Just for the credit, Jongdae signed up for a class in his winter term with a favourite art professor. The entire length of time would be outside the classroom, researching a local artist.

After browsing a few galleries over the first week, Jongdae got an email from some friends about a new gallery closer to campus. It wasn't impressive in size, and it showcased a lot of young artists as well as some exemplary students.

In the middle of the gallery, he stood before a wall of photographs, many in black and white with dramatic contrast and a soft focus. Each one was mounted on white board and strung together using clamps on the boards. He tilted his head as he scrutinised each of them, making a story in his head. They weren't anything outrageous or eye-catching, but they had a life to them. A single blink of an eye in someone's life, and the strings seemed to lead him in a natural progression of images, as if showing a definite plot to a story.

A colour photo, without a human subject, looked down on a table or maybe the floor, showed a vase of dried and dead flowers, a dark bottle of something—Jongdae couldn't read its label—a gift box with a white bow, and a small bottle of what Jongdae assumed to be aftershave or cologne. There was no rhyme or reason to the collection of objects, and it wasn't a particularly attractive photo. It was very plain, but the more Jongdae stared, the more curious he became, and the more he liked it.

Finally, after minutes of unblinking scrutiny and ignoring others who paused to admire the photographs, Jongdae realised the image showed very little shadow, as if taken in ample light. Even the wrinkles of the withered flower petals showed little definition by shadow.

The card beneath it read: MINSEOK'S MORNINGS

“Minseok's Mornings … So who's Minseok? And why doesn't he have a shadow?” There was no clear shot of a face, and with the angles of the photos, it wasn't even clear if each one showed the same person. An almond-shaped eye, small mouth, round cheeks, then muscular arms and toned torso. Jongdae wondered if Minseok was just a made-up figure of someone's image of an ideal figure.

“Do you like it?”

As engrossed as he was, Jongdae didn't notice the man standing beside him. Rather than looking at the photos, he looked at Jongdae with a small smile. His face was pretty, youthful, and Jongdae's heart beat a little faster with the want to capture him on film. Something with soft colours and flowers or maybe in a mossy forest.

“Lu Han.” He held out his and. “Do you like my photos?”

“You took these?” Sure enough, the cards read Lu Han in a somewhat messy scrawl. “They're gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I've honestly put off showing them for a while, now.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and sighed, looking at his own photos with something like a father's affectionate pride. “Are you a student?” His question was sudden but didn't throw Jongdae off; many of his classmates were at the gallery, as well. Baekhyun and Chanyeol had made a beeline for the sculptures while Yifan, although not an art student, wandered to the paintings and compare them to is own creations.

“We've got a project over break to do, on a local artist's work. This is the closest gallery to campus.”

“Ah, well, I'm from China, but I moved here. I work from here, mostly.”

Jongdae nodded. He hadn't meant to imply that he wanted to use Lu Han as his project topic, but, looking at the wall again, he thought of an even better idea. One he'd have to clear with his professor, first, but he thought the old woman would love it.

“Could you tell me about these? Your pictures?”

Lu Han's expression dimmed to something almost akin to pain. “What would you like to know?”

“Who's Minseok?” Immediately, Jongdae wanted to punch himself in the face. Way to sound like an uneducated consumer. Subjects could be very personal; not all artists were willing to share their intimate stories. Most of the cards had some variation with the name, though, so he still deemed it important.

“Minseok is the sweetest dream and bitterest memory … ”

“I-I'm sorry?”

Lu Han ducked his head a little, looking shy. “The subject—Minseok, Kim Minseok—and I used to be … involved.”

Past tense was the key. Jongdae nodded slowly, trying to be conscientious. “Was it ... a bad breakup?”

The artist shook his head in short jerks. “Oh, no. It was cordial and mutual, but I'm afraid I broke his heart. We didn't know one another for all that long at all, but we fell in love. He fell for me, and I fell for the idea, though, of love. The inspiration of a relationship.”

“That's why the last photos look so sad … .”

“You noticed.”

“Yeah. Personal experience.”

