Minho is pretty sure he’s got it all figured out.  He knows what everything’s about, from reading people beyond their words to honing his own unique interpretations of life.

To Minho, the world is his stage.  Amidst the harsh, judgmental stares of his peers, he is not one to be caught misbehaving or conducting himself in a mischievous or troublesome manner.

“Why, my child was born perfect,” his mother once shamelessly vaunted to her fellow Pilates members.

“He’s his daddy’s pride and joy,” his father loftily boasted on one occasion whilst reuniting with his high school batch.

Now, Minho is no Kingka.  He is not the school’s leading heart throb, nor was he blessed with devilishly handsome features.  Overall, the vastly optimistic assessment his friends would often use to describe Minho was “good-looking.”

If there is one matter that Minho can agree on, it is that he is, altogether, a well-rounded person.  Fair looks, fair grades, a fair personality.

For Minho, life is simple, easy.  Long ago, Minho found that as long as he did what he was told, dealing with people presented no difficulty at all.  Tossing in the occasional compliment never hurt Minho any, either.  Much the opposite, really.

Minho couldn’t have asked for much more.

–

Minho’s first day of his summer job, at the ice cream parlor located between a sandwich shop and a children’s clothing store in the locally known strip mall of Seoul, indicates the true start of his summer.

Minho has fun with his co-workers, his mind fixated solely on bringing happiness to the customers.  A vast variety of diverse flavors and toppings, everything being set up at work in order to create the ultimate ice cream creation.  Minho feels that in its own unique way, ice cream making is a form of fine art in the world.

And then, there are the people.  Families, couples, children of all ages, boys and girls alike.  Oh, the girls.  Cute girls who love to come into ice cream shops.  Cute girls who love it when guys like Minho would make their ice cream cones.  Cute girls all charming and flirtatious and very, very pretty.

Yeah, Minho couldn’t have asked for much more.

–

Minho does not consider himself to be a charming man.  However, he is polite and friendly to the customers, and his personality is pleasant enough, which makes him a likeable person.  At least, he feels that he is a person anyone and everyone can more or less tolerate.

Minho does not expect much to come out of his life, and he does not have many hobbies.  He’ll play one-on-one basketball with anyone who relishes earning an utter beat down, and on occasion he’ll play some after school soccer with the guys in his homeroom.

Minho enjoys exercising (nothing too strenuous, of course) and is often found staying cooped up in his room, or his cave, as his mother would often refer his room to.  Minho is no social butterfly.  He isn’t popular, and he doesn’t have a line of girls wrapped around his fingers.

He much prefers to observe others than to speak, and really, he only speaks when spoken to.  When the weather proves fair and it’s sunny out, Minho will relax on his front lawn and just sit back and watch the passersby.  He’s no storyteller (being verbal was never a forté of his).  However, he finds himself feeling fascinated to no end by the stories of others.

What is intriguing is that these humans never come forth and directly narrate to Minho the tales of their lives.  No, these stories are shared through their eyes.

“You’re a creep,” Jonghyun remarks, a deep note of depreciation in his voice, as he eyes Minho stare into the orbs of a young boy, no older than six or seven, on one occasion whilst working at the ice cream parlor.  Well, Minho will not readily disagree to that, either.

–

Minho is paid minimum wage, working a three to four hour shift, five days a week.  Some may say it sounds like hell itself.  For Minho, it’s nothing short of an understatement.

However, Minho’s boss, although a fastidious and finicky person by nature will sometimes give Minho the day off if Minho is lucky, on days when the ice cream store is particularly packed and Minho brings in a haul of tips for wooing the young female customers when really, all he had to do was just stand there and breathe.

“Womanizer,” Jonghyun mutters, voice laced with slight envy.

“Hmm,” Minho responds considerately as he shovels a scoop of cake-flavored ice cream from the basin.  “That’ll be one fifty, Miss,” Minho hums in the most pleasant tone he can manage as he slaps on a smile and hands the female middle school student her ice cream cone.

The young girl all but smacks the dollar note and several coins into Minho’s palm, earning a chorus of squeals of sheer delight from her identical-looking friends.  Jonghyun gives Minho a playful smack in the arm as if to emphasize the point he previously made.

Minho feels the corners of his lips twitch into a furtive grin as he watches the giggling gaggle of girls make a beeline for the exit.  He never quite managed to understand how the female brain worked.

–

Every Monday evening, from 6PM until closing time, customers can purchase any and all scoops of ice cream for only a dollar.  It was the ice cream parlor’s traditional “Dollar Scoop Night”.

So it’s only natural that Minho would inevitably come to hate Mondays since they were, as expected, the busiest days of the week.

The line constantly stretches out the door, which, for Minho, means endless hours of shoveling and ladling scoop after scoop after countless scoop.

It was the eleventh of June, the second Monday of the sixth month.  The evening is especially sweltering at 92 °F, marking it as the hottest day (evening) of the summer so far.  Minho is leaning against the back counter, fanning himself with one of Key’s—his co-worker—fashion magazines while said co-worker is talking a mile a minute.

