For what must be the tenth time in a short span of time, Hongbin wonders how he got into this situation.

Taekwoon sits on the floor, legs crossed, with a dozen and a half of different kittens and puppies perched around him and on his lap, shoulders and even head, all whining softly for attention, which he gladly gives, running a pale hand of thin, long fingers – he has very beautiful hands, loyal to his status as a compositor who handles several instruments – through their fur. He happily, or at least Hongbin thinks he’s happy, with the inexpressive curve of his lips a little softer, pets Caramel, that for such a tiny kitten, hisses rather angrily at any other pet who tries to get close to her position, snuggled on the junction between Taekwoon’s arm and forearm.

And this allows Hongbin to observe, awkwardly leaning against the room’s door; his free period ended ten minutes ago, but just as he doesn’t make a move to leave Taekwoon alone, the older boy appears to not bother with his classes either, if he has one now. He rubs his neck from time to time, not wanting to bother Taekwoon, but also not wanting to stay frozen like a silly statue.

A low, slightly high-pitched hum breaks the – apart from the keens, purrs and yaps – otherwise silent place, and it’s with a startle that Hongbin notices it comes from the compositor, now helping a striped kitten climb up his thick blue sweater, so it can curl around his neck, consequently interrupting a sand colored puppy on his quest to chew the light blond hair. It barks, annoyed, and tries to paw the kitten away, who in response, carves its’ nails deep into Taekwoon’s skin, if the practically invisible shudder means anything. With the small dispute going on, the other pets all start to playfully fight, instigated by the turmoil, all while still on top of Taekwoon, who stops humming.

Taking pity on him, Hongbin moves towards him, kneeling in front of him to take off the pup out of his head, delicately prying the silky strands – and how he keeps his hair dyed so light while managing to continue with the soft texture is a mystery in itself – away from its’ mouth “Hey, Mingyu, what manners are these?” he lightly scolds the puppy, placing it on the floor “You too, Sangsan, come here” and doing the same with the kitten. He can’t avoid touching Taekwoon’s shoulder and gulps down at the sharp yet strong edges of his collarbone.

Hongbin looks up, finding black cold eyes piercing through his skin, and feeling his face flush, he tries to distance himself away at the same time he evades bumping on the pets. Obviously, with someone with his luck, Hongbin loses his balance and ends up falling on his , the cold tile shooting a tingling pain across his backside. To complete, Sangsan, Mingyu and three other puppies crawl up his chest, Mingyu even his cheek.

“Ya, you… A-Ah! Hahaha, stop!” he breathlessly laughs as the other puppies seem to find Mingyu’s idea brilliant, all repeating its’ actions and him all over – Sangsan doesn’t bother, curling on his stomach and staying there – with too wet tongues and overexcited yelps. “Aish, you all…!” he attempts to be serious; it fails when four pairs of puppy eyes – literally – look at him “You rascals are lucky to be so adorable”

He caresses Mingyu’s sandy fur affectionately; his eyes widen like saucers when he listen a suave, almost inaudible “Cute”

For the third time that day, he looks up to meet black orbs, suddenly gentler than they’ve ever been before. His heart skips a beat – or two, or three, or twenty – as he blinks owlishly, mind mush once more. His throat feels clogged and white noise deafen his ears to any other sound that’s not Taekwoon’s light breathing; he’s speechless and sure he’s about to pass out from lack of oxygen.

Did… Did Ice Prince Taekwoon, 1/3 of B1’s untouchable trio just called him cute? No, no, no, that can’t be right, he must have heard wrong; his ears ceased to work for a few seconds, the blowing wind brought some sound from outside, a chirping bird passed by, anything but Jung Taekwoon called him cute.

“What?” he manages to gasp, his face heating and heart pounding on his ears, his throat dry.

Taekwoon is not fazed by his splutter, maintaining his look “… Mingyu”

Oh, of course.

