By evening, Sanghyuk classes were finally over, and he finds himself holding five papers with pictures and names, each exhibiting an artist from both the Sculpture and Drawing courses, their specialities the most usable of all others, the methods more adaptable with the line of work he planned on following. The ones on his hand are the best of all others, he easily intimidating his fellow colleagues into distressed silence; one smothering look and a few words said through tight lips and no one dared to protest as he calmly chose from the pile of files on the teacher’s desk and even from the students’ hands, taking his time to not make some loose decision.

He needs to choose carefully, maybe in one or two days, so he can first build an idea based on whichever theme… That he too needs to select.

One of Sanghyuk’s advantages as a director and scriptwriter is his ability to make quick decisions and improvise if the situation called for it, however, not even him can do much without some kind of initial idea, and right now, he doesn’t have any, his focus on an ongoing project that has nothing to do with the college, but that guarantees him just as many benefits. Moon Ilhwan, a famous vintage director, promised to display his work when done, after receiving a small edit with its trailer. His main actor is set to graduate in a month, and he has time to think the plot, make a script and select his artist; which doesn’t mean he will simply forget about the useless, envious teacher’s short-film project.

Besides, he is proud of what he does. He will make this animation just as brilliant as the rest of his works; move others to the point of tears like always.

As he walks, people give one or two steps back, no living – and dead, if there’s some campus ghost he knows nothing of – being courageous to be on his way, his tall frame and perpetual menacing glare enough to make them move, if his well-known reputation doesn’t do the deed. Sanghyuk isn’t stupid; he’s aware of the other type of reputation that lurks in the shadows of his former one and in the whispering voices of those who studied at the same time as him in high school.

A smirk appears on his face, just as an energetic voice tears through the somewhat tense atmosphere set around the platinum haired boy “Hyukkie!”

At the same time, said boy feels a sudden weigh on his back and a hot breath on his ear. He doesn’t need to turn to see who it is, since only one person in the world would do such an infantile action; instead, he holds this person’s legs, providing the wanted piggyback ride “Hyung, seriously? You’re cutting my whole ominous dude vibe right now” he says without any real spite, continuing to walk. The papers on his hand crumple; he’ll examine them later, pocketing them on his jeans.

“Ooh, ‘ominous’ is an adults word” Hakyeon giggles happily, using one hand to mess Sanghyuk’s hair “My baby can never be ‘ominous’, you’re the cutest thing ever”

“What about Taekwoon-hyung?”

“Hmm…” the dancer pouts, considering “… both are the cutest”

The youngest rolls his eyes indulgently, leaning forward to adjust Hakyeon better on his back, not giving a flying to the dozens pairs of eyes that follow him. On normal days he would drop his hyung on the ground without thinking twice, but felling especially merciful today, he’ll be lenient… As long as Hakyeon don’t bother him too much. Like always, the oldest babbles the entire way – what he did, who tried to confess and failed, what teacher asked him to demonstrate a move and on –  asking sometimes if he’s too heavy – which is ridiculous; Hakyeon is built like a bird, light and graceful – and pointing the right direction unnecessarily.

“If you don’t shut it hyung, I’ll drop you” Sanghyuk finally threatens, tired of the tanned hand blocking his peripheral vision as the owner of said tanned hand indicates the small cake store on his left.

Hakyeon makes an overly fake scandalized noise, before patting the blonde’s shoulder so he can leap off of his back. He should be offended, but then again, it is not as if he wouldn’t carry the threat, because he would “My beautiful Cha-booty doesn’t deserve a lover such as the cold, frigid ground”

, Hakyeon can really say the weirdest things.

“Your has met its share of frigid lovers, didn’t it?” mockingly, Sanghyuk crosses his arms, looking at the smaller man skeptically “Does it even know what a good fu–!” he’s hit by a neck chop, and winces, not concluding his sentence.

“Shush” the glare is positively opening holes on his skin, so the director obeys, but not before adding in a singsong-y voice:

“With such a sour mood, definitely a good to make you feel better”

He laughs out loud, long legs giving him the ability to escape another hit aimed at his neck, fast steps leading him to the cake shop. He passes through the door and a suave tinkle of bells alerts the few clients and the countertop girl of his presence, his face instantly assuming a serious and aloof expression, the perfect image of coolness. He holds inside the smirk after seeing Hakyeon’s glower from the other side of the glass wall.

“Taekwoon-ssi! Your dongsaeng came again!” the countertop noona calls to the small hole on the wall behind her, and kitten-like eyes appear. Silently he opens the door separating the kitchen from the store, green shirt slightly dirty with flour, hands still covered by gloves and chocolate staining his lips, informing every one of his little habit of tasting a bit too much of the sweets he helped making. He nods at the other blonde, entering the kitchen again without a word.