The photo was a close-up Polaroid of a young man, bottom of the nose to mid-torso. Side-by-side, one photo showed his fingers laced with someone else's; the second photo showed him holding the slender fingers to his lips. The string they hung was attached to a sharply focused photo of an angular building with many windows, lots of grey concrete, and sparse trees as an afterthought. It was in colour, but only the sad green of the leaves stood out among the grey building, ground, and sky. There weren't even any clouds.

“Where were the photos taken?”

“Germany. At his apartment, mostly.” Lu Han laughed as Jongdae's eyebrows shot up. “Yes, I went all the way to Germany for inspiration and found Minseok. He'd moved for school and stayed because he fell in love with it. So many people associate Paris with love, but … it can really be anywhere. We found it in Berlin.”

“Did you learn German?”

Lu Han snorted a laugh in his throat, chin receding in a shockingly unattractive manner. “Not in the slightest. Minseok was near fluent when I was there; he was my translator. That's how we met. I was completely and utterly lost, trying to explain to someone why I was taking photos, and Minseok appeared out of nowhere, trying not to laugh and somehow calming the guy—a soldier—down so he wouldn't punch me or something. My Korean was already pretty good, so he offered to show me around and translate, and … ” He shrugged. The rest was history; Jongdae could imagine how it played out.

“The morning one was in his apartment, then?”

“I took it during the second week I was there, about.”

“Why aren't there any shadows? Did you have lights with you?”

“His apartment was pretty much Heaven. I didn't use lights, no.”

Jongdae didn't think too much into the comment. “Where could I meet him?”

Lu Han blinked owlishly, eyebrows hidden behind his fringe. “Meet him? Like, in person?”At Jongdae's nod, his eyes rolled back to look at the ceiling. “I haven't talked to him since I came back. I assume he's still in Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

“Germany.”

Jongdae's professor was thrilled about his project idea, so that was a go, but the real stress was convincing himself to go to Europe and try finding someone he only knew by name.

Lu Han told him that Minseok was an architecture student when he knew him, studying at Brandenburg University of Technology. Knowing Minseok the way he did, Lu Han couldn't imagine him leaving his studies anytime soon.

Oddly enough, he never had Minseok's phone number. A clear indication—to Jongdae, at least—that he never intended to stay.

With a name and a location, passport, suitcase, and backpack, Jongdae booked his flight from Seoul to Berlin and hoped he wasn't making a huge mistake.

Germany wasn't all that cold.

From the brief research he'd done, he expected to need this heavy coat and thick scarf, but he was sweating when he walked off the plane.

While waiting for the luggage to be unloaded from the plane, he sat at one of the cafes inside the airport with a beer—which was like water to Germans—and people-watched. It was obvious who was fresh off a flight and who was waiting to board, just by the posture and level of awareness as they mingled and bumped shoulders.

He had slept through most of his flight. A pair of twins on a return flight home kept him entertained until they were too exhausted and schlepped back to their parents' grateful arms with sleepy smiles and sluggish waves.

When he was awake, he tried cramming German from a Korean to German app he'd downloaded, but it was a really goofy language. He had no idea what the alphabet was, but it looked almost like English, which he barely made it through in school before switching to Mandarin.

He was certain he could say hello—Hallo, introduce himself—Ich heiße Jongdae, and cry for his mom—Ich möchte meine Mutter.

Settling his phone screen-down on his thigh after checking sending a text to his room mate that his plane hadn't fallen from the sky, he sat back and thought that maybe this was a mistake, but just being so far from home was exciting. If nothing else, it would be a learning experience.

“Sind Sie Korean?”

Jongdae looked up from his beer, and his breath caught in his throat. Oh God, what did he say? mixed with Oh God, he's hot. to make mush in his brain that trickled down his throat.

The man was young, Jongdae assumed, with clear skin, a feline look to monolidded eyes, no stubble, and angular eyebrows giving an almost severe look to his face, if he hadn't been smiling.

The beer tasted kind of sour in his mouth. “Uh … .” He looked at his phone, to the language app still running. “Sprechen Sie Koreanisch?” He grimaced at his own pronunciation.