His face felt hot before, but couldn’t compare with how Hongbin feels right now, burning in embarrassment and shame. Of course Taekwoon wouldn’t call him cute, what the hell was he thinking to consider the though? The compositor very obviously has a weak spot for cute animals – it makes him cute too, contradicting his icy personality because of balls of fluff… No, Hongbin totally didn’t think Taekwoon is cute in some way – which he doesn’t hide. Of course he would think Mingyu is cute.

“This rascal here?” he asks rhetorically, trying to not make – more – a fool out of himself “Like you saw, he’s a little devil with an odd obsession for hair; two more minutes and you would find some missing, hyungnim”

Taekwoon’s pouty lips stick out faintly as he examines the puppy in question curiously; it’s the most Hongbin has seen him express, and his heart does a triple backwards jump, beating erratically. The older boy is so adorable like this, a childish aura overpowering momentarily the normally unattainable, cool handsomeness. Taekwoon tilts his head to the side a bit, his bottom lip – he needs to stop doing this; Hongbin’s eyes are about to go cross with the rapid movements he does to follow the action – and blinks lazily once.

An image pops in Hongbin traitorous mind: A Taekwoon biting his lower lip, wearing a fluffy headband in form of cat ears, complete with a fluffy tail, all while looking at him with his head tilted to the side, like now.

His dry throat dries more, and he desperately wants a gulp of water.

“Taekwoon is fine”

Change that. Hongbin needs to go drown himself somewhere.

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Taekwoon watches silently as the boy with the dimples – he doesn’t know his name – blushes a very dark shade of red, his almond eyes widening slightly. He opens his mouth as if to speak, closing it seconds later. Today the boy’s hair is down, not wetly sticking to all directions, but he still looks like one of the main characters in Hakyeon’s dramas, those overly pretty, but stupid main characters. The sandy puppy – Mingyu – loses interest in him as he doesn’t show it much attention, and climbs out of his chest, being followed by the others, brawling on the floor. Only the kitten – Sangsan – continues on its’ place, tiny body curled on the boy’s lap, sleeping peacefully, ignorant to the noise.

The lost look on the younger’s face – Taekwoon will call him Dimples for now, because he’s not original, he likes them and it’s not about to ask for a name – morphs into a pensive pout, the jut of his lips causing his dimples to carve holes on his cheeks, and he runs his hand through dark brown hair so it falls unevenly on his forehead.

“… Taekwoon?” he says, but the name sounds like a question.

Taekwoon is aware his expression – or lack of – remains the same, but he feels his chest warm slightly, uncomfortably; he’s not a fan of suffixes on his name, which already sounds too full on anyone’s tongue but Hakyeon and Sanghyuk’s, where it normally grows with endearments, Taekwoonnie and Taekwoonnie-hyung their favorites. He doesn’t exactly likes how Dimples says it; at least it’s better than ‘Taekwoon-ssi’ or ‘hyungnim’.

To show the other he acknowledged the change, he pointedly stares at his face for a breath longer, before turning his attention to Caramel on his arm, caressing her orange fur lightly. Taekwoon hears a low curse coming from the vet major, and resists the urge to frown against the absence of education near someone older than him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about how he preferred to be addressed, if this boy thought it is automatically okay to use foul language freely.

See, this is why he stays silent; his words never quite sound right, his inability to communicate properly leading people into being too forward and disrespectful. Taekwoon can only count on Hakyeon and Sanghyuk to understand him.

For the sake of Caramel, he stays, shutting the other’s presence from his mind and focusing on the small animal on his care. She’s well treated, with clean bandages and brushed fur, not flinching every time he her near the wound, careful to avoid touching it. It’s good to see this, and he remembers that bringing her here was Sanghyuk’s idea; he’ll make some ice cream cake for him on the shop and bring it to him later. Ahjumma will scold him for doing personal things, but let him nonetheless. His dongsaeng deserves some sweetness in his life.

“So, you’re in your free period?”

The question comes from Dimples; he’s not looking so stupid with his eyes on their normal size and his mouth closed.

