“What?” Minho said, turning around and walking over to the counter where Woosung was looking at a pile of folded paper. He knew exactly what those were the second he set his eyes on the pile. What he hadn’t known was that Taemin had kept them. All the notes he ever left him. They weren’t sorted. Instead, they were just stacked on top of each other in three different drawers with no concept and Minho felt his body reacting on its own.

It was very Taemin-like, Minho thought as he started to bring some sort of order into the pieces of paper, reading through them in the process. He hadn’t written the date on them, but it was easy to remember which ones came first.

They were written on low quality paper, pieces ripped from bigger sheets, covered both in Taemin’s and his own writing. After reading through a dozen notes, he finally found the one to put first in line.

Hi, my name is Taemin. Enjoy your coffee

Written underneath it was in his own handwriting nothing but his name:

Choi Minho.

It had been the first note they ever exchanged, the first step Taemin had taken to get to know him. Looking back, it was strange how far they have come. He remembered it as if it was yesterday when the loud boy from Seoul entered the café, disturbing his peace, disturbing what he had considered his safe place only to turn it into something much more meaningful.

Hello Minho-ssi, Enjoy your coffee. I wanted to ask how old you are. I am 19 yrs old.

----------------

My age is 21 years and I thank you plenty for the delightful cup of coffee.

- Choi Minho

 

Minho remembered how agitated he had been about the fact that Taemin didn’t bother to write out the word years and caught himself having the exact same feeling, resisting the urge to throw the note away, simply because he knew that Taemin kept them for a reason and would most probably wouldn’t like it if they were gone.

Thank you for talking to me today Minho-ssi, you can tell me if those kids bother you again, I will not stand by. I will be outside smoking if you need anything. Taemin

----------------------

I should rather be thanking you for picking up my bag. It is a highly treasures possession of mine and therefore it is my duty to thank you for your help. You shouldn’t smoke, it doesn’t do your health any good.             
-Choi Minho

It was hard to forget the moment when he realised that the blonde was interesting to him. He remembered the feeling of being fascinated by a living person for the first time – not only because he resembled the main characters in some of the novels, he had been reading back then but also because he was thanking him for talking to him. People usually didn’t enjoy talking to him – if anything they didn’t say anything regarding his way of talking. Until that point Minho hadn’t considered that someone could enjoy talking to him. He wasn’t good at conversations, barely was able to keep up with what people were throwing at him – never understanding the implied messages which usually caused unpleasant reactions.

Please pardon my incapacity before. I was taken aback by you calling me Hyung. I wanted to ask you for an answer to the following question: How have you been?

Sincerely,
-Choi Minho

He put it aside carefully, looking for the one that would come next.

Taemin,

I do understand that you want a photograph of me so you wouldn’t forget. I apologize but I don’t think I am capable of granting your wish. There are barely any photographs of me and taking a new one is in no way easy. Never the less I would want you to follow my belief that you can remember me even if we are apart. It isn’t difficult. Just think about me every day and you will not forget. If you do not believe my words, you can refer to Jane Austin’s “Emma”. You will find portrayals of this throughout the whole novel.

In addition, I have wanted to ask your forgiveness for zoning out. It is challenging to me to hold up a conversation over a longer period. I did my best, but it wasn’t enough. It is never enough.

Watch the moon tonight, it’ll be full and incredibly beautiful.

- Choi Minho

Strange how he kept apologizing all the time, Minho thought. He never did that anymore. What followed were uncountable Letters that Minho had sent Taemin to his military base and Minho tilted his head, not having expected Taemin to keep them in the café. It made sense that the other ones were there because it was where the younger had received them. But the letters from his enlistment had been sent to his base – why were they here?

Minho skipped through them to find the perfect order enjoying how he always ended it with the same words:

Please always stay healthy and live happily. 
- Choi Minho

He still wished for nothing more than that. For Taemin to stay in good health and live in a way that would make the younger happy. If that was with him or not was barely relevant. Minho knew that Taemin’s life was very different from his, he was aware that at one point, the younger might leave as it didn’t make sense that he was with him in the first place. - Enjoying his company while it lasted was all he could do. Try to make him stay, endure change to make him stay, change to make him stay.

“Alec held out his hand. Maurice took it, and they knew at that moment the greatest triumph ordinary man can win.” – Forster, Edward M. (1971), Maurice. p 226

- Choi Minho

The quotes. The very first one of them marked the third period of their relationship, when their acquaintance changed into something deeper, something more poetic, something worthy of being in a novel, something Minho would like to read about. It was followed by many more – some of them Taemin clearly had tried to decipher the deeper meaning off but the notes made with pencil were often sloppy, barely scratching the surface and Minho wondered why Taemin hadn’t asked him instead of turning around in circles without coming to a proper result.

