There’s a boy who comes in through the door every afternoon at exactly three o’clock, always carrying a worn out book bag and treading carefully across the carpeted flooring, cautiously looking around and gazing in awe at the shelves of musty, faded books and dusty furniture. He doesn’t look like someone who belongs in a bookstore—messy hair and disheveled clothing, headphones resting around his neck—more like a rebellious teenager strikingly out of place against the backdrop of muted sunlight streaming in from the windows and antique tables scattered around the corners.

Curiously enough, the boy never reads any of the books either. Sometimes, he reaches for a book and flips through it absentmindedly, eyes looking blankly away from the crinkled pages as his fingers rest momentarily on the printed text. It’s like he’s waiting. Not for someone, but something.

Kyungsoo observes all of this from behind the counter as he checks the prices of the books and sorts them for customers. It’s not as if he’s watching the boy on purpose—it’s just easy to pay attention when the small brass above the door tinkles to welcome the same person , who slips soundlessly past the counter every time. And as he glances up every once in a while from the stacks of books waiting to be categorized and shelved, Kyungsoo wonders.  

It’s a little game he’s made up over the time he’s been working in the bookstore, to pass the lonely hours standing there with nothing to do. As the boy settles down in a chair in the corner and gazes blankly at a bookshelf, a ray of golden sunlight lighting up the edges of his hair and washing it aglow with fire, Kyungsoo pretends that the boy is a prince thrown into a new world, cast astray by a magic spell.

(Maybe he needs to stop reading so many fantasy novels.)

After an hour, the boy will leave the bookstore, never passing by Kyungsoo’s counter, always looking emotionlessly ahead of him as if he has been pondering some  impenetrable, elusive mystery—with the answer always tantalizingly out of reach. It mystifies Kyungsoo that someone can seem to be so deep in thought, so deep that sometimes the boy nearly runs into a table on his way out of the shop.

(He never notices the faint flush on the boy’s face and how he looks up at Kyungsoo in embarrassment.)

And so every day passes the same way, the bell tied to the frame of the entrance door jingling cheerily at three in the afternoon, but for some strange reason, Kyungsoo thinks that whenever the boy leaves, the ringing seems almost sorrowful. Lonely.

Before he found a job at the bookstore, Kyungsoo had never really given much thought to going out of his way to help others. Throughout most of his life, he had been the quiet type of kid, drifting around the corners of hallways, clutching his textbooks tightly to himself and avoiding eye contact with others. He was the shy kid in the back of the classroom who only spoke in a whisper, and only then, when the teacher called on him.

And then high school came and college entrances became important and Kyungsoo realized that to pay for his college tuition in the future, he had to earn enough money. Perhaps not enough to pay the yearly fee, but enough spare change to live comfortably enough when he did go to university. So he looked around for possible job opportunities and finally found his job as an employee of sorts at a small bookshop tucked away nicely in the corner of a small street, mostly hidden from the rest of the world.

Most of his customers are the elderly, pacing slowly among the labyrinth of bookcases and reaching out shakily with wrinkly, knobby hands for aged books, whose pages have long since yellowed with time. They don’t talk much, instead spending most of their time sitting in chairs and looking through books, wistful, nostalgic hints of smiles on their faces as they gaze down at the printed lines of text resting in their trembling hands.

Kyungsoo has learned to read stories in their expressions, in their silence. He has learned that there are so many unspoken words in the gentle rustle of a finger moving across the page, pointing at faded ink and crinkled paper, set aglow by dust motes drifting in the air caught by shafts of soft rays of light.

So that’s why the boy who comes in every afternoon at exactly three o’clock mystifies him so much, drags at his curiosity, because he has no story to be discerned from his eyes.

(It’s because he misses the interest in the boy’s expression, the shy curiosity in his gaze, because he never notices the boy watching him.)

Everyone has a story, a dream. The elderly who wander around the bookcases all have a story, a touch of youthfulness and memory resurfacing in their expressions when Kyungsoo searches long enough.

He wishes he could find a dream, a story within the boy’s blank expression.  

“Sorry!”