The man smiled wider, showing a bit of his gums, and nodded. “Natürlich. Yes. You must be Jongdae.” The switch to Korean was effortless for him, and Jongdae felt his shoulders almost drop to the floor.

“Oh, thank God. I was afraid I was going to embarrass myself through my whole trip.” He stood abruptly partly bowed, offering a hand at the same time. “Kim Jongdae.”

“Kim Minseok.” He took Jongdae's hand and then shoved his hands back into the pockets of his letterman jacket.

Jongdae sat again.“How'd you know it was me?”

“Lu Han emailed me out of the blue saying you wanted to meet. Said you'd be the lost kitten at the airport.”

“I look that bad, huh?”

“Yes, you do, and you're also sitting and have no luggage. Any German would be waiting to get their bags at the carousel. They are very punctual.”

Nice to know he stuck out. At least he made an impression, right?

Jongdae finished his beer and slung his backpack over a shoulder as he stood. He was the same height as Minseok. “I didn't want to risk falling asleep on someone while waiting.”

Minseok laughed.

They retrieved his bags—both large and expensive to fly, but Jongdae had packed for a few weeks without considering washing anything.

Outside the airport, which looked just as grey and bland as Lu Han's photo, Minseok finally asked where Jongdae was staying.

“I have no idea. I honestly didn't think that far ahead.” That earned him another laugh.

Minseok took his his cap to push his hair back again. “I've got a comfy sofa, if you're interested.”

“Really?”

“You're here for me, anyway, right?” He raised an arm, and a cab pulled to the curb. Minseok lifted Jongdae's bags a lot easier than Jongdae ever could and slammed the boot shut. He slid onto the bench seat beside Jongdae and rattled off an address. Jongdae tried to pay attention to what he said and how, but all he caught was Brandenburg and bitte.

The driver followed the driveway and took a right at the first intersection. Traffic was light and moved easily.

“How long?”

“About half an hour. The highway moves fast on days like today.”

Jongdae nodded and looked out the window. He didn't really know what else to say, and Minseok didn't seem about to start conversation. Even the driver was silent, driving with confidence as he made another right turn and merged with highway traffic.

The area was largely urban, although after another right turn—which changed the highway number—there was a forested park to their right. They followed a loop in a clover, and Minseok quietly commented that they were almost there.

With how fast the trees and buildings were passing, Jongdae wondered just how fast they were travelling and made the mistake of peeking at the speedometer. He didn't think cars could drive so fast off the racetrack.

At another point, the cars all drove in a circle, which confused Jongdae. It seemed utterly pointless when an intersection would have accomplished the same thing, but he remembered hearing about the traffic circles on the news at home. They were supposed to reduce traffic accidents. Jongdae thought they were a nuisance, but he didn't drive much, anyway.

Minseok nudged him when the cab to another street. There were pedestrians on the sidewalks, enjoying the mild weather, and tall apartment buildings stood together like a line of disgruntled travellers. Nothing matched in size, and the roofs didn't meet up. It was like someone took slices of a few different buildings and weren't entirely sure how to make them work other than smushing them together.

The apartment building the cab pulled up to a few minutes later was much more modern looking, standing squat and long.

Once Jongdae's bags were on the pavement, and the cab driver was paid, he left without another word.

“I'm on the top floor,” Minseok commented. They each took a bag—thankfully on wheels—and trudged to the front doors. A young woman at a desk paused in her work to smile at Minseok and ask something with a glance at Jongdae. He said something with a wave, which apparently soothed her curiosity, and they squeezed into the elevator. It was not meant for people and luggage; Jongdae had to question how anyone moved in or out with any sort of furniture other than a single chair.

He followed Minseok down a carpeted hall to the very end. “This is me.”

His apartment was spacious, mostly due to sparse furnishings, but the ceiling was high, allowing for big windows and a balcony with an iron wire table and chairs. Everything was open, with a door showing tile and another closed door that Jongdae assumed would be a bedroom.

