Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Jisung has been staring at the same blank document for around an hour now—which wouldn't be so bad, if he hadn't been doing the same thing for weeks before he had relocated to the middle of nowhere, under the impression that maybe a change of scenery could help break his persistent writer's block.

That's the entire reason he decided to move to this village, one that’s a couple of hundred miles away from Seoul, for the summer. He figured that time away from his hectic life as a mildly successful YouTuber (“Just a couple hundred thousand subscribers away from a gold play button!” That’s what he tells people when asked how he makes money off his four year old channel) would allow him to refocus his efforts on his original dream—to successfully publish a novel  before he hits the age of 28. A very arbitrary number, but it used to be 25—which is a little too late now. 

This dream was what prompted him to pursue a Creative Writing degree in university, but he had ended up filing for a leave of absence right before his last year. His channel had taken off, and he was actually getting money from YouTube on top of paid sponsorship deals; he quickly took advantage of his creativity for coming up with clickbait titles and exciting content. That was over two years ago—now he's close to burning out creatively, and he has no idea what to write about.

To be fair, being a D-list celebrity, he's actually had a few publishers offer him book deals. Most of them want him to write non-fiction about the Art of YouTube—those he turns away immediately. The rest are eager to print anything of his, hoping to make sales just based off of his name—but Jisung wants to publish something new that he can be proud of, and every single thing he wrote before he was 20 all feel like desperate rehashes of either Marvel comic arcs or the action packed Japanese manga he grew up reading; they all just make him cringe now. That, or they were self-contained short stories that he felt were fine but juvenile, and nothing he could really expand into anything more. He also had an offer to submit ideas for a possible weekly serial on Naver, but he kind of blew that when he couldn't produce a decent pitch for a plot, mostly thanks to the anxiety of having to produce more regular content for consumers—as if that wasn't what he was already struggling with on his channel.

His phone buzzes annoyingly, and he has to physically stop himself from picking it up; he really should turn off all of his YouTube and Instagram notifications, because they're mostly just inquiries as to when he's coming back. Some were very sweetly worded and weren't so bad, but there were also more than several that were rude and demanding. Both types of comments made him feel uneasy and he's an idiot for not switching notifications off after he uploaded his hiatus video a couple of days ago. Then again, if he's to be honest, clearly being missed by his audience feeds his ego; thus, the alerts stay on..

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

He  looks outside the window; he has a nice view of the town's lone bus stop and the road that leads deeper into the village. The atmosphere does feel like it has helped ebb away the stress he has been feeling for a while, but now he’s also starting to think that maybe this town is too quiet—too devoid of excitement to actually allow any inspiration.

He glances back at his empty document, and he sighs – maybe he’s also just making excuses for himself. Maybe he’s just not meant to do this, and maybe the real reason he quit school is because he just couldn’t cut it.

“Hey.” A gentle voice pulls him out of his self-pitying thoughts; he’s glad for that, because he never has enjoyed self-pity. It feels very much like a useless activity. He looks up and is taken aback by the man he sees—he’s beautiful. His face is small, but he has a jawline that looks like it could through steel. His eyes are big albeit filled with an expression that can only be described as distant; framed with long, pretty lashes and double eyelids. “Are these yours?” he asks, hand gesturing at the mess of papers laid out on the table behind where his laptop is set up. 

Jisung had brought with him a few story outlines and even a few short stories he had written a long time ago—before minor fame had distracted him. While he’s largely unhappy with stories he wrote in his teenage years, he still likes having them on-hand. For inspiration, if anything – at the very least, he could maybe take elements from his old work and rework them into something more presently palatable.

He also has a few rough character sketches he'd drawn in the past after he took an illustrating class in university. He was never a particularly talented illustrator as his affinity lay with words, but he also always did have an idea of what he wanted his hero to look like even when he was younger – always with bright colored hair and a confident grin; with big button eyes, a round face, and a body frame that was small, and lean. He has always had the same image of a protagonist in mind, just with minor changes over the years depending on what fashion was trendy, or what setting he fancied his story to take place in. Visualizing his characters had always helped him in crafting a story, which was why he had taken elective art courses to begin with. 

Not that his haphazard character designs are helping him now; and with the stranger picking up one of them—a sketch of what he imagined his hero's sidekick would look like—he just feels more nervous.

“Yeah…?” His anxiety grows when the stranger doesn’t stop at a simple inquiry.

He doesn’t say anything else either, at least not immediately. Instead, he picks up some of the pages, flipping through them and quietly studying Jisung’s various character sketches. It’s a bit intrusive, really, but Jisung finds that he’s curious about what the man thinks.

“Well?” he asks after the stranger places them back down.

“Well what?” The guy looks at him, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well that was kind of rude, so the least you could do is tell me what you think,” Jisung says.

The man is wearing an apron and holding a coffee pot, so Jisung assumes he works there but he has no name tag pinned on his shirt. Come to think of it, the barista who had taken his order earlier didn't have a name tag either. It's a small town, though, so they probably don't get a lot of customers who are unfamiliar with them.

“Not bad,” the stranger comments. “Reminds me of art styles of certain Japanese comic artists.”

Jisung scowls; the guy is probably right, he had grown up reading titles like Naruto and One Piece in manhwa bangs, but he feels like his work has just been labeled derivative.

“They're personal sketches,” he mutters, sliding the sketches under the rest of the paper pile. “They're just for my own visualization.”

“Cool,” Guy in an Apron nods; he simply holds up the coffee pot he's holding. “Refill?

Jisung sighs at the response, but he does nod and push his cup closer. As the guy fills it up again, Jisung's gaze travels past him, towards the counter.

“Jeongin's on his break now,” Apron tells him; Jisung assumes that's the name of the barista who served him earlier. “You get me now,” the guy adds.

“I get you?” Jisung laughs at the wording. “And who are you?”

“Lee Minho,” Apron introduces himself; finally, a name to match the face. “Your turn—I've never seen you around before, and I know all the families in this town.”

“Han Jisung,” he returns. “Uh, I'm staying at a friend's house—The Seos?”

“Oh.” Realization visibly dawns on Minho's features. “You're a friend of Changbin's,” he states, not really asking. “He's in town?”

“Um.” Jisung shakes his head. “Just me. He's letting me stay at the Seo house for a while.”

“Ah, well. Give him my regards anyway.” 

He smiles at Jisung, and then he's off to serve the only other patron in the café, a (presumably) teenaged girl with a stack of books on her table.

“I need to get away,” were his words when he confided in his closest friend, Changbin, about feeling stressed from work. It felt silly and embarrassing—how did he allow a fun and simple hobby turn into something that felt like weighted responsibility? “Every day, every night—all I think about is what kind of content will likely gain me more viewers—more subs—more engagement. I need a break. This isn't what I wanted when I thought about a successful future.”

It really wasn't; maybe if it was then he wouldn't feel so burdened about the constant grind. Frankly, he was an aspiring author who started telling stories as early as five years old. YouTube was a hobby he picked up at the start of his university career—a little creative outlet on the side that bloomed into something more after he went viral once (it was a short comedic skit filmed as a project for one of his classes, but he'd quickly pivoted from that, as his channel is now mostly silly vlogging content featuring himself and some of his friends), and he realised that he could make pretty decent money from it if he tried. 

And then it took over his life completely, but right now he'd digress.

Changbin had chuckled when presented with Jisung's problem but there was genuine concern in his eyes. He comes from a rich family who generously helped bankroll the initial investment of his little tattoo shop in Hongdae—something he's extremely passionate about to this day, so Jisung doubts he fully understood his predicament, but he appreciated that Changbin was hearing him out.

“Then get away,” Changbin told him simply.

Jisung scoffed. “It's not that easy. Where would I go? What would I do?”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

He had paused, not because he didn't have an immediate answer in mind but because he felt even more embarrassed. He gave up a degree in writing to have a career in vlogging, and now he wants to reverse the situation.

“I want to write and publish a novel,” he mumbled, his words barely audible as he chewed on his paper straw.

“Then do that,” Changbin urged him. “Look, my family has this house in a small village in North Gyeongsang, and no one really lives there. It's a nice place—really quiet, and really green because it's a farming village. I could let you stay there for as long as you need. Maybe a change in pace and scenery is all you need—maybe once you get away from the hustle and bustle you'll be able to write this generation's #1 best seller.”

Jisung laughed back then because Changbin's suggestion had seemed so simplistic, but after a night of tossing and turning, unable to sleep because with an offered solution to his troubles, he couldn't help but consider it.

And now here he is, in the middle of nowhere, feeling just as blocked as he had been in Seoul.

Changbin's family home in the country was more modest than Jisung had expected it to be—then again, he's been to Changbin's family home in the city and it's quite grand. A four bedroom at one of the more prestigious high rise buildings in Seoul—he never fails to tease his friend about the fancy chandelier that hangs from the living room ceiling.

Meanwhile, the house that he's allowed Jisung to stay at for free is just a small cottage with two bedrooms, both with roll out mattresses fitted in instead of beds. There is also an old-fashioned but cosy kitchen, as well as a small living area where Jisung could easily imagine Changbin's small family of four gathering at.

Changbin told him that his mother had grown up in this village before she moved to Seoul in her teens, and the house was where they stayed whenever they visited his grandmother during his youth. According to him, after his grandmother had passed, it had turned into a place that allowed his family to unwind and just spend time with each other whenever the stress of the city became too much for his parents.

With those kinds of anecdotes, Jisung thinks he understands how Changbin grew up so well-adjusted despite his family's wealth. He also understands that maybe that's why Changbin thought the place could help him out.

Unfortunately, while Changbin's family had kept the electricity available and paid for, an empty house had no use for WiFi. When Jisung arrived the night before, he felt cut off from the modern world; he has his mobile plan, but it’s a little hard catching a signal unless he stands at a particular spot in the backyard.

When he called the nearest ISP company, he had been told that it would take at least 48 hours before they could come and set-up their service, much to his frustration. And so, that morning, after breakfast—which consisted of stale coffee because a half empty pack of instant coffee is all he had found in the kitchen pantry—he had set off to find himself a place with WiFi, or at least better cell reception. 

Lucky for him, after asking around with some surprisingly friendly villagers, he found a place. It was advertised as a café, sort of—it looked more like a house from the outside, but a small wooden sign hung above a side entrance.

‘Lee's’ was the name displayed. The sign was simple, yet cryptic; there was no indication whatsoever about what kind of establishment it was.

Upon entering, he had been met with the smell of old books mixed with new; the room was small, and a bit dim, with bookshelves lining the walls. It made him curious, but he continued to pass through it, led by the sign that indicated coffee and pastries were being sold in the next room.

In contrast, as soon as he passed through the door to the next room, the smell of sweets and caffeine immediately filled his senses. The room was brighter as well, with sunlight peeking through big windows. It was confusing, to say the least. However, ‘FREE WIFI WITH YOUR COFFEE’ was also advertised on a sign above the counter, which was good enough for him.

“Oh, the owner of the house—well the late grandfather of the owner of the house was something of a town historian,” the barista behind the counter—the one Lee Minho had referred to as Jeongin—explained when Jisung had curiously asked about the library setup of the other room. “He loved books, and even after he passed, his wife treasured his collection. And after she passed, their daughter had no idea what to do with all the books. I think she tried selling, but eventually she and her son decided on just sharing with everyone by encouraging customers to come and pick something to read over coffee.”

“That's… neat,” was all Jisung could say; he also wondered if maybe going through some books could possibly help inspire a story.

Five hours have passed since he arrived at the café, and four since his first exchange of words with Lee Minho. A few patrons have come and gone since then, most of them taking their drinks to go—even the girl with the stack of books from earlier had already gone. He has also had four refills of his coffee cup since, and he has no doubt that he's going to spend the night unable to sleep, and probably shaking from over caffeination.