Onew is busying himself by meeting the needs of several buyers at a time.  Jonghyun is, as expected, no where to be found; he had most likely made himself scarce in order to avoid the sultry heat and hide from the hustle and bustle of clamoring customers.

A chorus of demands resounds from the customers lining the counter, all beckoning and cajoling Onew to perform his task faster, quicker.

Key tuts in mock sympathy.  “The clients are growing impatient with our dear Onew.”

Then go help him, Minho yearns to reprehend.  After a while, Minho begins to feel pity for Onew’s misfortune, and the young male abandons his corner underneath the air conditioner to assist his fellow co-worker.

Minho smiles reflexively when a young boy’s scoop of ice cream manages to slide off his cone and topple to the checkered tile floor.  Minho, unrelenting, maintains his ever-present grin even as the snot-nosed brat somehow finds a way to blame Minho for his now soiled ice cream.

Minho complaisantly promises to retrieve a fresh, new scoop of ice cream for the young boy.  Whereas a simple “thank you” would have sufficed, the boy, rather, screeches at Minho to “hurry the hell up” and Minho is too bemused with the fact that the young boy knew such a word to be driven into a state of heated ire.

Now, Minho has been working at the ice cream parlor for a little over a week, and he’s dealt with a wide spectrum of people—some nice and polite, some downright nasty, many ho hum.  Minho thinks he’s seen it all, despite the short timeframe he has been working at the ice cream parlor.

The one elderly couple who stops by every early evening, the flock of high school students who come in after summer school classes are over for the day, that tightly-knit group of visually appealing female college students who seem to have taken a liking to Minho.

Yup, Minho can confidently say that he is absolutely positive that he has seen all the insanely attractive females this side of Seoul in his single week at working at the ice cream parlor.

But they don’t compare, they don’t compare at all, to the finest piece of corporeal flesh to have ever walked the face of the earth who waltzes into the parlor at that very moment.

Despite its overwhelmingly thin frame, the beautiful creature is blessed with a pair of the nicest legs Minho has ever seen, and hips, and a startlingly amazing S-line.  The creature’s soft, doe-like eyes give the child a rather innocent and guileless (perhaps even helpless and lost) look, yet sharp and calculating all the same.

The child is all smooth, creamy skin (Like milk and honey, Minho comments fondly) and the softest pair of pale, plump lips which, to Minho, strongly resemble rose petals.  The fair creature seems to glisten, (Glisten, Minho’s mind screams) with the backdrop of the sunset behind him, or her, or it, and the child’s silhouette really does glow with a brilliant radiance.

Perfection, Minho’s mind hums as his parted lips elicit a sigh.

It is only when said creature approaches the counter does Minho realize that this beauty, this perfection, could possibly exist in the form of a boy, a male human being.

Disappointment envelopes Minho’s senses as the sting of reality sinks into his skull, but in the end, he decides that, after all, it’s worth it.

–

That evening, after much deliberation, Minho comes to a final assessment.  The angelic sylph which he had encountered at the ice cream parlor is, indeed, a male.  As the cold, hard fact sinks into Minho’s mind, he decides that he does not particularly relish consuming the remaining days of his summer with questioning his own uality.

Therefore, Minho engages into an attempt at embracing his inner-self, a feat in order for him to rid himself of his affliction.  As Minho mulls over his ordeal, he comes to the realization that no, he has never liked a girl in his life, has never been attracted to one.  He has never experienced any romantic feelings toward any human being, male or female, in all the years of his existence.

After granting the situation much thought and consideration, Minho becomes fully aware that yes, he’s in love.  At least, he thinks he’s in love.  As previously admitted, he has never experienced any feelings associated with love in the romantic aspect, therefore is unfamiliar with the sentiment.  Minho finally accepts that he has fallen in love at first sight, as cliché and superficial as it seems, but still love, nevertheless.

As compensation for the admittance of his utter gayness (not that Minho is or was ever bothered or disturbed by homouals), he repeatedly convinces himself that, after all, he’s worth it.

Really, he is.

–

Minho soon discovers that the perfect beauty—that he has yet to acquire the name of—shimmies into the ice cream parlor nearly most days, if not seven days a week, commonly around five in the evening, typically a couple hours before the uniform suppertime.  This, for Minho, is perfect, considering his shift begins at three and ends usually around six or seven.

Minho marvels at the fact that the boy, who is physically skinnier than any boy he has ever seen for someone of his tall stature, will always order the largest portion size on the menu and he has, without fail, managed to consume all the contents within the 32-oz sized serving without the faintest trace of green-tinted cheeks and an inclination to vomit.

After a week of close observation, or ogling, as Jonghyun insists that is what Minho had been doing for the past several days, Minho learns the name of his flawless belle – Lee Taemin.  In addition, Minho also learns that Lee Taemin is quite the loner.

It’s rare that a customer will enter the ice cream parlor alone.  Even then, it will often be an old senior with an untold story.  Someone Taemin’s age (Minho assumes that Taemin is at least in high school) is always accompanied by at least one companion, if not an entire gang of friends.

However, quite the contrary to what Minho has assessed when observing teenagers coming to and fro into the store a countless number of times, Taemin has always walked into the store with no one but his lone self.

