It's so strange to come back, but I hope to be able to finish all my stories here in a decent amount of time. Sorry for being away for all of 2020 OTL I didn't mean to...This is incredibly short but I hope that it will motivate me to keep writing, because that is what I have been lacking

19:00

Minho was sitting at home, head hung low while he rearranged the letters, he had received over the last two years. Before, he had them sorted by date, now they were sorted by length. Sometimes he also arranges them depending on the content. Taemin’s writing was awful. He hated the way the younger wrote his characters. They weren’t even, they were connected in lazy ways and Minho couldn’t even wish for them to be positioned in a straight line.

The characters were like Taemin. They were messy, unpredictable and at the same time strangely charming. Minho hadn’t listened to what Taemin had been saying today. He had been incredibly busy revisiting the Tolstoy books in his head, trying to connect certain unconnected threads between the storylines.

Now, in retrospective he hated himself for being unable to listen to the younger. It had been ages since they last met, and he really wished he would have registered what Taemin had been talking about the whole time. He still didn’t know why the latter suddenly turned up in the café again. It was a question he could barely let go of. Why was he there? Why isn’t he in Seoul?

19:00    

Taemin knew that Minho hadn’t listened to him at all. The constant stares and unresponsiveness were clues enough even if he hadn’t known him as well as he actually did. So why had he kept speaking? He was sure even though Minho hadn’t been actively listening, his speech had been registered and therefore carries meaning, nevertheless. Not many people talked to him, even less for a long period of time and Taemin had never had the feeling that Minho disliked being talked to. Sometimes he just couldn’t respond.

Today had been eye-opening to some extent. Seeing the older after almost two years had been overwhelming. During all the time in the military he had been trying to supress the feelings that arose in his chest whenever he read one of Minho’s letters but today it had been impossible. Nervousness had filled his whole body and his hands were trembling when he spoke his first words. Luckily Minho didn’t seem to have noticed.

While he was cleaning up the last few corners of the café, he hit his head several times, trying to stop his thoughts from coming through. It wasn’t possible that he grew feelings for the older male. It couldn’t happen. Yes, he had always been interested in him, he had even been fascinated by him, he could watch him for hours without getting bored and he surely treasured every single thing he had said to him, but he couldn’t fall for him. It wasn’t appropriate.

Taemin wasn’t even sure if Minho would be able to feel something like love, if he couldn’t even feel smaller emotions like uneasiness and joy, how in the world would he ever be able to even grasp love? It was doomed from the start and Taemin wondered how he would be able to get over these feelings he had never accepted until today. Today had been the proof that he had a problem. While he knew that changing his feelings was close to impossible if he stayed around Minho any longer, he was terrified of leaving.

Not seeing Minho anymore, now that he was free to go wherever he wanted, was the worst thing he could currently think of. Staying around him though, left him with the desires he shouldn’t have for the autistic male.

On the way back to his grandmother’s house, he bought a bottle of soju, drinking it while he was still out. It calmed him down but did not avert his attention. His drunk mind made up several scenarios of him confessing to the taller male. This included several realistic ones that happened in the café, mostly with the help of small notes, but also some that were completely different,

He walked towards Minho who was standing at his military dischargement, kissing him on the lips after not seeing him for ages. Minho’s reaction was strange, he kissed him right back and Taemin had to sit down in the middle of the street. His mind was playing dirty games with him. Of course, Minho would never do that. IF he ever confessed, he would need to do it completely different.

Back on his feet a few moments after, scenarios kept filling his head. He was visiting Minho’s house, talking to him in his bedroom, trying to explain his feelings by referring to romance-novels. Turns out Minho could not make any connection at all.

His head was heavy with thoughts. Minho was standing in front of his grandmother’s place, smiling at the cherry tree that was standing in front of it and Taemin knew this was the perfect situation to confess. The reaction he got was more realistic than previous ideas, Minho kept fidgeting without saying anything, then suddenly walked away with fast steps.

Taemin hit his head once more. This was getting out of hand. Taking the last sip from his bottle, he opened the door to his grandmother’s place and walked inside.

“Are you drunk?!” a familiar voice filled his ears when he entered the living space where his grandmother was cooking dinner.

“I will go to sleep” Taemin said without paying any attention to the elder who walked towards him.

“Young man you will sit down right now.” She said, pulling him to the floor with her. “Now drink this.”

The next hour, Taemin was given an incredible amount of water to get rid of the alcohol in his system. He was thankful that his grandmother didn’t start asking questions early on. All he wanted to do was to go to bed. Maybe throw up parts of the liquid that was collecting in his stomach.

“What were you thinking?” His grandmother asked, more to herself than expecting Taemin to answer the question. He had just returned from the toilet after releasing some of the pressure in his bladder.

“Go to your room now. And drink this.”

20:00

Minho had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t mind the shouts of his mother. She was probably trying to make sense of his sudden change of routine. But he didn’t care, she didn’t need to know. With fast steps, his hands buried in his jacket, he walked the familiar streets, following the path until he found what he had been looking for.

He had only been there once when Halmoni invited him to choose some of her old books. It was easy for him to remember the way; nothing had changed much over the last year. The traditional house still looked the way he remembered. The only difference was the now blooming tree in front of it. Ruskin Bond’s short fiction came to mind. The cherry tree symbolising survival wasn’t the dumbest analogy to choose Minho decided. It looked so different in winter, to believe that thing would change into something so beautiful in spring was fascinating. Surviving winter must be hard to do. But the tree did it every single year. So why couldn’t he? His own personal winter seemed longer than the tree’s.

Maybe he needed change in his life? Could his life bloom like this? Maybe he should take the job at the library. But he also liked his life now? Why did he feel like he could go further? Did it make sense to go further if he was completely satisfied and comfortable now?

He didn’t want anything to change.