Archive of Our Own

There's no one but Seungmin on this deserted beach. 

It's hardly a beach, actually, more like a bunch of stones and rocks. It takes half an hour cycling, a long set of stairs down to the water and a lot of clumsy climbing before Seungmin finally settles in between the geometrical rocks that look like an abandoned throne of the gigantic sea monster. And there, having made himself cozy away from the world, practically shielded from anyone but a strong wind from the salty horizon, Seungmin pulls his guitar out of its case (the Fender, inherited from his father, beaten by life and bad playing). He plays the first thing that comes to mind. Strings tremble like waves licking the shore when chords under his fingers slowly take the shape of something complete and familiar like breathing. It almost feels like they guide themselves without his conscious mind. 

Sometimes, he sings along. 
Of course, it requires a particular mood. He sings when the wind tangling in his bangs is especially salty and tart. He sings when the day has burned him out to the core, so he can only heal if he resonates with the waves as his fingers clamp the strings gently. His voice has attracted passers-by a couple of times. Sometimes it has frightened nearby fishermen who vainly hoped to catch something valuable in the steep drop of the depth under their feet. Still, again and again, they left with nothing, eventually leaving Seungmin alone with the sea. His sea. He claims it as his own, though no one has such power. But there is something incredible about feeling cohesion with it, even if it seems stupid to claim stars. 

(Seungmin is not stupid to buy fucking certificate for owning another blue-white subgiant star, but he is sentimental enough to find himself a guardian light in the night sky that will keep him safe and sound even when daylight steals all the inky blue from above with the arrival of dawn)

His trip to the beach is truly a highlight of any day.
When the waves explode in splashes on the rocky cliffs, and his voice gets absorbed by the wind in the middle of rapidly fading twilight, Seungmin feels himself part of something great and beautiful.
 
But more importantly, he finally feels whole.

Somewhere between deadlines and boring meetings, which Seungmin overcomes with a face full of ignorance, the thought about his evening on the beach helps him remain conscious. In his department, constantly suffering from ungrateful customers, Seungmin is known as the devil in a ghost shell, who no one and nothing can annoy. He can listen to his boss yelling for hours with a completely straight face and yet somehow stay calm in an irritatingly long conference call, humming something inarticulate in the right places along the lines. He can leave his air-conditioned workplace just for a three-hour trip to the other side of Mokpo, and even then, Seungmin will not let the bored-neutral expression slip from his face.

The secret is simple. He just phases into a quantum superposition, ignoring any incoming noise. How is he supposed to care about annual reports if the only thing he could think about is his favorite caramel donuts?

Everything dark, dirty, and prickly that Seungmin absorbs through the day, carefully stacking under his skin so he doesn't accidentally spill it out, pulls him down like enhanced gravity as soon as he walks inside his house. It feels like he is nothing but a silly fish that swallowed too many rocks in its fancy aquarium and is now stuck to the bottom, pitifully opening his greedy mouth in a hopeless attempt to float to the surface. His small apartment, locked between two industrial areas, smells sweet like chocolate from a candy factory nearby in the eastern window and the bitterness of a bonfire in the western. Somewhere in the middle, they clash and merge between themselves into a sickening symbiosis of burnt caramel.

One day, when the smell was particularly strong and nauseous, Seungmin hastily grabbed his jacket just to run away. He wanders on darkening streets before somehow finds himself on a high wooden pier with a tiny dummy lighthouse that serves only as a shell for wires. Along with it, there is a rotten ladder down to the water, and sharp rocks, crashing upcoming waves into a foam that sparkles white under the dim moonlight. Besides the fake lighthouse, there's only a tiny store that closes around noon and half-abandoned warehouses. The area is so empty and deserted that he shivers from uneasiness.

The second time he walks here on purpose, faintly remembering his path through the twilight under the white light of street lamps. Seungmin finds the right road on a whim, picking out from a distance the top of an artificial lighthouse. It looks like a castle on a massive chessboard,  preparing to make a long castling to the king, hidden somewhere in the sea horizon.

Seungmin rode his bike the third time, with the guitar case slamming his back every time he forgets to slow down in front of the curb.

