Chapter Text
The scent of roasted coffee beans and vanilla greets Minho the moment he steps into the café. It’s warm inside, familiar, a safe haven he’s clung to for years. But today, it feels different.
He hesitates in the doorway, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His eyes scan the space—checking, double-checking. No strange faces lingering too long. No flicker of movement just outside the windows.
Nothing feels off, but the tension in his shoulders refuses to fade.
With a steadying breath, Minho steps forward, making his way to the counter.
The barista recognizes him immediately, offering a polite smile. “The usual?”
Minho nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”
As he waits, he risks another glance around the café. His usual seat in the corner is open, tucked away just enough to make him feel hidden but not trapped. He exhales, relieved.
Then, his gaze shifts.
Near the opposite side of the café, close to the windows, someone else sits alone. A boy, slouched slightly, a half-finished iced latte in front of him. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and a pair of headphones rest askew on his head.
Minho doesn’t recognize him immediately.
But then the details settle—soft features, familiar eyes, an aura he can’t quite place but knows he’s seen before.
He’s seen him before.
A flicker of something stirs in Minho’s chest.
But before he can think too much about it, his name is called, and he takes his drink, heading toward his seat.
He’s not here to overanalyze strangers. He’s here to work.
—
Jisung had arrived at the café long before Minho, curled up in his usual window seat, people-watching in his own quiet way.
He hadn’t been waiting for Minho.
He didn’t even know Minho would be here today.
So when he hears the faint murmur of Minho’s name at the counter, he stiffens, fingers twitching around his cup.
He risks a glance.
And there he is.
Even after all this time watching, Jisung still finds himself awed by Minho in real life. There’s something effortlessly captivating about him—the way he moves with quiet purpose, the way his sharp eyes scan the room like he’s always expecting something to be wrong.
Jisung knows why.
And it makes him feel almost guilty.
But today, he won’t do anything. He won’t follow Minho home. He won’t leave anything behind for him to find.
Today, he just wants to watch.
He tells himself this is fine.
That this is enough.
But as the hours pass, as Minho becomes absorbed in his writing, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his brows furrowed in concentration, Jisung finds his own resolve slipping.
He looks so beautiful like this.
The café empties out slowly as the evening stretches on. Jisung should leave. He knows he should leave.
But sleep creeps up on him before he can make that choice.
The last thing he sees before his eyelids fall shut is Minho—lost in his world, oblivious to everything else.
—
Minho hadn’t noticed him at first.
But when the barista announces the café’s closing time, he finally looks up from his laptop, stretching out the stiffness in his fingers.
And that’s when he sees him.
The boy from earlier, head tilted slightly to the side, his headphones crooked, his breath slow and even.
He’s asleep.
Minho blinks, unsure of what to do.
He could leave him. Could walk out the door and forget this moment entirely.
But something stops him.
Maybe it’s the way the boy looks oddly peaceful, lost in a dream Minho will never know. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the fact that Minho has spent so long feeling watched—and now, for once, the roles are reversed.
Either way, he finds himself stepping closer.
He hesitates before reaching out, pressing a gentle hand to the boy’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Minho murmurs. “They’re closing.”
A sharp inhale. A flutter of lashes.
Then, wide brown eyes meet his, hazy with sleep but quickly sharpening in shock.
Minho watches as the boy jolts upright, yanking his headphones off so fast they nearly tumble to the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and there’s something almost panicked in the way he takes Minho in.
For a moment, neither of them speak.
Then—
“S-Sorry,” the boy stammers, rubbing at his eyes. His voice is soft, lighter than Minho expected. “I didn’t—I wasn’t supposed to—” He stops himself, shaking his head quickly. “Uh. I mean. Thank you for waking me up.”
Minho nods, amused despite himself. “Didn’t want you to get locked in.”
The boy lets out a nervous laugh, his fingers fidgeting with his sleeves.
Minho tilts his head. There’s something strangely familiar about him. But he can’t place it.
“Do you… come here often?” Minho asks.
It’s an innocent enough question, but the way the boy reacts—freezing for just a second too long before forcing a nod—makes something stir in Minho’s chest.
