For two weeks, Jung Taekwoon doesn't cross Wonshik's mind. Wonshik doesn't allow him to. It's for the better, Wonshik tells himself, gripping his pencil with stiff fingers, trying his damnedest to finish his gesture drawing. Today, his drawing class is sparsely attended, more sparsely than usual, and Wonshik nabbed a seat by the window for the first time in a while. Outside it's cold and grey, and Wonshik senses that it'll snow soon—perhaps tonight. The tip of his pencil breaks from exertion, along with his focus. Wonshik sighs heavily and brushes the graphite dust off his paper.

He props his elbow on the desk and rests his chin in his palm, staring out into the dismal courtyard on the other side of the glass. Wonshik yawns. For a moment, Wonshik lets his eyes slide shut, and after what feels like only a few seconds, the professor is shaking Wonshik's shoulder roughly.

"Kim Wonshik," the professor says sharply, and Wonshik's eyes snap open.

"Huh?" He peels his face off his sketchbook, not sure how he got from sitting upright to laying on the desk, and he can tell there's a row of embarrassing red indentations on his cheek from its spiral.

"Class is over now, so if you want to continue to sleep, I suggest you go home." The professor pats Wonshik on the shoulder and turns to return to the front of the classroom.

Wonshik looks around groggily, and moves to pack up his supplies. The room's empty—just Wonshik and the professor, a kind middle-aged woman. Carelessly, Wonshik stuffs his pencil bag into his backpack, zips it up, and slings it onto his shoulders. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Excuse me," a small voice says from the doorway. Wonshik opens his eyes and lets his arms drift back to his sides. "Is this… Professor Moon's classroom?"

Awkwardly, Jung Taekwoon stands at the classroom's door, a yellow manila envelope clutched in his elegant hands. Wonshik blinks a few times.

"Yes," Wonshik's professor replies, "That's me. Is there something I can help you with?"

Taekwoon gives a small nod. "The Dean of the school of music, he… um, here." He takes a few hesitant steps forward, and thankfully Professor Moon meets him in the middle to accept the envelope in his outstretched hands.

"Ah, from Mr. Choi." Professor Moon says after reading what's written on the front of the envelope. "Must be about the new mural going in at the Main Hall there. Thank you." Professor Moon smiles, and Taekwoon gives a stiff bow in return, eyes downcast all the while.

While Professor Moon and Jung Taekwoon exchange their few words, Wonshik tries to, as quietly as he can, make it to the door to leave. He makes it just in time to follow Taekwoon out the door and into the hallway. "You're Jung Taekwoon, right?" Wonshik asks. Of course he remembers exactly who Taekwoon is, but he doesn't want to risk seeming a little too… stalker-ish. Not that he was stalking to begin with. Wonshik clears his throat, thinking his low voice might've been too loud in the deserted hallway.

Taekwoon looks unfazed, staring steadily at the ground. "Yes," he answers. "I remember you."

Unexpected.

Wonshik's thoughts falter. "Oh," he breathes. "From the film festival, right? I liked your soundtrack." Wonshik rubs the back of his neck and toes at the concrete floor.

Taekwoon nods, and his hands disappear into the pockets of his parka.

"What year are you?" Wonshik asks as a lousy attempt at conversation.

"Third," Taekwoon says after a long, scrutinizing look at Wonshik. Wonshik can still feel the sensation of Taekwoon's eyes on him, even after Taekwoon returns to staring holes into the floor.

Wonshik habitually clears his throat. "Ah, so you're older than I am." Too loud, Wonshik scolds himself. "I'm a second year. In the art department." For a moment it seems like Taekwoon's walls have lowered, but they go back up again, and Wonshik gets the sense that he's talking to an object. He holds back a sigh. "I'm Kim Wonshik, by the way." Stopping, Wonshik turns to face Taekwoon and extends a hand.

Taekwoon stops to face Wonshik as well, but his hands remain in his parka. There's a long silence before Taekwoon breaks a hand away from his pockets. "Your face…" Taekwoon mumbles, gesturing at his own face but referring to Wonshik's.

Wonshik uses his outstretched hand for Taekwoon to cover up the spiral indentations on his left cheek, flushing a bright pink. It seems like there's a slight smirk on Taekwoon's face as he turns away and slips his spindly hand back into his pocket, making like he's going to leave.

Though still embarrassed, Wonshik clamps a hand around Taekwoon's elbow, stopping him before he's able to go anywhere. Wonshik can feel Taekwoon tense up in his hand, and a sense of dread falls over him. "Would you like to get coffee?" Wonshik's surprised at the lack of shakiness in his voice.