It becomes a habit then: just him, the sea, the sound of the guitar and his own voice, quiet and timid at first, but firm and clear later, accelerating in volume with the insistence of the waves increasing at sunset.

Six months later, he can't even remember how many times he rode to the beach. As he doesn't know how many times he froze to the bone under the strong salty wind; how he tried to hide from the storm with the cute small umbrella with a pug sticking out its tongue on it. He doesn't notice how one season follows another, and the rocks have become too cold to sit on them without an Ikea cushion brought from home.

These cliffs and this beach become so dear to his heart that Seungmin could come here just to confess to them his sins.
Maybe, it's what he's doing all this time, refusing to expose his most vulnerable parts to the people but able to tell all his secrets to the sea and the stars.

Sometimes he has a strange feeling that someone is watching him in the gathering darkness of the night, but it's just a sense of unease that is thrown into him by the impenetrable sea distance, in which faint moonlight reflects nothing but the trembling ripples of the surface.

(There is no one here to stay with him. And if the sea wants to stare into his shaky outlines, Seungmin gives it carte blanche.)

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

No one can psychic out Seungmin.

That's an axiom.

It's as constant as sunrise and dawn. It's like the knowledge that as you've born from the particles of distant galaxies, after death, you'll become stardust again.

After six years of uni and several years on his annoying job, Seungmin knew for sure — he can only be pushed to the edge by videos from the "We Rate Dogs" account on twitter, where every 15/10 could get him crying for years behind the sofa. 

And yet, it turns out, there are exceptions. It's not like he was happy to find out.
Probably it only confirms the point.

The first time he sees this incredible annoying factor™ in the bar hosting some kind of open mic for musicians. His nerves start to shake him to the core, so Seungmin doesn't hesitate even for a second when he approaches the bar with clear intentions to shut the nerves with some strawberry soju. He expected to meet Hyunjin here, who is as tall as big his heart is, when he slips the entire bottle of soju on the house in Seungmin's hand; but instead of a smiley and fond familiar face Seungmin sees someone different. His face is like a mirror for Seungmin's own indifferent face with a hint of predatoriness in the bottom of his eyes. He looks like something grim and evil, and the apron he's wearing, with tiny kitty paws on it, completely unmatches with the rest of his appearance.

Seungmin hesitates for a second but proceeds anyway.

"I'd like to have strawberry soju, please," He says, making himself comfortable on a high bar stool and leaning on the counter. The guitar behind his back strains uncomfortably on his belt.

The bartender gives him an apathetic look before he asks in the same plain and colorless voice, as his eyes are, "Can I see your ID card, please?"

It takes all the patience Seungmin could muster not to roll his eyes while he rummages in pockets for the ID because:
1) His face suffers from the imprint of a long-term slavery office work;
2) He is a regular customer here, actually. The amount of disrespect he handles is beyond bearable.

While his ID card goes through incredible scrutiny of the bartender, Seungmin catches a glimpse of the name on the golden badge, crookedly attached to the pink apron. Minho.

"Is something wrong?" He asks.

"No, it's alright," The bartender — Minho — returns his ID with a sharp, studying gaze. He slightly tilts his head to the side, making himself look like a giant cat, calculating the angle for the jump for the desired prey. Seungmin just stares back until Minho blooms with an insincere smile of the martyr of the service industry. "Please, wait."

Something odd and enormous shifts within Seungmin when he asks, "Where's Hyunjin?"

"It's Hyunjin-hyung for you," Minho turns just to send an unimpressed look with the sweetest smile, which triggers a vague wave of unease inside Seungmin. "He's busy with the exams, so I jumped to take a couple of shifts."

"Hyung?" Seungmin asks quietly, refusing to believe that he was corrected. It's not like he really cares about Hyunjin's age since they follow a standard bartender-customer routine. The last time he talked with someone as a customer with honorifics was elderly ajeossi, and it was as natural as breathing. If he didn't pay some respect to the hard-working old man, he'd probably bury himself in a nearby trench.

Even if Minho catches his confusion, he ignores it completely.

"Hyung, yes. Or maybe some basic politeness hurts your feelings? Anyway, your soju, Kim Seungmin."

