(1)

‘Want a mint?’

The sound of Seunghyun’s husky voice derails Jiyong from his train of thoughts. He can no longer pretend to be entertained by the sight of his gruff Timberland boots. Jiyong gulps and plucks up the courage to cast a glance in his direction.

It’s not the first time Jiyong has snicked a glance at the dashing man, that he’ll admit. But it’s the first time Seunghyun will consciously notice Jiyong’s eyes on him and—

Seunghyun’s standing. More specifically, leaning against the concrete surface of the red-brick wall, outside their dormitory vestibule. He has hands half-tucked suavely into the pocket of his navy trench coat.

An enigmatic half-smile plays upon his lips when their gazes lock.

Why Jiyong feels his heart race and his mouth run dry, almost dropping the cuppa he is holding, he chooses not to consider. He blames the numbing chill of that early spring morning.

‘You don’t seem to like me much.’ Seunghyun lets out a heavy, mock sigh, retracting his offer slowly. ‘Doesn’t matter. You’re cute. And I think I like you anyway.’

Jiyong’s so flustered he almost chokes.

(2)

‘So, you write. Do you write write songs? Think through every single word? Do you borrow ideas from books or do you usually write from real life experience?’

‘A little bit of both.’ Jiyong mutters, shoving the last of his lyric sheets into a clear folder. It’s been two weeks since the older boy had started trailing him around the campus. He wonders and thinks, maybe, just maybe he is interested in forming some sort of lasting friendship. Just friendship of course, nothing more.

Nothing more.

‘That’s cool. I’ve never really met anyone who has talent like yours.’

Jiyong thinks that Seunghyun probably hasn’t met enough people to tell. He wants to remind Seunghyun that he has read nothing more than two verses of Jiyong’s creation.

‘Even if I had,' Seunghyun pauses thoughtfully, as if reading his mind. 'They’d probably pale in comparison to yours.’

Jiyong gets that Seunghyun’s trying. (Even though his compliment lacks much logic)

So Jiyong tries too.

He tries, by not trying to hide that frequent, dreamy smile that hangs past his lips ever since that day.

(3)

‘Youngbae says I’m overdoing it. Collecting art. But it’s a second nature to me now. Ever heard of Warhol? Andy Warhol?’

‘Not really. Does he have any particular prominent pieces?”

‘Campbell’s condensed tomato soup.’

‘What? Say that again.’ Jiyong pauses mid-writing, looks up from his music sheet, perplexed as he meets the other’s gaze. The mischievous glint in Seunghyun’s eyes come alive like embers.

The older boy makes the slow show of hopping off the latch, drawing closer to Jiyong as he slings an arm over Jiyong’s shoulder. The warmth from Seunghyun’s digits send a novel spark of electricity coursing past his veins. Jiyong feels like he’s suffocating and learning to breathe at the same time.

Gliding his tongue across his lips in a pathetic attempt to allay his whirl of emotions, Jiyong tightens his grip on his pen. He proceeds on to write his music, as if his earlier train of thought hadn’t already been derailed by the unforeseen physical contact this dangerously attractive man is making at a dangerously late hour.

His awareness is all the more heightened when Seunghyun’s mocha hues fixated upon him. Unbeknownst to him, they have been ensorcelled by his petal red lips for awhile now.

‘I said, Campbell’s condensed tomato soup. Red…and all’ His voice is rough, deep and velvety, now only barely above a whisper.

‘Delicious…’

Jiyong gulps.

‘I’m sure it taste, you know...delicious… like something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.’

Jiyong will be lying if he says he isn’t already acutely aware of Seunghyun’s piercing gaze on his rosemary lips. He loses his hearing for a while, the thumping heartbeat from within reverberates throughout his body. It’s all he hears for abit.

“O-Oh.” Jiyong manages, eyes timidly shying away from everything Seunghyun. They scan over the messy floor, linger a little too long on the crushed balls of paper atop his desk, then his red mitten gloves lying on the edge of the coffee table and—

Seunghyun leans in. Leans his face all the way in, until his own lips are aligned with Jiyong’s ears, hands cupping his cheek, and then, he whispers.

“I really really like that… also, I, really really like…” He pulls back, making sure their gazes lock.

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