Taekwoon pulls his elbow away from Wonshik, as expected, but something about his face is different. His eyes are brighter. "Yes," Taekwoon says, and his clipped reply sails through Wonshik's chest like an arrow.

Wonshik's own voice sounds strangled when he opens his mouth to speak. "Great," he croaks.

Wonshik feels elated, but the joy is dampened by the uncomfortable space between them as they stroll out of the East building of the art school's sector of the campus. The air turns bitterly cold as they step out into the open, and Wonshik heart skips a beat or two when Taekwoon gasps.

"Snow," Taekwoon breathes, and Wonshik tips his face to look at the sky.

Sure enough, gentle flakes of white are drifting down from the rosy sky. Wonshik steals a glance at Taekwoon, who has a hand extended, palm up, as if to catch the snow. There's the tiniest of tiny smiles on Taekwoon's lips, and Wonshik makes himself look away for fear of ruining the moment. A sound like that of a laugh escapes Taekwoon, and a broad smile breaks across Wonshik's face (which he hides into his chest). He feels like he's just seen a side of Jung Taekwoon that others rarely see, and within a few minutes, they've arrived at the campus coffee shop.

It's a swanky little establishment, never without business, and Wonshik holds open the door for Taekwoon as they enter. Wonshik is glad to see that it seems like they came at a time when it's slow. There's only a few students in the café, and it's quiet enough for them to hear the soft, tinny jazz music playing from the sound system. Wonshik goes to the counter and orders first, asking for simply a house coffee. He pays and steps away from the counter to find a table, waiting patiently for Taekwoon to order.

"Latte, please," Taekwoon says quietly to the barista as Wonshik settles into a cozy booth by the front window, where they can see the steadily falling snow.

Wonshik fidgets while he waits for Taekwoon, who stands expectantly at the counter, watching the barista pour Wonshik's coffee and froth up the milk for his own latte. Wonshik can tell, even from behind, that Taekwoon's eyes are sparkling as he watches the barista delicately spoon out the foam and loop a leaf-like design into the latte's surface. Taekwoon picks up their drinks when they're ready, and slides into the booth across from Wonshik, pushing Wonshik's house coffee towards him.

Despite the fact that Wonshik would like very much to have a conversation with Taekwoon, he proves himself right in thinking that Taekwoon won't say a word. They sit together in silence, Wonshik passively turning his cup in circles, Taekwoon engrossed completely in his latte.

Suddenly, Taekwoon lifts his head. "Thank you," he says, and ducks his chin again.

"Huh?" Wonshik leans forward across the table, honestly not having heard what Taekwoon said. Realizing his close proximity, Wonshik sits back a little and tightens his grip on his cup.

"Thank you," Taekwoon mumbles again, this time into his latte.

"What for?" Wonshik asks dumbly.

"Not pushing me to talk."

Wonshik smiles tightly and shifts in his seat. "Oh," he breathes, and chuckles. "Well, truthfully I'm not quite sure what to talk about."

Taekwoon sips at his latte, and the foam off his lips afterward. Wonshik doesn't mean to, but still he watches Taekwoon's pink tongue dart between pursed lips with utter fascination. "Pick any topic and I'll listen."

"I was hoping we could talk… you know, together," Wonshik admits, biting his lip and looking out at the swirling snow. He can feel his face heating up. Wonshik keeps his eyes locked on the flurries outside until he hears nylon rustling and returns his attention to the table.

Taekwoon is gathering his things, face closed off and eyes unreadable. He pushes his cup away and stands up.

"Wait!" Wonshik rises clumsily and lunges for Taekwoon's wrist. "Sit back down," he says, fingers latched firmly around Taekwoon's arm. Taekwoon stares at Wonshik's hand, then face, his eyes horrified and seeming to scream 'Please, not here. Not here'. Wonshik's stomach does something like a free-fall. "Sit," Wonshik repeats, softening his voice and swallowing dryly. "You don't have to say anything. Just keep me company."

Slowly, Taekwoon pries Wonshik's hand off his wrist and sits back down, sinking deeper into his giant black parka. Taekwoon puts his hands in his lap and locks a hard gaze on Wonshik's face.

Wonshik fishes desperately for a topic. "Do you know about street art?" Wonshik asks. His mouth feels cottony and suddenly the café feels much too warm and looking at Taekwoon bundled up to his neck doesn't help. "I do street art. You know, graffiti. Not illegally, though, because street art isn't just vandalism and gang activity—it's an entire art form, and entire school of thought."

Taekwoon watches as Wonshik's eyes light up. He can see the excitement Wonshik feels reflected in those irises, warm and honest. Taekwoon reaches for his latte again, and listens to Wonshik go on and on.