The husky, unfamiliar voice along with the sound of books falling jolts Kyungsoo out of his daydream (that consisted mostly of staring in the opposite direction of where the boy was sitting, pretending that he wasn’t thinking about him). He turns around, only to see said boy looking back at him, expression stuck somewhere between surprised and nervous, as if the boy hadn’t meant to say anything.

They both reach for the pile of books scattered on the floor after the boy had knocked them over, and somehow, their hands accidentally meet, fingers brushing against each other as Kyungsoo kneels down. The boy draws his hand back quickly, eyes widening in apology, and Kyungsoo is struck by how terrified the boy seems.

“I’m not going to bite you,” Kyungsoo blurts out before his brain can register his thoughts. He feels his face heating up when he realizes what he had just said. “I mean. You…you look really nervous. Sorry.”

The boy bows his head and mumbles something under his breath Kyungsoo can’t quite catch, then resumes stacking the books hurriedly, avoiding Kyungsoo’s bewildered, questioning gaze. He hands the last book in the pile to Kyungsoo, then stands up abruptly, turning around immediately, still staring down at the ground.

“Wait!” Kyungsoo calls out when the boy begins to walk quickly away. “At least tell me your name so I can thank you for helping!”

The boy turns around again, staring at Kyungsoo for a slight second, before bolting out of the bookstore and leaving an extremely confused Kyungsoo standing there, the words I want to get to know you fading away on his lips.

(“I’m so stupid,” the boy tells his best friend a few hours later, “He even asked me for my name and I couldn’t even say anything because I was too nervous.”)

The boy doesn’t come to the bookstore for a week and Kyungsoo feels strangely disappointed.

“I’m Do Kyungsoo,” he says confidently, sitting down next to the boy when the boy appears again one day at three o’clock in the afternoon, shuffling inside and hiding timidly behind a few bookcases, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can be friends. What’s your name?”

It’s much too bold of an action for Kyungsoo—he never goes up to people out of the blue to introduce himself, but it’s been months and months since the boy has come into his life, and Kyungsoo still hasn’t been able to discern the boy’s story, still hasn’t been able to learn who the boy is. And this time, he’s determined to speak up and understand a little more about the mysterious boy who won’t talk to him.

“K-Kim Jongin,” the boy mumbles, lowering his gaze and avoiding Kyungsoo as he suddenly grabs at a book off a nearby shelf and begins flipping furiously through it. He doesn’t say anything else for the next few minutes, and Kyungsoo begins to feel extremely awkward, because now that his momentary surge of courage has faded away, he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing and to be quite honest, he’s starting to feel rather embarrassed too.

“Um. Jongin’s a nice name,” he begins hesitantly, because wow can you be any more awkward? He pauses and stares at the book in Jongin’s hands. “What are you reading?”

“I don’t know?” Jongin stares back at him bewilderedly, eyes wide and hurried, and Kyungsoo can’t help but burst out laughing because Jongin is actually really adorable—and he shouldn’t laugh, he shouldn’t laugh because it’s so rude but he can’t control the giggles bubbling out—

“Let’s be friends, okay?” he finally says, mentally hitting himself because he probably looks like an idiot, laughing like this in the middle of a bookstore in front of a cute boy, and who in their right mind would want to become Kyungsoo’ friend like this? But Jongin—Kyungsoo has learned his name, listened to his voice. He’s begun to unravel the mystery behind the boy’s blank expressions, he’s begun to find a story.

(And that’s what matters, because Jongin nods and says “Yes, let’s be friends.”)

There are a lot of stories to learn from Jongin. There’s one in his gentle smile when he helps Kyungsoo work one day and an old man comes by, stacking worn-out books one by one onto the counter with trembling hands. There’s one in the crinkle of his eyes as he walks over and takes the books for the man instead, helping him carry the pile all the way back to the man’s home.

There’s a story in his laugh when work ends and he sits with Kyungsoo, bangs falling into his eyes as he leans against Kyungsoo and laughs in mirth over funny stories. There’s a story in Jongin’s voice when he stays behind to help Kyungsoo shelve the books, solemnly grazing his fingers over the engraved words on their spines, whispering the titles to himself.

