m i x t a p e s  i n  b r a i l l e ; 

Donghae uncaps a brand new bottle of red paint and pours some of it into a mason jar. He does the same for the other colours, arranging the mason jars in order along the tiny shelf underneath an easel. Once he’d done a double take and ensured every easel has its own set of paints, he swipes the large bottles of paint off his work desk and heads for the pantry to keep them.

“Donghae!” A voice calls out from behind the counter. “Lee Donghae! Come here!”

The urgency in Yesung’s voice is enough to send Donghae into a frenzy, scrambling out of the pantry very clumsily, almost knocking over every item lining the shelves on the way out. He shuts the door behind him and joins Yesung by the counter, staring at his colleague before letting his eyes follow his gaze.

“Uh, what exactly are we staring at?” Donghae asks, scratching the back of his head.

Yesung tuts and rolls his eyes in clear irritation. He nods in the direction of the cafe window, where a couple—a rather good-looking pair, actually—are seated, engaged in deep conversation. Donghae’s eyes trail over the woman first; she’s petite, has long brown locks that curl at the ends, rosy cheeks and a very cute smile. Donghae thinks she’s rather pretty. Then his eyes move to the man sitting opposite her. The man has tufts of platinum blond hair and pale skin, and Donghae can barely make out the features of his face, considering that most of it is hidden underneath a large pair of sunglasses and a tartan scarf. He looks tall, judging by the slender legs outstretched underneath the round table—and probably rich. He dresses fancy.

“Okay, and?”

“They’re siblings,” Yesung whispers, his eyes fixated on the pair.

Donghae remains befuddled. He scratches his head again. He always does that when something isn’t clicking in his brain, and that happens a lot. “How did you even find out?”

“She orders the same thing every time she’s here, so yesterday I asked if she comes here because it’s her boyfriend’s favourite cafe. She laughed and said that that’s her older brother.” Yesung presses his lips together and smiles proudly as if he’d done the most genius thing in the world (he obviously hasn’t). Dumbhae—sorry, Donghae still doesn’t understand.

“Why are you telling me this?” he deadpans.

“Because,” Yesung pauses, arms akimbo. “I’m gonna hit on her.”

“You’re gonna what?”

“I’m gonna shoot my shot. Pop my collar and switch. Keep my eyes on the prize and win her over with my di—”

“Okay, I get it. Shut up, you ing ert.” Donghae scowls, side-eyeing him.

They continue observing the pair like vultures waiting to swoop in on their prey, scrutinising their every move. The woman is beaming at her brother, pointing at the sketchbook he seems to be drawing on to which the man laughs. Donghae folds his arms and sighs; if not for the fact that they’re siblings, it would’ve looked like a scene straight out of a Nicholas Sparks movie. Cute.

“Don’t you think she’s kinda hot?” Yesung asks suddenly, shaking his head in frustration. It’s more of a statement, really. Donghae barely reacts. He moves towards the display window next to the counter and slides it open, rearranging the muffins.

“I wouldn’t know,” he replies simply. “I don’t swing that way.”

“Right. I call dibs on sissy; you can have her brother.”

“How about no?”

Yesung shrugs. “Your loss then. He’s probably real hot too beneath those shades. Maybe even under that extravagant outfit.”

It’s almost as if the blond man had heard them. He takes off his sunglasses and places it on the table to rub his eyes, and for the briefest moment, Donghae catches a glimpse of his features. The man scrunches his buttony nose and rubs his eyes with the back of his fists, his red lips puckered in a pout. His jaw is slightly clenched, to which Donghae notices how defined his jawline is. He could probably use a jawline that sharp to cut sandwiches with. Donghae shakes his head and laughs, sliding the display window door shut. For once, Yesung is right—Blondie is hot, at least to Donghae. My style, he thinks.

“I’m here to work, not to hit on unsuspecting customers.” Donghae jibes.

“Okay first off, ouch. Secondly, we’re the bosses so we can do whatever we want.”

“Wow, great work ethics, hyung.”

“But of course.”

“I wasn’t being serio—”

“Shhh, shhh… They’re leaving!”

The pair rise from their seats and the woman loops her arm around Blondie, strutting out the door. Donghae swiftly moves forward to clear their table, but as soon as he reaches it, he notices something peculiar. Blondie’s sketchbook.

“Yah yah yah, look what I found!” Donghae says excitedly, flapping his newfound treasure in Yesung’s face. The cafe--art therapy studio has closed and its premises are now empty save for the two of them. Yesung squints.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, faking an interest as he sweeps the floor.

Donghae beams, holding the sketchbook to his chest. “It’s Blondie’s.”

“Blondie’s?” Yesung echoes, puzzled. He thinks for a while and nods his head slowly once he pieces two and two together. “Ah, Blondie’s. Is that what you’re gonna call him in bed?”

Tsk. Donghae hits him square in the chest. Yesung swears on god that it had cut his air off and his life had flashed before his eyes.

“I’m curious!” Donghae exclaims as he cracks the sketchbook open. “I wanna see what he drew.” The first page has a name written in messy Hangul—probably Blondie’s. Donghae traces his finger over the letters as he attempts to read it out.

“Lee… Lee Hyuk.. Uh, Lee Hyukj—”

“Dear god, it’s Lee Hyukjae you imbecile!” Yesung intercepts impatiently. “Go back to kindergarten, won’t you?”

Donghae glares. “Rude.” He flips to the next page, unveiling a sketch of a house. It’s a three-storey bungalow with five large windows, a huge door with panels and a mistletoe hanging in the centre. The house is planted in the middle of a garden abundant with shrubs, and in the corner there are two children—a boy and a girl (Blondie and his sister, probably)—chasing each other. Interesting. He moves on to the next page and this time, he’s greeted by a sketch of the house’s interior. It’s very intricate, much like a floor plan drawn out by an interior designer. Donghae concludes Blondie must be some sort of architect.

“I could use that as a conversation-starter if they come back tomorrow,” Yesung thinks out loud, leaning the broom and dustpan against the wall. He tries to pry the sketchbook out of Donghae’s hands, but the latter resists, backing away.

“Hell no, Romeo. This is mine now. I found it.”

Yesung folds his arms. “Ah, so are you planning on shooting your shot too?” He pats Donghae on the shoulder. “Way to go, Lee Donghae!”

“What? N-no, that’s not what I… I wasn’t planning to…..”

“Trust me, you will. He’s totally your style.”

Donghae stammers. “He is n-not! I d-don’t know what the hell you’re t-talking ab—”

“Dude, if you’re going to continue blabbering I’m gonna head home and leave you to lock up on your own. Chokyu’s waiting to be fed.” Yesung chides.

Chokyu? Donghae tilts his head. Ohhhh, Chokyu, his dumb turtle. Donghae pretends Yesung isn’t right; that Hyukjae isn’t “his style” at all. Who am I kidding? They grab their bags and turn off the lights, wrapping up the end of their Monday.

Tuesday moves painfully slowly. There aren’t a lot of customers, with the exception of a man sitting in the corner with his newspaper, a couple busy making out at a table by the window (seriously guys what the , get a room) and a mother and daughter painting on a canvas in the studio half of the cafe. Donghae is bored. He’s standing behind the counter with his chin propped up on his elbow, staring longingly at the door. The sketchbook sits snugly in the pocket of his apron waiting for its owner to return, but to no avail. He sighs.

“How about no my , Lee Donghae,” Yesung nudges, shoving Donghae to his right. Donghae’s face slips off his palm and he nearly face plants the countertop, bashful. Yesung continues to .

“You’re obviously waiting for Lee Hyungjae.”

“Lee Hyukjae,” Donghae corrects.

“Apples and oranges, brethren.” Yesung whips out his phone. “But he’s not coming today, so quit daydreaming. And by the way I knew you’d be attracted to him. Known you too long not to realise what kind of man you’d like to ram your co—”

“I think that’s enough!” Donghae interrupts, covering his ears. He eyes Yesung suspiciously. “How do you know he isn’t coming, anyway?”

Yesung touches his temple, insinuating his intellectual calibre (zero brain cells, ZERO; I can vouch for it) and proceeds to tap at his phone.

“You see, my friend, when a person as smart as me receives vital information, such as the name of my target’s brother, I transform into the FBI.” He opens a page and shows it to Donghae. Donghae gasps. “I found Lee Hyukjae’s Instagram, baby. Through his account, I managed to locate his sister’s SNS—her name’s Hyori by the way—and found out that she has classes today. She’s a university student, Donghae, as proven by this picture. Instastory, my friend, is a very wonderful invention.”