“Yeah,” the boy answers quickly. “All the time.”
A beat of silence.
Then, the boy clears his throat, pushing his chair back. “I should, uh. Probably go.”
Minho watches him fumble to collect his things, nearly dropping his phone in the process.
And maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, or the strange pull he feels toward this boy, but before he can stop himself, Minho speaks again.
“Let me walk you out.”
The boy’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods.
—
The night air is crisp as they step outside. The café’s lights flicker off behind them, leaving only the glow of the streetlamps to guide their way.
Minho walks alongside the boy in comfortable silence.
When they reach the curb, the boy shifts awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Minho.
“Well,” he says, rocking on his heels. “Thanks. Again.”
Minho hums, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Then, without thinking too much about it, he asks, “Can I have your number?”
The boy goes still.
Minho raises a brow. “You don’t have to if—”
“N-No! No, it’s fine!” The boy laughs, high-pitched, clearly flustered. “I just—uh. One second.”
Minho watches, mildly entertained, as the boy fumbles with his phone, nearly dropping it twice before finally pulling up his contacts. He types in his number with shaky fingers before holding it out to Minho, as if terrified he might change his mind.
Minho takes the phone, saving the number.
“Jisung,” he reads aloud.
Jisung stiffens slightly but nods. “Yeah.”
Minho glances at him, taking in the faint pink dusting his cheeks, the way his hands are clenched at his sides like he’s barely holding himself together.
He doesn’t know why, but it makes something in him soften.
“Well,” Minho says, handing the phone back. “I’ll text you.”
Jisung nods, gripping his phone tightly. “Okay.”
Minho offers a small smile before turning toward his car.
Jisung stands there for a moment, watching him go, frozen in place.
And then, as soon as Minho drives off, Jisung spins on his heel and practically sprints home, his heart slamming against his ribs.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
But it happened.
And that’s all that matters.
Jisung bursts through the front door of his apartment, barely remembering to kick off his shoes before sprinting to his room. His heart is still racing, his hands clammy with leftover excitement. He throws himself onto his bed, grabbing his phone with shaky fingers and immediately dials Felix’s number.
It only takes two rings before Felix picks up.
“Jisungie?” Felix’s voice is thick with sleep. “Dude, do you have any idea what time it is?”
Jisung barely hears him, too giddy to care. “Felix, he talked to me.”
There’s a pause. Then, Felix inhales sharply. “No.”
“Yes!” Jisung rolls onto his back, gripping his phone tighter. “I mean—he woke me up first, but then we talked, and Felix—he asked for my number.”
Felix lets out a high-pitched squeal. “Shut up. Shut up. You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.” Jisung groans, covering his face with his free hand. “I—he shook me awake, and I thought I was going to die right then and there. It was not how I pictured our first conversation at all, but then—ugh, Felix, I was so flustered, I couldn’t even function properly.”
Felix giggles, fully awake now. “Oh my God, please tell me you embarrassed yourself.”
“Obviously!” Jisung groans again, flipping onto his stomach. “I literally fumbled with my phone so hard it almost flewacross the café. And then I just stood there like an idiot while he saved my number. Felix, I froze.”
Felix cackles. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
Jisung pouts. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” Felix teases. “Your suffering is just very entertaining.”
Jisung huffs but can’t fight the grin creeping onto his face. “But, Lix, he asked for my number.”
Felix hums, his voice softening. “Yeah. He did.”
Jisung stares up at his ceiling, his mind replaying the moment over and over. The way Minho looked at him, the way his voice sounded—deep, smooth, almost careful.
It was real.
They talked.
Minho knows his name now.
And he has his number.
Felix sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess this means you’re one step closer to making him yours, huh?”
Jisung bites his lip, rolling onto his side. His gaze flickers to the pictures on his wall—snapshots of Minho, taken in secret, carefully arranged like a shrine.
His fingers brush over one of them, tracing the curve of Minho’s jaw.
He doesn’t have to guess anymore.
Minho sees him now.
And soon, Minho will understand.
Jisung’s lips part, a whisper slipping free.
“You’ll be mine.”
Felix doesn’t hear it.
He’s already rambling about something else, oblivious to the way Jisung’s entire world has finally started shifting into place.