“Set your bags anywhere.” Minseok toed off his sneakers and set them neatly in a cubby built onto the wall. Jongdae followed suit and hung his coat beside Minseok's on a peg.

Immediate impression: Minseok was very neat.

This could, of course, be a common trick of cleaning before company, but judging from the smudge-free glass and plentiful storage, Jongdae was pretty sure Minseok was actually this neat all the time.

“You hungry at all?”

“No, thanks. I ate on the plane.”

“Well, there are towels in the bathroom for you, and the sofa pulls out to a bed, if you'd prefer. There are sheets and blankets there, and … ” he shrugged. “Welcome to Germany.”

Minseok was on break from classes as well, so he spent a lot of time with Jongdae. Wherever they went, and even around his apartment, Minseok would point things out and say its name in German. At restaurants and bars, he explained German manners, such as keeping his hands visible while eating.

“You know an awful lot.”

“I kind of have to in order to not ruin my chances at a job or recommendation. A lot of it was learning from experience, unfortunately, but some friends at school really helped me.”

Outside, Jongdae fiddled with his camera and took pictures of everything from the buildings to the people to the sky, which looked just like the sky at home yet didn't at the same time.

The temperature had dropped to a more winter-appropriate feel, but Jongdae didn't wear gloves or a scarf, so he could still use his camera.

“You really look like a tourist.”

“I technically am a tourist, so I shouldn't look any different and deceive the public.” Jongdae snapped a photo of Minseok's face before he could respond. He looked at the LCD screen and back up at Minseok. “Hey, step back a bit.”

“Back?”

“Yeah. Go back, like, four little steps.” He looked through the viewfinder again and waved a hand. “Wee bit more. More ... more … .”

“Are you trying to push me off a bridge?”

“Sit on the railing.” At the sceptical brow, Jongdae lowered the camera. “I promise I'll catch you if you start to fall.” Behind them, a young tourist grabbed his companion's arm and pointed miserably at the water beneath them.

Minseok hopped onto the stone railing, plunging his hands into his pockets and pressing them between his thighs. “Hurry up; it's cold.”

Jongdae had held the button down for a series of shots as Minseok moved, and he bit his lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Just a sec.” Dressed in dark jeans, boots, thick jacket and oversized scarf, Minseok stood out against the light grey of the sky like an ink blot. Klik. “There.”

Something moving out of the corner of his eye made him pause and glance up. Minseok had his held tilted back, frowning at the sky.

“It's snowing.”

Minseok slid to the ground and shrugged his shoulders to push his scarf up more over his ears rather than remove his hands from his pockets. “It won't last,” he commented.

“Still pretty.”

“You haven't really told me about your project. Am I allowed to know?”

Jongdae half-frowned and shrugged. “I'd rather you didn't, because I don't want there to be bias.”

“Art is all about bias, though.” They headed back to the apartment. With the clouds dropping snow, it was getting dark

“Interpretation, not bias.”

“Interpretations are biased.”

“You just want to know what I'm writing about.”

“I know what you're writing about!” Minseok kicked him lightly on the back of his calf. “You're writing about me for some reason after seeing Lu Han's photos which—I might add—I never said he could show.”

“They are all dignified, hyung. Your identity and reputation are safe,” Jongdae replied solemnly.

Minseok snorted and burrowed his face into is scarf. They walked back in silence, stopping every once in a while because Jongdae saw something interesting and may or may not have used the opportunity to take another picture of a super cute bundled up Kim Minseok.

Jongdae had wondered about MINSEOK'S MORNINGS most of his flight to Germany.

With how tall the apartment was, Jongdae should not have been surprised at the size of the bathroom, but he was. It was completely white porcelain, and the window behind the sink was frosted. A second window arched above that, allowing for even more natural light and making the wall sconces nearly unnecessary and shadows nearly impossible.

It was like walking through a cloud, if clouds were solid and smooth.

Beside the sink, on the counter that count serve as a vanity, sat a vase of dried flowers and a box with a bow.