Donghae lolls his head back, disgusted and amused both at once. “You’re a creep, hyung.”

“Is that a Radiohead reference?” Yesung asks earnestly.

Donghae huffs out of annoyance. “No, it’s a dickhead reference, in which dickhead refers to you.”

Yesung gasps, mock-disgusted with his hand on his chest. “How dare you. But wait, if I’m a dickhead, am I at least a big one?”

“Hyung!”

“Alright, alright, geez!”

And so their day drags on at an excruciatingly slow pace, like Chokyu crossing the living room floor, bare of any entertainment except each other. Thank god they at least have each other, otherwise Donghae could’ve sworn he’d rip out his hair out of boredom.

For some reason, the Higher Power has decided to hide the sun behind large splotches of ominous grey clouds on Wednesday afternoon. The rain outside is unforgiving, and Donghae thanks his lucky stars that Cafe Artmoire is closed on hump days. Yesung had called in earlier to say he wouldn’t be in today, which leaves Donghae to do the cleaning all by himself. He isn’t sure he likes the solitude, to be honest, even if Yesung’s presence (and dirty jokes) annoys him sometimes.

Donghae opens his locker and retrieves his cassette player—yes, a bloody cassette player; he likes to keep it old school, plus it’s his late dad’s—and puts on his headphones. He’d spent the previous night creating a mixtape of his favourite love songs because, contrary to how Yesung is always trying to paint him as an emotional dimwit, Donghae thinks he’s actually pretty tech-savvy and smart (yeah yeah, so what if it’s just a mixtape? Do YOU know how to make one?) and very romantic. He turns his back to the counter and wrings a towel in the sink, humming to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling In Love.

He doesn’t hear the continuous banging on the front door of the cafe.

Donghae sprays some antiseptic solution on the counter top and begins to wipe the surface down. He admits he’s a disorganised mess at home, but he likes to keep his work station squeaky clean, and so he goes about making sure he doesn’t miss any areas.

Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes some things are meant to be..

—"Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley

Something catches him in the corner of his eye. Donghae shoots up and sees a figure in the window of the cafe. He squints. The figure, now that Donghae has pulled his headphones off and can actually hear, is rapping the window frantically.

“Oh my god!”

He dashes towards the door and unlocks it, helping the figure into the cafe. Drenched from head to toe, rain water dripping from his brown trench coat, Hyukjae stands awkwardly in front of the door, swaying unsteadily. Donghae is grabbing onto his arm, holding him up. He sizes Hyukjae up—okay first of all, why is he wearing sunglasses on a rainy day? Is he mad—and notices how Hyukjae is craning his neck and reaching his hands out frantically, as if trying to search for something.

“M-my cane!” Hyukjae squeaks, shivering. “Where is my cane!”

Donghae frowns. Cane? He glances at the floor around them. He doesn’t see any canes, and so he shrugs. What does he need a cane for?

“I th-think I dropped it outside,” Hyukjae says a little calmer now. He leans dangerously to his side, but Donghae catches him in time, guiding him towards a table to sit down. The poor man is probably giddy from getting caught in the heavy rain.

“I’ll go outside and check for you,” Donghae offers, swinging the front door open to peek outside. He spots a thin white rod on the ground before him and picks it up, the heavy rain soaking his hair. He darts back into the cafe and closes the door behind him, before handing the cane to Hyukjae.

“Th-th-thank you,” Hyukjae says, trembling. He looks like he’s about to freeze to death.

“You’re welcome, Blon—” Donghae pauses, embarrassed. “Hyukjae. You’re welcome, Hyukjae.”

Hyukjae bites his lip. “H-how do you kn-kn-know my n-name?”

Donghae reaches into the pocket of his brown apron and takes out the sketchbook he’d found two days ago, smiling.

“Sketchbook,” he answers simply, sliding the book across the table. “You left it behind a few days ago. It has your name in it.” Hyukjae doesn’t react. Instead, he’s still craning his neck. He looks confused, maybe even scared. Donghae reaches out and grabs his shoulder, to which Hyukjae jumps, letting out a short yelp. He cowers, sinking his shoulders.

“Gosh, I’m sorry!” Donghae begins apologising profusely. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I just—you look terrified! I’m just wondering if you’re okay.”

Hyukjae bows his head and nods erratically. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just—it’s my first time coming here on my own without my sister. I’m at the right place, aren’t I? This is Cafe Artmoire, isn’t it?”

Donghae is baffled, but he doesn’t really question Hyukjae because he’s a complete numskull. It’s safe to say he doesn’t get what’s going on.

“Yeah, this is it,” Donghae reassures. “Don’t worry, you’re safe indoors now. The cafe is closed, actually, but it’s okay. Let me get you a fresh change of clothes or something. You’ll catch a cold if you stay drenched like this.” He gets up to leave, but his apron gets caught.

Hyukjae tugs on the cloth slightly.

“I’m so sorry—w-wait,” he chattered softly. “What’s your n-n-name?”

Donghae beams. “It’s Donghae. Lee Donghae. I’m the one who’s behind the counter most of the time. The one who makes your iced coffee.” He wants to resume his walk to his locker, but Hyukjae doesn’t let go of his apron.

“Can I touch your face?”

“What?” Well aren’t we moving fast.

“Your f-face. So that I know what you look like.”

Donghae is hesitant at first, but then he finds himself nodding slowly, consenting.

“Okay,” he says gently, and lets Hyukjae pull him a little closer. Hyukjae reaches his hands out prompting Donghae to lean forward instinctively until his face rests on Hyukjae’s palms. It takes Donghae long enough to finally understand what’s going on (okay fine, maybe I’m kind of stupid, who cares). Hyukjae is blind. Donghae would’ve never guessed.

Hyukjae ghosts his fingers over Donghae’s face, grazing them over his skin gently with his thumbs. He holds Donghae’s face with one hand, curling his fingers around his jaw. With his other, Hyukjae begins to caress Donghae’s face, gliding his fingers over his forehead first, then over his closed eyes, and his sharp nose.

My heart is beating like crazy. Why is it beating like crazy. It shouldn’t be—

Donghae’s thoughts are interrupted by the sensation of Hyukjae’s thumbs on his lips. They his lips softly, and for some dumb reason Donghae almost wishes he’d kiss him. Okay what the , conscience. This isn’t some weird Korean drama. Get a hold of yourself.

Hyukjae pulls away, placing his hands on his lap. He looks visibly calmer now that he knows who’s in front of him, and Donghae is glad (although he does cuss himself out a few million times subconsciously for not realising the man is blind right when he panicked over a missing cane). In my defense, he could’ve been talking about a candy cane, or maybe he’s into steampunk stuff—they like canes and , right?

“Lee Donghae,” Hyukjae grins, his voice kind and, to Donghae, affectionate. He takes off his sunglasses and places it on the table before looking towards the direction of the breathy sounds he hears. He smiles, and Donghae almost chokes on his saliva. Hyukjae’s irises are an oddly beautiful shade of light blue. They’re kind of cloudy too, which Donghae thinks might have been caused by the blindness. A thousand and one questions invade his mind, but he swats them aside—he’s supposed to get Hyukjae something dry to change into.

“Uh, stay here okay? I’m going to grab some clothes, maybe a towel even, from my locker.” He dashes towards the back room and shouts one last thing over his shoulder. “I’ll be back, Hyukjae! Wait for me!”

When Donghae returns, he sees Hyukjae roaming around, tapping things in front of him with his white cane. His free hand is held in the air, playing the part of some sort of human airbag in case he bumps into anything. Donghae stifles a laugh. This reminds me of Daredevil, he thinks to himself. I wonder if Hyukjae has superpowers too. 

BUMP. Hyukjae jumps back from the pillar, rubbing his forehead with a grimace on his face. This time, Donghae fails to hold back his laughter, and he laughs. Hard. He does not, I repeat, he does not have superpowers.

“Yah!” Hyukjae yells, still rubbing his red forehead. Donghae sobers up immediately at the informality, clearing his throat sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Donghae apologises bashfully. He approaches Hyukjae cautiously and makes sure his footsteps are audible, y’know, to warn the Daredevil that he’s fast approaching? He touches Hyukjae’s free hand and places a folded T-shirt and pair of pants on his palm.

