7: Luhan might be half-fifty already, but that doesn't mean his heart's matured at all since middle school. Minseok thinks it's cute though. Luckily. Pairing!XiuHan

Luhan had fond memories of the first time he saw Minseok. The two of them went way back, actually, so it took a while to remember when he tried, but Luhan could more or less always at least recall that it was the beginning of sixth grade, he'd been the new kid, and Minseok had been beautiful.

He still was, in fact; Luhan just didn't know how to tell him.

That's the problem with meeting the love of your life so early: you become friends instead of something more and then it's nearly impossible to bridge that gap once it's been created. Sure, Minseok knew that Luhan was gay since he was gay himself, and Luhan liked to compliment everyone and everything, so Minseok even knew that Luhan found him beautiful. He just didn't know that Luhan wanted more—mostly because Luhan had little romantic experience and didn't know how to express his feelings at 25 any more than he had when they first met in middle school.

He tried, of course; he just wasn't very good at it.

Sometimes Minseok would arrive at the tedium of his computer analyst day job to find a cutely folded note that read "You're great!" or "I think you're cute!" These notes were never signed, but Minseok had been friends with Luhan for years—he knew.

Other times, Minseok would glance up through the sweat of his bangs as he played the drums for his night job, and he would see Luhan in a giggling trio with Baekhyun and Kyungsoo. They were always discussing how attractive musicians were when sweaty like that, but all Minseok knew was that girls with crushes traveled in packs and Luhan apparently did too.

On occasion, Minseok would even hear whispers from Sehun and Yifan when they got together to play basketball that Luhan very possibly might like like him. He'd smile and brush off their hints, but would secretly wonder if Luhan had told them to say that because it was exactly the kind of juvenile approach he'd take for the situation.

Minseok wondered this about Luhan because he probably knew the Chinese boy better than he knew himself. They'd been friends for more than a decade; they'd met each other's families multiple times; they went to the same college—on purpose; and they lived together, for god's sake. To Minseok, Luhan was about as mysterious as Python to a computer programmer; in other words, not mysterious at all.

Which is why Luhan came home from work one Tuesday afternoon to an uncharacteristically empty apartment and a suspiciously absent Minseok. Luhan, who was a kindergarten teacher and really loved his job, had been ready to entertain his best friend—and not-so-secret crush—with stories of his students over a takeout dinner of fried chicken and beer, but since Minseok was MIA, Luhan shrugged and went for leftovers instead. He was distracted as he walked into the kitchen, haphazardly tossing his coat and keys and bag throughout the entryway while he fished his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text to Minseok.

A familiar ringtone went off somewhere in the bedroom—suggesting that Minseok was, in fact, at home—but Luhan was too suddenly captivated to notice anything other than the origami heart stuck with a magnet to their refrigerator. He recognized the paper instantly; it was a heart he'd folded himself and placed covertly on Minseok's desk just that morning.

"Be mine," it said in bold pink letters against the paper's lavender blue. Underneath the words he'd so painstakingly written, though, Luhan noticed something new: a curved arrow pointing to the heart's other side. That it was just a small line with a triangle at the end didn't matter to Luhan—this was handwriting he knew—so he flipped that paper over as quickly as humanly possible—which still didn't feel nearly fast enough.

"I like you," it boldly declared, and Luhan would have dropped the paper and cried in happiness if there hadn't been more. "Do you like me?" Luhan continued to read Minseok's writing aloud into the apartment's emptiness, not noticing the near-silent approach of his best friend behind him.

"Check yes," Minseok whispered suddenly into Luhan's ear. "Or no."

Luhan didn't have to say anything to that because Minseok could feel the former's body swoon into his arms as the heat of Luhan's blush warmed Minseok's neck.

"Yes," Luhan breathed his answer anyway, though, because even his middle school-era approach to having a crush included direct confession. "I check yes."

As it turned out, Minseok had had a crush on Luhan for almost as long as Luhan had liked him. At first, he'd been too afraid of being rejected to say anything, but once they'd both turned half-fifty, he'd decided enough was enough. About the same time, Luhan had started his juvenile pursuit of Minseok's heart, so Minseok just kind of figured their love was meant to be.

That's why he hadn't needed a silly little note to express his feelings—him and Luhan together was just right; he could feel it—but the middle school maturity of Luhan's romanticism seemed to require  one, so Minseok happily complied.

Besides, Minseok thought as he gently tilted his head and sweetly lowered his lips to Luhan's own, if it was cute enough to work in middle school, why shouldn't it work for them now?