We were actually having fun.

I was actually having fun.

Minho was so energetic, he kept on whistling new melodies and when he didn't whistle, he was talking. It was really more of a monologue than a conversation since my answers mostly were one-syllabic and quiet, but it didn't keep him from talking and for that I was very grateful. 

More by more I gave longer answers to his questions, hesitantly. I tried to tell myself that Minho wasn't like the others, that I shouldn't have to worry about him judging me for what I was saying. But there was also another voice in my head, constantly sprouting about how useless I was, and that voice was stronger.

I really wanted him to like me, to accept me.

But I just couldn't get rid of the need  to think about every single word leaving my mouth. I couldn't let my tongue slip. Then he might laugh at me.

And I couldn't say anything that he didn't like, cause then he might get annoyed.

I shouldn't speak nonsense either, or he would get bored, and joking wasn't even to be considered - I'd been laughed at too many times to voluntarily make people laugh.

But speaking so carefully also had it's bad sides. Nothing I said was spontaneous, and I spoke very quietly and fast. It almost brought tears to my eyes. How could it be so difficult? How could I have so much trouble with the easiest things, like just simply having a conversation?

Well, I hadn't really been practicing my communication skills the last couple of years, that was for sure. I tried so so hard though. Minho was giving me a chance, and I knew that I had to take it.

Minho didn't seem to notice my internal struggles. He just kept on being cheerful and kept on his brush back and forth, back and forth. So we talked a little (though it was probably more than I'd been talking for a month), and as more hours went by I realised how amazing Minho really was. He didn't seem to be pretending to be friendly just so that he would be able to tell stories about stupid gullible Taemin for his friends - no, he seemed to be genuinely interested in what I had to say. 

"Taemin?"

My name. It sounded almost beautiful when said with his voice.

"Yes?"

"Could you hold this for me? I'm going to go get a ladder so that we can paint the top part of the wall."

I nodded in response and he handed me his brush. The handle was still warm from his hand.

I kept on painting, now with a brush in each hand, and started humming a little tune without realising it. Minho came back a few minutes later with a ladder swung over his shoulder.

"What is it that you're humming?" He said with an amused smile.

I blushed and looked down.

"S-s-so-sorry. I didn't mean to make any noise."

I turned to the wall and started to paint it again, but in reality I just wanted to bang my head into it.

God, you're so stupid Taemin. So, so stupid. Now you ruined everything just because you could keep your little disgusting mouth shut.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," he said and put a hand on my shoulder. There was bubbly laughter in his voice and even though he wasn't laughing directly at me, I still didn't like the fact that I was the reason for his laughter.

So I didn't say anything.

"-I just meant, what song is that? I recognise it from somewhere."

This time I turned my head.

"You do?"

He nodded.

"I don't remember from when, though,"

A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, showing that he was thinking about it. I felt a deeper blush trying to reach my cheeks but I managed to keep it down.

"It's a... It's a song I've made myself. I used to sing it to my brother when he was little and had trouble falling asleep."

Minho's eyes widened, but then he smiled again and snapped his fingers.

"Yeah that's it! I've heard it a lot of times in class, so it must have been you then! I always wondered who it was!"

I laughed a little, nervously. "Yes I guess it must be so... I never realised I sound it out loud..."

"You always sing during math."

"Oh."

Minho laughed his rich bubbly laughter again and took back his brush.

"Okay let's do this. Do you want to hold the ladder or be the one who paints?"

"I can hold it." I said. I didn't want him to have to do things for me. I'd much rather do things for him.

"You sure?"

 I didn't miss the doubtful look he sent my scrawny arms.  I nodded. I couldn't have him think that I was weak.

"Yes."

"Okay."

I secured the ladder and held it as firmly as I could as Minho climbed it. My arms ached after just a few seconds, but I didn't say anything about it.

"So, I realise that I don't know that much about you, what do you do on your free time?"

I looked upwards. Minho was looking at the wall he painted as he spoke. His face was so beautiful from this angle, his smile so sweet. I wondered what he was thinking about. It surely couldn't be me.

"My free time? Ah well..."

I began talking slowly.  I told him about how I went to my parents clinic for poor people and scrubbed the floors it in the evening. 

I told him about how I went home and cooked food for my siblings.

I told him about how I liked to read, to be lost in the words of a book. I told him about how I usually counted the stars through the window in the bedroom before I fell asleep.

I told him about how I liked to sing, but then I added that no one in my family wanted to hear it, so I must be terrible.

He listened without interrupting, just sometimes humming in agreement to what I said.

I was terrified of what I was doing.
I was telling him about me.

But he listened. He didn't judge me, or laugh at me - he just listened.

But when I came to the part with how my brother always said that my singing was terrible, he spoke.

"No, I don't think so."

I looked up at him.

"...what?"

And he looked down at me and met my eyes.

"I think your voice is beautiful."