There’s even a story in the way Jongin says “Hyung” after he realizes Kyungsoo is older and Kyungsoo finds himself wondering if friends aren’t enough for what he feels, if there’s something quite unfriend-like in the way his entire world seems to light up whenever Jongin talks to him.

(Maybe he’s starting to fall in love.)

“Hey hyung?” Conversations are subdued in the bookshop, hushed and quiet as Jongin whispers softly into Kyungsoo’s ear.

“Yeah?” Kyungsoo tries to ignore the shivers running down his back as Jongin leans in closer, breath warm against his neck. It’s a hot day, the sun blazing outside with a vengeance, heating up the usually cool interior of the bookstore.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being my friend. For asking to be my friend.”

“Let’s get out of the bookstore,” Jongin suggests one afternoon, “Hyung, I feel like you never leave this place. Are you free after work?”

“I guess?” Kyungsoo takes yet another book off the stack by his feet and squints at the title, trying to decide if it should belong in the nonfiction or fiction section without having to actually open the book up and read the summary. “Why?”

“We should go somewhere.” Jongin is adorable when he’s determined, Kyungsoo thinks, flipping to the back of the book’s cover, only to be met with a large, black and white picture of the author staring directly up at him with a scowl. The younger boy has this glint in his eyes and this lilt in his voice whenever he’s determined. It’s cute, although Kyungsoo would rather not admit that out loud.

“Like where? I don’t really go around town that much. I don’t know where to go for anything.” The author’s photo doesn’t really reveal much about the genre, and the title doesn’t even make any sense. Kyungsoo sighs and opens up the book to read the front jacket.

“Oh, but we’re not going around town, hyung,” and Jongin’s suddenly right next to Kyungsoo, taking the book away from his hands and inserting it into an empty slot in the bookshelf right next to them. “This belongs in the fiction sections. There are about five other copies of the same exact book in the shelf. You need to pay more attention.” He grins teasingly and nimbly ducks from Kyungsoo’s withering stare.

“Then where?” Jongin’s presence is affecting Kyungsoo a lot more than he lets on. It gets hard to breathe when Jongin’s so close to him, and Kyungsoo can’t help but wonder of the younger’s boy’s full lips are as soft and nice to kiss as they look—

“We’re going to the city.” Jongin’s grin widens and he skips over to another pile of books, flipping through the pages rapidly until he finds where the book belongs. “We’re going to have some fun.”

All thoughts of kissing fly out of Kyungsoo’s head and he turns to Jongin incredulously. “The city? You can’t take me to the city! I rarely go there. The city’s full of shady people and loud noises and if I can’t even navigate this town how am I supposed to survive the city?”

“Calm down. I’ll protect you, hyung.” A jolt of electricity hits Kyungsoo when he hears the words, and he hides his face behind a book, frowning, because damn it, why is Jongin so persuasive?

“Fine,” he mutters, “but I’m never trusting you again if this all goes wrong.”

(Secretly, though, he’s thrilled.)

It takes about five minutes for Kyungsoo to realize that the city is absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. The city at night might be frightening, but it seems to glow. This is where the fantasy tales take place, soaring along the skyline, flying free amid glittering buildings and dazzling billboards.

“It’s alive,” is the first thing Kyungsoo breathes out when he steps off the subway with Jongin, gazing out at the skyscrapers surrounding them. “It’s alive. Jongin, it’s alive.”

Jongin stares at him, amusement flitting across his face as he shakes his head and takes Kyungsoo’s arm. “Silly hyung. You really don’t go into the city that much, do you? At least not at night. The city’s a wonderful place.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t argue, too captivated by the rows of flashing neon lights in the horizon to remember that he’s still wary of the people on the streets at night. “I should come here more,” he mumbles in agreement, and he feels Jongin shake in laughter as they press against each other, stopping outside the subway station to catch a proper view of the sky.

“I know,” Jongin says softly, and Kyungsoo suddenly realizes that the younger boy still has his arm around Kyungsoo’s, and that they’re standing next to each other, side by side, so close that they’re nearly resting against each other.

