Xiumin's POV in Xiuchen. (Referred to as Minseok and Jongdae/Chen-Chen)

"Minnieeeee!"

I looked up, my face twisted in confusion at first until I noticed who it was. And it was like meeting him for the first time, and asking him out on a date, all over again.

Jongdae. Chen-Chen. I stood up and brushed my hands on my pants, removing my gardening gloves and smiling with my heart dancing in my  chest.

He skipped over, his face bright with his wide, white smile. His cheekbones glistened with sweat—he had obviously run here, from his place to mine—and he held out a small box.

"Jongdae-? I—what is this?" I stared down at his offering.

He looked down shyly. "It's just a little something. Open it." He grinned happily at the ground.

It was a pretty, baby blue box with a neat white ribbon tied in a complicated bow over it. I adored the color of the box—hinting on mint, hinting on the lightest of wintergreen mixed with a light periwinkle blue, hinting on teal. I glanced around uncertainly, from his eager eyes to the box. It looked fancy. My fingers itched at the edge of the bow.

"Chen-Chen, can you return it if I undo the bow?"

His face dropped slightly. The smile was less bright and immediately I felt a flare of alarm in my chest. Had I said something wrong? I'd totally said something wrong.

"How do you know you won't like it already, if you haven't even seen it yet?" His voice was quiet and instantaneously I smacked my forehead. God, even after years of going to school instead of just staying at home, I still couldn't figure out people. Or really, I still couldn't figure out how to communicate with them.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry Chen-Chen! I didn't mean it like that, it just looks so—nice. I can't accept this."

He glanced at me, his eyes reflecting relief, with the familiar warming joy that always danced on the edge of his pupils flooding back again. My heart did a double-take. "Just take it. And don't worry," he added, laughing as he saw the expression on my face. "I didn't steal it." He gave me a long look and smiled. "I swear I didn't this time."

I stared at the box once more. The ribbon, such a creamy soft white, like Jongdae's skin. The knot in the center so complicated and hardy, yet so intricate and delicate—with one small tug on the edge of the bow, the knot would unravel. Like Jongdae. I placed it in the palm of my hand and grinned. "If you open one side of the bow, I will too. That's the only way I'll accept this."

His mouth pulled down to one side in the adorable little frown of his. A breeze picked up and soft wisps of his brown-black hair waved slightly in the wind. He hesitated, and then stepped forward with a small smile. Being practically the most awkward and antisocial person with about the lowest-EQ on Earth, I had no idea what that smile meant.

Until later.

But at that moment, I thought Chen-Chen agreed, and I guided his fingers to the tail of one side of the ribbon, gently flapping. We pulled, and I caught the ribbon before it fell at our feet. It was too pure of a creamy snow-white to let it soil on the ground.

I opened the box, but my eyes were on Chen-Chen's face first. He was staring inside, not at me, with the expression of when one gives someone else a gift: a mixture of embarrassment and fear and hope.

When I looked down, finally, my heart practically stopped.

A small diamond-encrusted necklace, sparkling beautifully and nestled among robes of silky mint-green fabric. It caught at what little light there was left as the sun set, flashing dozens of colors across Chen-Chen's face, as if his white skin were a canvas for the beautiful geometrically-shaped greens, goldens, whites. The light danced as he moved, skipping and playing across the soft and sharp features of his skin. I found myself raising my head to stare at him, stare at the wondrous beauty of Jongdae. With the evening sun billowing pink fluffy cotton-candy clouds and rich sherbet layers of orange across the sky behind him, and Jongdae staring at the necklace in a mixture of admiration and envy, my fingers itched for the oil pastels and paints and brushes that would usually always be by my side at home.

"Do you like it?" Jongdae asked, almost in a whisper.

Oh. He expects an answer. The delicate heart-shaped charm, snug underneath its safe silk blankets, had a silver chain and another polished silver tag beside it. I turned the tag around and on it was engraved in gold, Minseok. From Chen-Chen.

I love you.

I looked up in shock. My lungs seemed to encrust with ice, and I found the air awfully cold and hard to breathe. My heart was frozen. I didn't know what to say. He was looking at his feet, and then he raised his face. Our eyes met. His cheeks were a burning, flamed red, enhanced by his pale skin. He struggled to keep a smile on his face, but it looked faker and was getting harder for him by the second. When my expression didn't change, he dropped the act, breathing out a huge puff of breath and dipping his head down into his chest with a sigh.

"I should've known," he mumbled, almost inaudible. "I should've known, hyung." Jongdae's voice was shaking.

With difficulty, I managed to blink. And open my mouth slightly. Once my body reanimated, everything moved too fast and of its own accord. I blinked rapidly, too many times, glancing down at the tag in which my fingers were still clutching onto. And then I spoke. "No." My own voice was practically a croak.

He looked up now, his eyes holding a million things—shock, heartbreak, terror—and among them, tears.

I quietly replaced the lid of the box. His mouth was slightly ajar, his eyes suddenly so dark and hidden and following my every move. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see him cry.