After sorting through the rest of the notes, Minho noticed that there was one missing. An important one – Did Taemin lose it? Minho wondered and immediately walked over to one of the still empty walls, a pencil in his hands, writing the words on the wall, making it impossible for Taemin to ever forget:

“No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.”
– Blake, William (1790) The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, Proverbs of Hell, Line 15

“Do these quotes mean something?” Woosung suddenly said next to him.

“Words always carry meaning. That’s why they exist.” Minho answered before walking away to grab the black paint he had been using for the other writings on the wall.

“I know, I know. But for you. Do they have personal meaning?” Taemin’s friend followed him around the place asking irrelevant questions.

“Meaning is always personal. If you look at writing from a deconstructive perspective following Derrida’s principles, you will come to understand that the meaning that you see in the combination of words and concepts is always personal. There is no meaning without experience. You can’t understand a phrase if you are not familiar with the concepts behind the words and how they influence each other to create new ones. Words and concepts are not something you are born to know, it all comes back to personal experience and individually made connections – therefore it is impossible for words to mean just one thing. Everyone who is reading a quote, through experience, has their own very personal way of interpreting it. Something like an impersonal reading of a quote simply doesn’t exist. There are some interpretations, meanings and concepts that we consider common sense, but even common sense is always applied individually, connecting the writing to the life and thoughts of the reader.” Minho spoke loud and clear while busying himself to finish writing over the words written in pencil, immortalizing the words he considered so important.

13:59

Taemin’s footsteps mixed with Woosung’s, Minho staying seated on his usual seat – the only table that was still standing in the exact same spot, no unnecessary decoration using up space that could be used for books and coffee. He wanted to give him time to look at everything. After he hadn’t come to the café for so long, Taemin should have some time to look around and see what they had worked on. There was no need for Minho to greet him, they had met a few days ago.

14:00

Taemin immediately stopped in his tracks when he walked through the familiar door of the café that had been his grandmother’s everything. The moment he walked inside he saw his own reflection, looking tired, almost foreign.

The mirror hadn’t been there before. Woosung placed a hand on his shoulder, making him turn around to get caught in his friend’s gaze.

“I’ll leave you two alone now. If you don’t like the plants: they were my idea.” He said and Taemin couldn’t even ask what he meant before Woosung turned around, walking away in fast steps, leaving him alone in the entrance of a place he only set a foot in because the other had pressured him into it.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around with trembling hands, not knowing what to expect.

Funny enough it wasn’t the changes that he saw first. It was Minho sitting on the familiar table, on the same old spot, his hands hidden beneath the wood, eyes focusing on nothing.

A warm feeling went through Taemin’s whole body, finally grasping the situation with every second he spent looking around.

The place had been transformed into something completely theirs. The café was still the same but so considerably different that Taemin was afraid to breathe – fearing he would break the illusion.

The curtains had been removed, allowing more light to come into the place, the café therefore shining in a new light: the tables had been moved around, most of them separated from others standing there in solitude, no more than two chairs belonging to one. There were shelves with books instead of magazines and Taemin could smell the change in the air. Instead of the smell of newspapers and magazines, the warm and soft scent of old books dominated – something that would most definitely change as soon as the first coffee was made.  

Instead of walking over to Minho’s table, he followed his first instinct and walked to the counter, turning the coffee machine on for the first time in three months. He immediately noticed that it most definitely had been used in the meantime, fresh water inside the containers, coffee beans filled up to the line, just as it was supposed to be. There was fresh milk in the refrigerator underneath and Taemin felt his heart speed up a little while he filled the freshly grinded coffee beans into the portafilter, the smell of coffee filling his nose, just like it had always done. Pressing the button, Taemin smiled softly when the coffee was slowly dripping out of the machine into two new, moss-green mugs. Without hesitating another second, Taemin filled milk into the stainless-steel pitcher before placing the steam wand inside, turning it on to froth the milk.

Before he knew it, he had already filled both mugs, one for Minho, one for himself, his hands working on their own.

“Hi.” Taemin said, placing the coffee on their table, Minho looking up, focussing his eyes on the space between the younger’s eyes.

“Do you like it?” Minho asked immediately after Taemin had sat down on his usual chair.

“Do you think I don’t?” the younger gave back and Minho shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know, that’s why I ask.”

“Thank you.” Taemin said, releasing a deep breath and Minho picked his fingernails, gaze lowering on his fingers.

“Do you like it?”

“I do.”

There was another moment of silence, Taemin taking a first sip of his coffee, not quite knowing what to say. He hadn’t expected this – especially not of Minho, knowing how hard it was for the autistic male to endure change – let alone initiate it.

“This was hard on you wasn’t it?” he asked the older male, still having trouble comprehending that the latter had taken it upon himself to remodel the café.

“It’s awful, I hated it.” Minho said but added a few seconds later: “There are parts that I like though.”

“Wanna show them to me?” Taemin asked and the older shook his head.

“Please?” Taemin tried and Minho answered: “You have to like it. I made it for you.  Though I have to admit that most of this was Woosung’s plan. You have a good friend.”