"Me? Oh... No! I mean, I'm just not used to it? It's not common?" Seungmin stares at glass against him, carefully balancing on the edge of his serene calmness. He doesn't know what pushes him further — the remark from Minho, or that he was called by his full name, or that all of the above ignites deep inside something more than just dull exhaustion, which he buries in a common grave along with his other emotions.

This is something new. This feeling, tickling right under Seungmin's ribs, unknown and sharp, creeps to the throat.
Irritation.
He is so startled by it that he doesn't find the words to answer, completely forgetting what he was going to say.

And then, right before his eyes, someone snaps fingers, and Seungmin wakes up from his coma.

"Are you still with us?"

"Sure, Minho-hyung," — Seungmin lets the wicked smile creep across his face — it's almost a reflection of a smile in front of him. His inner balance crumbles to dust in less than a minute. It's a new record. "Thanks."

"You are a quick learner, Kim Seungmin. Good luck, by the way."

Minho turns away so quickly that Seungmin can barely catch how his smile fades into indifference. He looks at his back, almost fascinated, swallowing the unasked questions. Why the hell Minho calls him by his full name, why he knows that Seungmin will need luck, and what the fuck this entire dialogue was — only to wash them all down with sugary bitterness of soju. He hopes that the sweet aftertaste of alcohol will help him erase the sorrowful taste of conversation with Minho, but it doesn't really help.

(Later, when he checks the setup with a sound engineer, Seungmin realizes that all this time, he had a guitar behind his back, which hollow "good luck" probably was referred to.)

Seungmin barely remembers the performance. Once he sits on a chair on the stage, time slips off his fingers with the speed of a burning match. It wasn't his first experience and definitely not last, so he wasn't afraid of the audience. Every time he pulls a high note, he feels been watched by a pair of sharp, cat-like eyes, but as Seungmin glances to the bar counter, he finds nothing but disinterested back, lazily wiping glasses. He stares no more than a second before he smiles himself, playing the next chord.

He left the bar long after midnight, happy and light, as the helium balloon. Post-stage adrenaline and two extra glasses of soju make him bounce with every step. Surprisingly, he gets his soju not from Minho but from the other bartender, cheerful and so tall that he almost bumps his forehead on the top of the glasses hanging over the bar counter. Outside the bar, Seungmin maneuvers to his bike between the losers waiting for an Uber. He bumps into someone, and with a quick apology, continues his path through the crowd. He was busy with a bicycle lock when the familiar voice called out.

"Kim Seungmin!"

"Oh, Minho-sshi," He doesn't quite understand when he caught this venom in his calm voice, poisoning everything he says. Half a tone softer, he asks almost sincerely, "Do you like it?"

"Just hyung will be enough," Minho tilts his head to one side in a recognizable gesture. It's too dark to see his face, but Seungmin hears a smile in his voice. "Not bad, not bad. I don't know, to be honest. I was too busy with work to listen to your ballads."

His weak smile fades away — as if he really needed Minho's approval. Like it means something to him. Like it was necessary.
Like he even cares.

"It's probably for the best, hyung. At least I escaped the unnecessary review, right?"

"So you wanna get it, Kim Seungmin?"

"You didn't answer the question, hyung."
Minho laughs sparkly and bright, pushing his hood back. In the dead white light of the streetlight, he looks almost demonic. His beauty has something evil and vulturous, making you look closely but treat it with caution.

"It depends on you."

"And if I say I don't care about your opinion at all?"

"Then I'm wasting my time," Minho snorts without malice, sounding like he's lost every interest in Seungmin. But he doesn't turn or walk away and just lets Seungmin stare at him with fascination and bewilderment as if enjoying it.

"You don't like acoustic guitars?"

"Maybe."

"I saw you were looking at me," Seungmin says randomly, entirely annoyed by this useless and clueless conversation, leading like a maze into nowhere, leaving more loose ends than proper exits. It was a blind shot, but Seungmin knows that the bullet hit the mark as the tips on Minho's ears turn faintly red under the merciless white streetlight. 

Seungmin stares at him with intention, and Minho looks away for a second, only to return in the battle with the familiar playful smile of a skilled predator.

"Maybe."

"Don't maybe me."

"Maybe. Hyung," Minho says with emphasis on the latter, pulling the hood over his head. "See you later, Kim Seungmin. Don't catch a cold. Nights are pretty chilly." And with that, he steps back behind the circle of light, merging with the darkness and the vague outlines of other people.