Sanghyuk snorts; Taekwoon would be a perfect actor for a mute movie. Albeit, his hyung could be really talkative and expressive, had he a role in some musical or to explain a new composition. He made some mute short-films in the past – experimenting with different forms, and on most of them, had asked for his hyung to act, receiving a direct and cold ‘no’ as response. His hyung indeed is difficult.

The bells by the door tinkle again, and the group’s dancer enters, smiling brightly at all of those who look back at him, his eyes momentarily tinning in Hyuk’s direction – a promise of a scolding in brown eyes –, but no sign of annoyance can be seen in the beautiful tanned face; not clearly, of course, the oldest knows better than anyone how to hide his true self beneath cute acts and excited chit-chat. “Annyeo Noona! Can I have one sweet potato cake and banana milk, please?” he asks the countertop girl, who blushes at having his attention turned to her so suddenly.

“Yes, of course! And you…?” she looks at Sanghyuk.

“Coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream”

She bows, and starts to prepare the orders.

“Aigoo, you’re such an old man” Hakyeon says, finding his favorite place in the store: a two-seats table next the window, but not too close to be inconvenient in sunny days, which isn’t the case today, the sky darkening with the sunset and the growing winds. He sits and supports his head with his hands, elbows on the table, analyzing Sanghyuk like a mother hen “Asking for black coffee and posing like the grumpy badass of some B-quality movie even though you like mint chocolate”

“Someone has to be the adult here, and you’re clearly not fit for the position, despite being the real ahjussi”

“I hope you die full of wrinkles at thirty”

“Not before you, ahjumma” Sanghyuk is very satisfied with the face Hakyeon makes, reclining on his own seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The sunset’s soft light bathes his hyung, the specks of green on his bangs shining against the light brown, the darker skin – Sanghyuk thinks it’s exotic, but Hakyeon hates it, always trying to cover it with weird, expensive creams – also shining, a halo of light giving him this ethereal sort of aura, like an air spirit or a mere illusion meant to deceive fools. The low hanging white shirt helps with the effect, and the director feels that familiar fluttering on the pit of his stomach, the itching need to pick a camera – his cell phone – and film.

The illumination is perfect, the scenario too – a ghost of a boy who never got to confess; an air spirit who wants nothing more than be noticed by the fleeting, ever busy humans – and Sanghyuk’s mind is already working 100% per hour.

“I know I’m gorgeous Hyuk-ah, but you’re hundred years too early to get a piece of this” old bastard as he is, of course Hakyeon notices the glazed look on the younger’s eyes, that one he gets when he sees something he appreciates and would like to use on one of his movies. So, arrogantly, he mentions for his whole body, winking mischievously and biting his lips seductively.

Sanghyuk makes a disgusted face, questioning how in seven hells he became friends with… this “Gross”

The dancer opens his mouth to speak and has to restrain himself from it, since the countertop woman walks towards them, their orders in hand. She smiles – her teeth are crooked and her eyes too small; Sanghyuk doesn’t like her – while putting the plates on top of the table, gaze on Hakyeon. He smiles back with all that fakeness of his, earning another blush from her.

Diverting his eyes from the ridiculous exchange, Hyuk sees… a piece of ice cream cake? Right beside his… mint chocolate coffee? “Hey, this is not my order”

The noona stops sending pink fluffy hearts to Hakyeon, attention now on him. She stutters when faced with his glare “Y-Yes, I know… Tae-Taekwoon-ssi made these and refused to make your original order. I’m s-so-sorry”

Certainly, Taekwoon being cute and mindful and knowledgeable of his tastes are such news.

Feel the sarcasm?

“Thank Taekwoonie for him, yes?” Hakyeon meddles with a piece of sweet potato cake already half way to his mouth; the girl looks ready to cry under Sanghyuk’s scrutiny.

“Y-Yes” she bows deeply, scrabbling back to her place behind the countertop, the blush on her cheeks caused by embarrassment rather than infatuation.

Observing her retreating figure, the dancer sips his banana milk “So meanie”

“So annoying” he copies the older.

Pouting, Sanghyuk angrily stabs a piece of his cake, eating it. He restrains a moan; delicious.

Damn him.

Silence installs itself as they eat, too busy in appreciating the sweet, full taste of the cakes and the thick, warm drink – maybe not in Hakyeon’s case, but whatever – when the weather is like this, windy and preparing to get colder.  Maybe snow would follow, and Sanghyuk can picture the beautiful scenery the garden between the B1 and B2 building will make, ideal to film a scene describing longing, the necessity to obtain what one cannot have.