“Go get changed,” Donghae coaxes. “The toilet’s in the back.”

“Uh, Donghae. Do you mind…..bringing me there? I don’t want to walk into anymore pillars.”

Donghae scrunches his nose. “Right, I forgot you’re blind. Uh—wait that came out really rudely—I mean, uh—Blondie—”

Hyukjae chuckles. “Yes, Captain Obvious, I’m blind and blond. Also, Blondie? Seriously?” His words scream I’m offended!!!!! but his voice is docile. He sounds amused. Donghae takes this as a chance to crack a joke.

“I have a sweet tooth, Hyukjae. I like eating Blondies, and besides, you’re lookin’ like a snack, so the nickname fits. Ayyyyy.” Donghae does a little dance to celebrate his lame joke for his own entertainment because, for obvious reasons, Hyukjae can’t see him. Thankfully, Hyukjae laughs, and Donghae is glad that they’d somehow managed to get along well in such a short time. They set off towards the toilet, where Donghae helps him into one of the stalls, waiting by the door for him to be done changing.

“Alright, Captain Obvious, I’m done!” The door swings open and Hyukjae stumbles out, losing his footing. In the style of a very Korean drama-esque romance scene, he falls right into Donghae’s arms, who of course catches him and stares into his eyes. Donghae’s breathing hitches—his eyes are beautiful. They look like an ocean. The East Sea, maybe. I want to swim in it. I want to swim in him. I want him to swim in me—

Hyukjae straightens his neck and coughs awkwardly, putting a stop to Donghae and his weird fantasy. He pushes himself off Donghae, dusts his T-shirt and adjusts his (lack of) collar (it’s a ing crew neck T-shirt what are you doing Blondie).

“I should get going,” Hyukjae deadpans, tapping his cane on the floor on the way out of the toilet. He carefully reaches for the handle of the door and opens it, squeezing himself through the gap to avoid the awkward situation.

Donghae stares at the mirror and hits his head. Don’t be stupid, Donghae! Stop him! He chases after Hyukjae, which is, to his merriment, not a very difficult thing to do because Hyukjae is still bumping into pillars and tables clumsily.

“Hyukjae!” he calls out. Hyukjae freezes, turning around in search of the voice. Donghae stops right in front of him and smiles stupidly. “It’s still….it’s still raining heavily outside. Why don’t you stay a little longer? I’ll make you some coffee. We could, I don’t know, chat while waiting for the rain to stop?” He looks at Hyukjae. He can’t tell if the man is attracted to the offer or appalled by it. “I mean, only if you’re okay with it.”

Hyukjae nods slowly, probably trying to convince himself it’s a good idea. “Sure. I mean, it’s not like I can head anywhere else in this weather.”

So Donghae sits him down and heads towards the pantry to make his new friend some iced coffee.

“How old are you?” Donghae asks bluntly as he stirs his hot latte. Hyukjae sips his iced coffee through a straw and sets the plastic cup down.

“I’m turning twenty-six this year,” he replies, his lips. Donghae gulps as he watches Hyukjae’s tongue leave a sheen over his plump lips. Behave yourself, Lee Donghae.

“What a coincidence!” Donghae exclaims a little too excitedly. “We’re same-age friends, then. We can drop the formalities.”

“What formalities? We didn’t use any to begin with.”

“Point taken.” Donghae lifts his mug and downs some of his hot latte. He wants to scream because he’s sure he’d just burned his tongue, but the poor man in front of him has already lost his sight; he doesn’t want him to lose his hearing as well.

“My turn to ask a question. How long have you been working here?” Hyukjae questions. Donghae almost rolls his eyes. He can hear Yesung’s mocking voice in his conscience.

“Long enough,” he jokes.

Hyukjae frowns. “Is it not a good place to work at?” Donghae panics a little upon realising his joke hadn’t translated well. He reaches out and touches Hyukjae’s wrist, shaking his head.

“I was kidding!” Donghae quickly clears up. “It’s a nice place to work at since I kinda co-own this cafe-slash-art studio with a friend.”

“Ahhh, that sounds nice!” Hyukjae exclaims. “Didn’t know it was an art studio, though. Hyori never told me that.”

Donghae purses his lips. “Is Hyori your girlfriend? The one that usually comes along with you?” He knows he knows the answer, but Hyukjae doesn’t need to know that.

Hyukjae sticks his tongue out like he’d just tasted the most grotesque thing in the world.

“Oh god no! She’s my sister! And besides, I don’t swing that way.”

Oh?

“Hyukjae,” Donghae calls gingerly. “Can I ask you something?”

Hyukjae nods. “Of course. What is it?”

“Were you always blind?”

The question sends iced coffee straight down Hyukjae’s gullet at an unsuspecting speed, causing him to choke, sputtering a mix of saliva and coffee onto the table. Jesus Christ, Lee Donghae, be more tactful, won’t you?!

“Oh my god,” Hyukjae coughs out, thumping his fist against his chest. “Sorry about that. Your question caught me off-guard.” Donghae waits patiently as the blond man soothes himself, rubbing his chest. Hyukjae clears his throat. “Anyway, no. I actually lost my sight late last year. Freak accident involving some kind of plaster solvent. I’m an architect, you see, so I—”

“So that’s why you sketch houses!” Donghae intercepts. He bows his head as soon as the words leave his lips, though, mouthing a sorry for interrupting; not that Hyukjae could see any of this.

Hyukjae smiles. “Yes. Anyway, I was overseeing a project and I happened to be alone in the house. I wanted to fill up some gaps in the wall with plaster solvent, so I climbed a ladder with a bottle of it and…..”

Donghae gets it. He gasps. “Shiiiiiiit. Really?”

“Really. It was unfortunate. No one knew I was there, so I kind of knocked out with solvent in my eyes for a few hours. And hence—” Hyukjae stops mid-sentence to point at his face. “—I lost my eyesight. I was devastated at first, but I don’t know.. I feel like the Daredevil.”

Okay stop there, Mr Daredevil, or else I might just fall in love with you for having the same lame- humour as me. Thank you. Donghae stares, agape.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he whispers. “I’d be hysterical if I were you.”

Hyukjae shrugs. “I was, initially, but I came to terms with it. And besides, Hyori is helping me search for an eye surgeon that can maybe restore my sight, fingers crossed. I’ll probably have to get it done overseas, though. South Korea’s got a ton of double eyelid surgeons, but not a single one can fix my sight. Pffft.”

Just then, the front door swings open, causing the bells to jingle, much to Donghae’s dismay. His back is turned to the door so he assumes it’s a customer.

“Sorry, but we’re clo—”

“I just came to grab some stu—why, hello.”

Donghae turns around and is horrified to see Yesung, dressed in plain clothes with his hair hidden under a cap, standing by the front door with his arms folded. Donghae stands up and jumps in front of Yesung, grinning. Damage control! Damage control! He guides Yesung to the table and sits him down.

“Uhhhhh, my friend is here! This is Yesung hyung. He’s the person that co-owns Cafe Artmoire with me.”

Hyukjae is beaming in the wrong direction. “Hello, Yesung hyung. Nice to mee—” Donghae grabs his shoulders and turns him to face Yesung “—nice to meet you!” He holds out his hand, anticipating for Yesung to shake it. Yesung stares at the hand, then at Hyukjae, then back at the hand.

“Hello. You must be Hyukjae.”

“Yup, that’s me. How do you know my n—”

“Sketchbook!” Donghae and Yesung yell out simultaneously. Yesung shakes his head and shoots Donghae a look as if to say I trusted you to clean the place while I’m gone, not to hit on Blondie oh my god. He turns to face Hyukjae.

“Are you blind?”

Donghae tuts. “Hyung! You can't just ask people if they’re blind!”

“What! What’s the point of beating around the bush?” Yesung points at the cane leaning against the table. “I’m not stupid! I just had to be sure!”

Hyukjae laughs. “You guys are funny. Also, yes, hyung, I’m blind. I don’t mind the question at all, so don’t worry.

“Thank you!” Yesung cries out, glad that Hyukjae is on his side. “Anyway Blo—sorry, Hyukjae, I’m gonna go get my stuff and take my leave through the backdoor. It was nice meeting you!”

“You too, hyung. Take care!”

