Minho gripped the hot cup of steaming coffee feverishly, almost welcoming the unpleasant heat that seared across his palm. The pain served well to distract him from the image of that beautiful, pure, smooth temple of a body that had managed to engrave itself into Minho’s fluttering mind. He shuddered inwardly every time he realised he had managed a look at something that ought not to have been seen, however beautiful; but he seemed to revel in pleasure every time he revisited that moment in his mind. It was rather a difficult turmoil that wrecked his mind. The image would instinctively flash before his eyes and he would unabashedly relive that perfect torso, wet, dripping hair, slightly pouted lips, sculpted, lean legs. But he would cringe in shame once his moment of pleasure was over. The more he rebuked himself to not think about it, the more frequently he would recall with utmost clarity Taemin in all his ness. It was cruel.

         Minho heard footsteps echoing across the wooden panelled flooring and hastily upturned his collar to avoid making that evident, raging blush visible. Then with utmost nonchalance, he brought the cup to his mouth and lifted the morning newspaper and scanned over it with an indulgent eye. He was faintly aware that the angel has entered the room and was standing before him. He kept his eyes resolutely on the paper; he didn’t trust what his own reactions would be if he locked eyes with Taemin.

“Is that cup of coffee for me?” Taemin’s voice cut through Minho’s vain attempt at reading the paper.

“Hmm,” Minho answered absently, his eyes still trained on the newspaper as though it contained the very details that could save his life.

Taemin eyed the coffee with a frightened gaze and asked hurriedly, “Where’s the sugar container? Can I add sugar?”

“Sure, it’s in the kitchen, just beside the refrigerator. Can you get it, or do you want me to go?” Minho replied, throwing the merest of glances at Taemin’s hands, refusing to look further up.

“Oh, I’m sure I can manage.” Taemin chirped and standing up, he strode his way into the kitchen.

        It was only with Taemin’s back turned that Minho dared risk a gaze at him. And perhaps, all his interest in the paper was for the better, because Minho felt his face redden even just gazing at Taemin’s retreating back. And indeed, it was not entirely Minho who was at fault. Although he had tried to get possibly the closest size of clothes he could find for Taemin, the shirt was still terribly large. But it did wonders to Taemin’s already gorgeous looks. The shirt draped over his thin frame with its large sleeves continually drooping down low from one side. Taemin had folded the seemingly extra-long sleeves and tried to salvage the situation. But the cheeky shirt continued to expose a good part of his pale, bony shoulders. The pants he was wearing, as Minho realised with some alarm, was the only pair of ripped jeans Minho had ever owned. He slapped himself mentally for his lack of foresight as his lustful eyes gazed eagerly at the milky white legs peering naughtily at him from the peeks of the jeans. He watched Taemin amble along to the kitchen in what seemed like the most seductive strode he had ever noticed. And it merely worsened the flurry of emotions already raging within him.

           Taemin re-entered the room and Minho transferred his eyes again to the paper, pursuing it with a delight that Taemin was almost astonished. He set the sugar container on the table along with his coffee mug and began doling out generous quantities of sugar into the coffee. Indeed, he might have been on his fifth or sixth spoon of sugar when Minho looked up, notwithstanding the blush he hoped the collar covered and asked amusedly, “What’s with the mountains of sugar? Don’t you like coffee?”

            Taemin leaned forward, his pale, smooth skin reflecting the light of the morning sun shining wholesomely on him. Minho noticed the sharp curves of his wonderful collarbones and felt an indescribable urge rise within him. He averted his eyes to Taemin’s visage instead and immediately regretted the decision, because Taemin seemed to be struggling to chalk out an answer and as a result of that, his beautifully plump and deliciously curved lips, pouted in and out in a most seductive fashion.

“Umm...I don’t really like coffee...” Out came those beautiful lips once more, “but when I add sugar it tastes good, so no worries!”

“That’s a lot of sugar though.” Minho observed solemnly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to make something else? What do you normally take in the mornings?”

“Milk! Flavoured milk!” The answer seemed to rush out of his mouth with an evident enthusiasm. A kind of glimmer awoke in his eyes and his already childlike, adorable self, seemed all the more innocent. “But don’t trouble yourself. I like coffee just fine.” He added in the end, a little unconvincingly, but with a bright smile.

“I’ll tell you what, let the coffee be. We’re going to the airport, aren’t we? So on the way, we’ll pick up some flavoured milk for you. How’s that?” Minho asked, smiling. Somehow, something about the other boy encouraged that dormant need to help to help others. Taemin had a certain charm, a kind of unavoidable magnetism that was intense, powerful. You instinctively felt the need to help him, give him whatever he wanted. It was strange really, because Minho had always looked upon himself as a rather selfish person, a little uncaring towards people’s needs. But this little, strange creature seemed to be working wonders on him.

