21:18

Minho’s eyes were closed and Taemin was studying the taller’s face once more. Regarding the amount of hours he had spent with observing Minho’s expressions and facial features, one would assume he couldn’t be surprised by the autistic male anymore. This was proven wrong when Taemin saw Minho’s eyelids flutter for a second. Did he try to open his eyes?

Taemin still remembered the moment he met Minho’s gaze for the first and last time. The image of the autistic male’s dark brown orbs looking at him, just him, was engraved in his mind, probably forever. He would give anything to feel that feeling again but also knew that it wasn’t something that was easily done.

“Stay” Minho’s voice filled the air around them as he cupped Taemin’s face. He knew that he couldn’t rush the older male, he had to make the decisions, no surprising things. That was what time and books had taught him. There was nothing to be found about intimacy with an autistic person, but he guessed that similar rules to the regular interractions applied: Don’t surprise him.

All he did was placing his hands on Minho’s shoulders, applying a little pressure to reassure him that what he was doing, was good. Taemin’s heart was beating up to his neck, he could feel the blood rushing through his veins just from anticipation and the soft thumbs caressing his cheeks while he was listening to Minho’s regular breathing.

In contrast to his heavily beating heart, the short stutter of it’s beats when Minho placed his lips on Taemin’s was even more impactful. He felt his knees getting weak. He felt his hands tremble, but nothing really compared to the feeling of pure happiness. Pressure fell from his shoulders. All the worries he had had evaporated into thin air and that moment, everything seemed possible.

Minho pulled away and Taemin almost let out a whimper at the sudden loss of connection, opening his eyes only to catch a glimpse of Minho closing the gap between their lips again.

Again? He closed his eyes.

Again. His heart was close to bursting.

His eyes fluttered open, right in time to see Minho's face leaning in once more.

Again? Taemin's hands clenched - he tried to relax. Fists formed when Minho didn't back away, gripping tightly onto the taller's jacket. Not wanting to ever let go.

01:43

Taemin couldn’t sleep. The kisses kept replaying in his mind and he couldn’t help but shiver every time their lips met. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. Even reality didn’t feel real at this point. Many things in his life had completely turned around just because he met Minho. The connection he felt to the autistic male wasn’t graspable. Sometimes it confused him that he chose Minho. Sometimes it surprised him that Minho chose him.

Why did he like him? What about Minho attracted him so much that he decided to study somewhere close to where the latter lived? Physically of course Minho was stunningly handsome, his mind was fascinating but that alone wasn't enough? Fascination was not what he felt.

That moment, his lips tingling still, Taemin realized that the reason why he chose to be with Minho despite all the hurdles, was himself. He liked himself when he was with Minho. He liked the person he was in the latter’s presence. He hoped others would understand. He hoped they could accept that version of him. He hoped he could let people in. 

He hadn’t told anyone about his relationship to Minho, though he guessed that his grandmother at least suspected something. Woosung knew about his feelings, but not even he had been kept up-to date. Many evenings had Taemin wondered if their relationship was normal. If it even qualified as one. Was it real?

Involving their families was completely impossible, he strongly believed his parents would never accept his love for another man, the fact that he was autistic adding even more to the pile of reasons why he wasn’t fit to be with their son. He didn’t quite know about Minho’s parents, but Taemin guessed from their rural upbringing that they wouldn’t approve of a homoual relationship either.

The worries didn’t end there but continued over questions about their future, their careers, his own education as well as what the public thought of them if they ever went out on the street. Would they ever be able to hold hands while walking the streets?

Sometimes Taemin weighed the two sides. Sometimes he had doubts. Sometimes he worried their love might not be enough. Sometimes he cried in bed.

18:00

Taemin walked into the café a little later than usual. His professor hadn’t finished in time – hence he missed his bus. The first semester was almost over and there was so much to do. Minho had tried to help him make a study schedule. But quite frankly, Taemin just couldn’t manage. Before he had always had defined schedules, teachers who checked if work had been done. Now, suddenly, everything was in his hand.  Registering for courses, reading the assignments, handing in papers in time, as well as group projects that were solely based on their own commitment.

“You are late.” Minho commented when Taemin took his designated seat and pointed at the latter's coffee without looking up from his book. “Your latte is cold.”

“I am in fact late. What are you reading?”

“Margaret Mitchell”

“hmm… And the title if I may ask Sir Choi Minho?”

“Gone with the Wind” Minho answered as he underlined a quote with a pencil. He had been doing so for a few months now and from one point on he observed this habit more closely.