Yesung walks backwards and mouths if anything there are condoms in the back room okay just find them while entering the back room and Donghae flips the bird at him. He rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to Hyukjae.

“Well that was fun,” Donghae remarked sarcastically, downing some more of his latte. Hyukjae giggles (stop it oh my god you sound so cute stop it stop it stop it) and sighs.

“Hey.” Hyukjae deadpans suddenly. “You were saying this is a cafe--art studio right?”

Donghae nods. “Yup.”

“Well, I wanna paint.”

“Huh?” How? You’re blind.

Hyukjae grins, baring his gums. “I know what you’re thinking. How can a blind man paint?” Literal chills run down Donghae’s spine; he doesn’t remember the Daredevil having any mind-reading abilities, but anyways. “I’m actually really good with finger painting. I spent the first few weeks after my accident doing it.”

Donghae huffs. “Huh. So you’re good at .”

“? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Lee Donghae WHY DID YOU SAY THAT OUT LOUD YOU NIMROD! Donghae laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“I meant to say finger painting, not whatever it was that you heard.”

“Right.”

“Tsk.”

Donghae’s heart is holding a concert inside his chest. It’s weird, because Donghae barely ever gets this nervous or feels his heart flutter this wildly. Plus he’d barely ever paid attention to Hyukjae whenever he dropped by with his sister (it’s y Yesung who’s been stalking them from afar) so this makes it only the second time he’d come across Hyukjae, and the first time he’s seeing him up close. Perhaps he’s been single for too long. Perhaps that’s why he swears his heart is about to leap outta his mouth and jump into Hyukjae’s arms, asking for cuddles. It doesn’t help that Hyukjae is insanely charming.

“So do I get to paint?”

The thoughts fizzle out. Donghae blinks at Hyukjae and considers letting him, especially if it means keeping him around a little longer. He finds him intriguing. He looks out the window and finds the rain is still pelting down mercilessly.

“Okay,” he caves, “but while you’re painting, I’m going to have to continue cleaning up, okay?”

Hyukjae squeals. “Okay!”

Donghae prepares an easel for Hyukjae. He moves it from the art studio half of the place to the midsection of the cafe, just to be sure he’s within his line of sight in case anything happens. He sits Hyukjae down on a stool facing the canvas and crouches, grasping Hyukjae’s wrist.

“I’m going to show you where the paints are, alright?” Donghae waits for Hyukjae to nod, which he does, and then he proceeds. “There’s red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, black, brown and white paints arranged in order from left to right—be careful with them, because they’re stored in mason jars. Wouldn’t want to knock ‘em over.” He guides Hyukjae’s hand over the jars and lets his fingers touch the lids.

“I’ve already unscrewed the lids, so don’t worry. Just make sure to cap the jars if you aren’t using them. I don’t want the paints to dry up.” Donghae purses his lips and glosses his eyes over the set-up, thinking about whether or not he needed to brief Hyukjae on anything else. “Oh yeah. There’s a towel hanging from the left side of your easel, so you can use that to wipe your hands. Do you need water?”

Hyukjae shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Great!” Donghae clasps his hands together. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to resume my role as Cinderella. I have duties to fulfill.”

Hyukjae dips his index finger into some brown paint and pouts. “Okay, but don’t be too long. I get lonely easily.”

Aww. Donghae bows slightly, shaking his head. He hurries towards the pantry to retrieve bottles of cleaning solution and gets to work, leaving Hyukjae to his own devices.

“Shout for me if anything!”

The dark clouds begin to ebb away almost an hour later, Donghae notices as he mops the floor near the front of the cafe. The rain begins to thin only minutes before he’d walked towards the cafe window with a mop and pail of soapy water, but he doesn’t tell Hyukjae that. In fact, he doesn’t know if Hyukjae had realised it on his own, considering the sound of the heavy rain subsiding would probably be obvious to him. Donghae’s ears are pressed against the ear pads of his headphones, and as he glides the mop back and forth against the floor, he hums to Queen’s Somebody To Love.

I have spent all my years in believing you, but I just can’t get no relief, Lord! Somebody (somebody) somebody (somebody)—Donghae brings the tip of the mop to his mouth and exaggerates singing into it like a stage mic—can anybody find meeeeeee…..somebody to love!

—"Somebody To Love" by Queen

Donghae accidentally drops the mop during his last attempt acting as Freddie Mercury version 2.0, and as he bends over to pick it up, his headphones slip off his head and bounce onto the wet floor.

“Ugh, damn it!” He reaches out to retrieve his black headphones when out of nowhere, the sound of glass shattering echoes through the cafe. He snaps his head around and bites his lip. Hyukjae.

Donghae drops his things and almost makes a run for it, worrying that his blond counterpart had hurt himself. He cusses himself for leaving a blind man all alone with a row of mason jars, hoping in his heart of hearts that he isn’t injured. He turns the corner and gasps.

“Oh no, Hyukjae!” Donghae rushes forward towards Hyukjae, who is seated with his back to him, glass shards scattered all across the floor within a metre radius around his feet. Hyukjae seems to have flinched; his shoulders are tense and raised, and he isn’t moving.

When Donghae walks around him, he pauses and wraps his hands around his mouth and tries really hard not to laugh.

“Hyukjae! I, uh, wow!” Donghae blurts out, and as soon as his lips part, he guffaws, doubling over. Hyukjae is frozen with his hands suspended in midair, and there is a lot, a lot of white paint splattered all across his crotch. He doesn’t know that, of course, so he (for lack of better word) his head, frowning.

“What are you laughing at?!” Hyukjae chides, trying to sound as menacing as possible and obviously failing. Donghae continues to laugh boisterously and unrestrained, so much that he begins to drool.

“I—Hyukjae—it’s just.. You look like you’ve got all over your crotch!” Donghae howls, making a weird sssss sound in between as he slurps his drool. “I left you alone to paint, not to !” Hyukjae’s pink cheeks only spur him on, laughing louder. Hyukjae waits a few seconds before clearing his throat to speak.

“You really don’t filter your words, do you?” he hisses, slowly relaxing his shoulders. “Why aren’t you helping me clean up?!”

Donghae reaches into the pocket of his apron. “Because, Hyukjae, I’m taking a picture! Smile!” The camera on his phone clicks, earning a groan from the blond.

“I can’t believe you’re making fun of a blind man, knowing fully well I can’t help myself!” Hyukjae whines. “What an ableist.”

The last huffs of laughter leave Donghae, trailing off. “Sorry, Blondie.” He grabs the towel that’s hanging on the side of the easel, squats down and begins to very, very cautiously dab at Hyukjae’s crotch. Awkward.

“Just so you know,” Donghae begins to break the awkward tension, “I don’t have an extra set of pants to lend you, so you’re going to have to walk around like that, Mr Stain.”

“Excuse me?!” Hyukjae hits the back of Donghae’s head with alarming accuracy, but it only results in Donghae bumping his face nose-first into Hyukjae’s crotch. Whatthewhatthewhatthe oh my god thank god he can’t see my turning into a red tomato or else I’ll run away and never come ba—Hyukjae trails his fingers down Donghae’s cheek and raises his head, lips pressed into a thin line. Out of reflex, Donghae closes his eyes, but…

“I’m sorry!” Hyukjae squeaks, and Donghae begins to notice the tomato red tint the tips of Hyukjae’s ears had become as soon as his eyes shoot open. Hyukjae lets go of his face and covers his own with his hands out of sheer embarrassment. Donghae finds it cute.

“Ahem, I’m just gonna, y’know, get the dustpan to sweep up the glass shards.” Donghae stands up and backs away. “Don’t move. I don’t want you to step on the glass.” He turns around and runs off, disappearing into the back room.

Inside the pantry, Donghae leans against a shelf with one hand and touches his chest with the other. His heart is palpitating like that racehorse (what was its name, Masi?) at a competition and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s embarrassed, or oddly excited. He rubs his chest and breathes deeply, regaining his composure.

“Chill, Donghae. It’s not like he did that deliberately, or asked you out on a date despite being incredibly cute, or invited you to his house!” He slaps himself. “Can you not forget he’s also blind?! Quit bullying him.”

He quickly gets the broom and dustpan and returns to Hyukjae’s side, sweeping up the shards. Only then does he notice the painting on Hyukjae’s canvas—it’s a serious splash of vibrant colours, in which he could’ve sworn at least about a million fingerprints had come together to form a beautiful blue house, surrounded by a lush garden and white fences. It’s surprisingly detailed as can be, so detailed that he thinks no one would’ve known it was painted by a blind man at first glance.