There's a second Panasia inside Seungmin, bursting and crumbling. In the last decade, no one could throw him off balance so quickly as this sharp-eyed humanization of a cat in a pink apron. He rides his bike at top speed, tripping over all the bumps and barely keeping eyes on the road. He tries to breathe evenly and calmly, only to stumble on an evening conversation with Minho, replaying it over and over in his memory. It lies in front of him like an unsolvable puzzle, in which even if the pieces fit together, they reveal different pictures.

(When he opens the front door, the belated realization dawns on him with unexpected clarity — this puzzle looks just like him.)

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

The unexpectedly hot sun presses him down to the ground as he leaves the air-conditioned paradise of the office building. To the nearest cafe with the standard lunch, food is barely more than a five-minute walk, but Seungmin sweats like hell in his coat. He catches blueberry juice from the shelf, a tuna sandwich, and two mochis, stoically refusing to buy something for dessert while he stands in front of the cash register. He patiently waits in his queue before he pours all the stuff out of his hands and accidentally collides with the cashier's gaze.

He wouldn't forget his sly, cat-like sharp eyes and smile, faintly quivering at the corners, even in the unconsciousness of an alcoholic coma.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here," Minho replies with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He looks simple and pleasant in the cafe's green uniform, and his disheveled appearance lacks the predatory aura from their last encounter in the bar. It seems like someone hit an invisible toggle switch, replacing the devil of the alcohol shaker with a tired mortal, exhausted by customers, his boss, and a sound from scanned barcodes. "And what are you doing here?"

"I work here," Seungmin echoes with a frown. "Are you following me?"

"For someone who buys mochi for lunch, you underestimate your value, Kim Seungmin."

"Do you have something against mochi?"

"No, I'm just deathly allergic to stupid questions. A tuna sandwich? Do you like fish?"

"It seems you just said something about allergy to stupid questions, hyung."

Minho blooms with a smile, sparkling like fireworks — as if a verbal ping-pong with Seungmin was indeed the highlight of his work shift.

"It's always a pleasure to talk to someone clever."

Seungmin doubts about the "pleasure" part, but prefers not to say it out loud, because it will trigger another roundabout of this conversation, already spiralling into the abyss maze. He can't handle it right in the middle of his lunch break. 

"Do you part-work here along the bar? It's unusual," Instead of useless bickering, Seungmin tries to find the way out of this maze.

"Really? Oh, let's protect the environment, no plastic bag for you," Minho calmly retorts. "That'll be twenty thousand won."

"Why don't you get a full-time job at a bar?" Seungmin mutters as he was left without a clear answer. "I think they had a vacancy."

Minho looks at him impatiently, and Seungmin catches himself and puts the credit card on the pin-pad. "I just don't think that you like standing behind the cash register."

"Everyone has a choice, Kim Seungmin. You chose open space and the daily humiliation of work meetings. I chose what was left."

For a split second, Seungmin feels like he's going to repeat something stupid, something like "I don't understand," but he wisely refrains himself from it.

"For someone who has a choice, you seem too involved in our dialogue."

"What?"

"I'm obviously annoying you."

Minho smiles again, so bright and open that Seungmin wants to close his eyes like he shouldn't see it. There's nothing warm in his smile; it doesn't spark like sunlight. Instead, it's like the light from a distant star, merciless and deadly in its blinding power. This is the smile of someone who won a cruel and prolonged war.
"Oh no, Kim Seungmin. I prefer to ignore those who annoy me."

"I don't know if I can take it as a compliment."

"As you wish." Minho gives him a bag with his lunch. Seungmin can't process when he manages to pack everything, even in a bag he didn't pay for but accepts it anyway. "You have a choice, too."

"Can you probably flirt somewhere else?"

Seungmin barely flinches at the sound of someone else's voice, just to turn around and see a colleague behind him, which he greets with a hushed hello and a half-bow. His face remains still and impassive, but he feels like his calmness dangerously bends within like a piece of paper. He turns around once more before he leaves the cafe, just to glance at Minho. He may look as indifferent, but Seugmin notices with a vague satisfaction the crimson red on the tips of his ears. 