That doesn't stop him from waving Minho over and gesturing that he wants his cup filled again.

His blank document isn't so blank anymore, because it now has twenty  words written on it:

Lee Minho has often been told that in the event of an apocalypse, his friends would choose to save him.

To  be fair, these are not the first or only twenty words he has written all afternoon - they're just the latest twenty, after he has typed and deleted most of everything else.

As a matter of fact, he's about to delete these twenty as well; he's a little embarrassed about naming his hero after the pretty barista who has been serving him all afternoon (although at least he has the excuse that it’s a very common name, and if asked, he could just answer that he named his character after Gu Junpyo-slash-Kim Tan), but mostly he isn't really convinced he wants to write about a zombie apocalypse anyway.

Fuck, he thinks. Because he couldn't even come up with a setting. 

“You look really frustrated,” Minho the barista comments when he comes over and pours more coffee into Jisung’s cup. He’s been extremely… well, friendly, isn’t exactly the word Jisung would use because his countenance lacks certain warmth and sweetness and cordiality, but he has been quite consistent in the way he makes small talk every time he approaches. Jisung would find it annoying, except for some reason, he doesn’t.

“It’s just one of those days,” he mumbles. “When things just don’t go my way.”

“Ah.” Minho nods agreeably, like he relates. He leans over to catch a glimpse of Jisung’s screen, and Jisung, panicked, quickly tabs from his word document to his browser, which happens to be open on YouTube. “Sorry, am I being nosy?” Minho asks, chuckling in a way that doesn’t make him sound apologetic.

“No—” Jisung begins, and then he pauses. Somehow, Minho seems like the type who wouldn’t mind if he’s brutally honest. “Yes, actually.”

Minho’s laugh grows. “Sorry,” he repeats, but this time it sounds more sincere. “But if there’s anything I can help with—? Another slice of chocolate cake, perhaps? Chocolate’s been known to raise endorphins, after all.”

Jisung is tempted, but at the same time he can feel his stomach rumbling. The café doesn’t really serve proper meals, and since he’s only been there all day, he hasn’t had a proper meal at all. All he’s had is coffee (loads of coffee), a slice of chocolate cake and a chicken sandwich. He’s not the type to get hungry easily, but now that food is in his mind, he realises that he’s starving.

“Do you know somewhere that I can get dinner, actually?” He asks Minho; surely there’s at least one restaurant in this town?

“I do,” Minho nods. He glances at the walled clock that’s nailed over the counter, and then he turns back to Jisung. “We close at 6—that’s a little less than an hour from now. If you could wait until then, I’ll take you where you can get the best dinner in town.”

Jisung takes a deep breath and weighs his options. Sure, he’s hungry, but he supposes he can wait. He should try to get more than twenty words done for the day, at least. Fifty is a good number—maybe he can even go for a hundred, if something clicks within the next half hour.

“Well—” he hums; and then he realises that Minho’s wording made it sound like they would have a meal together. That makes Jisung’s face feel warm, but he finds that he isn’t opposed to it. “Okay,” he nods in agreement. “I can wait.”

Minho smiles at him, blinding, despite the crookedness of his two front teeth, showcased in a way that reminds Jisung of a rabbit.

When Minho leaves, Jisung proceeds to hit backspace on his keyboard, deleting the twenty words on his screen. Maybe he can write about a boy with a bunny sidekick instead.

At 6 on the dot, Minho starts to clean up. The last customer, other than Jisung, had left at least twenty minutes ago, so it doesn’t take more than ten minutes. Afterwards, Minho approaches Jisung with a smile.

“Let’s go,” he says, and beckons for Jisung to follow him.

He leads the way out, and they pass through the small library before they get to the exit, where Minho flips the overhang sign to show the ‘CLOSED’ side.

“Where are we going?” Jisung asks. “Is it far?”

Minho snorts. “Define far? In this town, it takes thirty minutes at most to get from one place to another, and that’s on foot.” He glances at Jisung. “Of course, that doesn’t count hiking in the mountains, but I assume you understand what I meant.”

Jisung nods, and faintly smiles at him. Frankly, he’s relieved that they don’t have to go far, because if he was starving before, now he’s famished. He’s very much surprised, however, when they simply circle around the building, and Minho proceeds to walk up the front steps and unlocks the front door.

“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” He asks, confused as he follows Minho inside the house.

“I said I was going to take you somewhere you can have a good meal,” Minho clarifies.

“Actually you said, the best dinner in town,” Jisung corrects him; if Minho is going to be exact with his words, Jisung can play along.

Minho laughs. “All meals are the best when you’re hungry, and I could hear your stomach all the way from the counter earlier.”

Jisung takes his shoes off by the door, places them next to Minho’s own discarded pair, and proceeds to lug his massive laptop bag with him as he goes after Minho further into the house.

“Are you allergic to anything?” Minho asks as he opens his fridge.

“Not really,” Jisung answers, shaking his head; he watches as Minho takes out various containers of side dishes. “My stomach feels funny sometimes when I have too much dairy, but I endure for the sake of ice cream.”

Minho laughs. “Yeah, you seem the type to do just that,” he comments, only to be surprised when he looks at Jisung’s direction and he finds that he’s still carrying his bag. “Put your things down and feel at home,” he tells him. 

Sheepishly, Jisung moves back to place his things down in the living room, before he shows up back in the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah.” Minho shakes his head. “Everything’s pretty much ready. How do you feel about leftover rice?” he asks as he plugs in the rice cooker, flipping the setting to keep warm. “I usually do fried rice, but I’d feel bad for making you wait even longer.”

“It’s—” Politeness decrees that Jisung assure Minho that it’s fine, but he stops himself short. “Thank you,” he finishes instead. 

It should feel more awkward, being in a stranger’s home, waiting to be fed. He and Minho have hardly interacted outside of casual chit chat whenever he poured Jisung coffee, yet he feels comfortable in his presence.

Changbin would probably tease him—tell him that he’s just a sucker for good looking men. That physical attraction is what compelled him to follow Minho into his home despite not really knowing him, but there’s something more to it than that; something about the way Minho was open and friendly, yet guarded somehow. Maybe it’s because Jisung himself is usually more shy around strangers that the way Minho fell into such easy rapport with him—interacting with him like he has long been one of the cafe’s regulars, renders him curious.

Alternatively: it’s the peaceful lull of the town lowering Jisung’s own walls. Hopefully, it isn’t for naught and Minho doesn’t turn out to be some sort of serial killer in hiding.

As promised, it isn’t long before the dining table is filled with an assortment of side dishes, and Minho is setting down a bowl topped up with warmed up rice in front of Jisung.

“Did you make all of these?” Jisung stares at the spread in front of him; it’s a quite modest spread, but considering most of Jisung’s meals back in Seoul consist of instant ramyeon or delivered food, he’s pretty impressed and excited about the homecooked—albeit reheated—meal in front of him.

“Well—” Minho laughs. “Not really. The kimchi is from the Aunty who lives down the road. Most of the pickled side dishes are largely from neighborhood ajummas—they love feeding me for some reason.”

For some reason, Jisung repeats to himself, holding back a snort. He can vividly imagine neighborhood aunties falling all over their feet to serve Minho, probably in hopes of having him marry their daughters. 

“I cooked the samgyetang, though,” Minho shares. “From scratch. I cook once or twice a week, and I usually end up making enough to last throughout because I live alone. Go on,” he urges. “Try some.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jisung announces, lowering his head before reaching over and transferring some of the chicken into his bowl. 

He had not really expected much, knowing the food is reheated; as soon as he takes his first bite, however, his eyes widen in surprise. He clearly isn’t subtle about it either, because Minho takes one look at him and laughs.

“Are you sure you made this?” He asks, the disbelief in his tone part teasing, and part genuine.

“I told you I was going to take you to where you can have the best meal in town,” Minho answers sassily. “I’m no liar.”

Jisung laughs along and shakes his head, but he relaxes in his seat and simply helps himself to more of the food. 

“Thank you,” he says, in the middle of the meal; he’s not the type to eat a lot, but he can’t stop digging into his food.  To be fair, he’s been starving all day, but the more he eats this particular meal, the more he remembers how much he misses good food.

“You’re welcome,” Minho replies with a grin. “Your day going a little bit your way now?”

Jisung laughs. “More than a little,” he admits. “It’s not every day some pretty boy invites you into his home to feed you.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Minho asks, and Jisung momentarily freezes. He’d been so focused on stuffing his mouth with food, that he hadn’t been paying attention to what comes out of it.

He blinks and looks up, cheeks filled. Their eyes lock, and he slowly swallows. “I’m sure you know you’re pretty,” he manages to hit back with a certain degree of practiced nonchalance.

Minho laughs and shrugs. “False humility is pointless,” he says, and Jisung actually agrees with him on that.

“So, you invite everyone new in town to dinner like this?” Jisung asks.

“Nah,” Minho shakes his head, “only the cute ones.”

It’s such an obvious comeback that Jisung should have seen it coming, but Minho says it in such a deadpan tone that it catches him off-guard. He almost chokes on rice, and as he coughs—and as Minho hands him a glass of water while laughing, he can’t help but think that he totally walked into that.

“Warn a guy, would you!” He huffs after he manages to get water down, and his own sputtering comes to an end.

“What was the warning supposed to be?” Minho is still laughing. “Caution: flirtatious lines ahead.”

“So you are flirting with me?”

“Not really, but that’s how my words came across to you, right?”

Jisung narrows his eyes at Minho. “I don’t understand you.”

Minho smirks. “Few people do.” A beat passes, and he continues, “But we can start trying to understand each other if you let me know more about you.”

Jisung wrinkles his nose, and instead of answering, he petulantly shoves another spoonful of rice into his mouth. Minho seems amused, and not at all deterred by his behavior.

“Okay, I’ll start for you,” he declares while watching Jisung eat. “Han Jisung. That’s your name. And you take your coffee with two shots of cream, and barely any sugar. Also, you like eating cake slices starting from the wide side, ending with the tip.”

Jisung completely swallows his food. “And you’re Lee Minho,” he returns. “Extremely observant, whom neighborhood ajummas love to fawn over.”

“Fair enough.” Minho looks even more amused now. “Anything more you want to add?”

“About myself, or about you?”

Minho laughs. “I know myself well enough, thank you, so I pick option one. How do you know Changbin?”

“I’ve known him since high school,” Jisung shares. “He’s a year older than me, but we were in the same club at school.”

“Changbin was a part of the school paper staff, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Jisung confirms. “I was a features editor. How do you know Changbin-hyung?”

“I was his first kiss,” Minho answers, once again in a tone so uniquely deadpan that Jisung thinks Minho would probably have the right to patent it if he so wishes to.

“What?”

Minho laughs again. “To be fair, he was my first kiss too. It was during Chuseok holidays,” he recounts. “The year I turned 15. He was 14 then—and if you’re a year younger than him, then that means you’re two younger than me. Which makes you 25 this year—right?”

“Lee Minho,” Jisung recites, even as he makes a mental note of Minho’s age himself. “Good in arithmetic.”

“I did get decent grades in Math when I was in high school,” Minho shares. “Never really needed it much after that—at least until I took over the family business.”

“Oh. Right!” Jisung perks up. “So the cafe—it’s yours? What’s up with the library?”

“What do you mean what’s up with the library?” Minho chortles. “People benefit a lot from reading!”

Jisung groans. He knows that more than most people, considering he wants to produce work that people will have to read. “No, I mean—that was a strange choice, having people enter the café through a library.”