—
Minho sighs the moment he steps inside his apartment, locking the door behind him. The weight in his chest hasn’t completely settled, but at least here—within the walls of his home—he can breathe.
His first instinct is to check the cameras.
Every feed. Every angle.
The footage is clear. No flickers. No movement.
Nothing.
The unease lingers, but he ignores it.
Instead, he busies himself with feeding his cats, their soft meows filling the silence as he sets their bowls down. He watches them eat, grounding himself in the normalcy of it all.
Then, he moves to his desk, opening his laptop. He hesitates before pulling up his emails, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
The document with today’s writing stares back at him, unedited and raw. With a click, he sends it over to Chan.
Minho: Just sent the new chapters. Let me know what you think.
A few seconds pass.
Chan: Got it. I’ll read through them later. You okay?
Minho exhales. Ever the concerned friend.
Minho: I’m fine. Call me later?
Chan: Will do. Get some rest, dude.
Minho closes his laptop, rolling his shoulders as he heads to the kitchen. Cooking has always been therapeutic, a way to reset his mind, to focus on something tangible instead of the noise in his head.
As he chops vegetables, his mind drifts.
Not to the fear.
Not to the paranoia.
But to him.
Jisung.
The name rolls through his thoughts smoothly, and before he realizes it, he’s murmuring it under his breath.
Jisung.
Something about it feels… nice.
It’s been a while since Minho has actively thought about another person—someone outside of Chan, outside of work.
And yet, here he is, his thoughts circling back to a boy he barely knows.
He doesn’t understand why.
But maybe he doesn’t need to.
For now, he finishes cooking, plating his food neatly before snapping a quick picture.
Minho: Dinner’s done. If you don’t call me later, I’ll assume you’ve died.
Chan: Dramatic. I’ll call you.
Satisfied, Minho sets his phone down, settling in front of the TV with his food.
He flips through channels absentmindedly before stopping on a crime documentary. Something dark, something eerie.
It’s fitting, he thinks.
His newest book is shaping up the same way.
He rereads some of Chan’s edits while he eats, skimming through the feedback.
The fans will be surprised, that’s for sure.
They’re used to his romances, his lighthearted adventures.
But this new project—this descent into something darker—feels right.
It’s captivating.
It consumes him in ways his previous work never did.
He smiles to himself, the eerie glow of the TV casting shadows across his face.
This might be his best work yet.
Minho is half-asleep when his phone rings, the sound breaking through the comfortable haze settling over him. He groans, blindly reaching for the device and squinting at the screen.
Chan.
With a sigh, he answers. “You better be calling to tell me you won the lottery.”
Chan snorts. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sharing.”
Minho rolls onto his side, pressing the phone to his ear. “Then why are you bothering me?”
“I wanted to check in. And you did tell me to call you, so don’t act so surprised.”
Minho hums, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Well, since you called, I should update you on my latest life-changing decision.”
“Oh?” Chan sounds amused. “And what’s that?”
“I got someone’s number today.”
Silence.
Minho waits.
Then—
“You what?”
Minho smirks. “I got someone’s number.”
Chan sputters. “Hold on—you? The same Minho who actively avoids people? Who refuses to even acknowledge a crush? That Minho?”
Minho chuckles. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
Chan makes a noise of disbelief. “Okay, wait, who is it? I need details.”
“His name is Jisung.”
Minho doesn’t know why he feels nervous saying it out loud.
It’s just a name. Just a boy.
And yet—
“Jisung,” Chan repeats, as if testing it out. “And you asked for his number?”
Minho huffs. “Yes, Chan, I did. Don’t make it a big deal.”
Chan laughs. “Minho, it is a big deal. You never do this.”
Minho hesitates before admitting, “I was nervous.”
Chan scoffs. “No way.”
“I was,” Minho insists. “I almost didn’t do it. But I don’t know… I just felt like I should.”
Chan is quiet for a moment. “Well, I’m happy for you, man.” His voice softens. “I mean it. It’s nice seeing you open up to someone.”
Minho doesn’t respond right away. He lets the words settle, lets them sink into the spaces of himself that have long been untouched.