This strange sense of victory drags him along the rest of the day without noticing minor inconveniences. When another VIP customer yells at him through the call, all he can think about is the sharp cat-like gaze, the bright cold smile of the light of a distant star, and the Mars bar at the bottom of the bag, thrown by someone's gentle hands. 

Left alone with himself in the rapidly thickening twilight, Seungmin absentmindedly plucks the guitar strings in random chords without any straight melody. It seems like his structured mind caught a dangerous malware, violently scattering his thoughts so that they remain floating in the chaos. When the moon hovers over the sea, he smiles at it, as an old Bruno Mars song comes to mind. With a soft, gentle whisper, "Listen.", either to the moon or to the waves, dangerously crashing on the rocks beneath his feet, he starts to play the chords from memory, just to overlap their quiet melody with his voice.

(That night, he dreams of someone with sharp eyes, who creeps up to his neck with neat small hands as if to choke — but just to hold him by the shoulders with a sparkling laugh. When Seungmin wakes up, he doesn't remember any of it.)

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

For simple coincidence, he meets Minho too often.

It's a shame that Seungmin is so pragmatic. Otherwise, he'd have assumed that all those theories about living in freaking Matrix are true, and Minho is no other than Agent Smith itself, sent from someone from above just to throw him off balance.

Seungmin notices him behind the counter of Starbucks somewhere in the center of Mokpo when he takes his venti iced Americano (with the six shots of espresso for guaranteed death from cardiac arrest before he will be killed at tomorrow's meeting). Minho doesn't say anything, as he shrugs with something like "I work here" on his lips. Seungmin glances at him for a second before he leaves. Five minutes later, he realizes that he forgot to put cinnamon and straw — but of course, he doesn't go back.

Seungmin bumps into him in an alley on his evening walk, among pet activists collecting donations for a shelter. He puts neatly folded bills in the donation box, accepts a small kitty badge from one of the activists, barely listening to sincere and hasty words of gratitude from him because all he can see is Minho. He uncrosses his arm, smiling fondly and tenderly, just to let Seungmin see the same kitty badge pinned to his hoodie.

They run into each other in the bookstore, somewhere between the shelves of modern literature. Seungmin has to grab Minho by the sleeve to prevent the inevitable domino flashmob. Minho doesn't greet him. Instead, he puts the book he was holding onto Seungmin's hands and disappears without a word.

For some reason, he buys it, reading the turned upside-down title on the book at the cash counter. Fucking Hunger games. The cashier, a young and cheerful girl, asks him with a smile, "Oh, are you buying a gift for your girlfriend?" and Seungmin can't find the strength to respond with more than a simple nod.

Seungmin doesn't believe that Minho actually stalks him. Their meetings are too chaotic and dumb to predict. Ironically, this is how every conversation went. Minho is the only variable Seungmin can't calculate or foresee in his established and mostly dull life. If their next encounter would take place in his office for a planned meeting, he'd barely be surprised, even if Minho, walking into their conference room in a neat suit, is no less than a fever dream.

After a couple of weeks of these strange meetings, he finds himself in his favorite bar, slightly expecting to meet Minho here again. Surprisingly, the man behind the counter is no other than Hyunjin — and this revelation is somehow disappointing. 

"Wow, my favorite customer! As usual?"

"Yeah," Seungmin purses his lips, glancing at Hyunjin's black apron with a shining silver badge on it. When a glass of soju appears before him on the counter, he doesn't drink it.

"Are you worried about something?" Hyunjin quickly catches his uneasiness, leaning on the counter and resting his chin on the open palms. 

Seungmin looks at the glass in front of him, and with a couple of deep breaths, he decides to ask.

"Uhm. Nothing happened, actually. Listen, where's Minho?"

"Minho?" Hyunjin frowns, looking completely dumbfounded. Something inside Seungmin snaps like a taut rope. 

"He took your shift recently, remember?"

"Well, I caught a cold recently, so I skipped a couple of shifts, but Minho... I can't remember any Minho here. We have Yunho-hyung, actually! Are you asking about him? 

"Yunho-hyung?"

"Yeah. Tall, smiley, broad-shouldered. He's even taller than me. I'm looking for a day when he finally bangs his forehead into the door jamb."

