“It’s snowing, it’s snowing!” Cried a tiny girl, her mitten encased hands spread above her head in hopes of catching the flakes.

A chorus of “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” resounded throughout the playground, the small kindergartners stopping what they were doing as they opted to look at the grey sky in wonder.

All over the small area, kids tilted their heads up and watched the white flakes. All but one. Alone on a swing set sat a small boy, his shaggy black hair cascading over his face as he stared at his pale, numb hands and shivered in the chilling air. What’s so great about snow?He wondered, looking intently at a bead of white that had landed on his lap. No sooner had it touched the fabric of his denim jeans, it melted, the water staining a small spot onto his clothing. It’s just water. It’s not special.

He lifted his head just enough to peer out at the rest of his classmates. Most of them were trying to roll around in the thin blanket that covered the ground, only managing to coat themselves in moist dirt and damp grass. Others were balancing rather precariously at the edges of any platform they could get onto; tunnel tops, slides, and railings, trying to catch the snow in their mouths as it fell from the sky.

The boy cringed, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he observed the others’ actions. It’s nothing special;he told himself over and over, his head shaking with every repeat of the line. It’s nothing special.

It never wasspecial. The snow, the ice, the dark clouds, the early sunsets, the chill in the air… it never pleased him; never made him happy. In fact, he hatedit. He hated how he could no longer see the shining sun, feel its warmth. He hated how the leaves all dropped from the trees, leaving the bare and twisted limbs frightfully obvious, how the birds would all disappear and he wouldn’t hear their songs anymore, how the foliage and flowers withered away and died.

And so his childhood went, every year as the days got shorter and kids his own age stayed up all night in hopes of catching a glimpse of the American icon known as Saint Nick, he would drag himself to bed, buried under multiple blankets to ward off the cold that he so resented. When the year came to an end and everyone braced the harsh weather in favor of counting down the minutes to the New Year, he would sit alone at his desk, watching the bright red digits of his alarm clock change, caring too much about his grades to spend time with his family in the freezing outdoors. The winter neverbrought him joy, and he found himself dreading it for years to come.

“Minho! One more caramel latte!” called a voice from the other side of the room.

Minho instinctively grabbed another cup from a stack that rested on the countertop and poured the sweet, steaming liquid into it. He quickly placed the lid onto the heat resistant container and scooted it across the counter top. “Another caramel latte,” He announced to the crowd of impatient customers.

It was almost comical really, when the white lid popped off of the cup as it slid across the marble, the cup having just a bittoo much momentum as it toppled over the counter and sprayed a few of the people waiting for their own orders.

Minho almost started to laugh in fact, the surprised looks of the gossiping, over makeup-ed girls and scowls of the middle-aged businessmen far too priceless to bite back a small chuckle.

But that chuckle was just enough to send his boss into a fury.

“Yah! Choi Minho! This is the last time you are going to spill coffee all over my customers. And you have the nerve to stand there and laugh at their misfortune, which you caused, instead of apologizing? That’s it! Clean up this mess right now and then leave. You’re fired!” Yelled a middle aged man with thinning hair and a bald spot smack dab in the middle of his head.

With a last look at the now angry mob of people waiting for coffee (gaining a few death glares from those who’s shirts were now stained light brown), Minho spun around and opened a supply closet in the corner of the café. Pulling out a mop, he exited the small barista counter and made his way to the spill; the customers parting just enough to let him through.

“Aish, it was just a spill,” He mumbled under his breath as he mopped up the miniscule amount of coffee that had actually managed to make it to the ground and not onto an unsuspecting person’s clothing.

When he finished, he jammed the mop back into its place within the closet, untied his black apron, and walked out of the café, muttering half hearted “bye’s” to his fellow ex-coworkers, none of whom he actually cared about.

As he stepped into the fresh air, he shivered, grumbling a small string of profanities at the drop in temperature and his lack of a jacket. He started along the sidewalk, not having driven a car to work in favor of taking a bus, and walked aimlessly.

The part of the city he was in was small and quaint; boutiques, family owned restaurants and bakeries, and obscure shops lining the streets. He chose to work in the area for the soul reason of the nice change from the hustle and bustle of the city norm, without having hundreds of people crowding the walkways or too many blaring car horns to keep track of.

But at the moment, the tiny outskirts of the city didn’t feel as peaceful and warm as it usually did. Minho sighed as he glanced around at the scenery, or lack thereof. The air was blistering dry, the kind of weather that chapped your lips and cracked your skin. The trees had just shed the last of their remaining leaves, the colorful array of crispness blown away by the strong gusts of wind to who knows where. The sky was grey, per usual in the winter; a drab, dull grey that loomed overhead like an unreachable menace. There was simply nothing.

Minho kept walking straight ahead, sighing in misery. He’d gotten fired and then made to wander pointlessly until the next bus arrived in this part of Busan since he lived too far out to even think about walking there. As he continued along, he passed by many people, most of which were families who were laughing along with their children’s antics or couples who snuggled together to rid themselves of the chilly air. He looked so awkward, out of place really, walking by himself dressed in his uniform of black tux pants, shiny dark loafers, a white button down, cuff-sleeved dress shirt, black vest, and bowtie. That and the annoyed look that was etched onto his face seemed to make the fact worse as he gained quite a few stares from passer bys.

He breezed by the shops, taking no interest in most of them, only stopping for a quick glance to the large display windows and then continuing on his way.