“Ah, honestly, when I was really young, the café part of the house used to be my grandfather’s studio office. The library has always been there,” Minho explains. “When they had the house renovated to make space for the cafe, they had a side entrance put in. My mother actually wanted to donate or sell the books after both my grandparents died, but my grandfather actually had a lot of old town history records there—and we figured that lending out books to villagers would help encourage more reading. Sometimes people come to read over coffee, so in some ways it also helps with business. There isn’t really a lot of much else to do around town—the nearest movie theater is an hour long bus ride away, and WiFi gets choppy in some areas.” 

Jisung groans. “That reminds me, my WiFi isn’t gonna be set up until the day after tomorrow.”

“You’re living in the Seo house right?” Minho winces. “Reception is pretty bad over there even after you get it set up.” Jisung frowns at the information, but Minho’s smile grows wider. “Don’t look so glum—take this as an excuse to come see me more at the café!”

Jisung laughs; Minho’s words are flirtatious, but his tone leans towards matter-of-fact. He still doesn’t understand him, but his interest is even more piqued. 

“It sounds like you just want to see more of me,” he points out.

“Sure,” Minho answers simply, shrugging. “I do. Why wouldn’t I? You’re the first new person I’ve seen in months,” he points out with a laugh. “Which is why my next question is—what brings you all the way out here?”

“Ah.” Jisung looks down at his food; it feels silly to share that it’s because he wants to write, and he realises that it’s been a long while since he thought of himself as an author. “Well.”

Minho tilts his head to the side, and stares at him, waiting. “Is it something top secret?” he asks, and this time, his tone is clearly teasing.

Jisung laughs and shakes his head. “I’m trying to write,” he explains, and somehow, saying it out loud is less embarrassing than he had expected it to be. “I had too many distractions in the city, which is why Binnie-hyung is letting me stay at their house.”

“What are you trying to write?” Minho asks; and then, as if realisation has dawned on him, “Oh, is that what the character designs I saw earlier were for?”

Jisung feels his face warming up; he’d forgotten that Minho saw his rough designs. “Yeah,” he admits. “I’m not—” he chuckles, “I’m not that good at drawing, but coming up with characters first usually helps me write.”

Minho nods. “What’s your story about, then?”

Jisung winces. “And therein lies my problem,” he admits. “My story is about nothing so far.”

“Well, what kind of story are you thinking of writing?”

Jisung thinks about the kind of stories he wants to tell—the kind of stories he used to write when he was younger; stories about superheroes, and fantastical adventures; about young boys with big dreams and even bigger promise and determination. 

That was the kind of boy he used to be, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard to write the same kinds of stories now. He’s attached to the same hero, but it’s not who he has become. 

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Ah, is this why all the frustration?”

Jisung nods cautiously, and Minho hums as if in thought. 

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Minho offers quietly. “Sometimes you have to ease up before things work out.”

“Maybe so,” Jisung finds himself agreeing. “But that’s why I’m here—this is my way of easing up.”

Minho laughs and shakes his head. “You’re still too focused,” he points out. “Forget about it for a few days and let ideas come to you instead.”

Jisung hums; he supposes he has nothing to lose at this point if he tries out Minho's advice.

Early next morning, with Jisung still half-asleep, Minho shows up on a bicycle, carrying a tote bag filled with containers of food. 

“I assumed if you didn’t have food for dinner, then you wouldn’t have food for breakfast either,” he says, grinning as he holds up the bag.

“I’ve known you for a day, and I think I already love you,” Jisung comments, eyes growing wide as he makes grabby hands at the food. 

“Calm down,” Minho laughs, handing Jisung the bag. “It’s just fried rice—and I packed some of the side dishes that I have in abundance. But I also thought I’d invite you to go to the marketplace?”

Jisung looks up, surprised. “Really?”

“Well, it’s not so much a marketplace as it is a general goods store,” Minho explains with a chuckle. “But twice a month, vendors set up across the street with freshly farmed vegetables, and today is one of those times. You do need supplies, don’t you?”

Jisung narrows his eyes at Minho. “Why are you so nice to me? You aren’t a serial killer trying to get me to drop my guard so you can torture me and kill me… are you?”

“Would a serial killer live in this backwards town?” Minho laughs. “Can’t imagine getting away with murder when everyone in the area knows me.”

“You could be one in hiding,” he points out. “Returning to your hometown is the perfect excuse.”

“I can see why you’re a fiction writer.”

“Touché.” Jisung laughs. “Okay, let’s have breakfast first, and then we can go?”

Minho nods without any more argument, and Jisung motions for him to follow him inside. Having Minho come over is a pleasant surprise, and it also reminds him of the conversation he had with Changbin the night prior, where Minho had, expectedly, come up as a topic.

Jisung had been in the middle of washing up for bed, when he had heard the sharp ringing of the landline. He was surprised, considering he didn’t even know it was still connected, and he had to run out of the bathroom so he could pick up the phone.

“So, how’s your first day over there?” Changbin had asked without a ‘hi’ or ‘hello.’

“I have no WiFi,” was Jisung’s own way of greeting his friend back.

“Right, sorry—I forgot to tell you about that. But if you call the local ISP, they should be able to set something up?” Changbin assured him.

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot,” Jisung had returned, although there’s no real bite in his tone. “They’re coming the day after tomorrow, but I hear it wouldn’t really make much of a difference where your house is located.”

Changbin cackled, a little too filled with mirth at Jisung’s misfortune. “At least that leaves you more time to focus on writing—you don’t need the internet for that, do you?”

“I guess.” Jisung had sighed. “Unless I need to look up things. By the way, I met someone who says he knows you.”

He had heard Changbin snort through the line. “Everyone knows each other in that town, so I’m not surprised—I’m more surprised at you meeting someone.”

“Hey!” Jisung huffed. “I take offense in that!”

“You’re not exactly a people person, Jisungie. I mean—you’re great with friends, but not with strangers.”

Jisung couldn’t really argue the accuracy of that, so he decided to let it go . “His name’s Lee Minho,” he said, simply ignoring Changbin’s words. “He says he’s your first kiss.”

Changbin started coughing, and Jisung easily imagined him almost choking on his own spit; he was unable to hold back a grin, enjoying the image far too much. 

“How’s Minho-hyung?” Changbin asked, voice hoarse.

“He seems well?” Jisung answered. “He’s an okay guy, right?”

Changbin laughed. “Quite frankly, he’s a little strange—then again, so are you—”

“Oi!”

“Then again, so are you,” Changbin repeated for emphasis, “so I could imagine the two of you getting along well. But yeah, I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he’s a decent guy. You know how when you don’t see someone for a long time, things tend to be awkward when you meet again? It was never like that with him.”

“Is that why you gave your virgin lips to him?” Jisung teased, snickering.

“Fuck off,” Changbin spat back, laughing. 

He hadn’t really pried about Jisung’s progress on his writing, which he appreciated, even if that was to be expected from Changbin. He’s Jisung’s oldest friend, so by now he’s aware that Jisung would open up only if and when he’s comfortable enough to. He appreciated Changbin’s call though, if anything because it had allowed him to feel better about the way he’s so immediately comfortable with Minho.

If Changbin vouches for him, then that’s enough for Jisung.

When he first arrived, Jisung had made a quick go around the Seo cottage, and it was then that he had noticed an old bicycle parked in the storage shed out back. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the gears and spokes could use a little lubrication, but other than that it was perfectly usable.

He remembers this when Minho jokingly offers to let him ride on his bike’s handlebars when they head to the store together.

“You're tiny anyway,” Minho teases.

Jisung is all set to snap back in feigned affront, when he recalls the existence of the bicycle.

“There’s an extra bike parked in the back, actually. It was probably Changbin-hyung’s or his sister’s—it’s pink so I’m betting on it being hyung’s,” he jokes.

“Oh, that’s even better, actually,” Minho nods agreeably. “The best way to get around town is by cycling, so if you have one to use, then that’s great.”

When he shows it to Minho, the latter quickly agrees that it needs to be lubricated and that, additionally, the tires also need to be pumped a little. Lucky for them, they easily find bike grease and an air pump in storage – unsurprising, considering the Seos probably tune up the bicycle the same way whenever they’re in town.

Minho seems to know exactly what to do, so Jisung just watches him work quickly, while he does his best to dispel any and all thoughts of how attractive Minho looks just fixing his bike.

“Do you cycle often in the city?” Minho asks, when they finally prepare to ride off, and Jisung initially wobbles.

“Obviously not,” Jisung retorts, laughing; nevertheless, he’s quickly able to find his balance. “Last spring, a friend and I rented bikes and cycled along Han River,” he recounts. “I even featured it on my channel.”

“Channel?”

It’s only then that it dawns on Jisung, that despite having spent hours conversing with Minho after dinner, he never actually had the chance to mention that he’s a mildly successful YouTuber. They had ended up talking mostly about popular shows from their childhood, to the point where they end up having a mildly spirited debate as to who would win in a fight between Ultraman and Naruto—a strange match-up, but most of the conversation between him and Minho circled around the strange, but interesting.

“Yeah, I—uh. I earn a living through YouTube,” Jisung explains.

“Really? Like—do you do meokbangs?”

“Sometimes?” Jisung shrugs. “Mostly when there are new food trends—I usually film those with friends. Sometimes I inadvertently start trends on my channel, too? Like The Juicy Peach Challenge, have you heard of that?”

Minho shakes his head and laughs. “Not really. But mostly I just watch cute animal compilations on YouTube.”

“Fair enough,” Jisung laughs along. “I end up on that side of YouTube a lot myself.”

“Wait, so—you make money off that?” Minho looks impressed, which makes Jisung preen. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

And it really was, at least for a while, until one day he realised that he really wasn’t doing something he was passionate about; until one day, he woke up and coming up with content was too much of a job, and less like a hobby he happened to make money off of.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Jisung chuckles. “I guess I’m just tired of it,” he shares, and this is the first time he has shared that, out loud, with someone. “Writing is what I’ve always wanted to do—and for a while, coming up with content was a good enough outlet for my creativity, but it’s not what I want, you know?”

Minho nods slowly. “Hence the career move?”

“Hence the attempt at a career move,” Jisung corrects him. “Writer’s block is a pretty tough opponent.”

“I have a feeling it gets easier once you stop thinking about it,” Minho shares. “I know nothing about writing specifically, but in my experience most creative endeavours are like that.”

“Well, you’re the one who just made me think about it again!” Jisung points out with a huff. He thinks Minho makes a point, though.

“Me?” Minho points at himself. “All I did was ask if you bike around the city!”

“Whatever—” Jisung laughs, his grip on the handlebars tightening as he starts to pedal harder so he can pass right by Minho. “Race you!”

“Sure—!” Minho calls out after him, not even bothering to pick up his pace. “You don’t even know where we’re going!”

Nevertheless, it only takes around ten minutes of cycling with Minho leading before they arrive at the general goods store; just like Minho said, there’s a tent set across the street, where vegetable vendors had set up shop.

Minho waves in their general direction, and the acknowledgment he gets in turn is quite enthusiastic. 

“We’ll buy from them last,” he tells Jisung as he parks and locks his bike to a rack outside the store. “It’ll be easier to get general supplies first. Do you know what you need to buy?”

“Uh—” Jisung lives by himself in the city, so it isn’t as if he’s completely clueless about what he needs; he brought toiletries and other hygiene related items with him, however, so he only really needs to stock the pantry. “Coffee,” he answers. “Lots of instant ramyeon—” he laughs, before admitting, “I don’t really cook.”

Minho stares at him. “How do you survive?”

“I just told you! Ramyeon! And lots of delivery and convenience store food.”

Minho laughs and shakes his head in obvious disapproval. “That isn’t gonna happen here,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, Han Jisung, what would you do if you hadn’t met me?”