When he asked about them, Minseok said they belonged to the previous owner. They seemed too important to throw out, but there was no one to give them to, and they weren't taking up much room, so they remained beside the sink. He still didn't know what the amber bottle was, and he didn't see cologne or aftershave or any kind of personal products sitting out, but they weren't the important part of Minseok's morning.

Each morning he woke up and was reminded he was alive by a stranger.

It snowed for the whole week, covering everything in soft blankets of white that turned to slush on the roads but sat like hats on all of the buildings. They stayed indoors for the most part, watching movies or doing their own individual work. Jongdae kept email contact with his professor, as required for the semester, and friends back home. He fixed his photos in Photoshop, adjusting contrast and size to make a more standard print or something custom for a bit more of a dramatic look, but everything remained in colour.

Nothing really stuck out to him, though, when Minseok was in the frame.

They looked nice, sure, but they didn't leave Jongdae's mind breathless from racing or his stomach cramped from clenching and twisting like Lu Han's photos had.

He had a week, and then he had to go home. His paper was done, for the most part. Meeting the subject and living in the setting gave a deeper understanding of the artist, but then what? He'd go home, and that'd be it?

Looking over his laptop, he watched Minseok read at the small kitchen table, mug partway to his lips and apparently forgotten in his hand.

He didn't want this to be the end.

It was two and a half weeks into Jongdae's visit, and they had returned from a late Christmas party with other expats Minseok went to school with. The only common language they all shared was German, but Jongdae actually had fun with Minseok as a translator, and there was a couple of Korean students and a guy from Changsa, so he wasn't lost in the conversations the whole time.

The beer hall wasn't far from Minseok's apartment, so they walked, although the icy wind quickly stole away the warmth they'd stored. Jongdae walked behind Minseok and stuffed his hands into the other man's jacket pockets. “It's freezing. What is this?”

“This is winter.” Minseok looked over his shoulder at him. “And I'd told you to grab gloves before we left.” He covered Jongdae's hands with his own.

“Your pockets are warmer. I can leech off your heat.”

They couldn't make it back fast enough, although the wind was against them, and they shivered at the change in temperature once inside the apartment building with the door closed securely behind them.

Jongdae kicked the door to Minseok's apartment closed with his heel and grinned after removing his soggy shoes, catching sight of too perfect an opportunity to miss.

“Hey, hyung. My nose cold?”

Minseok jumped with a sharp inhale, spine snapping straight so fast he nearly whacked Jongdae's nose. He'd have deserved it, anyway. “Kim Jongdae!”

Jongdae didn't think beyond sticking his cold nose on Minseok's exposed neck. His laughter rose to a sharp shriek when icy gingers plunged down the back of his pants. His own fingers turned into claws on Minseok's shoulders in shock. The thin cotton of his underwear did nothing to stave off the cold,and Minseok prolonged the punishment by gripping Jongdae's cheeks like a cat kneading a blanket.

“Anyone ever tell you you've got a hot ?”

He had to remind himself to breathe and shook his head once the surprise slithered from his brain. “That's a new one, I have to admit.”

They were so close Jongdae had half a mind to expect Minseok to kiss him.

“You have really pretty eyes.”

Minseok removed his hands from Jongdae's jeans as he laughed. “That I have heard!”

Jongdae was curious about what Minseok hadn't heard yet, so he could be the first to say it.

It was hard to not fall in love with Minseok.

Maybe it was the foreign area or seeing the compact man in such a bright apartment, but Jongdae's chest squeezed his lungs when he saw Minseok shuffle past the sofa during the night or early morning. He woke up early, always finding something to do, and he did it quietly to not disturb Jongdae, who wished his camera didn't click when the shutter closed, so he could capture Minseok without him knowing.

He used his phone instead, steadying it on his chest or the arm of the couch to not blur the night settings.

Perhaps this was how Lu Han felt, when he'd stayed here. Did he stay on the couch—which was actually very comfy, Minseok hadn't exaggerated—or did he share Minseok's bed? Did he watch as Minseok went through his daily routine and dealt with insomnia at all hours of the night? Maybe he crawled in with the other student to soothe him to sleep by cuddling close.

