warned: vulgarities and profanities present in crude mannerisms. stereotyping at its best. (jock) whimsical description not entirely relevant. hope you'll enjoy it! :_)

The kitchen was redolent with the essence of over toasted bread. Hung in the air was the faint scent of ineptly homemade jam, and stuffed somewhere in the oven were slices of ham lovingly cut the night before.

The air in the house smelled of dust, whiskey, and due to the elders’ preferences and habits, lavender, such that the sillage of that dreadful perfume overpowered the stench of uneaten confectionery stashed under the bed of the only child in the edifice.

Beside the unmade bed was the sylvan desk of the only child, embellished by odds and ends that stood out in ways that exhibited his peculiar hobbies. Copper binoculars for bird-watching, an encyclopedia for insects, baseballs not wholly for the sport, and a stack of english vocabulary and grammar books for beginners he stopped reading after two pages.

A cup of  stale coffee from last night, in a desperate (yet failed) attempt to complete all summer homework (which is impossible) before the summer holidays, and a plate of breadcrumbs from supper.

Beside the label ‘summer’ that stuck onto the calendar on the table, there was the note the size of of a palm demurely concealed behind textbooks, scribbled on without confidence but with affection, and fat lettering in red marker that read ‘summer - mingyu’.

Sitting up straight in striped pyjamas on the bed pressed against the window, Wonwoo stared with half-lidded eyes into the sun. He groaned in reluctance and terror as he pictured the scene he arranged to unfold by the sea hours later in the day.

It was a terrible idea. It was a terrible, terrible idea, and it was cul-de-sac, no doubt. He rubbed his face and sighed.

It had been eight years.

Eight years since Wonwoo had encountered, by pure and magical coincidence, the junction at which he officially met Mingyu, and they shook hands shyly with enviable liking.

Seven years since they unearthed that secluded spot by the sea and mischievously used permanent marker to write their names on the painted bench, where since then they spent most of their time conversing.

Six since he found himself slamming the door to his room after sprinting back from an outing with Mingyu, sliding to the ground in embarrassment or joy, blushing while fanning himself, and five since he truly accepted what he felt for the childhood friend.

As a self-respected, diligent researcher who never attempted things without thorough investigation, Wonwoo had listed, after several missions of hinting at Mingyu, all possible outcomes of the proposition and how he would (efficiently and with bad acting) react.

Wonwoo groggily switched on his computer on the desk and immediately opened what he had worked on since January. He expanded the document, fifty over scenarios and sixty other reactions, mixed and matched as a daily task.

Examples included: punching Wonwoo, as likely as an incoming tsunami, shoving him off the cliff, unlikely but possible, or kicking him in the stomach, on the sandy ground.

The last one seemed like a very inviting possibility, considering Wonwoo had slight masochistic streaks now and then (as a result of hormones) and acts of violence coming from the ever kind Mingyu was both thrilling and nauseating. He screwed up his eyes as he leaned back into the chair, folding his arms and expertly analysing the scenes.

One thing was certain, though. Wonwoo was diligent, no doubt, but not the smartest. Past situations of ‘investigation’ had ended with extremely negative results, but mostly due to Wonwoo’s phrasing and queries.

Days had gone when Wonwoo asked Mingyu if he liked rainbows, with Mingyu thinking with intense concentration and eventually answering that he only liked blue, violet and green, so he wasn’t sure if it was a yes or a no. Or when Wonwoo sneakily tried to hold hands with the taller, and Mingyu didn’t let go, until several minutes later untangling their hands like a professional adeptly escaping from an awkward situation.

Wonwoo had even asked if Mingyu would ever date Jeonghan, the guy from two classrooms down with long hair, and Mingyu answered yes, but only because Jeonghan ‘looked like a girl’ which, honestly, didn’t give Wonwoo much to conclude and at night painfully chided Mingyu for being such an idiot.

A month ago, Seungkwan, class clown or class president, joked that Wonwoo and Mingyu seemed fitting as a couple, and the whole gang burst into laughter, but Wonwoo couldn’t tell if Mingyu actually liked the idea of them romantically together, or he simply liked the joke of it.

And hence, from failed experiments like ‘accidentally’ pinning Mingyu down, hugging and not letting go, to indistinct questions about homouality or being ually involved with a man, Wonwoo concluded that he had wasted a year of fruitless efforts and therefore was completely unprepared for today.

Wonwoo exhaled, irked, and he ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

It was a dead end, and the more he thought about it, his future presented itself like a performance that crashed on the stage, a failed play as if the actors had died out on them and the props tore apart.

He quickly slid into the shower, intentionally splashing himself with frigid water and consequently squealing, murmured what he had practised over the year again, as a daily routine, and almost forgot to lather with soap.

As if mechanically instructed, he switched on the radio, put on a light blue shirt and light blue underwear (matching colours was his good luck charm; he wore black and white underwear to match with his uniform on the day of the mathematics examination and thank the almighty stars, passed) and slapped himself twice (not encouraged to try at home) so he could be certain that Mingyu’s reactions later were not Wonwoo merely dreaming.

Glancing at the clock, Wonwoo realised he was nearing to ten minutes late for their meet up and nervously searched for his handphone, but then shrugging as he smirked at the thought of Mingyu waiting for him. Now purposefully, he walked down the stairs slowly, as if he was two hours early, and appreciatively grabbed a slice of burnt bread with jam slapped on.

“And why are you awake?”

Sarcasm, Wonwoo wondered, was an abstract element only his mother could execute so flawlessly.

“I’m going to see Mingyu, mom.”

He smiled timidly, hoping she couldn’t sense the overwhelming trepidation conquering his frail heart.

She looked at her son distastefully and without interest. “Stop bothering the poor kid, who’d be willing to hang out with you?”

Wonwoo laughed. She was hilarious, he knew. “Bye, mom, and don’t clean my room.”

As he strolled out the door, grateful for his caustic mother who uplifted his spirits with stale sarcasm, he heard her yell, “no one would be willing to clean that rat-infested hell.”

Soon, he had arrived at the small cluster of trees that led to the safehaven of the tranquil sea and had begun all emotions Wonwoo harboured for his childhood friend.

He pushed aside the prickly branches of plum trees cautiously and lit a smile upon the sight of Mingyu’s clothed back and frame. Instantly, all thoughts of confessing vanished, and he crept up to his friend quietly.

Mingyu was enervated; the nerve of that er, to have left him waiting, sitting on the bench, in the heat that transmitted waves, for a whole forty-five minutes. What a jerk.

He knew Wonwoo had done this on purpose, just to rile him up, and that frustrated him even further. God, what did he even do to deserve such an awful childhood friend who lived off of his suffering? Wonwoo had been so careful about the entire meeting, texting and calling seventeen times (sorry) the night before just to remind him to be on time, at exactly nine, on the first day of summer vacation, such that Mingyu sprinted to the area when he saw he was five minutes late.

As the minutes ticked by, the volume of the music he was listening to in headphones increased, to the extent whereby he had been staring at blue, soundless waves of the sea. He finally stood to stretch, until he felt an immense force on his perspiring back and he tumbled forward, falling face first onto the hard ground.

The area at which the pair had discovered seven years ago was located by the sea, on a cliff. It was concealed by the semi-circle of trees, and the bench fac