It’s an incredibly presumptuous comment, even if said jokingly, and if any other person had said it, Jisung might have actually felt miffed. As it is, he actually laughs at Minho.

“Starve, maybe,” he comments. “Or, more likely, cry to Changbin and demand he send me boxes of ready-to-eat meals from Seoul. At one point, I’d probably find this place, though—” he comments, following Minho’s lead, and picking up a basket where they’re stacked near the entrance. “And then I’d be able to go back to living on instant ramyeon,” he finishes, beaming as he spies a shelf stacked with exactly that.

“Tch.” Minho clicks his tongue, as he walks around himself, pausing every so often as he picks supplies off the aisle to place them in his basket. “Like I said, it’s a good thing I’m here.”

“You’re full of yourself,” Jisung berates him, but the grin he wears proves that he agrees; in any case, he’s glad that he seems to have made a friend so easily in this small town. “Why are you here, anyway?” he asks, realising something. “Don’t you have a cafe to run?”

“Jeongin is working all day today,” Minho explains. “And Jiheon is working on organizing the library, so if by some kind of miracle the cafe gets more than a handful of patrons at a time, she’d help out for sure.”

“Jiheon?”

“Do you remember that girl yesterday? Bangs, cute eye smile? Head buried in a stack of books—?”

“Ah!” The description easily jogs Jisung’s memory; they’ve reached the shelf with various flavors of ramyeon, and as expected he practically fills his basket with at least a dozen packets. “Yeah?”

“She goes to university in Daegu, but she’s home for the summer so I’m paying her to organize the library,” Minho explains; he eyes Jisung’s basket with some obvious disapproval, but he doesn’t really comment on it.

“Ah.”

“Jeongin likes her,” Minho adds, a glint of mischief mirrored in his eyes. “And I’m sure she likes him back.”

“And you’re playing Cupid?”

Minho laughs. “Why would I do that? Takes too much work to be a matchmaker.”

Jisung snorts; somehow it’s obvious that he’s putting in the work anyway. He thinks he’s starting to understand Minho, even if just little by little.

Jisung would have thought that days would go by more slowly in a small, rural town than they would in a busy city, and yet they start passing quickly. Even after he gets WiFi at home, he spends more time at Lee’s, where Minho diligently refills his coffee cup without needing to be asked. 

He takes his laptop with him, but he’s stopped opening the word processor. Mostly, he chats with Minho—and even with Jeongin and Jiheon. He talks with them about their lives (it turns out that Jeongin’s family owns the general goods store that Minho had taken him to, while Jiheon is in her last year of university, where she’s aiming for a degree in Journalism), and in exchange he shares a little about his own life; he talks about the creative process behind making content for his channel, and how he got into that whole business to begin with. He talks about life in Seoul, about the cafe near his building that he frequents, and how their Iced Americano has nothing on the way Jeongin prepares it for him. They talk about everything and nothing, but it’s interesting to Jisung how easily he accommodates all of them into his life.

The library apparently has a lot of books on collected fairy tales local to the area, and when Jiheon starts organizing that particular section, she suggests that Jisung take some of them home to read.

“Maybe they can inspire something,” she told him with an earnest smile.

Unfortunately for Jisung, nothing has really been working. His novel remains nothing but a blank document, but considering how he’s been enjoying his days without feeling any sort of pressure or stress, he doesn’t really mind it.

One day he arrives at the café just before lunch time, as he has habitually taken to doing over the last week or so, only to find that Minho, strangely, isn’t around.

“He has other places to be?” he asks; his tone is light and joking, but he’s genuinely curious. As far as he knows, Minho spends his days at the café unless he has errands to run, and most of those are done very early in the day.  “Did he go shopping?” 

Jeongin shakes his head. “No, he has some other things to do today,” he explains.

“What time will he be back?”

“He won’t,” Jeongin answers. “I’m closing today.”

“Oh.” Jisung’s shoulders slump, and even he is surprised by the amount of disappointment he feels at Minho not being around. Some of it is from Minho not having mentioned anything to him – not that Minho is obliged to let Jisung know everything he has going on, but considering the amount of time they have spent together at the café over the last week, a part of him feels like they now have a daily, if unsaid, standing appointment with each other.

He feels silly, especially since Jeongin is giving him a strange look for it.

“Do you want your coffee to go?” Jeongin asks, a shit-eating grin spreading on his features. “Minho-hyung said I could tell you where to find him if you ask.”

“Oh—” Jisung laughs; relief washes over him. “Okay, I’ll take an iced Americano to go. Tall.”

Jeongin prepares two iced Americanos for him—one to take to Minho, apparently, and then he gives him instructions on how to get to wherever Minho is. From the way Jeongin describes it, he seems to be somewhere near the outskirts of the town, close to the exit that leads up to the mountains.

He’s become an expert at biking around the village—Minho had been right about it being the easiest way to get around. It takes him less than ten minutes to find Minho, despite how vague Jeongin’s directions had been.

“Hyung!” he calls out the moment he spies the older.

Minho is seated on a bench next to a crumbling wall that is slightly angled away from Jisung’s perspective, facing mostly towards the mountainous borders of the town; the view that otherwise surrounds the area is that of empty fields, a stretch of different shades of green that prettily meets the vivid blue of the sky at the horizon. Jisung also immediately notices that he’s halfway through a kimbap roll, which reminds him that he hasn’t eaten lunch at all.

“Hyung!” he repeats, grinning as he brakes to a stop in front of Minho. It’s only then that he notices the assortment of paints and brushes behind him, which, coupled with the half-finished mural on the wall next to him quickly clues Jisung in that this is what he has been up to for the day.

“Did you bring me my coffee?” Minho asks, as if he had been expecting Jisung to show up all along.

“Yeah, here,” he says, already distracted by the wall art even as he hands Minho his drink.

Even though it’s clearly not yet done, the mural seemed to be attempting to blend with the greens and blues of the area’s natural backdrop, and upon closer inspection, Jisung notices unfinished outlines of  a clutter of cats — adorable, because now he’s also noticing a group of them loitering around.

“This was supposed to be a bus stop,” Minho explains. “But they scrapped the bus route that was meant to go through here.”

“Ah.” Jisung continues to stare.

“You’re impressed, aren’t you?” Minho asks, breaking through Jisung’s thoughts in a playful manner. 

He truly is, but now that he’s been called out, he doesn’t want Minho to know that. “It’s okay at best,” he huffs, but the way he’s unable to take his eyes off the wall is probably not helping his case any. “I didn’t know you were an artist?”

“‘Artist’ is a vague title,” Minho comments, “but I did go to art school.”

“I didn’t know that about you!” Jisung gasps.

“You never asked.”

Jisung blinks rapidly, because okay, fair enough.  “That’s awesome though,” he admits genuinely. “Do you—have you made money off selling your art?”

“Oh, I don’t paint a lot,” Minho tells him; he moves an inch on his bench, a silent offer for Jisung to take a seat next to him which the latter gladly takes. “I used to be more of an illustrator.”

“Used to be?” Jisung inquires with a tilt of his head; he smiles when Minho offers him an extra kimbap roll which he gladly takes.

“Well, now I’m a cafe barista, wouldn’t you say?”

“Does one ever actually stop being an artist, though?”

Minho laughs. “And that's why I say that it's a vague title!” 

“Oh, come on!” Jisung groans. “Fine, you're probably right, but you know what I'm asking, hyung. Have you ever worked on something that I might have seen?”

“Well, right after graduating, I designed logos for a couple of start-up companies but I didn't really do that for long," Minho relays; he pauses, and takes a long sip off his drink, before he adds, quietly, almost like it's only a random afterthought, “Have you heard of the webtoon called ‘The Eternal Sword’?”

Once again, Jisung is struck with surprise. ‘The Eternal Sword’ was a very popular webtoon that told the story of a school boy named Hwang Hyunjin who one day woke up in the past, and was subsequently thrust into a thousand year old magical quest. It was an exciting fantasy-adventure story that frequently made it to Naver's TOP5, especially during the last story arc right before it ended its first season run. More than just having heard about it, Jisung had followed the series quite religiously. “Wait—are you saying that you—? No way! You're LEEKNOW-nim?” He looks—and feels—agog, mouth gaping wide in shock.

Minho, meanwhile, calmly nods. “Season 1 of that series was the bread and butter of my mid-20s.”

“Damn,” Jisung murmurs. 

The stark change in the art style between seasons 1 and 2 of ‘The Eternal Sword’ was no secret, and while the storytelling remained consistent, it's popularity had suffered after the evident artist switch. The original artist, LEEKNOW, had a style that focused a lot on the expressions of the characters, making readers feel that they truly understood every time the heroes underwent internal dilemmas. The artist who had taken over during Season 2, FELIX, was clearly talented as well, but his lines and edges were softer, and the focus was directed more towards the background colors. Even Jisung had contemplated dropping the webtoon because the change was pretty jarring. 

‘The Eternal Sword’ ended it's overall run almost a year ago, but its author, Kim Seungmin, continues to work in  collaboration with FELIX, on a new work that has gained popularity in its own right. For a while, the rumor was that the original artist, LEEKNOW,  left so he could work on his own original webtoon by himself. Most fans, Jisung included, had waited in anticipation only to be disappointed when a year passed and there was still nothing. LEEKNOW seemed to have completely disappeared off the face of the Earth—or at least off the face of the webtoon industry.

He never would have thought that he would come face to face with LEEKNOW himself, here, in the middle of nowhere, of all places.

“Damn right,” Minho playfully retorts, smiling as he gently elbows Jisung.

“Weren't you supposed to start your own serialized webtoon?” Jisung asks, elbowing him right back.

Minho snorts. “I don't know where that came from—I'm not very good at coming up with original stories anyway. But what really happened was that my grandmother got sick and my mother, who moved to Gimpo after marrying my stepfather when I was in university, had to temporarily come back here to take care of him. She asked for my help, and I couldn’t really say no, could I? I could draw anywhere,” he explains, “and at first I kept working on TES,  just sending in drafts, but I couldn't exactly ask my team to come down here with me, and with TSE's popularity, the demands were pretty hectic.” He sounds more solemn than usual—more sincere than Jisung has ever felt him be in the week and a half they have known each other. “And then my grandmother died, and all my priorities changed. My mother had to go back to my stepfather, but I decided to stay here. My family has a small business here,  and someone had to take over.”

“The café,” Jisung says, quickly understanding.

“Yeah.” Minho nods. “The café.” 

“Don't you miss it, though? Drawing. Your art,” Jisung prods. “I know for a fact that people miss LEEKNOW's art.”

Minho chuckles. “Working on TSE was great, but it got a bit too hectic—too demanding.” He sighs. “Seungmin and I were fighting a lot near the end of season 1—I guess you can say that's why it had to end, and why there was  a couple of months of hiatus before season 2. We both needed time away from the series, and in the end, I decided I needed time away from it for good. It was always Seungmin's story, anyway.”

Jisung narrows his eyes at him. “You didn't answer my question, though, hyung,” he points out. “You even went to art school—surely, art… drawing… painting… illustrating, aren't these things you miss?”

Minho gestures at the half-finished mural next to them. “I still have my art,” he points out. “When I need an outlet… there are a lot of walls around town.”

Now that his attention is called to it, he remembers that there's a similarly beautiful painting at the bus stop—and another one outside the general goods store, and of course, the inside walls of the café itself. Minho is impressive in his craft, and yet, it's obvious that there's something he's holding back and keeping secret.

Jisung had not thought about ‘The Eternal Sword’ much ever since the webtoon ended its run, but the night when he learned that Minho had illustrated the series during the beginning of it’s run, he decided to look it up again. 