“And I have a wonderful boyfriend.” Taemin smiled but Minho didn’t see it, too busy watching how the foam on his Caffe Latte disappeared as it cooled down.

“Are you gonna show me now or what?” the younger waited a few seconds before offering a deal that would be hard for Minho to refuse. “I’ll clean up my room if you do.”

Minho stood up instantly. He had tried to get Taemin to clean up his room for months now, cringing every single time when he was inside.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Taemin asked and Minho walked to the shelves with the books.

“There, I got these from the library. It’s better to have real books than just magazines.”

“I guess that is true.” Taemin chuckled before he noticed the quotes on the wall. Right above the shelve in front of them were words he was more than familiar with.

“No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.”

– Blake, William (1790) The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, Proverbs of Hell, Line 15

The quote he carried in his wallet wherever he went, reminding him that he could do whatever he set his mind to, just like Minho who had set his mind on sleeping with him back when he had given him this quote.

“Oh.” He exclaimed.

“I couldn’t find the note with this quote, I wanted you to remember it even if you lost it.” Minho explained and Taemin shook his head, reaching for his wallet in the back of his pants.

“Look.” He said, pulling out the piece of paper. “I always keep it with me. I haven’t lost it.”

“There it is! I’ll put it in his designated spot! Don’t worry.” Minho immediately said, reaching for it but Taemin took a hold of Minho’s wrist immediately.

“I wanna keep it here.”

“But it belongs with the others.” Minho said, blinking fast and Taemin gently took it out of his hand.

“It belongs with me. You gave it to me, didn’t you? By the way, who allowed you to go through my collection?” Taemin teased but Minho did not answer, letting go of the piece of paper.

He had to admit that Taemin was right. He had given the quotes to him as a present, so they were his indeed.

Minho showed Taemin the other quotes on the wall, hoping the other would recognise at least one:

“You have not realized how I have developed. I was a school-boy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions, new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must not like me less. I am changed, but you must always be my friend.”
– Wilde, Oscar, The picture of Dorian Gray p.112

He was not disappointed when Taemin excitedly pointed at it: “Well, I know that one” he said with a smile and Minho nodded in agreement.

“You don’t know this one, right? Remember it. I like it a lot.” the older said, pointing at “Confirmation” by Paul Laurence Dunbar. Before he could explain what it meant, Taemin moved closer, standing next to him, their hips touching as he was reading the poem – Minho doing the same.

CONFIRMATION

He was a poet who wrote clever verses

And folks said he had fine poetical taste;

But his father, a practical farmer, accused him

Of letting the strength of his arm go to waste.

 

He called on his sweetheart each Saturday evening

A pretty a maiden as man ever faced,

And tere he confirmed the old man’s accusation

By letting the strength of his arm go to waist.

Minho chuckled at the clever wordplay, moving his own hand to Taemin’s waist. It was nice. Much like many of novels described, the skin was soft, warm and of a milky white colour – just that he couldn’t see it right now as it was covered by a dark green shirt. Every time he touched him, he could feel himself being one with the narration, finding himself in his own story, one that he could shape the way he wanted it to be. It was as if it wasn’t pre-written; he could make decisions by himself. And he chose Taemin. He hadn’t chosen for him to change though. It wasn’t anything he had any control over – that would be too easy. But somehow, he had managed to bring out the Taemin he needed – how he did it would stay a mystery. He slowly realised how stories were connected, that there wasn’t anyone who took over the lead, leading the different characters towards a happy ending. There wasn’t anyone who changed the path to work towards a certain goal. Real life was so much more complicated, and Minho was only now seeing the extent of intertwined threads that influenced each other, building a world that connected everyone’s fate. Watching from the outside was easy but there was barely control within.

Minho wondered if there was someone writing their story. If their fate was already decided on – if there was a predestined ending to their story. He felt Taemin move his arm around his waist as well, holding him tightly while they stood in the café where their stories had crossed for the first-time years ago – both hoping that there would be many more chapters to their story.

A/N
Oh god, it's complete.
I know it was basically impossible to give a proper ending to this story. Until this day I don't know why this story has recieved so much love as I started it solely to procastinate on my main story.
To realise that his story has turned out to be important to so many people is still mindblowing to me and it is hard to wrap my head around it. I did my best trying to find an ending that would do it justice (spent almost half a year on it but this was all I could come up with.) It's not perfect, not by any means but I hope it gives a feeling of closure...

Thank you so much for all your support. I will really miss you all now that the story is over. If any of you ever want to stay in touch or talk to me please do consider saying Hi on Twitter, Curiouscat or check out my other Stories through my Masterlist

GAHHH it is so hard to say goodbye I really don't want to end this A/N but I don't want to repeat myself in saying thank you. But here one last time a little more personal (because I finally found out how to do it):

Thank you, you , for reading. Really. 

XX
R