“Holy , Hyukjae,” he gasps, to which Hyukjae perks his brows. “You’re really good at fingeri—I mean finger painting!”

Hyukjae holds his hand out, waiting for Donghae to grab it. When he does, Hyukjae guides Donghae’s hand over the canvas. Donghae can feel the texture of his painting, gaping wider than before (if that’s even possible). His skin crawls, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

“This is the same house as the one I drew in my sketchbook,” Hyukjae explains. “I’ve drawn this at least a hundred times to familiarise myself with the , just so I can paint it. It’s a house I hope to live in with the love of my life.”

Donghae swallows, gently slipping his hand out of Hyukjae’s grasp. “That’s very romantic of you,” he remarks. “Do you want to continue painting?”

“Mm,” Hyukjae says firmly, looking up to find Donghae’s voice. His cloudy, blue irises manage to meet Donghae’s brown eyes. Donghae stiffens, mesmerised. After he manages to snap out of his daze, he reaches for the mason jar of white paint from another easel to replace Hyukjae’s.

“Okay. I’ve replaced your white paint. Try not to take the mason jar off the shelf; it’s pretty heavy so it’s not supposed to get knocked over easily.” Donghae ruffles the locks of blond hair on Hyukjae’s head fondly (why did I do that). “I’m gonna finish up my chores and then we can lock up.”

Donghae finds himself locking the pantry ten minutes to five. He returns to the couch near the corner of the cafe, where a very bored Lee Hyukjae is seated, hugging his canvas to his chest and nodding off.

“Um, Hyukjae?” he calls out, reaching out to touch Hyukjae’s shoulder. The latter jumps out of shock, bumping his knees against the other side of the table.

“Dear god, Donghae.” Hyukjae rubs his knees with  pained expression slapped across his face. “You like giving me heart attacks, don’t you?”

“Sorry. Shall we get going?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Hyukjae stands up, wobbling to his side a little. He grabs his cane off the table and whips it, causing it to flip outwards. Then he begins to walk forward gingerly, tapping the floor.

“You forgot your painting!” Donghae reminds, grabbing the canvas and running after him. Hyukjae stands rooted to his spot.

“You can keep it,” he says simply. “I don’t know, hang it in the cafe or something. It’s not like I can see it even if I hang it on a wall at home.”

Donghae isn’t sure if he’s mistaken, but he hears a tinge of sadness in the tone of Hyukjae’s voice. He decides he might as well hang it up in the cafe; he likes the idea of Hyukjae leaving his mark in this small way. He walks over to a shelf nailed to the wall of the cafe and carefully positions the canvas in the center, taking a step back and smiling.

“Okay.” He holds his hands out and raises his fingers, forming a rectangle to imitate the viewfinder of a camera. “Looks good here, anyway. Thank you, Hyukjae.”

Hyukjae is about three steps away from knocking into the pillar again, but Donghae is quick, pulling him back before he does. Hyukjae stumbles, almost falling over if not for the arms wrapped around him.

“I’m s-sorry, it’s just that you nearly walked into the—”

“I know,” Hyukjae says, smirking. “I know.”

Donghae releases his grip on the man, dumbfounded.

“I should get going.”

Hyukjae is nearly halfway out the door, when Donghae blocks him, arms sprawled across the glass.

“I’m not letting you go home on your own!” He yells almost desperately.

Hyukjae his head quizzically. “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous! You were bumping into furniture and tripping over things here all day. How can I let you go home on your own?!” Donghae grabs the man’s cane, leaving him slack-jawed and unsupported on his own, unable to move like some sort of coconut tree on a deserted island. “I’m going to have to walk you home.”

“Look, I know I literally spent the entire day seeking shelter in your cafe because of a dumb sketchbook, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you follow me home. For all I know, you’re a serial killer. Or a robber. Or both.”

“Don’t you think I’d have done it by now if I were any of those things?” Donghae quips. “Would be kind of awkward trying to rob you after getting my face rammed into your crotch.”

“I did not ram your face into my crotch!”

“Still. Also, the only thing I’d rob is your ity.” Oh god what the have you done to my poor innocent soul, Yesung-hyung. “My decision is final; I’m sending you home.”

“But whyyyyyy?” Hyukjae whines, stomping and pouting like a kid who’s been told it’s time to leave the playground.

“Safety, my friend, safety is why!” Donghae slings his bag over his shoulder and digs his pocket for his keys. “We’ve bonded over coffee and stains and now I will make sure my valued customer gets home safe.”

He ushers Hyukjae out onto the pavement, grabbing his shoulders to shake them in place as if to say stay right here before squatting down to lock the cafe’s front door. Then he pulls down the shutter, locks it, and stands up.

“What’s your address?” Donghae asks, nudging Hyukjae with his elbow so that he’d grab it. Hyukjae frowns and hesitates, wondering if this would be a good idea. He’d never been walked home before. At least not after he’d lost his sight. Hyori always warns him to be careful, anyway.

Oddly, he decides to give this a chance. “Trimage. The apartment complex two streets down.”

Donghae wiggles his brow. Yep, he’s a rich kid. Those apartments could swallow my entire life’s salary, I swear. He nods briefly and begins to lead Hyukjae in the direction of his house, where the sun is setting in the distance.

“Do you live alone?” Donghae asks one and a half streets down. “Or does your sister live with you?”

Hyukjae taps his cane on the floor rhythmically, gliding it left and right occasionally to familiarise himself with the route and its obstructions.

“I live alone,” he answers as they pass a row of shophouses. “In fact, I’ve lived alone for nearly four years now.”

Donghae raises his brows. “Four years? So you’ve lived on your own since you turned twenty-two?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you afford an apartment in Trimage?”

“My parents got it for me as a gift, right before they found out I was gay and kicked me out of the family house.”

Oh . Donghae comes to a standstill, tugging Hyukjae backwards. He searches his thoughts for the right words to say; he’d never been good at apologising over touchy-feely stuff, to be honest, because most times he’d end up crying first.

“Hey, uh, Hyukjae,” Donghae chokes out. “I’m sorry if I hit a raw nerve. I didn’t mean to—I mean, the way I asked you about the apartment sounded kinda rude and I—”

“Is that a bakery?! I smell a bakery!”

Hyukjae yanks Donghae by the elbow. They walk forward with Hyukjae as the lead, sniffing out the bakery like a starving puppy. Donghae worries his lip, wondering if Hyukjae had deliberately talked over him and ignored his apology. Maybe he’s upset. Donghae blinks back tears. I made him upset. He makes the mistake of trusting in Hyukjae’s sense of direction and only realises it when he walks right into a wall. THUMP.

“Oh my god, Hae!” Hyukjae screams, patting the surfaces around him in search of his friend who’s literally on his knees with his face buried in his hands. “Where are you?! Are you okay?!”

Hyukjae bends down and continues feeling around where he catches hold of Donghae’s hair. He drops his cane and  tries to caress Donghae’s face, prying his fingers off it. He pats Donghae’s face lightly, ghosting his finger over a bump that’s formed right smack in the middle of Donghae’s forehead. He gasps.

“, I’m so sorry, Hae!” Hyukjae cries out, holding Donghae’s head steadily in his hands while rubbing gentle circles on the bump with his thumbs. Donghae shakes his head, blinking rapidly in hopes of washing away the giddiness.

“It’s okay, Hyukjae.” Hae. He called me Hae. That’s cute. Or maybe I’m just whipped. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Hyukjae smoothens the bruised man’s hair. “I’m still sorry. I made you walk into a wall over a bakery.” He sniffs. “By the way, is this it?”

“Is this what?” Donghae groans, getting onto his feet while rubbing the bump on his forehead. He squints his eyes, only to see Hyukjae standing in the doorframe of 왕밤빵 (Wang Bam Ppang, or Big Chestnut Bread), a famous bakery frequented by pastry and bread lovers. Hyukjae is standing with his feet apart and his arms clasped in front of him, inhaling deeply to take in the fragrance of baked bread. Donghae joins his side and glances at him, raising a brow.

“I think this is where my sister gets me my fix.” Hyukjae explains before letting out a contented ahhhh.

Donghae his head to the side. “What fix?”