He ended up spending extra time at that one spot in the backyard where the internet signal was decent, rereading the first season of the webtoon. The art was just as good as he recalled, but—and maybe it was because he was now hyper aware of his own limitations as a writer—the storytelling was even better. 

Jisung had grown up reading both comics and longform fantasy novels, and so once upon a time he had dreamed of being a comic artist. But it was a dream that fell apart as quickly as it had come together, if only because he was always better with words than with pictures.

Instead, he had taken pride in his writing. He made up his mind to solely use his own words to share his imagination with readers. But as he got lost in Hwang Hyunjin's adventures in the fictional land of Gaia, an idea had sparked in his head.

“We should work together.”

He doesn't waste his time in launching said idea; when he next sees Minho, this is how he greets him.

“You want a job at the café?” Minho asks, but his expression tells Jisung that he knows that isn't what is being asked. “Being a barista isn't as easy as we make it look, you know.”

“Tch.” Jisung scoffs. “I only want to learn how to make the perfect Americano, but that isn't what I'm saying!”

Minho laughs. “What are you saying then?”

Jisung groans, because Minho is being obtuse on purpose; he decides to go the roundabout route for now.

“Hyung,” he recalibrates, “how and when did you start drawing?”

“Well, how and when did you start writing?” Minho, as expected, immediately throws the question right back at him.

Jisung resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's ready for this, because as short as the time is that he's known Minho, he has learned how to read him 80% of the time.

“I was telling stories as early as 4? Maybe 5 years old,” Jisung shares. “My mother always told me I had quite an imagination—so much so that I got in trouble about it with my father a few times. He said I should always tell the truth—” he laughs. “It wasn't that I was trying to lie, I just liked coming up with stories. They were always so much more fun than reality—looking back, in a way, that's probably why vlogging was fun for a while. It was a way to embellish reality and my life.”

“Interesting,” Minho murmurs, and Jisung squints at him, waiting for him to add to his comment. He doesn't say anything else, though, and simply gestures for Jisung to continue.

“I think I was 7 or 8 when my older brother gave me a notebook and a pen—an actual ball point pen! At that age, kids usually just use crayons and pencils, so it was a big deal for me—” Jisung laughs; it's been a while since he had revisited his own memories, and this nostalgia trip is making him feel warm. “Anyway, he told me to just write down all my ideas so that I'd stop getting in trouble with our Dad. And that was it—I just kept writing, at least until I got to university. I majored in Creative Writing, and eventually it started feeling like my ideas were dry, and coming up with words were like pulling teeth. It was also then that I discovered YouTube, which allowed me to be creative in different ways, and that was great for a while especially since I started earning money from it but…” he pauses to take a deep breath; he realises that he basically just word vomited, but fortunately Minho didn't seem to mind, if the way he's been listening intently is any indication. “I miss writing. I miss weaving stories together—I miss crafting characters and setting them off on adventures. When I was younger, I wanted to be published by 25, and it's a little late for that now, but I figured I'd settle for being published in general. Sorry—” he laughs; talking about where he started has really driven in how much he misses writing. “I ended up talking too much.”

“Don't you always?”

“Eeeeeyy, hyung!” Jisung can only laugh, because he has been quite a chatterbox with Minho. He's only such with people he's truly comfortable with, and he doesn't know how  to tell Minho that he achieved that level of comfort with him in record time.

“It wasn't like that for me,” Minho shares quietly; Jisung falls silent immediately, eager to listen because Minho doesn't always volunteer information about himself so readily. “It didn't come naturally, like writing did to you. I didn’t really like reading a lot when I was a kid— ” he pauses and glances as if to check for Jisung’s reaction, chuckling when he gets a nose wrinkle in response. “Words were kind of hard to comprehend—I even struggled at school for a bit because of this. One day—I think I was 9 or 10—a friend let me borrow a translated volume of Slam Dunk, and I read it, front to cover, in one sitting—” he laughs, “and I remember thinking, wow. Because pictures really help draw people in, you know? And that was kind of amazing, and I wanted to be able to be able to do that, too—to pull people in through visuals. Through my art.”

“Well—” Jisung finds himself nodding. Even though his natural affinity lay with words, he will never be able to deny the power of visual storytelling. 

“I borrowed more manhwa volumes from that friend, and initially, I started tracing over the pages, copying the strokes of artists I’d taken a liking to. I wasn’t very good, and I really wanted to take art classes, but—” he gestures around them, “It isn’t as if there was anywhere close by that offered such lessons though, so I just kept working on it by myself. My grandparents even bought me books on illustration—I was kind of obsessed to the point that the margins of all my notebooks were filled with doodles of human figures, or scene sketches. When I was in high school, there was a summer when my parents let me go to a workshop in Seoul that was two weeks long.” He smiles, but his expression is one that Jisung could easily describe as wistful, rather than happy. “That was the summer my father got sick, actually.” He chuckles softly. “He only lived until the summer after that—but anyway, I think that’s why they sent me away. That summer is a little bittersweet, but it was also a good experience. I learned a lot, and it was then that I decided I was going to try my best to make a career out of drawing.”

Jisung remains quiet at first, even after it’s made clear that Minho is done with his story. It dawns on him that the ways which the two of them have handled their respective gifts in the arts are very different. 

His way with words—with stories—had come to him at a very early age; it was almost as if it was an affinity that he was born with. He thought he had been honing it, but the reality of it is that he had taken his talent for granted. When push came to shove—he had allowed himself to be distracted; he had allowed himself to throw away his dream, and he had allowed himself to quit because it got a little too hard. 

Meanwhile, Minho has admitted to having constantly worked on his craft; has admitted to actively chasing after a desired skill set, and diligently sharpening said skills through repeated hard work. 

It really makes Jisung curious why he would abandon drawing; why Minho would choose a sudden career change. Taking over a family business just didn’t seem like enough of a reason, especially since from the way Minho tells his story, it seems as if his parents have always been supportive of his artistic endeavours.

“Do you really not miss it?” Jisung finds himself asking again. “After all that hard work—you were a success. I think I’d miss it if it were me.”

Minho sighs; and then he shakes his head—and then he lets out a resigned chuckle. “Of course I miss it,” he admits finally. “I don’t miss the weekly deadlines, but I miss the satisfying feeling of inking the final panel.” 

“Then say yes, hyung!” Jisung grins. “Work with me! Let’s—let's work on a graphic novel together. No weekly deadlines!”

Minho laughs. “Aren’t you going to ask first why I really quit?”

Jisung angles his head and gives Minho a pointed look. “Are you going to tell me the truth if I do?”

A faint smile curves on Minho’s lips. “Don’t I seem like I’m in a sharing mood today?”

Jisung stares, taking a beat before he nods. “That’s true. So—why did you quit?”

Minho doesn’t answer immediately; he even looks around, eyes briefly settling on the counter where Jeongin looked bored out of his wits as he scrolled through his phone. It’s as if Minho is almost wishing that the younger barista would call him over and ask for his help – it doesn’t happen, though, because it’s the middle of the afternoon, and Jisung is their only customer at the moment.

He sighs, and his gaze lands back on Jisung. “It felt too much, too soon,” Minho says. “Sounds fucked, right? Seungmin is someone that I met through a common friend of ours—” he recounts. “Hyunjin—yes, Hwang Hyunjin, the one TSE’s Hyunjin is named after. The Eternal Sword was just a random project that Seungmin and I worked on after I graduated from art school—and when we got an offer to turn it into something more, it was really great. Seungmin and I—he’s a good guy, but I guess you could say we had different aspirations, and even before I moved back here, we were already having issues.”

Jisung’s brow wrinkles; from the way Minho is talking, it sounded as if he and Seungmin had a relationship that went beyond professional. “Did the two of you—? Uh. I mean, were you two—?”

“Were we—?” Minho snorts. “Yeah, okay. You can say we sort of had a thing. We fucked once or twice, but that was before we started work on the webtoon. It was kind of like—working together completely ruined any sort of attraction there was. It was weird because we worked together just fine, but the more we worked together, the more we didn’t really want to do anything with each other’s personal lives. So that, combined with the unexpected success of TSE—it started feeling too much.  And then I came home, and things felt simple again. So I stayed here, and here we are now.”

Jisung purses his lips; even the ways that the two of them had swayed away from their clear, creative passions are different. He had let himself be distracted, while Minho had taken a conscious step away. 

“Do you think the same thing will happen with us, hyung?” Jisung asks gently. “Do you think we’ll end up losing our personal connection if we form a professional one?”

Minho hums; despite the non-response, Jisung could tell from the way Minho’s gaze wanders that he has read the older male correctly.

“Don’t worry, hyung, that’s not gonna be us,” he assures Minho with a big grin. “For one, we haven’t fucked—”

Minho almost chokes at that, and Jisung can’t help but laugh out loud as the former coughs. He thinks he loves the feeling of catching Minho off-guard; loves the way that Minho’s ears turn bright red because of his blunt words.

“But really, hyung,” Jisung continues, “we can just— try. Let’s work together while I’m here—no deadlines, just a mindmeld of creativity—”

“You don’t even have a story yet,” Minho interrupts him to point out this very obvious flaw in his proposal.

Jisung grins even wider. “True, but once I do—is that a yes?”

Minho scoffs. “How about you let me read some of your older works? You say they’re nothing you’re proud of anymore, but at least let me read what kind of stories you like to tell.”

“And then it’s a yes?” Jisung continues to prod, even though the idea of letting Minho read his short stories from his university days makes him more nervous than he wants to let on.

Minho laughs. “God, you’re so annoyingly persistent.”

“What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

“Hey, I’ll be at the cat mural today,” Minho texts him early in the morning. “When you come, bring me an Americano again. I’ll pay you with lunch.”

Jisung doesn’t really think much of it until he’s on his bike, struggling because the road to where Minho wants to meet is an uphill slope – it’s only then that it dawns on him that Minho has read his old work. 

Shit, he thinks, because he realises that he cares a lot about how Minho views his stories. He has been posturing as a writer going through a creative block, but what if Minho sees through that? What if Minho now thinks he’s some sort of talentless hack?

Jisung has always believed in only rising up to personal challenges. If his work can satisfy himself, then everyone can take it or leave it. This is why he has been having such a hard time recently; after all, they do say that you’re your own worst critic. 

And yet, it turns out he cares very deeply about what Minho thinks about his work.

To be fair, he had sent Minho only his favorites; five short stories that he had written during his high school and university years, ones that were good enough to be published in various literary magazines. Nevertheless, his nerves grow more and more antsy as he rides up the street; even more so when he finally catches a glimpse of Minho.

The older male is crouched next to his now finished mural, the painted cats on the wall mirrored in real life by the actual felines that surround Minho, who seems to be feeding them.

“Hyung!” Jisung calls for him, quickly dismounting his bike right after he brakes in front of the older. His haste almost makes him spill the two cups of coffee that he was balancing on his bicycle’s front basket, and the way Minho narrows his eyes at him for that has him ducking his head sheepishly. “Iced Americano delivery?” he chuckles softly, and offers one of the drinks to the older. 

“Thanks,” Minho tells him, smiling as he takes the drink; he stands up, and moves to sit on the bench, while the cats busy themselves with the food left for them to eat.

“Do they have names?” Jisung asks, gesturing at the cats, as he parks himself next to Minho; he’s trying to delay them talking about his writing—he figures if they ease into it carefully, he’ll be rid of his nerves by the time Minho finally shares his thoughts. 

Minho hums. “They do, but I’m the only one who uses them—” he laughs. “They’re strays, so maybe other people have other names for them.” He sips on his drink, and flashes a content smile before pointing at the cats, one by one. “The white one is Hayan, the tricolor one is Bomi, and the orange kitten—” he laughs, as if recalling a fond memory, “that one is Todori. I met him the same day I met you, actually.”