Tiffany & Co. My hands froze around the small, mint-colored box as they brushed past the silver inscription of letters, hidden previously by the ribbon. I closed my eyes, slowly, feeling my heart drop to my gut. How could I have been so stupid? How did I not notice the color orientation of the box, or the simple yet exquisite way in which the diamonds were made?

Oh, that's right. Because even though I was a wealthy, spoiled son expected to be able to identify designer materials with my eyes closed, I only noticed what I wanted to notice around me. I only noticed colors, not which designer had made what piece of clothing I was going to wear that day. I only noticed the melody of a song, wanting to play the song over and over in my head until I reached a piano; I never noticed how famous or wealthy the musician was, and how many connections I could've made if I was friends with him or her.

And even though it had definitely cost the fortune Jongdae didn't have to buy this small thing, this small token of love, it would've been a penny's worth of my pocket change. And realizing this fact made all the blood drain out of my head. I suddenly felt very dizzy.

I slowly took the ribbon, so pure and creamy white, and wrapped it around the box. I noticed that there was a streak of dirt on it already, although I had done nothing to it and I had not let it touch the ground.

I extended my hand, the small fragile box in my palm.

Jongdae stared at it, his eyes dark and shadowed—unfathomable. Gone were the beautiful smile and the warm joy that exuded from his eyes and lips; gone were the happiness and bubbliness that constantly resided with him before. His fingers trembled by his sides. They clenched into fists, the knuckles a hard, furious white, and at that moment I didn't mind if he wanted to punch me to the next galaxy. I knew I would deserve it. 

"No returns." He spat at the ground with his mouth clamped together in a tight line. His cheekbones were stained with tears and sweat.

My heart kick-started again, but this time it thudded in fear. He really looked like he was going to hit me, and for a second I almost bent to my mother's will. She hated me being around "commoners," or "poor little things". The way she saw it, anyone middle-class or below was a savage and unpredictable beast that simply didn't work hard enough to become wealthy and fortunate like us. She always discouraged my hanging out with Jongdae, but she could do nothing about it. She was the one that wanted me to make friends, even if it was a "savage and unpredictable beast" that was Chen-Chen.

But for a second, I believed her.

"Chen-Chen—"

"Don't call me that."

"Jongdae. I'm sorry." Even my own calm, level tone surprised me. It seemed to hurt Jongdae even more. His shoulders were hunched over, and his head was down like a scolded child's. A single tear dropped onto the ground with a solid thud, and his cheeks flamed.

"You rich, spoiled, ing selfish ruthless bastard."

Each word struck me like an arrow to my heart. I stepped back. I couldn't breathe.

Jongdae looked up finally, his eyes a mass of red and his hair wild and disheveled. With a shock I noticed how dirty the tears on his face were, flowing down and etching marks like small streams, and then I realized that he had washed his face before he'd come to see me. His neck was filthy, as were the rest of him. It made him look five shades darker and unkempt, although his natural skin was even smoother and paler than my own.

I found my voice again, and fought back my own tears that threatened to crawl out of my eyes. "Can you—can you walk with me?"

He hesitated, glancing down for a minute. His mouth was open, his lips curled back in a snarl, ready to beat me down with a snappy retort, but it was obvious he couldn't find one. His eyes glittered, darting back and forth with uncertainty, and it was then that I noticed how much he still loved me.

And how much I still loved him.

And how much I wanted to say it, but couldn't.

"Just...one more time," I whispered, trying not to choke up. "One last time, if that's what you—want."

One last time. I forced the words up my throat. He swallowed and stared at my hand.

Without waiting, I stepped forward and interlaced my fingers with Jongdae's, gently pulling him in the direction of the park. He moved sluggishly, as if we were in a slow-motion scene of some wack-job romantic parody film. He didn't resist my hand, or pull back, however, and I felt the slightest flutter of happiness that he didn't. We walked in silence.

Finally Jongdae said, "You know too much about me." His tone was harsh and grating.

I simply nodded.

He and I were so alike, and yet so different. We were both outcasts: my parents hated me, society in general despised him. Society hated him because he was poor, his father an alcoholic and his mother a drug addict. I was the idiotic son and disappointment of two wealthy heirs and geniuses.

I never fit anywhere at school. He didn't either. My mother had decided to send me to private school when I was old enough for seventh grade, just "to help me with my Public Relations" instead of being homeschooled by a tutor. Those were better words to put it; the accurate term might be more along the lines of, "in an attempt to make me less of an antisocial freak". Obviously it didn't work, especially with the latter set of rules she'd also imposed on me—of which I was reminded  every morning by the ever-faithful maids: avoid and do not intermingle or communicate in any way with the "common kids;" I was only to speak to my teachers or anyone of the upper middle class.

"For some reason, common kids always manage to worm their way in to a prestigious school system. Stay away from them and I hope they'll leave you well enough alone."

This resulted in my falling of deeper complete and utter isolation because of my dogged obedience. I couldn't talk to the other kids, given that I had no social skills whatsoever and they'd already established their own social groups since childhood. These kids were also quite exclusive about it. Snooty and stuck-up, they always gave me arrogant and flippant looks and turned their backs to me the second I tried to approach them. They didn't know my parents had more money than theirs ever would. And at that point, I'd made up my mind to never tell them and let them suffer in their own ignorance.