“My strawberry pudding fix,” Hyukjae answers. “Everytime she comes to visit me, she brings me strawberry pudding. I like sweet stuff. I have a child’s palate, to be honest.”

Nodding in acknowledgment, Donghae trails after Hyukjae, who has now taken several steps forward into the bakery. Hyukjae halts in his tracks abruptly, and Donghae bumps into his back clumsily.

“What’s wrong?” Donghae asks after he walks around to look at Hyukjae. Hyukjae is frowning with his nose scrunched.

“I don’t know where to find the pudding,” he pouts. “Also, I don’t want to walk into any shelves of bread. It yeast dangerous.” Hyukjae juts an elbow outwards in a sorry attempt to nudge Donghae over his dumb pun, a stupid smile stretched across his face. Donghae rolls his eyes. Thank god you’re attractive.

“How many puddings do you want?” Donghae asks. “I’ll pay.”

Hyukjae shakes his head frantically. “No way. I’m paying for myself! Don’t make me feel guilty.”

“Think of it as a small gift from someone who’s grateful to have earned your friendship,” Donghae says calmly. His mind has other plans though. First your friendship, then your love—he snaps out of his train of thoughts fast—what the hell is wrong with me today?

Hyukjae frowns helplessly. “Just one, then.” Donghae guides him towards a wall and asks him to wait there, before approaching a worker to order the strawberry pudding. He gets two, of course, because he thinks there’s a possibility Hyukjae would invite him into his house. Call it wishful thinking on his part.

They leave the bakery after getting Hyukjae’s fix and reach Trimage in approximately twenty minutes. Donghae insists on sending Hyukjae to his front door which, after much contemplation, Hyukjae consents. They take a lift up to the thirteenth floor. Hyukjae’s apartment is the fourth door from the left side of the lift.

“Thank you for sending me home,” Hyukjae beams. Donghae secretly wishes he’d take his sunglasses off so he could stare into his beautiful, blue irises. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

Pressing the box of pudding into Hyukjae’s hand, Donghae grins widely. “Thank you for accompanying me at work today, even though you kind of had no choice.” Please invite me inside. Please invite me inside. Pleasepleaseplease invite me inside.

“I enjoyed your company!” Hyukjae exclaims, his sparse brows rising towards the ceiling. “I’ll make sure to find you the next time I visit the cafe.”

Donghae feels conflicted for some reason. An omen (quite an exaggeration, really) hangs above his head like a thunderstorm—he knows Hyukjae won’t invite him in. He even thinks Hyukjae probably isn’t even remotely interested in him. Then again, why is Donghae so obsessed with the idea that Hyukjae should be interested in him? Could he possibly be…..infatuated with the blond man? He shudders.

Hyukjae scans his thumbprint on some sort of reader next to the door. The door clicks loudly, and Hyukjae is halfway through the door before he turns around and smiles.

“Get home safely, Lee Donghae.”

Donghae’s brain goes into overdrive. what do I say? Do I ask if I can come inside? Bit too late for that, isn’t it. Do I ask for his number? I should ask for his number. What if he asks why? Oh my god what should I do what should I do what should I—

“Your number?” Donghae blurts out and regrets immediately. Hyukjae laughs, leaning against the door with his arms folded and his cane sticking out. He shakes his head.

“I never give my number to strangers,” he says softly.

“But we’re not stra—”

Donghae suddenly feels a warm hand cupped over his mouth. Hyukjae is smirking.

“You don’t need my number anyway, seeing that I visit the cafe almost every single day. I’ll think about giving you my number once we’re better acquainted.” Hyukjae flaps his sketchbook in Donghae’s direction. “Thank you for keeping this for me, by the way. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door shuts in Donghae’s face and leaves him standing like a fool with his jaw hanging. He rubs his face, relishing the thought of Hyukjae’s warm hand over his mouth like a .

“See you tomorrow then,” Donghae kind of shouts. A neighbour catches sight of him and shakes his head; he probably looks really weird and creepy talking to a door anyway. Donghae rubs the back of his head sheepishly and heads towards the lift lobby. He holds on to the excitement of knowing that Hyukjae will be at the cafe the following day, whistling on his way home.

Almost three months later, Donghae is locking up the cafe at six in the evening alone. Yesung had gone home early to bring Chokyu to the vet (because turtles are obviously more important than running your own cafe, I’m sure), leaving Donghae in misery. It’s been a long and lonely day. There weren’t a lot of customers to begin with, and those that did visit the cafe weren’t really the friendly sort. Donghae considers himself a social butterfly and likes chatting people up, but each time he’d attempted to make conversation that day, he’d been met with a death glare. He kept his lips sealed nearly the whole day, and what’s worse is that Hyukjae didn’t turn up like he always does. Donghae gets affected by the crack in this routine.

He listens for the click of the shutter’s lock and slowly stands up. He’s about to turn when his foot bumps into something small and soft. It whimpers.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Donghae cries out after finding out that he’d accidentally kicked a puppy. The puppy is brown and extremely furry, and Donghae thinks it’s probably some sort of Pomeranian. His eyes follow the length of its leash, to the hand of the owner grasping it, until…

“Hyukjae?” Donghae almost gasps, surprised. Hyukjae is smiling, his thick lips pressed together. His sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his shirt, and Donghae takes this chance to look into his eyes. He swears he could get lost in the sea that swims in his irises. Hyukjae reaches out to touch him with one hand, coiling the leash around his other.

“Hello, Hae.” Hyukjae utters, his voice soft, almost doting even. Donghae shoves his keys into his pocket and adjusts his satchel, smiling so hard the tips of his cheeks ball up like a squirrel’s.

“I didn’t see you today,” he deadpans, trying hard to conceal his disappointment. Why am I disappointed anyway?

Hyukjae shrugs. “Sorry. I had to bring Choco to the vet.”

“Choco?”

“Yeah, that’s her name,” Hyukjae clarifies, raising the leash in his hand. “She’s my therapy dog.”

Donghae arches his brow, nodding slowly once he’d made sense of the situation. He glances at Choco, that is now sniffing his feet with her tail raised. If there’s one thing Donghae absolutely loves other than his weird obsession with cassette players and mixtapes, it’s dogs. He bends down to Choco’s fur, cooing.

“What are you doing here at this time, though?” Donghae asks as he lets Choco sniff his hand. He looks up at Hyukjae, who seems to be hesitating and awkwardly scraping the ground with his cane.

“I, uh, I was wondering…” Hyukjae begins to stammer nervously, so Donghae stands up to gently touch him on the shoulder.

“You okay?”

“What? Oh, yes, I’m okay,” Hyukjae laughs sheepishly. “It’s just that I was wondering….”

“You were wondering….?”

“.....if you’d like to have dinner with me.” Hyukjae finally completes his sentence. “I m-mean, only if you’re free, or if you even want to.”

Donghae takes advantage of the fact the man in front of him can’t see him, pumping his fist into the air in triumph. If he’d grinned any wider the corners of his mouth would’ve torn open.

“You came all the way here to ask me if I’d like to have dinner with you?”

“Y-yeah, but you don’t have to say y—”

“Of course I’ll have dinner with you!”

Hyukjae almost gasps at the overreaction, dumbfounded. They stand there in radio silence for a brief moment, with the sounds of passing cars and Choco’s wet nose sniffling against Donghae’s feet as their only company. Hyukjae is the first to break the silence.

“That’s great then!” He exclaims a little too happily. “Where do you reckon we go?”

Donghae thinks. “What about the ramen place around the corner?” He watches as Hyukjae’s face lights up like a child at a candy store and thinks he probably hit the nail on the head.

“I love ramen! Let’s eat ramen!” Hyukjae nods enthusiastically. And so they make their way to the little ramen shop tucked away in one of the corners of Seoul.

Donghae slurps the soup from his bowl of ramen and sighs contentedly some forty minutes later, leaning back in his chair. Hyukjae and him are sitting at a table outside the ramen shop, with little Choco perched calmly on a chair in between them. The yellow light from inside the ramen shop illuminate their faces like the rays of a sun, and Donghae thinks that from this angle, Hyukjae looks beautiful. He laughs gently to himself, playing with the noodles in his ramen, twirling his fork in the bowl.

“I’ve lived here for four years and yet this is the first time a ramen lover like me is eating here,” Hyukjae says suddenly, raising his chopsticks to his face. He doesn’t know it, but Donghae is staring at him longingly with his chin propped up on his elbow, smiling like a lovesick fool. Donghae himself doesn’t realise it, but he’s smitten.