“Ah.” Jisung nods, repeating the names in his head. Hayan, Bomi, Todori. The namee are quite fitting and easy to remember. “They’re cute.”

“I know. I’d adopt them, but I’m pretty sure they’re quite fond of their freedom.”

One of them—Todori, the smallest one—pads over and starts nuzzling against Jisung's ankles which has him fighting the urge to coo.

“Figures that one will be drawn to you,” Minho observes, his tone a mix of fondness and amusement. 

“He's cute,” Jisung gushes, leaning down so he can gently pet the cat on it's head with his fingers.

“They all are!” Minho grins, and offers Jisung a boxed lunch. “Here, eat.” 

While Minho had told him that lunch was on him, Jisung is still surprised at being handed a boxed lunch. Somehow, he had assumed that Minho would just be sharing kimbap rolls with him like the last time.

“Don’t look so shocked—” Minho laughs at his expression. “And don’t expect too much. It’s not a big deal.”

When Jisung lifts the container, he can’t help but chuckle. The kimbap roll he had been expecting is right there, except neatly cut in slices and served with a small assortment of side dishes that range from stir-fried kimchi, to sliced sausage fritters and egg rolls. 

“Are you trying to impress me, hyung?” he asks, happily picking up a piece of kimbap and stuffing it into his mouth in one go.

“If you’re impressed by that then you need to set the bar higher,” Minho tells him with a click of his tongue; nevertheless, the smile he wears on his face looks quite proud. “So—” Minho gives Jisung a look, “Should we talk about your stories now?”

“Um.” Jisung slows down on chewing his food; just like that, his nerves are once again on edge. He meets Minho’s gaze, though, and he nods. “Mmkay.”

“They—” Minho pauses, quite pointedly, “They were great.”

Jisung wrinkles his forehead. He knows he was pretty anxious about Minho’s opinion, but surely he has more to say than just that?

Minho laughs. “You look mad and frustrated,” he comments, practically cooing. With a grin he reaches up to playfully pinch Jisung’s cheek, which the latter responds to by slapping his hand away. “I mean it, though. They were great—the storytelling is clear and concise, and you have a way with writing description that makes the setting always seem so sharp and vivid. But the best part of all your stories?”

Jisung, mouth still full, gives him a quizzical look and gestures hurriedly for him to continue.

“It’s the way you write your characters, Jisungie,” Minho says softly. “They’re always very real and relatable—and there is never a time when I find myself rooting against your heroes, even though more often than not, they go around making stupid decisions. You only let me read some of your shorter works, but in each one, you easily feel the growth that they undertake between the opening statement and the finishing line.”

“Ah.” Jisung swallows and ducks his head; he’s usually very good at taking compliments, but Minho’s earnestness feels so new to him. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” Minho grins and lightly punches his shoulder. “Honestly—you could expand on any of the universes you have created in these stories, and you’d do well. Like—that one story about the boy who lives on Mars? That had very good world-building.”

Jisung shrugs. “I guess I could do that, but…” he winces. “All those stories feel.. I don’t know? Juvenile?”

“They don’t read like that to me,” Minho assures him. “Stories for young adults can easily appeal to a wider range.” He laughs. “Just look at The Eternal Sword—we used to get reader statistics, and we always scored high in the 30s age range.”

“No, ah—” Jisung chuckles. “It isn’t that? I think it’s because I was young when I wrote those stories. I don’t know how well I connect with them anymore.”

“But you still want to write the same kind of fiction? Stories set in foreign galaxies, or stories set in alternate worlds where superpowers exist?”

Jisung laughs. “When you put it like that, it does seem silly.”

“Maybe—” Minho hums in thought. “Maybe for now, what you need is something else? It’s been awhile since you wrote something you’re satisfied with, right? That’s what you said.”

Jisung nods.

“Maybe right now what you need to do is write something that’s closer to home,” Minho suggests. “You know which story was my favorite? It was the one about the high school boy who diligently attends cram school every day because he thinks that’s the only path to a good future—until it’s proven to him that it isn’t. The rest were really good, but I could pick out outside influences in them. But that one—it was a very simple story, and it had a very simple message—it was very slice of life, really, but the dialogue was cute, and the characters felt real. It felt very representative of you, just you. And like I said, that’s what you’re good at? So maybe, right now, instead of trying to tell a story with so much going on—so many elements that you keep concerning yourself with, maybe a simple story like that is what’s needed to break your block.”

Jisung remembers that story that Minho is talking about; it’s hard to forget when it was the first piece he ever had published in a magazine. He had more than related to that character—the boy on the cusp of adulthood, wary of the path set for him by others, but unsure how else to proceed; the boy was him, and he supposes that’s why he had felt so real.

“You’re spacing out,” Minho comments, lightly flicking him on the forehead, and making him hiss at the sharpness. “Sorry, did that hurt? Should I kiss the pain away?” Minho teases.

Jisung simply laughs and rubs his forehead, and Minho flashes a smile at him, looking content that he has Jisung’s full attention again.

“Sorry, I was just—” Jisung’s breath hitches momentarily. “I was just thinking you’re right. The entire time I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to come up with stories that contain too many elements—so instead of focusing on a simple plot, I keep trying to build worlds, and trying to come up with clever twists I could incorporate into the story, and—I guess it’s because I keep trying to take on so much at once, that I’ve been ending up with nothing instead.” He laughs, bittersweet, because he had needed Minho to point out something so simple to him. “It didn’t help that I kept comparing most of my ideas to my favorite stories written by my favorite authors—I felt like, if I was going to publish a novel, then it should be as good as my favorites. And, well, of course nothing is going to compare, so I need an idea that is just… me.”

“Yeah.” Minho nods in agreement. “Don’t they say that writers should write what they know?” he laughs. “Then again, what do I know? I’m someone who could barely read at age 7.”

Jisung snorts; it’s his turn to playfully hit Minho on the arm. “Thank you.”

He falls silent, and he lets Minho’s generous feedback soak in his thoughts. He thinks about Minho’s words—thinks about his life, and the kind of story he wants to tell. And then he stops thinking; telling stories have always come naturally to him—ideas and tall tales were commodities he was once always in abundance of, and as he lets go of his own built-up expectations, something finally comes to him.

An idea finally sparks.

“Okay, hyung—” he pipes up, his tone determined. “Let me tell you about the hero I have in mind. He’s a boy—”

“Of course,” Minho hums,quietly nodding to show that he’s still listening.

“Rather,” Jisung corrects himself, “a man who still feels like a boy…”

“His name is Jeongin. Yang Jeongin.”

Jisung’s grin is proud but cheeky when he and Minho show rough character drafts to Jeongin and Jiheon at the café. 

He has since learned that Minho is a pretty fast worker; unsurprising since he’s someone who once regularly drew dozens of pages of illustrations and met hectic weekly deadlines. His work ethic easily pushes Jisung to work harder, though, and it helps a lot that he now has a very clear story that he wants to tell. 

It only takes them a day to come up with detailed character designs and storyboard a few pages of introduction. The corner table at the café, the one that Jisung had claimed as his regular spot ever since his first day as a customer, has been turned into their personal work space, so it figures that both Jeongin and Jiheon are curiously hovering over them, excited to see what they’ve been working on.

“But he looks like you, not me,” Jeongin points out; his expression is either amused or frustrated, Jisung can’t tell.

“Hush, he does not!” Jisung argues, even though, to be fair, he supposes the character, with his round cheeks and slim figure is more reminiscent of him than Jeongin. “Besides, we’re just using your name, and not your likeness.”

Jeongin picks up the pages with the sketches of his namesake and frowns. “Do I have a say in this?” he asks, looking at both Jisung and Minho after carefully studying the drawings.

“Don’t you want to be immortalized in fiction?” Jisung retorts, while Minho just laughs.

“Questionable, if I’m just gonna have your features!”

“Hey! You’d be lucky to be able to call this handsome mug yours,” Jisung comments, framing his face with his thumb and pointer finger as if to drive his point in deeper.

On a whim, Jisung and Minho had agreed to name their protagonists after the two people they saw regularly and hung out with at the café. It had seemed like a simple, yet genius idea—and Jisung liked it because it was his way of thanking the two of them for being huge parts of how his summer has played out so far.

That said, he had different ideas for the actual character designs. Fictional!Jeongin was easy, because Jisung’s protagonists have always had overlapping images in his head; they were always attractive, yet unassuming. Handsome, but in a very simple, almost boyish way. All Jisung had to do was describe his ideas while also showing his own unsatisfactory sketches from the past to Minho—the same ones that Minho had glimpsed on the first day they met. He figures it isn’t on him if Minho had somehow drawn a character that looked very much like Jisung himself.

The story’s heroine was someone Minho had more active input on, mostly because the initial ideas Jisung had for her focused more on her vibe as a character, rather than her physical attributes. 

“She’s calm and capable, but she isn’t very good at showing her emotions,” was how Jisung described her when they were trying to design her character together. “Her expression is sharp—no, rather, her expression is blunt? Almost soulless, sometimes—as if she’s gone through more life experiences than others her age, so her emotions aren’t easily moved. Her face is small, but with sharp edges.” The more he talked about Fictional!Jiheon, the clearer her image had formed in his head; Minho, it turned out, was very good at capturing his words. “She has very pretty eyes though,” Jisung had continued; he had closely watched Minho as he sketched, and the image he came up with was quite pretty. “Big, and framed with thick lashes—and when she smiles they light up in a way that’s a big contrast compared to her normal expression.”

“I want to know about my namesake,” Jiheon interjects; it’s her turn to pick up the pages where rough sketches of the heroine named Baek Jiheon are drawn. “She’s really pretty.”

“She looks like Minho-hyung in a wig,” Jeongin points out, quite bluntly.

Jiheon looks taken aback, but her expression quickly goes from surprise to understanding. Jisung, brow furrowed, takes the pages from her, all set to deny Jeongin’s input, only to realise that there just might be truth to it. He’s at a loss for any snarky comments, while his heart seemingly skips a beat—a strange reaction, at best.

“Don’t be silly,” Minho interrupts, snatching the pages from Jisung this time. “Why would I draw myself in a wig?” He laughs, and then he stares at the sketches—possibly a couple of seconds too long. “I just followed Jisung’s instructions,” he mutters, before he shoves the drawings under their storyboards. “Now you two—” he makes shooing motions at Jeongin and Jiheon. “Go back to work.”

Jisung has to hold back laughter as he waves at both of them in a cheeky manner; he often forgets that Minho is actually the boss of both of them.

(This is what Converging Paths (Story by: Han Jisung & Art by: LEEKNOW) is all about:

Yang Jeongin was born into music. 

His father played in the church band as a bassist, while his mother consistently had the radio on whenever she did chores around the house.

When he was five, they enrolled him in piano lessons, and with the way he naturally took to it, his mother spent a few good years thinking he just might be his generation’s Chopin. “He seems to possess absolute pitch,” his piano instructor had told his parents, proud and excited. With this gift, he learned to read and write sheet music with ease, and by the time he was nine he was able to play his own composition at a recital.

When he was ten, his musical influences broadened after his neighbor shared with him CD's of his favorite rock band. After that, he asked his parents for a guitar, and he fell in love with the idea of creating music through various instruments and mediums. 

Music had always come to him easily, and he had no problems accepting it wholeheartedly.

When he was 18, he realised he was tired. The burden of expectations were heavy on his shoulder and when an early, yet timely, diagnosis of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is given to him by their family doctor he’s all too quick to jump on it—too quick to embrace it.

He forcibly closes the music chapter of his life and decides to go to university and follow the path towards being a salaryman.