Black hair flying with the wind, a scarlet dress, a lily as white as the pure snow which covers the once colorful garden and whispered thoughts of what could never b–

The bells on the door tinkle, and a young – still older than Sanghyuk – man enters the place, out of breath. He wears a lab coat dirty with what looks like mud and grass, but in general, he’s really handsome, frustratingly so. Not one to deny his vision the privilege of pretty people and things, the director observes – cold expression in place; anyone would say he is judging the other boy – as the other goes to the countertop, ordering quickly several pieces of cake and coffees. He has to repeat it to the noona, whose neurons apparently stopped working when faced with the handsome face; after she writes it down, he smiles, and him, the boy has dimples too.

He stays by the countertop as the girl prepares his order, tapping his fingers nervously in the glass surface.

“Hongbin-ah!” someone calls from the door as the bells clink; huge brown eyes, messy brown locks and full pink lips forming a face hardly Korean but hardly anywhere else either. “Are you done?”

“Just a few more minutes, hyung” the handsome boy – Hongbin – says, and his voice is rough, a great contrast to the other childish one.

“You ordered my cream frappe?!”

“Ye!”

The boy by the door nods eagerly, looking around the small cake shop. He stops on Sanghyuk’s table, and his gaze fixes itself on the director’s, brief recognition crossing the clear brown orbs. Smiling brightly, he waves excitedly, the long sleeved rainbow-like shirt he’s wearing creating a kaleidoscope of colors in the air.

Confused above anything else, Sanghyuk throws the guy with no sense of auto-preservation his most intimidating glare – even Hakyeon winces lightly at this one, caught in the middle of the exchange – and closes his face in the stone-cold, superior look he’s so known from having; he masks his shock as his scowl seems to bear no effect in the other, who shrugs, waves again and calls for his friend.

Said friend answers back with an exasperated sigh, picking the sealed cups and a two bags worth of cake. He pays with full hands, and leaves, taking his idiotic, smiley friend with him.

“Whoever was by the door surely managed to piss my Hyukkie off” Hakyeon comments, glancing to the empty spot on his back “Was he that ugly?”

Sanghyuk doesn’t answer, thinking why the face of that boy is not strange to him. An idea crosses his mind, and he grabs the papers with the faces and specialties of the artists he has yet to select to make part of his new project. They’re crumpled because of the time they spent on his jeans’ pocket; the faces are not compromised and can be seen clearly. He reads through them, and smirks at what he finds. Beneath a picture of a happily smiling boy, a profile:

Name: Lee ‘Ken’ Jaehwan

Age: 24 years.

Major: Drawing

Specialty: Comic and anime.

Teacher’s opinion: Outgoing and easy to work with. Can be too childish and attention seeker.

Hm.

.

.

He dips his finger on the strawberry icing, not really caring that the chef is near and can see what he’s doing; he brings the pink finger to his mouth and tastes the fresh, not too sweet flavor, reveling on it and the way it mixes with the previous frosting: dark chocolate, bitter against his tongue. A few tresses of blond hair fall on his forehead, and he tries to take them out by blowing them, a tactic that does not work. Giving up with a soundless sigh, he carefully puts the tube full of mint cream away, wiping his hands on the apron; searching on his pants’ pockets, he finds a hair clip, capturing the rebel strands in one apple hairstyle.

Turning his attention back to the strawberry icing, he motions to dip his finger once more, only to be stopped by a slap on the back of his head. Wincing silently, he meets the glare of his chief and chef.

“You really have no shame” the older woman scolds, tsk-ing to him “Put your dirty finger on my icing again and Jung Taekwoon, you’ll play the piano with only nine of them!”

Taekwoon stares at the woman without blinking, but a red tint take over his chubby cheeks and he joins his hands on front of his body sheepishly. She looks from his head – with the apple hair – to his toe – on indoor baby blue shoes – and groans; like this, he’s like a kicked kitten, and she senses a tiny bit of guilt for making him this way.

“Aish, you manipulator! Go take the coconut cake out of the oven, and no sampling it!”

Taekwoon nods, walking away.

Behind him, the chef can see a metaphorical blond tail swinging happily, and she groans again.

Damn that boy and his cuteness.

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Hello, my darlings~

I'm sorry for taking so long to update this, but I was in vacation with my family and applying for college, which I'm gonna start this year if I'm accepted... Goodbye, easy life~

Any mistake are my own, so please, tell me so I can correct it ^^

I already changed my foreword, but I'll say this here too: This fanfic officially took over my life, and what I was planning to make a 10 chapters maximum story, will now have an undefined number of chapters. I decided not to rush things or write enormous chapters, and write the Chasang and Raken as side-main pairings too ^^

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, subscribed and voted. You're the best~

Hope you enjoyed, see you all in the comments section and in the next chapter~