“Why did you ask me out for dinner, though?” Donghae asks in a very lazy, love drunk voice.

Hyukjae pauses, placing his chopsticks over his bowl. “I don’t know. I kinda missed you, I guess, seeing that I’ve been going to the cafe everyday since that rainy day, except today.”

Oh, wow. “I kinda missed you too.” Double wow. Why am I saying these things? What is wrong with me?

“Glad that’s out of the way, then.” Hyukjae continues to eat his food, laughing a little. “I almost thought this was a one-sided thing.”

Donghae shakes his head. “Barely.” He isn’t sure if they’re on the same page, but it doesn’t matter, at least for now. They eat in silence for a while, and once Donghae has emptied out his bowl, he reaches into his satchel.

“I want to give you something,” he says, pulling his headphones and portable cassette player out of the bag. He pushes them into Hyukjae’s hand, watching as Hyukjae’s expression turns into one of wonder.

“What’s this?” Hyukjae asks, running his fingers over the cassette player and tangled wires.

“It’s my late dad’s cassette player, and a pair of headphones to go with it,” Donghae explains. Hyukjae looks up at the information, puzzled.

“Why are you giving this to me then?” he asks, frowning. “You should keep it! It’s your late dad’s!”

Donghae purses his lips, raising its corners in a soft smile. “I know, but it has something I want to give to you in it. I made a mixtape years ago, long before I got to know you. It’s got a few meaningful songs in it, which I’d like you to give a listen to when you get home. I don’t know, I feel like you’d like them.” I hope you do. I made the tape in advance, y’know? In case I fall in love and can’t express it through words.

Hyukjae hangs his head.

“Okay,” he acknowledges in a quiet whisper, “but after I’ve listened to it, I’ll return it to you.”

Donghae smiles at the compromise. “Sure. You know where to find me, anyway.”

“Of course. Thank you, Hae.”

“You’re welcome.”

They finish up the rest of their dinner, chatting away about life and its trials and tribulations, exchanging smiles and laughter every now and then. Their hearts (and tummies) are full, and soon, they make their way home. Or rather, Donghae sends Hyukjae home, just like he had the first time. And just like the first time, Hyukjae thanks him but doesn’t let him in.

“Goodnight, Hae. Thank you once again for the, uh, mixtape.” Hyukjae says gratefully, hooking the headphones around his neck. Donghae doesn’t think he’s seen someone this beautiful and pure, and swears his heart is bursting at the seams.

“Goodnight, Hyukjae. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

The door closes, and Donghae is marching his way towards the lift lobby with a huge smile plastered across his face. I sure hope he gets what I’m trying to tell him.

On the other side of the door, Hyukjae is sitting on his couch, running his fingers over the embossed details on the buttons of the cassette player Donghae had given him. He quickly finds the power button and turns the player on, wearing the headphones. Then he searches for the PLAY button and presses it. An old love song by Savage Garden fills his ears.

I knew I loved you before I met you. I think I dreamed you into life. I knew I loved you before I met you. I have been waiting all my life, the chorus goes.

—"I Knew I Loved You" by Savage Garden

Hyukjae bites his lower lip. “I should have told him the truth.”

Donghae practically skips into work the next day, much to Yesung’s amusement. There’s a newfound light emanating from the look on his face. Curious, Yesung, as always, decides to question Donghae’s beatitude in the least pleasant way possible.

“Someone got laid last night,” he says casually, arranging sandwiches in the display window. Donghae glares at him.

“Unlike you, there’s much more to my life than , hyung.”

“Spill.”

“Fine. Hyukjae asked me out to dinner last night.”

Yesung gasps and shoots up, bumping his head into the top of the display window. Donghae chuckles. Serves you right, you prick. Yesung looks at him in wonderment, rubbing the back of his head.

“How did that even happen?” he asks rhetorically, earning him the most inflated smirk he’d ever seen from his brunet counterpart. Donghae closes the drawer of the cash register and turns to Yesung, the smirk very much evident on his face.

“He came after I locked up and said he couldn’t visit like he always did because he had to send his dog to the vet,” Donghae explains regardless of whether Yesung wants to hear it. “He said he missed me.”

Yesung lolls his head to the side, arching a brow. “Oh? What did he miss? The fact that you’re always waltzing around his table blowing kisses in his direction, or that you give him free cakes all the time?”

“I do not blow kisses in his direction!”

“You might as well have, Lee Donghae. It’s blatantly obvious that you like him, just like I had thought you would! You’re so predictable, Donghae.”

Donghae sulks. “Whatever. Anyway, I gave him a mixtape. I put a bunch of love songs in it.” He pauses briefly, burning holes into the countertop, before turning to look at Yesung with glassy eyes. “Do you think he’ll, y’know, get the hint?”

Yesung sighs. He thinks of something reassuring to say because he can hear the hope in the tone of his fragile friend’s voice. He knows Donghae hasn’t allowed himself to fall in love for years after his last relationship had ended with bad blood, so it feels a little heartwarming to see Donghae trying again after all these years.

“I’m sure he will, Donghae.” Yesung begins to wipe the area where all the coffee machines, blenders and mixers lie. “It’s either that or he’s just too blind to notice how much you like him, seeing that you practically shove yourself into his face each time he comes here.”

Donghae smiles. “I sure hope he knows.” Yesung gives him a reassuring pat on the back, and not long after, they open the cafe, welcoming their customers. Donghae decides to push the anxiety of meeting Hyukjae to the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to think of what he’d say to Hyukjae when he confronts him about the mixtape, whether or not he accepts or rejects his advances. He tries to keep himself busy with the cafe.

But Hyukjae doesn’t turn up that day. And he doesn’t turn up the following months, either. One day, Donghae musters up the courage to make his way to Trimage and knock on Hyukjae’s door, but the fact that no one answers diminishes his hope all at once. He wills himself to believe that his confession via mixtape has nothing to do with Hyukjae’s absence, but his optimism falters as soon as he steps into his silent house at nearly nine that night. Who are you kidding, Lee Donghae? You scared him away with your dumb confession. He’ll never come back. He sighs, blinking away the tears that form on his lower lids. He walks towards the radio and turns it on, hoping that it’d fill up the void in his house and heart. One of his favourite songs plays from the speakers, but right now, the lyrics feel so real and heart wrenching that he decides to turn the radio back off right after the chorus.

If I see you next to never, then how can we say forever? Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you. Whatever it takes, or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you..

—"Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx

Summer turns to autumn, and autumn exits quietly with its fleeting leaves, signaling the coming of winter. The winter of 2018 feels extra lonely to Donghae. He spends a lot of his time in the cafe, even on his off-days. Every now and then, he glances at the artwork on the cafe’s shelf; the one Hyukjae had painted the first time they properly got to know each other. With time, he slowly begins to accept that Hyukjae might never come back, and that he can’t blame him if he doesn’t. Donghae has no right to expect anything, really, and he knows that. I should’ve never let those feelings linger, he thinks. Love is bull. He takes the artwork down one day and hides it in the back room, never to be seen again.

“You sure you don’t wanna spend tomorrow with me?” Yesung asks after the last customer leaves, checking the cash in the cash register. It’s the fourteenth day of October the following year, and Donghae is busy wiping tables and cleaning up after customers. It’s been a long day, considering they’d decided to close the cafe an hour later than usual.

“It’s really okay, hyung (it really isn’t).” He puts two empty mugs into his tray and moves on to clear the next table. “It’s just a birthday (it’s not just a birthday). It’s nothing special (it is but it might as well not be).”

Yesung tuts. “It is special. My little twerp turns twenty-seven and I think that’s very much worth celebrating. And anyway, the cafe will be closed for the next two days. Knowing you, I can’t let you spend your birthday cooped up at home making mixtapes.”

Donghae glowers. “I don’t make mixtapes anymore.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They quickly finish tidying the place up. After Donghae has cleaned all the tables and swept the floor, he walks to the back room to keep the broom and dustpan. As he leans the broom against a cupboard, his eyes catch sight of the colourful artwork he’d chucked on the shelf long, long ago. He rolls his eyes. He wants to walk away but something in his chest stops him, compelling him to step towards the artwork. For some reason, something in him instigates him to reach his hands out and grab it. Bring it home, the voice says. You know it means a lot to you. He huffs, but takes the artwork along anyway, tucking it under one arm.