Or maybe Jongdae was making it all up and needed more sleep himself.

Lu Han said he hadn't loved Minseok, anyway, not like Minseok had loved him, so Jongdae's feelings were already different, and that meant a difference in experience. Comparing them accomplished nothing.

There was a piano in Minseok's apartment.

“The lady who owned this apartment before me died after an accident. She didn't have any family, and her things were a hassle to move, so I basically got it all for free when I rented the place. I think it needs to be tuned; I don't play all that often.”

The Sauter piano and bench were made of mountain spruce and finished to accentuate the natural grain and colour. The foot pedals were chrome-plated and worn.

Minseok sat beside Jongdae on the piano bench. Their sides touched from their knees to their shoulders; it was comfortably warm. Jongdae felt a splash of heat in his chest as Minseok yawned and leaned his head on Jongdae's shoulder.

They were silent. Minseok poked at the piano keys, plinking out a slow tune.

“Can't you sleep, hyung?”

“Nope. I heard you get up and wanted to check on you.”

“I was thinking.”

“About?”

“Going home. The semester's almost over.” He leaned his head to rest on Minseok's, and his left hand joined in the nonsense tune in the piano. “I was thinking I'd like to come back after I'm done.”

Minseok kept poking keys, or Jongdae would've thought he'd fallen asleep.

“Would that be okay?” he prompted lowly.

“Your German .”

Jongdae rolled his eyes. So much for the moment. “So sorry I couldn't master a language in a month. I'll try harder.”

“I'll help you.” Minseok finally sat up. Jongdae let his head loll onto his shoulder, rolling it side to side to work out some of the tired kinks. He hadn't slept much, lately, thinking about his project, home, and Minseok. His third roll was interrupted by ivory-cooled fingers on his cheek.

Their first kiss was at 1:11 in the dark of the morning, but Jongdae would accept the almost mystical number because of the magic that was Kim Minseok.

One thing Jongdae had learned pretty quick was that Minseok never did anything he didn't want to do. No matter how much Jongdae would have loved to pin Minseok to the bench or floor or wall or sofa, he respected the biceps that packed a lot of power and was more than willing to take what he could get without being thrown off the balcony.

So he was okay with being kissed. It meant a lot.

They were a breath apart when Jongdae asked, “It's okay, then?”

“I can't stop you from coming back to Germany.” Minseok's lips nuzzled his cheek.

“I'd need a place to stay … .” He kissed Minseok's ear.

“There are some cheap hostels all over.”

“Anything in the neighbourhood? I kind of like it here.”

“I may know a guy with a comfortable couch. If you're nice,” Jongdae's breath stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat when Minseok nibbled his ear lobe, “you may even be allowed on the bed.” He grinned against Jongdae's cheek. “He needs to know if you kick, though.”

“Only when called for.” He swallowed Minseok's laughter and searched his mouth for a moan.

The morning of Jongdae's flight was overcast but not unbearably cold. The floors still shocked Jongdae's bare feet as he got dressed and brushed his teeth.

Minseok's door was open. He'd insisted Jongdae keep his suitcases in there so they were out of the way, but he felt bad for tiptoeing inside while his host was blissfully asleep and unaware. Snuggled down under the blankets, his arms cradled the pillow beneath his head. The morning light shone in through the angled skylight, haloing his hair and casting his face in shadow.

Photo op.

Jongdae admired the picture on his camera screen and took another one, just in case it was better than the first.

His flight was in an hour. He didn't want to wake Minseok so early just to say goodbye, but he did, at the same time. Leaving without a word just felt cruel.

He had just pulled on his socks and closed his suitcase when he heard the sheets rustle. He bit his lip.

“What time's your flight?”

“8:10.”

“You should've woken up sooner.” Minseok yawned.

“I was never really a morning person.”

“Mm,” Minseok hummed. He rolled over and stretched out on his back but didn't sit up. “I've noticed.” He squinted in the light and rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, catching stray drool.

Jongdae stared at his suitcases and mentally went through a checklist of his things. Germany was a long was from home, if he left anything behind. They'd be in good hands, though.