At 28, Yang Jeongin is skilled and capable; driven in a way that has him climbing up his chosen career ladder at breakneck speed. Nevertheless, he feels lost.

It’s also when he’s 28 that he meets Baek Jiheon.

Baek Jiheon is a music teacher for second graders, but most of her youth, starting at age 15, had been spent wasting away as an idol trainee. She had jumped from agency to agency, tightly holding onto her dream of debuting, only to always fall short whenever she got close. 

When she was 21, she finally managed to taste her dream. She debuted, finally— she stood on stage with five other girls, flashing carefully practiced smiles as they sang catchy hooks and danced simple and derivative choreography. 

It wasn’t even a year before her agency went bankrupt, and her group, Royal Flush, disbanded. Her peers were quick to move on and scatter to different agencies, eager and hopeful for more chances. Jiheon was tired, and she decided she would rather focus on her education.

At 26, Baek Jiheon is proficient and diligent; hardworking enough in her chosen profession that children are always happy and excited to be in her class. Nevertheless, she’s tired and jaded.

It’s also when she’s 26 that she meets Yang Jeongin.

The story is simple, but the message is straightforward: sometimes, all it takes is a chance meeting to bring you back to your original dreams.)

Jisung can feel Minho staring at him—can feel his beautiful eyes looking at him, practically boring a hole through. It's a reminder that no matter how much time he has spent with Minho over the summer—how much time he's had to get used to the simple fact that Minho is one of the most objectively attractive people he's ever seen, he still gets squeamish under his stare. He doesn't know if it's because Minho's gaze is just naturally sharp, or if it's because Minho always makes him feel seen . 

“What?” Jisung asks, looking up from the storyboard that he’s working on so he can meet Minho’s intense gaze. Despite feeling vulnerable, he manages to sound confident. It's a skill he's honed throughout the years. “Between the two of us, you have more to work on, so I’m not sure you can afford to get too lost looking at my handsome features.”

Minho laughs, and Jisung grins; he’s always happy to make the older laugh, even amidst their suddenly busy working schedule. Surprisingly, they work quite well, and halfway through a planned 200-page graphic novel, everything remains smooth sailing. The story, which is the bulk of Jisung’s contribution to the project, is more or less finished, with only a few changes—mostly to the dialogue—being made as they work.

“I think you’ve inhaled too many ink fumes,” Minho says, snorting and shaking his head before looking back down at the page he’s sketching. 

“Just say what’s on your mind, then,” Jisung tells him with a click of his tongue.

Minho doesn’t answer immediately; he waits a beat—then two, then three, before, “You said you wanted to be a published novelist, didn’t you?” he asks, looking up to meet Jisung’s gaze again. “That’s the dream you left behind that you want to achieve again.”

“Yes?” Jisung isn't sure he understands what Minho is trying to get at.

“Then don't you think that this is just a detour for you, then?” His tone remains even, but Minho's lips are tightly pressed in a thin line, corners quivering like he's consciously stopping them from curving into a pout.

“No…?” Jisung is confused; what is Minho trying to say?

The older male sighs. “I just don't want you to have another distraction—you know, the same way your YouTube career was.”

Jisung laughs as it dawns on him what Minho's reservations are. “My YouTube career was a distraction, but it's not something I regret,” he points out. “Either way, this isn't the same thing. We're making something together, and if all goes well, we'll get published and— that's the dream. Plus—even if it wasn't, I like what we're doing, hyung. You've helped me get back into the art of storytelling, and even though it isn't a hundred percent through the medium I was expecting, ultimately it's what I've been missing.”

“Would you say that you're accomplishing what you set out to do this summer, then? By moving all the way out here?”

Jisung laughs. Minho is usually either so stoic or playfully teasing that the genuine worry that he's able to detect in Minho's tone now is almost endearing.

“No,” Jisung answers truthfully. “Not really. But in all the ways that count, it's better.”

Minho's smile grows until it's practically ear to ear, and Jisung feels warmth bloom in his chest. It's a very beautiful smile, and he can't help but be proud that all it took was his simple honesty to draw it out of Minho.

Jisung’s mind wanders—he can’t help but look back at everything that has happened since he first met Minho. It’s been a little over a month since then, two, if he’s a round up kind of guy which he usually is. Overall, he feels lighter. The other night, he checked his YouTube comments and Instagram messages for the first time in weeks, and he hadn’t felt anything similar to the near crippling anxiety he felt at the start of the summer, when he had first arrived and he couldn't even bring himself to stop checking notifications. He can't help but think that the calmness is in part brought on by having a clear goal now—which is in no small part thanks to Minho. (It’s because of this that he decided to post on Instagram; a picture of Minho’s mural that was captioned with with lighthearted words to let his fans know that he’s doing well even though he knows he has no plans on making any kind of YouTube content any time soon, if at all.)

He has come to realise that while YouTube has been a good outlet for his creativity, going back to crafting stories and writing fiction is like a sort of homecoming for him. It feels good, and familiar, to the point where even he is surprised at how well he has taken to it once more; at least once the idea tap had been switched on.

He recalls Minho's words at the beginning; about letting go and not thinking too much, and then he recalls how it was also Minho who had helped him renew his focus in a way that allowed him to walk the path that he had been trying to get back on.

Funny, that.

“I’m glad I met you,” he suddenly says, hand once again pausing from the storyboard he was working on. The words feel right, but he’s still embarrassed; his cheeks feel warm, and he’s shy about looking up and checking for Minho’s reaction.

“God, that’s so cheesy, Jisungie,” Minho returns, and this is when Jisung musters enough courage to look up.

Minho himself is focused on drawing, but a faint smile is curved on his lips, while his ears are a deep shade of red. 

“And yet you like it,” Jisung says, Minho’s strangely bashful countenance lending him enough bluster. He grins, and even reaches over to playfully tickle the older male’s chin. “Are you having fun, hyung?” 

He’s teasing, but the question is half meant. Minho scoffs and flicks his forehead in response.

“Hyung—” Jisung exhales as he straightens up. “Do you think our relationship has changed?”

Their earlier conversation is still fresh in his mind even though it’s weeks old at this point. It’s the one about Minho’s working relationship with his The Eternal Sword partner, Seungmin. With the way Minho immediately looks contemplative—like he knows exactly what Jisung means without having to clarify or elaborate, it’s clear that the topic has been in his thoughts as well.

Minho takes a few beats to respond, and his silence makes Jisung’s stomach turn a little.

“Yeah, it has,” Minho eventually answers; at first Jisung’s heart feels like it has dropped into the bottom of his gut, but then Minho adds, casual, yet warm, “—but not in a bad way at all.”

Jisung’s lips spread across his cheeks as he beams happily; he thinks the same.

They fall into comfortable silence after that, both of them focusing on their respective tasks—Jisung with his storyboards, while Minho inks pages of sketches. Their knees brush against each other under the table, but it feels nice—a reminder that they’re there, together; igniting in each other similar passions, and leading one another towards renewed dreams.

Summer is technically over. Fall has begun, but Jisung has yet to leave and go back to the city. He and Minho finished a complete draft of Converging Paths a week ago, and they had mailed it to an interested publisher just the other day. 

He and Minho had decided to pass on most of the advanced publishing offers that Jisung got solely because he’s some sort of D-list YouTube celebrity; most of them wanted Jisung to write some non-fiction mumbo jumbo about his career as a vlogger because they assume that that’s where his brand lies. Few of them were enthusiastic about the fact that what they had coming was instead a simple graphic novel with focus on human interest and a delayed coming of age. Instead, they went with a small company that published independent comics and light novels. It was a recommendation that came from one of Minho’s contacts — it made sense, considering that he’s the one with one foot already in the door in this industry.

One of their editors seemed keen on the summary of their work, and had agreed to read through the actual work and then see if his bosses would be interested. He had emailed earlier that day,  sounding quite positive and implying that publishing contract terms are to be discussed soon enough.

Jisung is aware that he should go back to his real life soon, but most days he can’t help but wonder why he has to. He has bus and train tickets back to Seoul scheduled in a couple of days, but they were bought out of necessity; his parents are going to be visiting for a week, and he has to go and do the filial son act. Otherwise, he thinks he wouldn't mind staying even longer. His days feel quieter now that he and Minho don’t have work to rush, but he’s continued writing on his own—hard not to, considering the ideas still keep flowing.

Today, they’re apparently celebrating, which is why Minho had left Jeongin (together with Jiheon, who happens to be home for the weekend even though her classes had started back up a week ago) in charge of the café while he took Jisung with him to shop for supplies.

“To mark our pending success!” Minho had said, looking subdued, but sounding confident and happy as he picked out meat and vegetables at the pop-up farmer’s market across the general goods store.

Jisung was more cautious; he didn’t want to jinx any possible good news, but Minho told him that he was going to cook a feast, and well, how can Jisung say no to Minho’s cooking? He still hasn’t forgotten Minho proving to him that ‘the best meal in town’ is to be found in his own house. 

“What are you making?” Jisung asks, following Minho into his house while carrying bags of groceries. “You never told me.”

Minho laughs. “You mean what are we cooking!” he chirps; he sounds far too gleeful which makes Jisung nervous.

“Why are you so excited? It makes me feel like you’re going to put me through some sort of trial.”

Minho snorts and pinches Jisung’s cheek before helping him unload what they bought. “Why are you so nervous?”

“You’re acting strange!” Jisung grumbles.

“We’re baking a cake,” Minho answers simply. “Chocolate. And then we’re going to make braised short ribs and mushroom and scallions pajeon.”

“A cake?” Jisung laughs. “You’re taking this celebratory meal a little too seriously.”

“Nope.” Minho shakes his head. “The cake is for your birthday.”

Jisung blinks at him; his birthday isn’t until five days from now. He should be in Seoul with his parents by then, but he doesn’t think he remembers mentioning that little tidbit to Minho. Frankly, he hasn’t been thinking about it enough himself to even mention it. The older he gets, the less he cares about celebrating it.

“What—?” he laughs. “How did you know?”

“Changbin,” Minho answers simply. 

That renders Jisung even more surprised. “You're in contact with each other?”

It's Minho's turn to laugh. “We are old friends, you know,” he points out. “We have each other on social media.”

“Which neither of you update all that much,” Jisung counters.

Minho shrugs. “We occasionally use it say hi to each other.”

“Have you been gossiping about me all this time?” Jisung narrows his eyes at him. 

“You wish!”  Minho tells him, but his coy laughter tells Jisung enough. “Anyway, aren't you glad he told me that it's your birthday?”

Jisung hums; he supposes he is. “In my early 20s, everyone I knew was always made known about my birthday weeks ahead,” he admits. “For some reason, I don't feel the need to do that anymore.”

He silently wonders if that has to do with how his recent days, even if quiet and seemingly uneventful, all feel quite special in their own way. He watches Minho ready all the ingredients they need for cooking, and his heart skips a bit—Minho is the most special factor in his recent days, Jisung knows as much.

“Well, we have a lot to celebrate, so your birthday will be special this year whether you like it or not,” Minho declares. “Or well,  your birthday minus five days will be.”

Jisung scoffs. “My birthday, and you're turning me into your work horse!”

Minho gives him a pointed look. “Well, like it has been established… it's technically not your birthday yet.”

“You can't even get your motivations straight,” Jisung says with a groan; nevertheless, he takes the apron being offered to him and he puts it on. “Fine, what do you need me to do?”

The next couple of hours is spent meticulously measuring ingredients, and making sure the training is right for the cake. Minho is much different when he's in the kitchen, Jisung realises. Quiet and focused, even more so when they were hard at work on their manuscript together. In the kitchen, he's taken the lead, giving Jisung clear, but simple instructions to follow – versus working on their project, when he was looking to Jisung for instructions most of the time.

