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A/N: hey guys! first of all, i'd like to warn you that this chapter will include homophobic activity, and your biases will most likely be in on it as well. please know i by no means am implying that your biases are rude or oppose homouality. also, there will be mentioning of bible verses. i intend to make this story a microcosm of the real world, so please do not be offended if your biases are crafted so. if this is inapplicable (if you dont care that the following characters act this way) please proceed and i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it. thank you!

It is said that the flap a butterfly’s wings in Brazil can spark off a tornado in Texas.

The notion is that something very small, very minute, like the dropping of an ant or the oscillation of a shark’s tail, holds the power to ignite something of colossal significance. One cannot predict the future, nor can we foresee the movements of nature. Hurricanes spring out of nowhere, in particular, without any caveat or hint at all.

It appears, on a crop field near a child, spring day and all, a small gust of wind concealing a bigger, heavier hatred. Things don’t come and proceed as one can anticipate; they slither, a wisp of a dusty zephyr. Sudden and unexpected, this obsidian, haze-like thing sits on a rocking chair. Waiting.

Inhabited in the scrolls of fate for a long, long time, lingering. Patiently, for the right moment it which it can evolve to great transformations. In the snap of fingers, even a small gale can turn deadly, as with many of the hurricanes that tore down the residences.

Mingyu turned the keys over and over in his hands repeatedly, impatience shown through fidgety movements. In summer it hardly rained, and today was no exception, excluding dabs of livid clouds in the sky. He stood by the diner’s entrance, foot tapping in an erratic motion, as if you carried it on for too long and no longer knew the rhythm.

The sun was hiding, but still he perspired like he drenched himself deliberately, and until he saw silhouettes of varying heights in the distance only then he stopped that goddamned tongue clicking.

Wonwoo sat alone in the diner, in one of the booths meant for about five to seven people, cursorily scanning the contents of his newly discovered book on owls. He occasionally looked over to the entrance, where Mingyu stood in the unbearing heat, sweating and probably grumbling.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry; honest, it was pretty hilarious seeing his best friend willingly stand in the hot sun just to avoid talking to him and looking like he was ready to punch someone in the groin. Still, Wonwoo stood his ground and continued to read the book with slight interest, and only when he heard the bells ring alongside a group of familiar voices did he heave a sigh of relief.

He plastered one of those smiles he knew Mingyu would soon understand - I know we’re not talking but we can’t show it. He waved them over to the booth with that huge grin that seemed sincere to only four of them, and as the five shoved themselves inside, he noticed Mingyu take the seat furthest away. Talk about subtlety, right?

As with always, the conversation was just a massive blur - someone was cursing with a ton of profanities in every sentence, like ‘what ing person would ing do that kind of in’ ?’ and someone else had food in his mouth, desperately trying to pitch in his two cents despite being occupied himself, a bunch of oomphs and i fhimk so foo.

He could hear Mingyu whining about their punctuality, and also possibly Seokmin trying to tell him to shut up, and perhaps Jisoo explaining the theory of relativity to them because he read a whole door-stopper book on it during the weekend.

Wonwoo merely smiled, laughing -or trying to- at Jihoon and Seungkwan’s complaints regarding his stubborn refusal to pick up the goddamn phone if he owns one.

“You have to swear.You swear that if you don’t pick up your phone again you’ll throw all your geek- books on African insects or types of clouds or whatever into the winter sea.” Jihoon tried hard to refrain from vulgarities, and Wonwoo promised half-heartedly even though he knew he’d never throw them.

Seungkwan chipped in, globs of a sandwich still present in his mouth, “Thatsh’s righth, I know you furposely icknored ush.”

“So, guys, remember I said it was all Chamberlain’s fault that Hitler managed to seize Poland?” Jisoo quipped, already onto a different book he probably read in the weekend, but in the afternoons rather than the mornings saved for physics.

“You told us already,” Seokmin interrupted, a hint of remember what we’re here for, and suddenly all attention was on Wonwoo or Mingyu, fifty fifty.

“Um, why don’t we order first?” Wonwoo promptly regretted calling all of them to meet. He would have slapped himself for boldly declaring in the morning that cul-de-sac was his slave by now; that he bended dead ends and could fix what seemed like a sinking ship. He watched the others eye the menu and point at dishes before he met with Mingyu’s, locking for a solid four seconds.

If they had any telepathy skills, any at all, Wonwoo wanted none of it then, because if Mingyu knew or even suspected anything he was as good as cooked meat.  