“Honestly? It’s no bother for you?” Taemin asked eagerly and his face brightened immeasurably as Minho shook his head. “Thank you, Minho!” And his smile was reward enough.

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“Oh, oh, that shop looks wonderfully huge! They must have milk, yes?” Taemin asked as he scanned the rows of passing shops with increasing delight. Minho nodded and pulled up in front of a brightly lit department store.

“You go on in, okay? I’ll wait in the car. I don’t want it getting towed away.” Minho said sheepishly, running his slender fingers through his luscious hair. “Do you have money?”

Taemin nodded, “I remembered to take my wallet; I just left the bag at the airport. It was too heavy to carry while searching for you.” And saying so, he nimbly jumped out of the car and walked into the store.

‘Searching for you.’ Somehow those words seemed to bring back sudden emotions within Minho’s brain. He could hardly believe that it was only yesterday that he had met Taemin, taken him to be a lunatic, realised he had probably already had his first kiss and suddenly brought him home. It was so unlike him. He wondered how it all started, how his life that had been proceeding with perfect nonchalance and simplicity was suddenly thrown askew by the entry of this wonderful being who excited Minho. He remembered how it had been only yesterday that he had looked upon homouality with a severe eye, but somehow today, he seemed to be experiencing pangs of love himself.

             It was strange somehow, strange that he could converse with a person who was by definition, nothing but an outsider. It was strange how he could somehow let go of his usual practicality and allow that very outsider to stay with him. It was strange how he had managed to let the ghosts of his past wreck him; but it was stranger still that he was comforted by one he had not known till yesterday. Perhaps, Taemin coming had a reason. Whatever it was, he was quite content knowing that perhaps, just perhaps, his life was taking a turn for the better. Somehow, his memories didn’t seem quite so hollow with Taemin by his side. Maybe he would soon even recover them. But he wanted only the happy memories back. He had enough tragic ones already.

               A sudden honking brought Minho out of his reverie and he noticed a large van behind him, honking rather uncouthly. Minho stuck his head out of the window and called out to Taemin, “Come fast, will you? The van behind him is hell-bent on deafening me!”

              Taemin must have heard because in a moment he came flying out, running with all his strength, the loose clothes ballooning beautifully as the wind caressed his flaxen hair. He panted his way into the seat and laughed as Minho accelerated the car into the horizon.

“You scared me when you called out!” Taemin complained, panting, “I was just reading some very interesting comics they had!”

           Minho turned to Taemin and looked at the tiny beads of sweat clinging to his expressive forehead and wide eyes. “Did you even get the milk?” Minho asked, choosing to ignore that heaving chest, and the shirt that had slipped almost right over, giving a clear view of the collarbones Minho yearned for so much.

“Yes I did!” And saying so, he extracted a bottle labelled strawberry milk and yanked open the mouth and began gulping it down noisily. He looked almost comically, with the milk smeared all over his flushed face, drops of it trickling down his moving neck and onto his lamentably attractive collarbones. There was no , or for that matter anything remotely seductive about his drinking milk unlike how most stories seem to say. He looked adorably funny and Minho laughed huskily, cruising along.

“What?” Taemin demanded, his mouth full with milk, staring resolutely at Minho. Minho shook his head and continued laughing softly to himself.

“You’re rather cute, you know that, Taemin.” Minho said gently.

         Taemin’s eyes widened and he gazed at Minho in wonderment for a while, watching his strong fingers grip the steering wheel with that intensity that was so like him. His arguably hazy mind seemed to replay the beautiful musical quality of Minho’s husky laugh, while the sudden, casual compliment seemed to awake in him something new. He had always known he was in love with Minho. Even in China, when Minho was a mere shadow, a haze of nothingness, Taemin had known he was in love simply because he believed in the power of first loves. But back then, his love was something of a duty, like a responsibility that mentioned you had to. But right now, sitting beside Minho watching his handsomely long fingers drive them through dense roads and hearing the musical tenors of his voice, a new, more raw kind of love emerged within him.

            And he wondered if Minho felt it too.

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Early update! I'm almost proud of myself. XD This chapter is something of a filler. I'm toying with the idea of adding another childhood reminiscene scene in the next chapter. Should I?

Oh and if you have some criticism, please throw it at me. Is this story too slow, too fast, too boring, too anything? Just let me know.

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