It doesn’t mean Taekwoon will answer him. Let the younger struggle. He doesn’t, shutting up immediately.

The truth is quite the opposite; Taekwoon is skipping his History of Music class, just because he can and… Kittens. Kittens and puppies.

Dimples sighs loudly, before flashing a smile so big said facial features turn into clefts, deep and cutely mischievous. Some of his edgy aura dissipates, and he propels himself into a sitting position, shushing Sangsan as the kitten mewls discontentedly at the move, his hand – Taekwoon notices he has nice hands, with long fingers that would look rather good on a piano or guitar – petting it.

“So, would you like to help me brush them?”

Taekwoon looks down on his lap, seeing all the kittens and puppies in different states of tousled. An overwhelming warmth fills his body, and he presses Caramel closer to his body, free hand gently tickling a black kitten on top of his leg under its’ chin, receiving a purr in exchange. He nods faintly, gaze not straying from the little, fluffy balls of joy.

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Sanghyuk doesn’t like gardenias, but they’re Hakyeon’s favorite, so he considers buying some later, when he comes back from his encounter with the feisty, weird artist Ken. They look fresh and beautiful through the floriculture’s glass window, and he knows Hakyeon likes to decorate their house with flowers – and that Taekwoon likes them too, although being allergic to some types, like lilies and roses – to distract them from all its’ problems; like the large hole on one of the doors, the constant pitter-patter of the bathroom’s faucet or the old, ratty furniture that creaks every time someone touches it.

But he then remembers the half-assed excuse the older boy gave for the second time and huffs. Eat lunch with some Literature student just because he offered to pay for it, was that what Hakyeon said? Ha, yeah, and he’s BIGBANG’s Seungri.

Hakyeon isn’t one to accept any of the dozens of requests he receives simply because he gets to eat for free. They’re struggling to make money, yes, but they’re not starving and the dancer is not even one to eat like it’s his last meal – this is something reserved to Taekwoon – preferring to eat less than he should, and being picky on top of everything.

A low growl escapes from in between his teeth, and he stomps away from the floriculture, his blood boiling on his veins, a red haze of anger clouding his vision. He hates this situation, hates the fact that he’s thinking about this.

Thinking about Hakyeon not giving his time to him or Taekwoon. Sanghyuk is aware of the charismatic persona the oldest makes himself to be on the presence of other people – when he’s normally a mother-hen, a whiny, arrogant diva with him and Taekwoon – and yet, he wasn’t one to let such people in, keeping them at a safe distant. They’ve been together since his middle school – high school for the other two – with no one interfering more than idiotic confessions which were dismissed, requests for help that were sometimes accepted, others not and the inevitable colleagues for school works and lately, jobs.

For the dancer to go with someone who was not Taekwoon or Sanghyuk for either of these reasons could only mean one thing: he liked this Literature student, conscious of it or not.

And Sanghyuk hates this; frowning is already his common expression, but now he feels the creases on his forehead, each one trying to mar his young face, carve a permanent place in between his eyebrows. A girl passing by recoils the moment she sees his expression, and had this street been one of the lowest in Seoul, he would have his hands full of delinquents looking for trouble. But he’s close to the University campus, and the most dangerous thing he can find in here is that cake-shop ahjumma that employs Taekwoon.

The Library is a large, three store-building in the middle of the campus, and is open 24 hours five days, for those desperate students who don’t know the light of day. In his almost two years since he entered University, Sanghyuk never needed to enter the place more than half a dozen of times, when he had to study for tests that required more than his natural talent. This will change, now that he has to do an animation and has no idea where to start.

He enters; as expected there’s a lot of students pilling up on tables, hunched over books and walking around with hands full. Sanghyuk wonders for a second how in hell he’ll find Ken, when his eyes catch something very bright on its’ corner. The director turns, seeing a kiosk – probably where the librarian stays, doing whatever they do – with a boy inside, wearing a disgustingly purple and lime long-sleeved shirt and an equally disgusting lime beanie.