Seungmin remembers Yunho. And he is definitely not the bartender he's looking for.

"Nope, I remember Yunho. It's so weird. How don't you remember Minho? He said you were friends or something like that."

"Friends? No, Seungminnie. You're confusing me."

"I swear, I will recognize this pink apron amongst the thousand others. Cat-like eyes, discontent face? The gaze of someone who could actually kill you?"

Hyunjin freezes thoughtfully as his brain tries to catch someone elusive. It looks like his memory trips over a broken sector over and over until his face finally lights up. 

"Minho-hyung! Of course. We were buddies for an eternity. Why are you asking? Do I need to arrange a date?"

"No! Nothing like that. By the way, you couldn't remember him a minute ago."

"I don't know what you are talking about. How could I forget my favorite grumpy hyung?"

"You literally declined your friendship."

"Hey, it seems like your stupid work finally burned out your precious brain, Seungminnie," Hyunjin pulls away from the counter and taps Seungmin on the shoulder with a small smile. "You'd better get drunk. It'll definitely make you feel better."

Soju doesn't bring him relief — there was something strange in Hyunjin's behavior. Something that he can't quite pick up and examine but feels nonetheless. It's like Hyunjin tried to hide Minho from Seungmin. It's like he actually forgot about him before the mention of the pink apron triggered the correct memory. It's like Minho doesn't even exist in this reality, and his ghostly presence leaves behind the trail so faint that people around simply forget him as soon as he disappears from sight. 

Strangely, Seungmin remembers.

It's strange that he even thinks about it.

As he drunkenly lays at home, inhaling the smoke from the open window, Seungmin wonders who Minho is — and no answer comes to mind. He doesn't even know why it bothers him so much and why he tries to unravel this tangle of secrets and shadows when he obviously doesn't care about Minho at all. He doesn't need to know who he really is. He doesn't care what he hides deep inside his sarcastic facade. Maybe, someone tries to solve the same riddle about him — tries to crack open the unreadable Kim Seungmin. 

The truth is, there's nothing special about him. He doesn't hide something unique behind the protective fence of indifference. He keeps his secrets deep inside in a structured warehouse of memories, carefully tucking all that once was the essence of his heart and discarding it to dust. It's just a neat and lifeless room installation in IKEA, stuffed with things and details that don't belong to anyone anymore.

When he drifts into the sweet oblivion of soju, he finally understands why he craves Minho so desperately but remains completely ignorant of why Minho needs someone like him.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Seungmin doesn't know why he spends his day checking all the places where he saw Minho but does it nonetheless. 

In short, it was bizarre. Every person with who he talked completely refused to remember Minho at first. Still, after a few lead questions, they were blooming with unnatural joy, digging deep from the memory of their "best friend" or favorite brother-in-law, which came to catch a couple of shifts. The most bizarre interaction Seungmin experienced in Starbucks (which he recently left without cinnamon), where the staff didn't have a single clue about Minho. At the same time, the supervisor smiled at Seungmin like he was their favorite customer.

It would be a rational decision to drop the investigation. To accept this riddle is unsolvable. To admit that some of the mysteries of the universe are not meant to be revealed. But Seungmin, pretty rational and clever (thank you very much), can't just break off pursuit.  Something in Minho and how he affects people, disappearing and erasing itself from their memory, has haunted him.

Trying to explain everything about Minho by simple logic is a waste of time. He was just like pure chaos, so Seungmin kept building theories, one madder than the other, falling between his daily schedules into brooding oblivion, skipping lunch and planned meetings.

For some reason, when he sees Minho outside his office building, he's hardly surprised. Somehow it connects with the rest of it, meddling in his desperate attempts to connect the fucking dots. Or, maybe, the chaos inside Minho finally resonated with him with the sound of the devil's metronome. 

The poison oozes from Minho's smile as he pulls off his hood, locking a challenging gaze at him. Seungmin can't muster even a bit of enthusiasm to smile back, so he just returns the gaze with the same tenacity, pulling himself through the crowd to stand in front of Minho, putting hands in his pockets. Ironically, it looks like the main scene from a dorama, except Seungmin doesn't consider himself the protagonist, and Minho doesn't gain enough points to be the antagonist.

