about to ask Minho more specifically what he meant, but then the taller boy continues.

“Some people are gay, so what?”

Taemin’s lips unconsciously turn into a small smile, approving of Minho’s views, and he releases a small pleased sound coming somewhere from the back of his throat.

They look at each other for a good few seconds before Minho feels an odd tugging somewhere in his chest, and his eyes widen as he looks at Taemin, who he thinks felt it too, because the loud gasp from the smaller boy really did give it away. The bright red colour on his cheeks wasn’t default either.

He—they—feel a connection between them, and that’s when they know what this is.

Small chimes ring as Taemin turns dramatically at the red heart shaped clock in the background.

“I-I have to pack up—I’ll be out in ten, okay?” Taemin asks awkwardly, standing up and stumbling slightly towards the kitchen slowly. “I have to pack up.”

Instead of replying, Minho stands. “I’ll just follow you; I need to leave soon anyway, and it’s better if we leave together.”

“O-okay,” Taemin stutters a bit in response and continues to the cupcake smelling kitchen filled with metal utensils neither of them can name.

They both make their way past the wooden door and into the kitchen silently, an air of romance floating around and dancing on all of the tables.

For the first time, Minho notices Taemin’s plain white t-shirt and stonewashed jeans, and smiles approvingly. The clothing suits him.

Minho walks around the kitchen, finding a small batch of strawberry cupcakes near the back of the cramped cooking area. The blonde boy walks nearer to Minho as if he wants to say something.

Minho cuts him off by giving him a small piece of paper with nine digits on it he had in his pocket, and Taemin supposes it’s the taller boy’s phone number as he takes it and shoves it into his own pocket.

Turning back to face Minho, Taemin opens his mouth, and closes it again. It reminds Minho of a fish.

“Thanks for today,” Taemin finally mutters after a while, turning away so he wasn’t facing Minho. A light pink colour painted his face despite the dim light, and Minho’s lips unconsciously turn upwards into a smile. “You’re a,” Taemin stalls awkwardly, seemingly trying to fine the right words to say, “Good friend.”

Minho doesn’t say anything. Instead, he brings up his hand and gently cups Taemin’s face with one hand, and the shorter boy walks closer instinctively, closing the small gap that keeps their bodies apart.

They both close their eyes simultaneously, and they both lean forward; Minho capturing Taemin’s lips in a soft, chaste kiss. Taemin bring his hands up ever so slightly to fiddle around with the hem of Minho’s shirt, and that’s when their lips start to move against each other’s.

Taemin smiles a bit against the kiss, and he enjoys it. The pace isn’t too fast or too slow; it’s perfect. It’s a great first kiss for the both of them, and neither of them wanted anything more.

Minho pulls back and smiles softly at Taemin, who’s bright scarlet, and he takes a strawberry from the cake beside them and places it in the shorter boy’s mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

That }