It's an interesting contrast for Jisung, and it pleases him that up to now, he's discovering new sides to Minho.

“Baking is more of a science than normal cooking is,” Minho explains to Jisung when they finally place two pans of cake inside a preheated oven. “You need to have all the measurements exact, otherwise, your cake will fall in on itself. With normal cooking, it's just more about feeling and tasting.”

He hands Jisung a packet or crackers to munch on; neither of them have had lunch, even though Minho had also fed him a full, late breakfast before they had gone shopping. Jisung didn't realise it was because they were going to spend the entire day cooking — he would have blanched had he known, except right now he doesn't think he minds it so much. A certain kind of tension has been in the air all day, but it isn't anything bad. Rather, it's something that has Jisung on his toes, looking forward to something, though he isn't sure what.

It's likely that he's just excited about more of Minho's cooking, he thinks.

“How do you know so much about baking?” he asks, even as he stuffs his cheeks with soda crackers.

“I don't,” Minho laughs. “But that's something my grandmother used to say. We source out pastries for the café now, but when it first opened, my grandmother did all the baking.”

“Did she also teach you how to cook?”

“No way.” Minho snorts. “She wouldn't even let me in the kitchen as a boy—she was old fashioned like that. I taught myself when I was living alone in Seoul for college.”

“Oh.” That makes sense, but Jisung feels embarrassed, because he's been on his own for years, and all he knows how to make is fried egg and instant ramyeon.

“Anyway, here—” Minho hands him a basket of mushrooms. “Can you wash these while I chop the scallions?”

Jisung nods; it doesn't seem like very hard work. He loses himself to a song that's playing in his head once he opens the kitchen tap,  and he distractedly starts singing said song under his breath as he runs the cold water over the mushrooms.

He doesn't notice Minho walk up to him, until he’s right next to him, so close when he asks,

“You doing fine here?”

Jisung almost drops the mushrooms in surprise. Minho doesn't smell like he usually does, which is a calming mix of his pine-scented shampoo and freshly brewed coffee. Right now, he smells strongly of vanilla, faintly mixed with cacao, likely thanks to the cake they were working on earlier. He can't help himself as he inhales deeply after he stops singing.

“You shouldn't wash them for too long,” Minho says, reaching over to close the tap. “They lose the flavor if you do that.”

“Ah. Alright.” Jisung nods, exhaling shakily. His heart is pounding against his chest, a reminder that Minho is still standing too close. “What do I do next?”

“Separate the cluster, and make sure to throw away any stalks that look slimy or discolored,” Minho instructs him softly.

Jisung hums, nodding. Minho isn't moving away for some reason; he doesn't know why it's making him nervous, it's not like he isn't used to having the other in such close proximity. But today, like this, the tension in the air feels even more present.

“I like these,” Jisung speaks, finding it necessary to ramble to calm himself down. “These mushroom friends are my favorite kind.”

Mushroom friends. He can't believe that just came out of mouth—what is wrong with him?

He flashes a crooked smile at Minho, his attempt to show that he's joking, only to once again be taken aback by the intensity of the latter's gaze on him.

“Hyung—” he begins, chuckling.

“I like you,” Minho says, interrupting whatever Jisung was about to say—interrupting Jisung's entire train of thought entirely.

“Huh?” He must look very comical, because his jaw practically drops. 

Minho keeps looking at him, eyes sparkling as he lets out a giggle, pretty much confirming how funny Jisung's expression is.

“I like you,” he repeats. “This friend,” Minho places a hand on his shoulder, and Jisung thinks his heart rate triples in that moment, “is my favorite.”

The pounding in his chest stills, and Jisung's expression contorts in confusion as he places the mushrooms down on the sink counter. “Are you comparing me to enoki mushrooms?”

Minho blinks, and then he takes one step back, his laughter thundering around his kitchen.

“This is why I should have waited until dinner,” he says, wheezing in between his laughs.

“Hyung?” Jisung stands there, staring in confusion. He thinks Minho just confessed to him, but the joking atmosphere has him scared of accepting the words at face value.

“Han Jisung—” Minho inhales deeply; he moves closer to Jisung once again, hands resting on his shoulders. “I like you—mushrooms aside. I like you. A lot.” He winces, clearly uncomfortable with his words. “I'm very bad at this,” he grumbles. “I had something really nice and romantic planned, and—” 

Minho is talking to himself, and it renders Jisung frustrated. How is he meant to respond if Minho is going to be like that.

“Hyung—”  he interrupts. Jisung is quite sure that his cheeks are colored a deep shade of red, if the hotness he's feeling is any indication.

Minho likes him. Minho likes him a lot , and he thinks that maybe this is it—the thing that he's been looking forward to all day.

Giddiness rises up his chest, and Jisung is unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face. Minho likes him—it's a surprise, and yet it isn't. The last few months they have spent together offered more than enough proof of Minho's feelings, but that doesn't mean the words coming directly from him don't hit hard.

“I like you too, hyung,” Jisung returns, and the happiness that lights up Minho's face has the metaphorical butterflies in his stomach doing excited somersaults. “I like you a lot, too. More than enoki mushrooms,” he adds, grinning; he figures he can be playful now—figures he can tease a little.

Silence settles between them, both of them regarding each other with something not quite new—but definitely something more free. Something that has always been there, but pushed aside for various reasons that don't really matter anymore.

“I'm going to kiss you now,” Minho announces.

Jisung gives him half a nod, and then he laughs; he doesn't wait for Minho to make the next move; instead he's the one who tugs at Minho in by the straps of his apron—pulls him closer until their faces are barely a centimeter apart. 

Neither of them are able to tell who bridges the final gap, but it doesn't matter. They're both smiling when their lips meet, Minho giggling as his arms wrap strongly around Jisung's more slender figure.

The kiss is sweet and chaste at first, just happy as their mouths innocently move and shift against each other. It escalates naturally, though; Jisung can't speak for Minho, but he finds himself pressing against the older, his tongue eager for more of Minho's taste as he licks into his mouth.

“‘Sung,” Minho's laugh is breathless when he manages to break away. “We have an entire dinner to prepare,” he points out. “Guests to feed.”

Right. Jisung has almost forgotten that Minho had invited Jeongin and Jiheon for dinner after the café closes, so they can't exactly just slack around.

“Right,” he mutters, nodding slowly as he licks his lips unconsciously.

He looks up when he hears Minho sigh, and without warning, Minho leans in once more for another kiss—sweet, but quick, as if just to assure Jisung that is something he wants just as much.

“We'll have all of tonight…?” Minho asks, his own form of an invitation for Jisung to stay.

“Just tonight?” Jisung laughs. “We can have days, weeks, months…” Years and decades, even, Jisung thinks, if Minho will have him.

Minho snorts and playfully pinches Jisung's nose. “Well, right now we don't have all evening to prepare for dinner so get going!”

Jisung laughs and turns back to his task at hand—making sure the mushrooms are clean and ready for consumption. 

“Do you know?” Minho murmurs gently as he prepares the batter for the pajeon; somehow he's back to standing next to Jisung over the counter. “I have wanted to do that from Day One.”

“Kiss me?”

Minho laughs, but his ears are red; Jisung smirks, knowing that Minho was caught off-guard by his bluntness. 

“Yes, idiot,” Minho retorts, but his tone is fond, and it tickles at Jisung's insides. “I've wanted to kiss you from Day One, and that's why I was so on the fence about working together.”

Jisung can't help but smile; even now, cooking together, it seems as if they truly do work seamlessly.

“Does that mean you're open to more collaborations?” he asks.

“Sure—” Minho grins and wags his eyebrows. “We can try collaborating in bed next time—”

“Hyung!” Jisung gasps, and then they're both laughing again, and only a quick kiss from Jisung to Minho is able to calm both of them down. “I'm serious though, hyung,” Jisung hums, smiling as Minho lands another peck on his cheek before going back to mixing his neglected batter.

“Serious about—?”

“Well, I have this idea,” Jisung shares, beaming. “About this alien boy who falls in love with someone on Earth—”

Minho laughs. “Sounds like it would be perfect for a weekly serial.”

“Yeah?” Jisung grins and elbows Minho. “Would you do the art and commit to weekly deadlines with me?"

Minho huffs. “Don't you even think of asking anyone else!”

✧✧

“Oppa! You're back!” Jiheon beams and waves when Jisung enters the café.

“So are you,” he counters. “And you're working… here?”

It's winter now, with Christmas just a couple of days away.  Jisung had spent the last month in Seoul taking care of loose ends—like negotiating the end of his apartment lease—and going to meetings regarding the publication of his and Minho's graphic novel, not to mention the upcoming book launch tour that the publishing company wants them to do.

Minho had spent some of it with him—he was as needed in the meetings after all, not to mention he had taken the time to visit with friends like Seungmin, Felix, and the prince of The Eternal Sword himself, Hyunjin. There were times when they had combined friend groups, Minho reuniting with Changbin while also being introduced to Jisung's friend Chan. 

Jisung had gone and filmed vlogs of him and Minho with friends—this time, just to share how happy his life genuinely has been, not really caring anymore what kind of content will get him hits or not.

Half of the time, Minho would head back home, and Jisung would spend those lonely days with Changbin and Chan, catching up and making future plans for them to visit him and Minho in the countryside—because that's  where Jisung actually lives now.

He made the decision to permanently make the move a couple of months ago. It was a quiet place to be, inspirational in surprising ways—mostly, though, it's where his work partner lives. He reasoned that being efficient would be much harder if they lived hundreds of miles away from each other. 

The fact that his boyfriend is also his work partner—that's just a lucky cherry on top of everything else. (Very lucky, he knows all too well, because not all couples are able to work together as well as they do.)

The last time he had been home, Jiheon was still off in university; he's really been out of school too long, because it escapes him that fall term ended days ago.

“I need the extra money, and Minho-oppa knows that Jeongin-oppa is useless on his own,” Jiheon chirps happily.

“Hey! I resent that!” Jeongin retorts as he appears from the backroom. “You should just admit you wanna be around me.”

“In your dreams!” Jiheon answers far too quickly; there's a faint blush on her cheeks that betrays her. 

They make faces at each other, almost as if forgetting Jisung's presence, at least until he shuffles towards the counter with an announcement.

“I have early presents for you two!” He's excited as he pulls out two hardbound books from his bag. “Sample press of ‘Converging Paths!’” he explains as he hands each of them a copy. “You guys deserve them for letting us use your names.”

Jeongin and Jiheon's eyes widen as they happily accept the gifts. Both of them were allowed early previews of the work when it was first finished, but neither of them have seen the final copy.

“Some of the pages are colored now,” Jeongin comments, the awe in his voice clear.

“Will you sign my copy, oppa?” Jiheon asks, offering her copy back.

“Sure, of course,” Jisung agrees. “I'm sure Minho will, too—”

“You're here!” As if on cue, a familiar voice greets from behind thin, and Jisung readily turns with a big grin. 

Even now, just the sight of Minho renders him breathless. His boyfriend is a beautiful man, and every day he thanks the lucky stars for his fortune.

“Yes," he agrees, nodding. “I'm here, you're here, Jiheon's here, and Jeongin's here!” he announces, gesturing around the area. “Customers are here, too,” he points out with a  chuckle, waving and nodding politely at a table with two women who are actually unfamiliar to him, and therefore must be from out of town.

“Everybody's here,” Jeongin echoes in a sing-song tone, while Jiheon snorts and pulls at his cheek, clearly just because she can.

Minho approaches Jisung and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome home.” His lips are cold, which is to be expected due to the cold weather, but his words fill Jisung with warmth.

Welcome home.

fin.