From his short experience with Ken, Sanghyuk identified quite easily his eccentric choice in clothes. As he approaches the kiosk, he sees himself right; Ken finishes waving to some person in the distance, and looks at him with those big, humongous deer eyes in a face full of other big features. Weirdly, works for him, making him appear younger when in other people it would probably just appear dumb.

“Ken” he says, still mildly annoyed from his earlier thoughts. His tone is harsh, growled.

Ken doesn’t show any reaction to it but a cute smile, eyes cricking on the corners “Han Sanghyuk-ah, you’re early! Did you miss me this much?”

“What I told you about playing with fire?” Sanghyuk feels his blood boil; he’s not in the mood for banters. In fact, he’s not in the mood for anything but ice cream cake, a marathon of One Piece and Taekwoon’s miraculous back massage. He prefers not to think about traitorous Hakyeon.

“And what I told you about liking to play?” Ken’s smile gets bigger, if that’s possible, and he starts to gesticulate, hands half-covered by the ugly clothing swaying excitedly “Honestly, Han Sanghyuk-ah, you need to chill out a little… Scratch that, you need to chill out a lot. In fifteen minutes my shift is over and we can discuss whatever we need to do for our project calmly, without silent threats, frown-y eyebrows and death glares, okay?” Ken joins his thumb and forefinger together, forming a circle. A symbol for ‘okay’.

Sanghyuk’s eyebrows twitch; he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, the glare is – minimally – softer.

“Whatever”

He sits far away from Ken’s kiosk; the artist is popular and in the remaining fifteen minutes of his shift, twenty or so students pass by, turning in books or asking for information. Eleven smile towards Ken, a girl fawns over him and two boys chitchat for five minutes straight with him. Ken never stops smiling, not even when he’s by himself.

He remembers Sanghyuk of Hakyeon. The dancer also never really stops grinning – falsely to others, but ever so honest and pretty inside four walls, with just Sanghyuk and Taekwoon by his side – and to think of him again makes the director’s mood darken once more. He hates that everything can bring his Hakyeon’s thoughts back to surface.

A loud bang takes him away from them, and he follows Ken’s moves as he settles next to him with barely concealed anger, a snarl passing through his lips; how dare he startle Sanghyuk?

Ken does not react to the sound, happily spreading books and notebooks on every visible space “I was thinking about making an animation using mostly shades of gray, because like, they’re easier to work with, and with you having this permanent cloud over your cute little head, it will suit you. You prefer anime or cartoon? I’m familiar with both, but I like ani–“

“I decide what we’ll do” Sanghyuk interrupts, not appreciating the babble at all “The only thing you have to do is draw; preferably silent”

He makes sure to add his most menacing glare, voice dripping with venom and you-will-do-whatever-I-order-you-to-you-worthless-trash intonation. It never fails to intimidate, not with the terrified freshmen, not with the bitter seniors.

So it’s with a great amount of surprise when Ken simply shrugs, smile not present for once. The boy with chocolate hair and doe eyes stares at him mockingly, lip curling on one side to form a smirk.

“Yah, listen here you brat– This project is just as mine as it is yours, and I won’t tolerate your egocentric, bad-boy attitude just because you have some complex I don’t care about. You chose me, and if you want my help, we’ll work on this together, capisce? Otherwise, you tell me, that I will just get up and go do my things. I’m a person, not trash to be treated like one”

Sanghyuk gulps.

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Yooo~ It's been some time, right~?

No Hakyeon and Wonshik this chapter, but they'll be back on the next. Can't guarantee together tho~

So, in this chapter we could see a bit of Taekwoon's perspective; Sanghyuk as well... Hm~

I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, those who subscribed and those who follow this fanfic silently, but appreciate my work. I hope one day you'll send me your opinion ^^

Again, my mistakes are my own. Please, feel free to tell me about them~

Love you all, see you (hopefully) soon

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