In a peculiar kind of way, Minho prefers it just as that.  He feels that there is no competition, no unnecessary hindrances.  At least, he hopes.

–

After a considerable amount of observing, Minho has a page in his notebook filled solely with every type of ice cream, whether it is a signature creation or merely a single flavor of ice cream, Taemin had ordered since his first visit to the store to date.

“Stalker,” Jonghyun denotes, his voice thick with disapprobation and something short of repugnance.  Rather than stalking, Minho prefers to call it devotion.

“Remember, he likes his ice cream in the waffle bowl,” Minho reminds Key in a whisper for the sixth time.  “And make sure to add extra cookie dough.  He really loves chocolate chip cookie dough.”

“You serve him his damn ice cream, then!” Key snarls, ing the Rösle’s ice cream scoop into Minho’s hand.

Minho stutters in protest as the ice cream scoop is wedged into his hands.  As his eyes quickly dart forward, he discovers that Lee Taemin is already at the counter, sharp eyes set fixedly on and directly at Minho, no less.

An alien-like noise graces past Minho’s lips, and Minho’s mind quickly processes that the sound which came out of his mouth was definitely not human.

Taemin is smiling, all bright and pretty and meek, even as Minho gracelessly lets the scooper slip through his fingers and clatter to the tiled floor.

“You’re Minho, right?” Taemin says, his grin untouched by Minho’s inelegance.  Minho’s display of awkwardness, in fact, only serves to stretch his smile wider.

Minho all but gapes at the boy, wondering how Taemin knew his, of all people’s, name.  Key has to conk Minho in the back of the head with a rolled up magazine of his in order to remind Minho how to speak again.

Minho blinks and quickly nods his head.  “How’d you know?”

Taemin’s grin broadens as he tosses a subtle glimpse at Minho’s name tag.  “I’m psychic,” he croons, a dollop of light sarcasm in his voice.  Minho completely misses all of it, of course.

“Ha…ha,” Minho titters awkwardly as he drags his now clammy palms against the denim of his jeans.

“Christ, you’re awkward as hell,” Key hisses into his ear, and Minho resists the urge to bat Key away.

“All joking aside, my name’s Taemin,” the boy says, sweet smile sticking to his lips.  “But I can see that you already know that.”

Minho, bewildered, is about to ask Taemin what he means when he takes notice of the knowing glance Taemin is casting towards his notebook, open-faced, on the counter, the name Lee Taemin scrawled across the top in black ink.

Minho swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so, a burning sensation having settled in his throat.  He unceremoniously slaps the notebook shut and tosses it blindly behind him, nervous laughter slipping past his lips.

Minho can almost hear Key facepalming several feet behind him.  The befuddled male gauges Taemin’s reaction, searching for the faintest trace of horror or an expression of being creeped out, but he is surprised to find amusement (maybe even adoration?) schooling Taemin’s features.

Then something unexpected happens.  Taemin laughs, and it is the most glorifying sound to have ever graced Minho’s eardrums.  His laughter is light and delicate and beautiful, just like the rest of him.

Taemin’s laughter is infectious, and Minho soon finds himself grinning.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Taemin coos, his fingers casually brushing across the palm of Minho’s hand, a sliver of white resting between his fingers.  Minho’s breathing hitches at the startlingly scalding touch of Taemin’s fingers sweeping across his skin, and he’s sure the flesh of his palm is scorched.

A second later, and Taemin is gone.  Minho gazes after the boy’s retreating form, and when he glances back down at his hand, he notices the digits scribbled across the slip of paper.

“Good lord.  He’s smitten,” Key carps, his nose wrinkled what appears to be distaste.

“So it would appear that the meeting between “The Creeper” and “The Creeped” has finally commenced,” Jonghyun pipes as he looks after Taemin’s direction.

“Hey, now.  I’m no Edward Cullen,” Minho remonstrates.  “And where’ve you been?”

“Observing the entire exchange,” Jonghyun replies easily.

“Really, now?”

“Yeah.  You’re still a creep,” Jonghyun quips, and Minho mumbles a halfhearted protest which manages to slip past Jonghyun’s ears.

Onew, seemingly oblivious to the entire ordeal, continues to work diligently.  Key, finally having admitted to his perturbation, refuses to work alongside Minho and instead settles for hiding himself in the storeroom for the remainder of his shift.

Minho, undaunted by the reproachful glares Key tosses his way, Minho finds himself smiling despite himself.  He admits that Taemin has a certain charm about him, a delicate demeanor gracing his appearance, yet a subtle playfulness that almost isn’t quite there.

And, Minho admits, he may be a little bit more than romantically in like with Taemin.

A/N: Unbeta-ed ‘cause that’s just the way I roll.  Part two will be updated soon, I expect.  Yes, I know this fic is laughably cheesy, but so is 2min’s implausibly fluffy relationship.

Also, I have made it my goal in life to strip Minho of his trite debonair image and portray him as a bout of epic failure on legs (because, in all honestly, that’s exactly the kind of person he is, lmao).

(Word count: 2,990)