Little notes with quotes written on them had turned up in his bag once or twice a week, whenever he had spoken to Minho about his worries or problems. This was his way of helping. It was his way of expressing himself. Why he used quotes to communicate feelings, Taemin could only guess. One day he would ask him, but they weren’t in a rush. If he kept up his poor self-discipline he would be here for several more years. Minho wasn’t going anywhere anyway. He followed his routine – working at the library, then going to the café where they usually spent their time together. A little later than originally, Minho walked home, and everything started anew.

“What did you underline?” Taemin asked and Minho shook his head.

“You don’t need to know now.”

“Will it mysteriously turn up in my bag, written on a brown piece of paper with gorgeous handwriting and the exact, correct MLA citation?” Taemin smiled as he watched Minho put down his pen.

“It most likely will.” He answered and closed the huge book.

The remaining hour of the evening they sat with each other, Taemin letting out everything he needed to talk about, and Minho just listening – at least partly. With time he had gotten better at following when Taemin spoke for longer periods of time. Though it needed all his attention and made immediate reactions impossible, he felt it was the best thing to do.

Today, just like the past two weeks, Taemin spoke about the upcoming exams which he was afraid of. Minho didn’t quite get why people were afraid of exams. They couldn’t hurt you. Also, if you didn’t prepare yourself enough, not passing was fair. Seeing Taemin this stressed over a span of weeks was new for him. Before the man from soul had never been phased so easily.

 He couldn’t relate at all. Books didn’t help either. So, he just listened, as attentively as he could.

This time, it was exceptionally hard. Minho felt it wasn’t a good day. He couldn’t listen. Fully aware that it wasn’t socially acceptable to start writing when someone was talking, he took out a piece of brown paper, his pen as well as the book he had put back into his bag before.

Just before, he had read a passage with a quote that would hopefully take away some of Taemin’s worries that he could at least sleep tonight.

“I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow. I’ll think of it tomorrow. I can stand it then. Tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

― Mitchell, Margaret. Gone with the Wind. Macmillan Publishers (1936) p1037

The piece of paper was put aside, waiting to be placed into Taemin’s bag and Minho could finally let his mind wander off. He was expected to help his boyfriend when he was feeling so down. There were many expectations now.

Expectations he couldn’t quite grasp, expectations that he didn’t know about, expectations he understood and tried his best to fulfil. He knew physical contact was important to show Taemin that he cared. He knew it made him happy. And he was ready to give it to him as much as he could. But still, it was always restricted to the familiar place of the café. Outside he couldn’t bring himself to touch the younger.

He was always reminded of another quote in Gone with the Wind. On page 438, two sentences that have followed him around especially the last few weeks as he began to work with Mitchell’s novel anew. “That is the one unforgivable sin in any society. Be different and be damned!” Was he damned because he was different? Was their relationship damned because it was different?

An unforgivable sin. Was being different really this bad? Were they really that different? Minho didn’t see a difference between a pair of men and a man and a woman. Did it matter what gender a person had? In the end they were both people. People who like each other’s company. People who feel safe when they are together. Two human souls who were connected. Did souls know the concept of gender? Minho doubted it.

“Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.”

Despite it has been a while since their lips first encountered each other, the very same quote floated before his inner eye every single time he kissed his lover goodbye. It had established that way. Making it a routine.

To Minho it got more and more important, not because of himself but because he knew it was important to Taemin. He could feel Taemin’s body react to his touch. Many of his books tried to tell him that the eyes of a person were a gateway to their soul - the way to their feelings, and Minho would disagree. He didn’t need to look into Taemin’s eyes to understand his inner self. The small shivers, accompanied by goosebumps that covered the younger male’s arms whenever they kissed meant something. The way he placed his small hands on Minho’s shoulders meant something. The slight changes in his stance meant something. Minho registered every single detail.

It was important.

A/N
 

Hello everyone

As I pointed out on Twitter, this isn't that much of a spectacular chapter but maybe that's the charm? idk... Anyway this is needed to drive the story further. How much more? I don't know.

I just wanted to tell you something: I cried after reading the comments I recieved for the last chapter. Don't ask me why, I don't really know. But the things you tell me just touch me so deeply that I was overwhelmed for a moment. I don't know where to put all this love. It makes me so happy to see people learning, see people starting to understand and recieving such beautiful words regarding my efforts. I don't take this for granted. You guys are special and I wanted to tell you that you are. THANK YOU. I really really really am honored to be blessed with such amazing readers who deeply care for my characters, the story, the whole topic of autism as well as for me. Thank you and may you have an amazing day.

XX

R