“Go home, hyung. I’ll lock up.”

Yesung raises a finger to protest, but Donghae waves him off, turning his back towards his older friend. Yesung decides it’s best to leave it as it is, knowing how stubborn and insistent Donghae can be.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll call if you need a friend tomorrow,” Yesung bargains, to which Donghae simply waves him off again, subtly nodding his head. Yesung puts on his knapsack, hesitant. He wishes Donghae wasn’t so stubborn, but after years of knowing him, he has learnt that this is a trait of his nothing can ever change. He notices the stained canvas tucked under Donghae’s arm but says nothing of it.

“Goodnight, Donghae,” Yesung says over his shoulder as he turns on his heel. “I’ll see you on Thursday!”

Donghae pushes his keys into the lock and turns it, mumbling a goodnight in response, but Yesung doesn’t hear it and disappears into the distance. After he’s certain he’d locked the door of the cafe properly, he yanks on the handle to double check before pulling the shutters down. It’s the same old routine, one that has been burned into his soul over the span of a little over three years. He stands up and steps back when suddenly—

“Oof! What are you—”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Donghae turns and bows his head apologetically again and again after he’d realised he had bumped into a stranger behind him. He keeps his head bowed and waits for the stranger to say something.

“It’s okay, Hae.” I know that voice.

Donghae looks up and gasps. It takes a while to register that the voice he’d heard matches the raven-haired man stood in front of him, and that that man is—

“Lee Hyukjae!” Donghae squeals, trying to suppress his desire to leap onto the man. He can barely hide the look of euphoria that beams out his face like a laserlight. All the animosity that had somewhat built up inside him the past year wilts away. “Lee Hyukjae, oh my god, is it really you?!”

Hyukjae smiles, and when the skin around his eyes crinkle, Donghae notices something odd. Hyukjae’s eyes are no longer as blue and cloudy as they used to be.

“You’re even more good-looking than I thought you were!” Hyukjae laughs, sliding his hands into his pockets. “And yes, Hae. It is me. Care to take a walk with me?”

Donghae adjusts the strap of his satchel before nodding. They begin walking down the pavement towards a park, catching up on lost time, exchanging bursts of laughter and smiles like they had before Hyukjae disappeared. The streets of Seoul are crowded, but to Donghae, it feels empty, void of anyone but Hyukjae and him. He thinks to himself that this is what it feels like being in love again.

“You changed your hair,” Donghae says softly after they settle on a bench in a park. The park is relatively dark, and the only things that light it up are the full moon and a flickering street lamp in the distance.

Hyukjae rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah. Thought I’d ditch the blond and go for something more natural. Do I look okay?”

“Are you kidding me? You look great! (You are so hot what the I almost forgot how hot you were)” Donghae beams. They sit on opposite ends of the bench, smiling at each other for a while. Donghae is itching to find out why Hyukjae had disappeared, though. He contemplates asking—do I have a right to know? We weren’t really anything more than strangers or friends, really—and takes a few deep breaths. Then he turns.

“Where did you go?” Donghae asks, his voice shaking. , you better not ing cry and ruin the moment. “Where did you go off to the past year?”

Hyukjae sighs. “To America. I went to America.”

“Why?”

“To get these fixed.”  Hyukjae is pointing at his eyes, a weak smile forming underneath his button nose. “I had to stay in America for nearly a year following a cataract surgery. Stayed longer than I should’ve because my eyes caught some sort of infection. It was not fun.”

Donghae’s heart is pounding. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Hyukjae says quickly. “I thought I’d only be gone for a few weeks maximum. Didn’t think I’d practically move to America with Hyori for a year.” Donghae manages to hide his disappointment despite being convinced that his heart wouldn't have hurt so badly if Hyukjae had just, y'know, given him his number.

 “So you can see? Is your vision back to normal?”

“Not fully. Not as good as it was before the accident, I think, but enough to be able to see your beautiful face staring back at me,” Hyukjae flirts, winking.

Unsure of what to say, his voice only seconds away from cracking, Donghae whispers. “Did you listen to the mixtape?” He holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, worried what Hyukjae would say next. Hyukjae closes in on the gap between them slightly.

“I did, actually.” Hyukjae begins to search his bag. “In fact, I made something in return.” He pulls out Donghae’s cassette player, and a pair of earphones. Plugging the earphones into the player’s audio jack, he hands one side of it to Donghae. Donghae frowns, hesitantly putting it into his ear.

“What happened to my headphones?”

“It’s in my bag. I figured we’d use earphones instead to listen to this one together.”

Donghae his head sideways. “Listen to what?” He tries his utmost best to ignore the loud beating of his heart and watches Hyukjae’s lips curl up.

“My mixtape!” Hyukjae chirps. “I made a mixtape in response to yours. I know how to make them too, y’know?” God, stop, you’re too much. Donghae turns his head slowly and stares ahead of them, swallowing.

“Can I play it?” Hyukjae asks. Donghae nods silently, rubbing his chest as inconspicuous as he can to calm his anxious heart. Hyukjae presses the PLAY button and within an instant, a familiar song comes on.

Donghae knows all the words to this one. He doesn’t know what to say, however, so he waits until the chorus.

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor. Lift your open hand. Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance; silver moon’s sparkling. So kiss me.

—"Kiss Me" by Sixpence None The Richer

“Hyukjae, I don’t understa—”

Lips against lips, Hyukjae pulls Donghae against him with one hand wrapped around his body, and the other on the nape of Donghae’s neck. It’s an intense, sensual kiss; one filled with longing and hope, with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, or love that’s been built up like the bricks of a pyramid, one day at a time. Donghae is shocked at the sudden kiss, sitting like a stiff stick in the beginning. He realises that he isn’t pulling away despite the initial shock, however, so he moves towards Hyukjae and snakes his arms around his body, pressing their bodies together. He melts into Hyukjae's arms. Their jaws move in sync, tongues dancing in unison like lovers underneath the moonlight (much like the song suggests). For the first time, Donghae notices just how soft those red lips of Hyukjae’s are, and how he can faintly, very very faintly, taste strawberry on his tongue.

Hyukjae hums contentedly, smiling against Donghae’s lips. He pulls away slowly, staring deeply into Donghae’s eyes.

“Savage Garden, huh?”

Donghae blushes at the sudden mention of a song off the mixtape he’d given Hyukjae a year ago.

“I.. I didn’t know how else to tell you,” he muttered, clearing his throat, embarrassed. Hyukjae laughs and shakes his head, reaching a hand out to caress Donghae’s cheek.

“You’re incredibly cute, Hae. I realised that the first day I met you. Time flies, huh.”

“It does. But Hyukjae,” Donghae pauses, blinking his eyes profusely, “what does this mean?”

Hyukjae smiles, holding Donghae’s face gently.

“It means,” he coos, rubbing Donghae’s cheeks with his thumbs, “that I feel the same. I like you, Hae. I really, really like you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you and I’m sorry I disappeared without a trace for an entire year. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Donghae pouts. “You kinda did. I thought you never came back to the cafe because my confession scared you off.”

“Far from it!” Hyukjae laughs. “If only you knew. I tried to paint you a few times, y’know? I tried to think of what you look like based on the times you let me touch your face, which is surprisingly more often than not.”

“How long did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I liked you like that?”

Hyukjae grins. “Honestly, I didn’t know until I listened to your mixtape. Stupid, I know.”

“I don’t blame you,” Donghae laughs. “You were blind to my advances. Literally.”

“Hey, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Your friend kept trying to hint things at me whenever I visited the cafe.”

Donghae frowns. “Who? Yesung?”

“Yes, him. Whenever he came to serve me my iced coffee, he’d be like, ‘I know you’re blind but don’t turn a blind eye to his affection’. There was even once where he warned me not to hurt you and mumbled something about you finally opening up after getting heartbroken long ago.”

“This ,” Donghae says through gritted teeth, seething. Hyukjae laughs.

“It’s okay. He helped me realise what I couldn’t realise myself, considering it took me a whole mixtape to really know you liked me.”

Donghae shrugs. “I guess.” He shakes his head, bemused. Hyukjae raises an arm in the air and cheekily snakes it around Donghae’s shoulder.

“So,” he begins. “Shall we continue our kiss?” Donghae smacks his lips, smiling mischievously.

“Let’s.”