“So what do you want to do?” he asks hesitantly, trying to not stiffen up against Jongin’s presence. He isn’t sure whether to draw away or relax against Jongin, and apparently, an overwhelming part of his brain is telling him to just lean against the boy, but there’s always that little bit of fear keeping him back, that Jongin will reject him and push him away.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jongin turns around to face him, eyes alight with excitement as his expression spreads into a wide grin, “We’re going to have some fun.” And he laughs, so brightly that Kyungsoo can’t help but join in, even though he’s wondering what exactly Jongin means by fun—

“Where exactly are we going—”                                               

Jongin doesn’t even respond, just drags Kyungsoo away from the subway station and shouts, “Run, hyung, run! Just run and follow me!” And with an exhilarated laugh, he pulls Kyungsoo forward, into the night, against the shining headlights of cars rushing past by and twinkling lights of the city above.

(He thinks he could get used to this burst of adrenaline as he feels the wind catch at his hair and he runs.)

They end up in a small restaurant, in the middle of some street in the city, and Kyungsoo doesn’t even care where it is anymore, because he’s realized that he’s never felt so alive and breathless with excitement and joy. Jongin pushes the door open for him, and they walk in, and Kyungsoo is immediately hit with the nostalgic scent of the noodles his mother used to make when he was younger.

Jongin must have noticed the change in his expression, because the younger boy moves closer to him and asks, “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” Kyungsoo shakes his head and suddenly, the urge to cry hits him, and he bites his lips, feeling his eyes tear up. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect. Thank you so much, Jongin-ah. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, hyung,” Jongin says quietly, and when Kyungsoo looks up again when he’s sure he’s not going to start sobbing out loud, the boy is looking back at him with a sort of gratitude in his eyes. The moment passes, however, and Jongin clears his throat, looking away again. “So. What do you want to eat? I’m paying.”

“I should pay,” Kyungsoo protests, as Jongin leads him to a table sitting in the corner, in front of a painting of flowers hanging on the wall. “You already took me here. I should pay.”

Jongin chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “I’m paying, hyung. I’m the dongsaeng, remember? I’m supposed to do everything for you.”

“But I’m older. I should be taking you out and paying for the food.” They stare at each other for a full minute before Jongin smiles mischievously and Kyungsoo becomes suspicious. “Jongin-ah, what did you do?”

“I took your wallet,” Jongin sing-songs as he skips to the counter to order, leaving Kyungsoo spluttering in indignation behind him. “You can’t pay even if you wanted to…”

“Kim Jongin!”

The food arrives quickly, and the first thing Kyungsoo does when the large bowl of noodle soup is placed before him is to lower his head and just inhale the scent of the soup while closing his eyes. It’s exactly as he remembers it—hot, with the hint of kimchi and lamb and cilantro, exactly how his mother made it. He opens his eyes again to see Jongin staring at him in amusement yet again.

“What?” he asks defensively, taking out a pair of chopsticks and setting them on the bowl, “Aren’t I allowed to smell the soup?”

Jongin seems rather quiet all at once, as he takes out a pair of chopsticks and also sets them on his bowl. His expression becomes distant for a moment, before he shakes his head and grins at Kyungsoo, taking his chopsticks up again and posing them over the bowl. “I challenge you to an eating contest, hyung. Winner gets to have the other confess something.”

“There is no way I can eat as quickly as you.” Kyungsoo stares down at the bowl and then back at Jongin. “Anyways, aren’t eating contests a display of bad manners? We’re in a restaurant—”

“Hyung,” Jongin wheedles, and Kyungsoo gives up, because really, it should be illegal for someone to look so adorable, “We’ve done eating contests before. It’s not that much of a deal. Please?”

“I’m going to lose.” Nevertheless, Kyungsoo feels the hint of a grin on his face, and he laughs despite himself. “Okay. On your mark. Get set. Go.”

They begin eating, Kyungsoo trying his best to shovel as much food as possible into his mouth without looking like a wild animal, Jongin…Jongin eating fast, but definitely not even half as fast as he would normally do in a contest. Kyungsoo wonders briefly why, but then decides that it’s Jongin’s problem if he ends up losing and Kyungsoo makes him to confess something embarrassing.

He finishes way before Jongin, half slamming his bowl onto the table with a triumphant, “Ha! I win!” then hiding his face in embarrassment because he really did not plan on drawing that much attention to himself. Jongin laughs and continues eating, until Kyungsoo finally gets over the shame of having an eating contest in a restaurant and lifts up his head from his arms again. “You lost on purpose, didn’t you?”