Wallet in his front pocket, cell phone in his back pocket, passport in his shoe, camera in his hand … . He had the necessities. His paper was online, so he could access that wherever he had internet.

“Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?”

The tone was light, almost teasing, but Jongdae's gut twisted in on itself.

“I don't really like goodbyes,” he admitted. “I was also kind of hoping I wouldn't have to say goodbye.”

Minseok tilted his head to the side, chin on his hand with the elbow propped up on his knee. If Jongdae weren't almost in a hurry, he'd kiss Minseok silly for looking so gosh darn adorable.

“You can't get rid of me easily, I'll have you know,” Jongdae continued, wagging a finger. “I have to be at my professor's office to had in my paper and basically tell her what it's about, and my mom is apparently feeling withdrawal symptoms from not seeing her darling baby in so long … but yeah. I'd like to come back, but if you'd rather I not, then I guess—”

Minseok stood up on his knees, face-level with Jongdae, and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck.

“If you kiss me, I can't guarantee I'll leave.”

Their smiles met, and Jongdae let himself be pulled back onto the mess of blankets.

This, of course, meant Jongdae had to rush out the door and nearly trip on the curb to meet his cab. He pulled a beanie over his not-even-artfully-mused hair and avoided the questioning—possibly laced with a bit of judgement—look the driver gave him.

Luckily, he could say the name of the airport and wasn't expected to speak to anyone from then until he got home, so he relaxed in his seat and stared out the window after changing his shoes to the opposite, appropriate feet. No wonder he had nearly tripped.

He got bored really fast and rummaged through his backpack for his camera. He'd filled and downloaded the memory card seven times, so the only pictures still on the card were from the past couple of days. The very last one from just minutes earlier was almost quality, showing two men from the nose to barely mid-torso with one biting and tugging the other's bottom lip.

Jongdae unconsciously touched his swollen lips and wondered if it would be an acceptable image to go with his paper.

Probably not.

He'd submit it, anyway.

When Minseok finally dragged himself out of bed in the middle of the afternoon, he pawed around the sidetable for his phone and hid his face back in his pillow as it . Since having a phone that used a full battery in just a day, he got in the habit of turning off his new one each night.

It chirped with a new message. He swiped the screen and tapped the alert icon.

1 MISSED CALL FROM KIM JONGDAE

He pressed the alert again and the speaker.

“Hey, hyung. You must've fallen asleep again, which is kind of good, because I don't think I could say this if you were conscious. Uh … ” He sighed, laughing at himself. “Now I'm nervous. Great. Um. I wanted to thank you. For everything, you know, and … . Yeah.” There was nearly a minute of silence. “Okay, so I actually wanted to tell you I learned some German on my own! Be proud of me; shower me with praise. It's such a harsh language. Kind of hurts to speak, but some things are kind of pretty. So … I guess I'll see you sometime, and, uh—g” He spoke too fast, swallowing his words, and hung up, but Minseok smiled into his pillow.

"Ich habe dich lieb.”

There's more to a photograph than the photographer and his art. Lu Han, a native of the Haidian District of Beijing, wanted to tell a story, and he travelled all the way to Germany to find a good story to tell. There, he found an expat student and something that was almost romance.

He learned that stories aren't always black and white, and some happy endings are reserved.

a/n:

Inspired by this image.

English translation: Hallo. = Hello.

Ich heiße Jongdae. = My name is Jongdae.

Ich möchte meine Mutter. = I want my mom.

Sind Sie Korean? = Are you Korean?

Sprechen Sie Koreanisch? = Do you speak Korean?

Natürlich. = Of course.

Brandenburg = A federal state of Germany, located in the east. It surrounds, but does not include, the national capital, Berlin.

Bitte. = Thank you.

Ich habe dich lieb. = I'm fond of you. “Ich liebe Dich” is “I love you” in a deeper, more romantic way. Kind of like the Japanese "daisuki (だいすき)" versus "aieru (あいしてる)."

Sauter piano = One of the few German piano companies who make their pianos entirely in-house with only German materials.