i like you

Three words. Scribbled at the back of his hand with hurried, curvy .

Minho studied the writing on his hand, blinking sleepily as he tried to remember the events that nudged him awake. The slight itch he felt at the back of his hand. The pungent smell of something (which he realized as ink) wafting to his nose. The slight rustle of clothes and the shuffle of footsteps. The soft grate of wood on the floor as the door to the classroom was closed. He had woken up then, starting to rub his eyes with his hand when he noticed the curvy black words on his hand.

Staring at it for a bit, Minho rubbed a thumb over the “you”, tracing its tail. But it didn't disappear or even smudge. He rubbed on it harder, but the ink stayed. Looking around only to find that he was alone, Minho blinked at his hand.

He had just been given a confession in semi-permanent ink.




Jonghyun suggested he wore gloves and Taemin kindly offered to help Minho erase the words with vinegar and some of his concoctions, but Minho waved them away. He wanted to keep his hands uncovered. He wanted to show whoever wrote it that he wasn't embarrassed or angry about the confession. He just wanted to the confessor to approach him and talk to him instead of writing on his body.

But no one approached him. No one came, even to write again on his hands when he was vulnerably snoring in the classroom or gym. It was as if someone just had a whim to write on Minho's hand and forgot about it altogether. Somehow, Minho was a bit hurt, but he still did not cover his hand, even though the ends of “i” and the “o's” were faded.

It took a bit over three days before the confession was completely erased from his hand, and Minho tried his best to ignore the pointed, curious, and amused stares of the whole school as he walked around with a scribble on his hand.

A few weeks and Minho had almost forgotten about the incident. He was only reminded whenever girls looked at his hand first before smiling and approaching him, as if the writing that was once on his hand was some sort of announcement that he was taken. No one came to admit the deed, and it made Minho frustrated for days. But eventually, as the ink was finally washed away, Minho was able to let it go. He charged it to a random prankster who just wanted him disoriented and confused for people's entertainment.




The day before summer break ended with a rainstorm, and Minho had no choice but to run the whole length of the street, trying to find shelter before he's soaked to the skin. He spotted an old waiting shed and ran to it, realizing belatedly that it was already occupied.

He knew the guy sitting primly in the shed. He knew because he had liked his classmate Kim Kibum since junior high. The proud forehead, dainty nose, the thin lips that gave Minho a treat whenever it curved into a smile, the clear and almost translucent pale skin. Minho had been fascinated by Kibum from day one, although he had not even talked to him—even just to ask about homework. It was as if Kibum was unreachable, an overachiever who side-eyed people who annoyed him. The guy was busy with activities and clubs and organizations, and was almost always beside the school council president. Minho never found the courage to disturb even just a second of Kim Kibum's time—the guy was too precious and Minho was...well, Minho was good at sports. And that was it.

Kibum looked up as Minho entered the shed, nodding a bit and then looking away again, eyes fixed on the street ahead. Minho felt uncomfortable, mostly because of the thumps his heart was making, and decided to just stand towards the side away from the other guy. But Kibum spared him another glance and told him that the bench was for public use. And soon, Minho found himself sitting side by side with an old crush.

Now, the fact that it was old was still debatable, according to Minho's heart.

An inevitable string of idle talk occupied them as they waited for the rain to stop, mostly composed of homework and teacher gossip and talk of the upcoming school events. Minho found Kibum different from what he expected. He wasn't high and mighty, and would actually shyly smile whenever Minho referred to him. He would press the back of his fingers over his mouth when he thought, each of his replies blunt but well-thought. He would sometimes crack jokes and cynical comments that amused Minho a lot. But no matter how long they talked, the rain still persisted, and soon they were wondering if they should just make a run for it.

Kibum suddenly had an idea. He pulled out from his bag an old-looking, dusty, black umbrella and handed it to Minho. He explained that he had another one (and produced a light pink one from his bag) and that Minho could use it if he wanted. He could just return it later, Kibum said, eyes trained on the umbrella instead of Minho's face.

Minho took it thankfully, but wondered how he'd return it. It was summer break after all and he didn't want to wait long to return something that could be needed in Kibum's home. A sudden burst of guts, and Minho asked for Kibum's number, explaining how he'd contact the other to return the umbrella sometime this week. Kibum studied him for a bit then nodded, rummaging his bag for a piece of paper and a pen.

But the paper would melt in the rain and into their soaked clothes, Minho laughingly said. Embarrassed, Kibum poked into his bag for something that would last longer and gave a small exclamation when he found a marker. Gesturing for Minho to open his hand, Kibum wrote his number on Minho's palm with the marker. It's near permanent, he said, and would last the rain.

And then, Kibum stood up, waving to Minho and then dashing into the rain with his pink umbrella. Minho remained standing in the shed, staring at his palm, wondering why the feeling was so familiar.