"Are you leading some investigation, Kim Seungmin?" Minho asks without greetings, slyly turning his head to the shoulder in a recognizable gesture. Under his piercing gaze, Seungmin feels like he was going to be dissected like a cockroach under the microscope. 

"Investigation?" Seungmin echoes.

"You were searching for me, I know that. So here I am," Minho throws his hands in a gesture of the cartoon's villain. "Catch me, detective boy."

Seungmin doesn't catch, so Minho slowly lowers his arms with barely visible disappointment.

"So, what do you want?"

"Who are you, Minho?" Seungmin asks, looking into his eyes. Minho seems unbothered, but at the very bottom of his pupils, mischievous light smolders to ashes. Like it's just another game for Minho.

It is, probably.

"First of all, I'm hyung for you," He says with a sharp sweetness, and Seungmin squints to keep himself from flinching at the dangerous edge of irritation. He will not give Minho such power. What annoys him the most is the feeling that Minho understands the connotation of the question perfectly but prefers to dodge the answer, twitching the invisible leash. Holding Seungmin in place.

"I'm sorry, hyung," He exhales with pressure on the latter. His voice is too quiet to be heard on the crowded street, but not for Minho, blooming with another evil smile. "So, who are you?"

"Oh, I am many things," Minho raises his hand to his chin in a thoughtful gesture, looking like a humanized emoji. "I'm the oncoming storm. I'm the destroyer of worlds. I'm the bringer of darkness. I'm —"

"I swear, one more Doctor Who reference, and I will strangle you with my bare hands."

"Wow. Kinky. I'm invested," Minho comes impossibly close, dangerously invading Seungmin's comfort zone. "But what exactly do you wanna know?"

"Why are you calling me by my full name?"
"And that's all?" Minho pokes his index finger into Seungmin's chest with a feigning disappointment. "It's nice. I like how it sounds."

"Yep. Fantastic."

"I can't believe that you made all this fuss just to question some nonsense. I thought you might like me."

"You imagined it." Seungmin replies quietly, barely containing all his rage inside. And even then, with the anger in his veins, he enjoys every second. Something stupid and unconscious in him practically howls in delight — that someone could shake his pendulum of indifference with such strength that with the next swing, it will knock him dead. "By the way, I have to go. Bye."

With this, he steps back without warning, breaking the visual contact, pushing Minho out of his comfort zone. Seungmin doesn't glance back as he walks past him, squeezing fists in his pockets so hard that his knuckles wine in pain. He doesn't know if he wants to get drunk or if he wants to beat Minho's stupid head with the empty bottle. 

Probably both.

"Kim Seungmin!"

He turns around to look at Minho, approaching him with the hurried steps of an ahjussi.

"You won. I'm calling a truce. Like a sore loser, I'll buy you beer as a reparation. Okay?"

Seungmin doesn't understand what exactly he won, if there's no war, to begin with, but accepts the proposition anyway. The beer contribution sounds so tempting that he can't resist it.

He follows Minho in the shadows of the twilight, always a couple of meters behind. As he looks at his back, he slowly realizes that it's not a free drink that makes him keep in step. It's Minho's gravitation, pulling him close to his orbit, holding him tight, like a playful supermassive black hole that doesn't let him go, but at the same time, doesn't let him fall over the event horizon. The gravitation collapse probably looks like him, following Minho at a steady pace, while he leads to the god-forsaken cafe somewhere on the seam of the civilized world and the industrial zone. An ashy scent creeps into his lungs with the same familiar bitterness on the tongue.

The rest of the evening is a blur. Seungmin exchanges his favorite twilight hours at the beach to the company of Minho and counts them equally peaceful. Minho, drinking his lager from a tall glass, turns out to be an exciting company when he slips from his usual games of wit. Seungmin learns about him various things but almost nothing that can help him decipher the mystery of Minho itself. He becomes the bearer of his small, meaningless secrets — if you can count as a secret that Minho can solve a Rubik's cube in ten seconds. Usually, it's Minho whos' watching. Tonight, they switched. Seungmin looks at him attentively, absorbing his presence, as he inhales the salty wind from the sea. 