Mingyu looked at Wonwoo, who sat calmly, and he swiftly felt a cold air current sift through the diner when the door was opened by some other customer. He didn’t like it - it resembled what he felt when Wonwoo left his house on the day they kissed, a bud growing that couldn’t be nipped.

After Wonwoo’s face turned away, he sipped on the glass of water served earlier. He gulped, aware of the spit accumulating in his mouth, like the last time he went to a biology examination and couldn’t answer more than half of them. It wasn’t a good feeling - not at all, as if something black sat on a rocking chair with shades and a cigarette in the South American desert.

“Guys, Mingyu and I are dating.”

He had good intuition, all right. Mingyu shivered from the breeze that shifted through the room again, gentle and placid as if originating from something much smaller.

Big gusts of wind swept, like waves washing over you in the ocean. They’re loud, commanding, and demand attention with every slap of hot or cold air. Smaller gusts seeped, similar to the tide moving to and fro the shore, slowly and like ink spreading on paper.

The rest of them stayed like that, frozen in place and staring at one another for, say, three seconds, sufficient for awkwardness to occur, if not for Seungkwan’s fortunate outburst.

“Finally. Oh, wow, and imagine how many times I said the two of you would’ve made a great pair.”

In the air the other five of them simultaneously put down a stone that was uncalled for, and for once Jihoon was grateful Seungkwan was such an idiot. The others coughed out genuine chuckles and laughter, with Seokmin loudly recollecting the other time they played the king game and ordered the two to kiss.  

Jisoo involuntarily made a dirty joke and Seungkwan continued to project his voice deafeningly, like “damn, I knew you guys were lying when you said you weren’t into each other. I mean, who would publicly declare they had a secret hideout for the two of them only? ”

The whole table was bedlam scaled down; if you excluded the two on furthermost opposite sides, one looking down at the drink in his hand calmly while the other resorted to turning his keys around over in his hand. Clearly, they had no idea.

Jihoon, being, y’know, sharp and all, noticed the peculiar stillness of the pair first. He sat smack in the middle, so he raised his voice even if he didn’t want to. “Okay, hold on. You aren’t even joking, right?”

The stones uncalled for were set in place again, one lodged in each throat, one even Seungkwan couldn’t force out. He stopped chewing, and Jisoo stared at the white table cleaned carelessly. Mingyu didn’t even want to look at Wonwoo, who desperately held his glare to catch his best friend’s eyes.

“Oh, so you guys have and stuff?” Jihoon wasn’t pleased with Seungkwan’s unnecessary comment, despite having saved the silence again. It was a completely innocent query on his part, but Mingyu felt the wind at his fingertips and an urgency he needed to spit out.

“Of course not, we’ve never even gotten there.”

Jisoo continued to remain quiet, merely analysing the situation as everyone else let the weight of their declaration sink in.

Seungkwan was the school’s drama instigator; as much as the other five loved him, it was no doubt he was the gossip queen, a quality trait all school reporters had. Being club vice-president, he was endowed with the gift of inquisitivity, more so than Wonwoo who was so bent on finding out if you could fall through a hole drilled straight through the earth to the other side. As club vice-president, he was the sole source of information that thrived throughout the school, the root of rumour spreading far and quick like radiation waves from a nuclear bomb. He was the one who followed a freshman all the way back to her apartment, only to unearth she had been dating an older man, or who uncovered the truth about scrawny’s ual preference months ago.

Jisoo wasn’t quite certain, with all that pandemonium engendered by Seungkwan’s articles alone, if Wonwoo was clear-minded when he thought of announcing such a bold statement. Seokmin was playing the role of a concerned friend; whether it was pretentious or not he couldn’t exactly tell - how could he, for someone who was in the drama and arts club and lived on a pack of lies with expressions that didn’t show the truth at all?

Seokmin was looking over at the two, worry splayed on his face like a grand gold crown to exhibit. He also looked over to Seungkwan often, who had, for once in all their lifetime, gone quiet.

Jihoon wasn’t showing much, to be honest, and in fact he looked like he was in a much guiltier position than Wonwoo or Mingyu. He hung his head low, as if there was nothing he could do to prevent things from going out of control, like that last time he just stood aside limply to let Jisoo and Seokmin physically beat each other up over some spilled milk.

Jisoo himself could already taste the grimace on both the best friends’ faces - unconsciously, amidst blank and guilty and ostentatious faces, a frown had made its way onto his, and he knew he was going to be first to snap them out of it.

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