It’s… strange.
But not unpleasant.
They talk for a little longer, jumping between topics until Chan eventually yawns.
“Alright, I need to sleep,” he says. “Some of us have normal schedules.”
Minho smirks. “Boring.”
“Shut up. Get some rest, Min.”
Minho exhales, his eyes already drooping. “Yeah, yeah. Night, Chan.”
“Night.”
The call ends, and Minho barely remembers putting his phone down before sleep claims him.
That night, he dreams of soft, brown curls and the splatter of blood.
—
The police haven’t found anything.
That’s what they tell him when he calls for an update.
Whoever is stalking him is careful—meticulous. There’s barely anything to go on, no clear images, no identifiable features.
Minho listens to the officer on the other end, his fingers drumming against his desk.
“So there’s nothing?” he presses.
“We’re doing everything we can,” the officer replies. “Whoever this is… they know what they’re doing.”
Minho swallows. His eyes flicker to his security feed, watching the empty footage of his apartment.
“Alright,” he says finally. “Just—keep me updated.”
“We will.”
Minho hangs up and leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
It’s fine.
It has to be.
Still, the unease follows him everywhere.
At the grocery store, he feels eyes on him.
At the bookstore, he catches glimpses of shadows in his peripheral.
Even just walking down the street makes his skin crawl.
But—
He’s texting Jisung now.
It’s… nice.
Minho had sent the first message, of course.
Unknown: Hey, this is Minho
Jisung responded immediately.
Jisung: Hi! :)
They’ve been talking for a few days now. Their conversations are easy, effortless. They exchange pictures—food, book recommendations, Minho’s cats.
-
Min: [1 image attached]
Min: Soonie wants to say hi.
Sungie: AWH!! Tell Soonie I said hi too~ 😊
Min: Doongie also wants to say hi.
Min: [1 image attached]
Jisung blinks. Wait. Doongie?
Sungie: …Wait, there’s more than one??
He feels like a complete fraud. How had he not noticed that Minho had multiple cats? Sure, Soonie and Doongie looked alike, but now that he’s actually looking at the pictures, he can see the subtle differences—the slight variation in their fur patterns, the way their eyes reflect the light differently.
His heart pounds. I should have known this. I should have memorized this.
The screen lights up again.
Min: …
Min: I’m coming for you. Prepare your funeral now.
Jisung’s stomach flips.
Sungie: PLEASE I forgot!! It won’t happen again, I swear!! </3
Min: This is your last chance. Don’t forget them.
Jisung exhales, frantically scrolling through his camera roll. He needs to redeem himself.
Sungie: [1 image attached]
Sungie: Dori says hi!!
There’s a long pause. He bites his lip, staring at the typing bubble that pops up and disappears twice.
Min: Since when did you have a cat.
Jisung grins, feeling the warmth bloom in his chest.
Sungie: Recently rescued!
Another pause. Then—
Min: You might be the love of my life.
Jisung nearly drops his phone. His face burns, his fingers shaking as he types out his response.
Sungie: skekhwhsb
He throws his phone onto the bed, burying his face into his hands.
Minho liked him. He had to. There was no other explanation.
And if Jisung had his way—
Minho would be his, too.
-
Jisung is warm, charming.
Minho finds himself liking having him around.
Minho barely has time to dwell on that thought before Chan calls again.
“I made a new friend,” Chan announces.
Minho snorts. “Congrats?”
Chan ignores him. “His name is Felix. He’s Australian too. Really kindhearted guy.”
Minho hums. “Felix..”
Something about that name feels familiar.
But he can’t place it.
He brushes the thought aside. “Good for you, Chan.”
Chan laughs. “You sound so thrilled for me.”
“I am,” Minho deadpans.
They talk for hours.
Minho doesn’t think about the stalker again.
At least, not until later that night.
The news is on in the background as he cooks. It’s just noise, something to fill the silence.
Until—
“The bodies of six individuals were discovered late last night…”
Minho stiffens.
He turns to the screen, watching as the anchor continues.
Minho feels the blood drain from his face.
His heart pounds against his ribs.
Irrational or not—
He knows this is bad.
Very, very bad.