Minho came home with the broadest smile that night.

After the thoughtless confession about how he couldn’t breathe proper while sending both Kibum and Taemin off, all he could think about was how Taemin reacted to it. The sight was not a natural occurrence but a beautiful phenomenon that everyone wished to see at least once in their lives.

It was Taemin blushing.

He almost always did, especially with Minho around. But earlier, he blushed really hard. If before this, he managed to hide his reddening face with his sweater paws or rub his hands unnecessarily often to ease the blood circulation - just now, he didn’t have the willpower to do anything. He was completely floored, pupils blown wide, the folded tips of his ears from the barely-there weight of the beret turned into the darkest shade of red. It happened like an instant reaction thatㅡMinho thoughtㅡhe might miss the overall process if he were to blink at the wrong timing. 

“H-hope you can… breathe now,” he remembered Taemin stutter before leaving, only to stop a few feet away and look back, then blush for the umpteenth time upon meeting Minho’s gaze squarely.

Minho smiled at the memory, punched in the codes to unlock the door and stepped into the house. There were pairs of shoes present, so he already expected to see the familiar faces inside, awake and very much aware that Minho was coming home late that night.

“Evening, Minho.”

His mother, Gaeun, wished from behind the countertop. The aroma of the coffee filled up the space and floated through the air, indicating that she was brewing it freshly at that time.

“Evening, mom,” Minho leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek and a pat on her back, earning an easy smile from the 48-year-old woman. “Why are you making coffee? It’s bedtime soon.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for your dad,” she jerked her chin forward to gesture at the sitting man on the sofa, glasses low on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed through different documents. The TV remained off and untouched. 

“I see. Reduce the beans, please. Dad is not that good at handling strong black coffee. What about Sohee?”

“Hm? Upstairs. She came down for random bites, then went back up. Schoolwork, I think.”

Minho nodded again, absorbing only so much of the given information. He was about to dip his head for another kiss on his mother’s cheek to cue his leave before his father suddenly spoke up, catching him off-guard.

“The ensemble is in two days, right?” He questioned without tearing his gaze from the papers. “We’re planning to come and watch.”

“Yeah, in two days,” Minho straightened up and knitted his eyebrows together, his voice sounding more doubtful rather than affirming. “Why?”

“What do you mean why? We’re going. We want to see you play, that’s what.”

That was unexpected. Minho had done this for as long as he could remember, but never once did his father want to come and watch the performance voluntarily. Save for his mother, who was ever so supportive since he was young, his relationship with his father had always been distant and hostile. He was arduous all the time.

So, instead of responding, Minho proceeded to kiss his mother’s cheek again and leave. 

He didn’t come down for late dinner after that.

~

Lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling, Minho waited until his alarm rang. His mind was a million miles away. The night felt too long and quiet, and for some reason, he couldn’t shake the idea of his dad attending the ensemble.

He didn’t mind, of course. It was his father, after all.

But the one he called father was the same person who had always shown a strong aversion to whatever choice Minho desired to make in life, which in turn only contributed to their strained connection. He wished it was more about not seeing eye to eye about crucial matters. Oh, just how easy would things be if it was only about that? They could go back and decide to be on the same page. Solutions are within reach.

Except that it was deeper than that.

Much, much deeper than that.

Minho sighed and covered his eyes with an arm to give in to the temptation of sleep. Two more hours for his alarm to start being noisy and shove responsibilities into his already disoriented life. Perhaps he could get some shuteye until then and–

His phone suddenly buzzed against the wooden surface of the end table. It happened once, then another, and another. Curious though mostly confused, Minho got up and took hold of the vibrating device, eyes automatically squinted to get used to the sudden brightness.

— Hi!

— It’s Taemin.

— I got your phone number from Kibum, who obviously got it from Jinki. I hope you don’t mind.

— Sorry for texting you at 3 AM. :(

The continuous bubble texts brought a goofy smile to Minho’s face, and it was so strong it shooed the drowsiness that almost loomed over him less than a second ago. A small cloud there indicated that Taemin was still typing, so Minho waited a little long