And then, he remembered.

He stood there for quite a while, until the rain finally stopped that he never got to use Kibum's umbrella. He stared at his palm as he walked, memorizing the number scribbled across his hand, thoughts of a previous similar incident running through his mind.

The number written on his hand was washed away after a couple of days, but Minho could still see it running across his palm, Kibum's phone number clearly etched in his mind.




His suspicions led to insecurity and fear, and Minho never managed to contact Kibum all summer. He handed the umbrella to the other boy when they met in class, their exchange a simple thank you and welcome before they went back to their respective seats.

He wanted to talk to Kibum, but he didn't know how. He wanted to ask a lot of things, to confirm his suspicions. But before he could even say Kibum's name his tongue would recoil, afraid of being scoffed at or laughed at in case he was wrong. He reasoned that he was just waiting for the right time to talk to Kibum again. But months passed and they never spoke to each other—their lives back to the usual ways as if they hadn't become friends in the waiting shed.

They often end up riding the same train from school, and their greetings would only be a slight nod and a smile. Kibum would stay by the door while Minho shifted deeper into the train, their backs facing each other. Sometimes, when they reached Kibum's station, Minho would turn around and look at Kibum's retreating back. He wondered if he should call the boy back, to actually say how he felt finally. But before he could decide the doors of the train would close and the chance was gone.

And Minho would sigh and feel angry at himself for not being able to speak...for about the 35th time.

 

It was funny, how it affected Minho so much that he and Kibum drifted apart when they weren't even close in the first place. He was just someone who used to chase the guy, who stopped, and who was now into the chase once more. He could do the same thing as before—to give up—and continue his life instead of being bothered by the smallest things like how Kibum had dyed his hair blonde as if he wasn't part of the student council; or how Kibum almost never went home without his friend Jinki by his side; or how Kibum never looked at him anymore whenever they ran into each other. But each little thing bothered Minho to the point that he couldn't tear his eyes off the other guy anymore. He'd stalked the hallways and the cafeteria, watching Kibum (and his friend) do the most mundane things. He'd memorized Kibum's schedule and tried matching it with his own. It was weird, how he felt this sudden flash of annoyance whenever Jinki leaned ever so slightly to whisper in Kibum's ear, his fingers trailing Kibum's shoulder.

Minho couldn't understand why. He just wanted to know about the scribbling on his hand and to return an umbrella, yet now he was being unreasonably obsessed by a guy he had only conversed with once.

Still he waited by the train station, torn between waiting until Kibum showed up with his friend and calling Kibum and asking him to come alone. He would open his phone to Kibum's number, only to close it once more and slide it into his pocket with a sigh.
 

Minho found Kibum one day, standing outside the locker rooms and staring at the pouring rain with a disappointed face. He tried to walk quietly, to approach Kibum and actually do whatever he was meant to do finally. But as he took a step, Kibum started to walk into the rain, unknowing of his presence.

In a spark of courage and desperation and need, Minho lunged forward and grabbed one of Kibum's hands. The other guy was surprised as he was pulled back, his head and uniform already wet because of the torrential rain. As he turned to meet Minho's eyes, Kibum opened his mouth and furrowed his brows confusedly.

Minho opened his mouth, but no sound came out and he just stood there, unable to articulate his feelings. He slid his hands into his pockets, trying to buy himself some time as Kibum stood there, dripping wet and impatient.

Suddenly, he felt something in his grip. Minho pulled out from his pocket a pen, and he realized that he need not speak to convey his feelings.

He grabbed one of Kibum's hands, much to the other guy's shock, and turned it palm down. Then, slowly, he wrote on Kibum's hand, his writing barely visible because the ink won't stay on wet skin. The ink disappeared as he wrote, washed away by the small rivulets of water running down Kibum's hand, yet Minho knew by the way Kibum's ears and cheeks turned pink and by the way his eyes widened, that he had received the message.

i like you.

Kibum eyes blinked rapidly as he looked away and bit his lower lip, seemingly afraid even though he didn't pull away from the grasp on his hand. Minho didn't give him a chance and gripped his hand even tighter, both in relief that he had finally conveyed what he wanted and in promise of not letting Kibum go anymore.

As they stood together, Kibum swallowed and asked how Minho knew. Minho laughed and explained how he recognized from the feel of the marker and from the way Kibum wrote. Kibum stared at him in disbelief and laughed, too. After a pause, Kibum said he thought Minho knew because no one would ever wait for rain to stop from a waiting shed and have two umbrellas with him.

Minho stiffened, and turned to look at Kibum, who gave him a sheepish smile before returning his grip on their hands.

As they held hands and watched the sky brighten, the scribbles on Kibum's hand disappeared completely because of the moisture and warmth.

But they didn't need those words anymore.