Jongin shrugs, a secretive smile lingering on his lips, and Kyungsoo is suddenly reminded of when they first met, before they were friends, before they had talked to each other. The boy who never showed any expression, the boy Kyungsoo hadn’t found a story in seems to come back at that moment, and Kyungsoo blinks, half in shock, half in worry. “Jongin?”

“It’s nothing,” Jongin says quietly, “I’m just kind of nervous about something.”

“What, the fact that I won and now I’m going to force you to spill all of your embarrassing secrets?” Kyungsoo keeps his tone as light as possible, trying to make it all a joke, and it works, for Jongin’s musing expression breaks and he fidgets a bit, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“Maybe,” he says, slinging an arm over Kyungsoo’s shoulders. “Come on, hyung, I want to show you something.”

(He doesn’t remember that the boy who he didn’t know the story of has always been watching his story.)

Jongin leads him to a bench in a small park, and Kyungsoo almost teases Jongin for being cheesy and clichéd (a park of all places), but the words die on his tongue when they sit down and he looks up.

“It’s not really much, and you never can really see the stars in a city with all the pollution and lights and stuff,” Jongin begins almost inaudibly, “but this is the best I can show you.”

The sky is ablaze with bright spots, scattered across the black expanse—they’re hard to make out at first, but once Kyungsoo ignores the shine of the artificial city lights and squints past the smoggy clouds, he can see the stars clearly, and they’re so beautiful—

“Hyung, can I confess something to you now? I lost the eating contest.”

Jongin’s voice pulls Kyungsoo back to reality and he turns slightly to face the younger boy. “You lost it on purpose,” he starts, then pulls back, searching Jongin’s face for an answer because “You lost on purpose because you actually had something to tell me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. I don’t think I’m brave enough to say it without having an excuse.” Jongin looks bashful, staring down at his hands as he turns away from Kyungsoo. “I…um.”

“Hmm?” Kyungsoo leans back against the bench and stares up at the stars, thinking that this is something he’d like to do for the rest of his life, sitting under the sky in the city at night, next to Jongin. “What is it?”

“When I used to come into the bookstore and just sit there for hours and never talk to you…”

Kyungsoo sits up straighter and focuses on Jongin, eyes widening in curiosity, “What about it?”

“Well, I was actually there for you.” It’s too dark outside to actually see what’s happening, but Kyungsoo’s pretty sure Jongin’s face is turning red. He doesn’t know what to say. “I’ve always been there for you, hyung.” The words begin to pour out quickly, one after another, tumbling out of Jongin’s mouth, and all Kyungsoo can do is listen in a dreamlike state, wondering if everything is actually happening. “I was too shy to talk to you. When you asked to be my friend I didn’t respond at first because I couldn’t believe what was happening.” Jongin pauses and laughs nervously, then continues when Kyungsoo doesn’t say anything. “I’m really glad you asked to be my friend. I’m really glad I met you.”

“Jongin-ah—”

“I like you, hyung. I’ve always liked you.”

Kyungsoo stops in midsentence, mouth hanging half open, his entire brain screeching at him to stop. “What?”

“I like you.” Jongin bows his head, not looking up at Kyungsoo anymore. “It’s so much easier to say it after I’ve said it once. I’m sorry, hyung. We can pretend that this never happened. But I like you. It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, I’m fine with it—”

“Jongin.” Kyungsoo reaches over and takes the younger boy’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. “I…I’ve never kissed anyone,” he admits awkwardly, still wondering if he’s dreaming and why he feels so bold all of a sudden, “but I’m going to now. You’ve been warned.”

Jongin looks at him with wide eyes, and suddenly, Kyungsoo finds himself wrapped in an embrace, Jongin murmuring “Hyung, hyung, hyung,” over and over again in his hair, then bending over and kissing Kyungsoo softly (and maybe he’s not dreaming, maybe this is all real).

Kyungsoo thinks he’s going to remember this forever, the sensation of Jongin’s lips pressed against his, arms around each other, tangled together in a gentle embrace of life.