The poorer kids bullied me in the strangest way that was definitely bullying but not quite at the same time. I figured it was because they didn't want to get sued or deal with my parents' statuses, but instead of taking physical action towards me (as was "the way of the wild common man", as my mother puts it), they talked behind my back and shot me angry glances even though I'd done nothing to absolutely anyone. Which was why I'd retreated to the music room to eat lunch and indulge in my passions of piano and art, drawing and playing blissfully and ignoring the world outside.

That's where I met him, when he appeared to be a small little nerd with his nose in his books.

He had stumbled in, his face full of surprise and mine mirroring his expression, when he looked up from being deeply engrossed in a chemistry textbook—in which, up to this day, only Chen-Chen is capable of that sort of love for reading textbooks cover-to-cover.

He stared at me for a long minute, seeming almost to shrivel in his shoes. I huddled in the corner, startled. Although we had the same uniforms on, it was obvious I was from the better household, with my neatly ironed jacket and slacks, trimmed dark hair parted perfectly in place, and polished dressy designer shoes so shiny I could see my own reflection in them. His uniform was crumpled and stained, and his shoes were a few sizes too small. His hair was like nothing I'd ever seen before, wild and unruly like a lion's mane even though it was cut short.

His wide eyes focused on me in a fearful, deer-in-headlights fashion, and he began to inch slowly out of the doorway away from me, clutching his textbook to his chest and keeping me in his line of sight as if I were some deadly, poisonous cobra poised to strike.

"Don't!" was the croaked, faint whisper that escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

He froze, suddenly completely still, like a statue. Only his eyes darted around, with something of fear and terror. He was a poor kid, and given his nerdy appearance, he had every right to be terrified of someone like me. But I couldn't understand it. I knew the boundaries between us, the infinitely stretching range of hierarchy, but this was simply because of money. And at the time, I couldn't care less. I was in desperate need of a friend, and it seemed that he was too.

I stood up from the corner I was hiding in, between a cello case and a music stand, and he automatically flinched even though I was on the opposite side of the vast room. I saw a tremor run up his spine and it was the first time I remember that anyone was ever afraid of me. Me, such a small pale wimpy kid that only looks presentable because his mother still dresses him—a pathetic and ironic human being.

Despite the amount of power I had over nerd Jongdae, I didn't feel the thrill of possessing it.

"What are you going to do to me?" His words were a faint, terrified squeak that speared arrows of pity through my heart. "Please don't hit me. Or call in Kris. Oh please, no." His eyes widened and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

I looked at him curiously. He really was a strange boy. "Kris? Who's he?"

"A nightmare." He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, and then lifted his eyelids as quickly as he had closed them. He looked as if he'd been electrified. "Oh no! Please don't tell him I said that, I can't—"

I waited for him to calm himself down. Had I been a more socially-adept human being with mannerisms, I would've known that it was a good time to steer away from the topic. But God forbid twelve-year old Minseok be a mannered gentleman. So I said, "Why can't I tell him you said that? What has he got on you?"

It must've seemed like a menacing threat to Jongdae, because he cowered in his spot. His nervous, darting eyes flickered up as he thought quickly, probably in an attempt to help me understand. "He has more money than me," he said slowly. "Much more money. More power. More popularity. He likes to push me around. I can't do anything about it because of that." He looked at me again, but he only kept the gaze for a few seconds. "Is that better?"

I nodded, satisfied. Hierarchy was a topic I more than excelled at. "Yes. It's better."

He straightened up a little and adjusted his glasses. He stared at me, I who was staring back seemingly harmlessly, and he puffed out his chest a little. To this day, I still don't know what he might have been thinking of me—whether he was better off than I was because at least he had friends and didn't have to hide out in the music room to eat lunch alone, or whether I looked so sad that he felt every right to bully me the way others did to him. Looking back now, I admit that although out of the two of us, I was the rich privileged one who received homeschooling from fancy-shmancy tutors and world-renowned professors, Jongdae was the smarter and more clever one—probably smarter and more clever in his ten-year old form than I would ever be in my lifetime.

Because had I been in his position, I would've taken the chance to beat him up. A goody-goody rich kid that had no friends to back him up and no parents that would believe him if he was pushed around—even if this kid wasn't the kid I hated on forever and always, he was someone I could vent my anger on.

But Jongdae didn't. He'd stepped boldly towards me, acted like he was going to swing a big one at my face as I cowered in the corner—and he stopped. His fist hung in midair, rigidly, like someone had stopped it. And instead of walking away, he sat down next to me.

"Hi," he said. His lips curved up into a small smile. "I'm Jongdae."

A/N: I'm sorry guys. I'm just so sorry. /cries and rolls away/

I've been such a late updater, being me, and this has been in my computer for 5freakingever. So finally it has been revealed! It's pretty long, an ongoing fic of about 5,300 words and still continuing, so this is just a section of it. If you like it, please tell me in the comments and do support by upvoting! Make sure to subscribe to read more, and thank you guys so much, new and old readers, of my fics! Lalalaloveeeee forever <3 ~xoxo