A gust of wind hit the area, lowering the chilly temperature even further as Minho stuffed his bare hands inside of his pockets. As he passed by a bakery, his stomach growled right on cue. Not wanting to suffer through the cold and his hunger, he opted to walk inside the warm confines of the shop.

As soon as he entered, the fragrance of cinnamon and peppermint immediately filled the air; a small fireplace on the back wall of the bakery was burning and instantly warmed him up. He looked around for a table, and upon finding one in the back corner close to the fire, he made his way to it.

Minho settled into the wooden chair, which was, surprisingly comfortable and not nearly as stiff as the ones back at the café that he used to work at. He breathed deeply and relaxed his muscles, closing his eyes as he sat peacefully to let the heat of the fire warm him up. It was much, much better than the freezing temperature outside.

“Excuse me,” called a soft voice.

Minho cracked open one eye and looked at the fair skinned blonde in front of his table.

“What would you like to order?” the blonde spoke again, his voice velvet.

The taller opened both of his eyes and sat up straight in his chair, noticing how the boy in front of him was holding a pen poised on a notepad. “Coffee with two packs of creamer and a banana nut muffin,” Minho told him, his stomach growling again to remind him of how hungry he was.

The boy laughed at the sound, and nodded. “I’ll be right back then,” he said as he walked off.

He seems nice, Minho thought as he disappeared. Nowhere close to the stingy employers at the café. He thought back to the two other workers who had the same shift as he did. One was a girl who talked way too loudly into her cell phone at all hours during her shift, not helping in the slightest. The other was a guy who was older than him by about ten or so years, hating him for no reason at all and giving him the cold shoulder constantly. And then there was his boss, the most unpleasant man he’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. He was constantly irritable and always welcomed the opportunity to hold a grudge.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of the blonde walking back towards him carrying a plate and a coffee mug. “Here you go,” said the boy as he placed down Minho’s order in front of him.

“Thanks,” Minho nodded, as he began to reach for the pack of creamer.

Minho didn’t know what surprised him more, the fact that the blonde waiter pulled out the chair across from him and plopped down, or the growing smile on his face as he watched Minho sweeten his coffee.

He cleared his throat. “Can I help you?” he asked slowly, eyebrows knit just the slightest in confusion.

The boy shrugged, bringing his elbows to the table in front of them and resting his head on his hands. “Do you work nearby?”

Minho’s eyebrows furrowed more so as he stirred his drink. “What?” he asked for clarification.

The boy chuckled, his brown eyes smiling. “Your uniform,” he said, gesturing to Minho’s appearance for emphasis.

Minho mouthed an “oh”, completely forgetting what it was that he was wearing.

“So?” The boy asked again. “Do you?”

Minho shook his head. “No. Actually, I just got fired and I find these clothes really annoying.” He muttered the last part as his own personal rant.

The boy laughed. “Hey, I’m wearing the same thing as you so you can’t complain,” he said. Minho eyed his clothing and realized that his waiting uniform was indeed the same as his.

Before Minho could get a chance to say his reply, the boy turned to look out the window that rested beside the table. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he breathed.

Beautiful? Minho thought as he turned to look out of the window too. He trailed his eyes over the pavement and street that lay in front of the bakery, the outstretched branches of the trees swaying in the horrid wind, and the once again grey sky, the blanket of gloominess seemingly heavier than before. What’s beautiful about that?

He looked at the boy again, noticing how his chocolate eyes softened at the sight of the outdoors. He has a demented sense of beauty. And then a thought occurred to him. “Is this a habit?” He asked, cutting the small silence that had started between them.

The boy looked up at him in confusion. “Is what a habit?”

Minho gestured to the table. “This. Sitting with your customers and watching them eat.”

The blonde laughed again, his voice like small chimes. He waved his hands and shook his head. “Ani, it’s just my break right now. Don’t worry, I don’t stalk my customers.”

Minho couldn’t fight the tiny smile that formed on his face at the last comment. “You’re on your break? Then why did you get me food?” He raised his eyebrow.

The water’s face turned thoughtful. “Because you looked like you needed someone to talk to,” he said at last.

The answer seemed simple enough, but it caused Minho’s brows to rise even further.

“Oh, sh-.” The boy stood up abruptly, causing Minho to jump slightly. “My break’s over,” he mumbled, checking a watch that rested on his left wrist. “I have to go back to work. Bye…” he trailed off, noticing how he didn’t know Minho’s name.

“Minho,” he informed him.

The blonde nodded, “Bye Minho,” he smiled, waving as he started to walk away.

“Wait,” Minho stopped him.

The boy turned around and tilted his head to the side in question.

“What’s your name?” Minho asked. Honestly, he didn’t know why he cared. This was just some random guy who started talking to him, it’s not like they were friends. But, maybe it would be nice just to bid him farewell.

“Taemin.” The boy smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners ever so slightly. “Lee Taemin.”

Minho nodded. “Anneyong Taemin.”

Taemin chuckled. “Anneyong Minho,” he bowed before spinning around and disappearing into the bakery’s kitchen.

Minho sighed and sipped his coffee, picking at his muffin with one hand, his hunger long forgotten.

Anneyong ^^ Thanks for bearing with the wait for this chapter, I know it's super late. 

This is only the first of many (obviously) so I hope you like it~~~

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Until next time

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