The worst part is — well — the part where Seungmin finally admits that he likes Minho. 
Not in the way of the loud likeness, but in small, quiet adoration that burns under his ribcage with the power of a collapsing star. 

It's not new. Seungmin knew it already but chose to ignore it, replacing it with annoyance and curiosity. It could stay dormant, but it's finally revealed as an immutable truth under the veil of alcohol and the lively, bright presence of Minho. He laughs sparklingly and beautifully at his own joke, pausing right after with half-parted lips, looking like those videos with cat.exe stopped working.

Seungmin glares at him, imprinting the vision of Minho under his eyelids. He wants to capture him in memory like this: unarmed and painfully alive. He wants to remember how he doesn't have to win a war just to talk to him. Minho catches him staring and reaches across the table to boop his nose in a tiny gesture.

"Everything's alright?"

"Of course." Seungmin nods and Minho leans back in his chair, smiling almost tenderly like he knows why Seungmin was struck by a moment. 

There's a little sadness behind his smile. It's barely visible, elusive, and weightless as an imprint on the sand. It creeps along the curves of his lips, trembling in the corners, and Seungmin smiles back in a stupid attempt to wash it away. 

It works halfway. Minho, sipping from the glass, smiles wide and bright, but this little sadness doesn't disappear; it just hides at the bottom of his dark eyes. Seungmin notices but prefers not to push.

It's a moment of quiet serenity, and he loses himself in it. He pulls off the last protective barriers he's been clinging to so desperately, looking at Minho as if he wants to tell him wordlessly: "Look. I'm defenseless. If you're going to stab me, now it's a perfect time." 
But Minho just squints at the particularly spicy piece of kimchi that he's snacking on with his beer and keeps talking.

And Seungmin keeps listening.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Minho walks him home, tenderly smiling while he says goodbye. After that, Seungmin expects at least a very fragile reconciliation.

It's not like he expects that Minho will finally let him live in peace. It's an unreachable miracle.

Minho, holding the unique ability to appear wherever Seungmin is, sits on his favorite barstool, pretending not to notice Seungmin's silent suggestion to move and turning back to Hyunjin, wiping the counter with a rag.

"Mochito for this dandy boy," He says with a plain voice, glancing at Seungmin as expecting him to do somersaults under his gaze.

Hyunjin just nods.

"What are you doing here?"

"I can ask the same."

"I just had a good evening until you came in."

Seungmin is used to his subtle edge of sarcasm slipping from his tongue, teetering on edge between a joke and a direct insult. Now Minho sounds too angry for his usual self, burning with the raw irritation — the same that Seungmin buries in himself.

"Rude. And why did you choose mochito? I don't usually drink it."

"A hunch," Minho says shortly, turning away. 
Seungmin doesn't care, of course, but it still hurts a little. He thought — for a brief second — that the last evening would change something between them. 

It looks like Minho had solved some riddle in Seungmin and lost all his interest with the proper answer.

"You seems a little off," Seungmin says carefully, blindly guiding himself through the darkness. You can never be sure with Minho. 

"Oh, really? I didn't notice. Are you expecting some special treatment from me?"

"Your mochito," Hyunjin cuts in, pushing a tall glass filled with ice, lemon, and mint. Seungmin doubts that there was even a milliliter of alcohol. He says nothing, as Minho's presence captures him, presses him down with hostile gravity. 

"It's not like I expect something from you, hyung," He says, staring somewhere in the middle of the glass in front of him, avoiding Minho. "It's just what our last conversation hinted at."

Minho suddenly turns his whole body towards Seungmin, with his beautiful calm face distorting from anger. Like Seungmin said something terrible.

"Really? You think you're special, Kim Seungmin. A unique snowflake. Do you know a secret? You aren't made from stardust. You're as much flesh and bone as anyone else. Common. Boring."

"But not you, huh?"

Minho just smiles for the first time in the entire conversation. A vague wave of rage rises inside Seungmin, ripping an invisible string and throwing his hand forward against his conscious will, spilling the damn mochito at Minho's face. Lemon from the glass comically slips down his neck, and Seungmin caught himself in the middle of hysterical giggling until he sees him — 

Minho.

Well. Someone who took his place.

His skin is replaced with serpent-like chatoyant scales, cradling his face with sharp lines. Exactly above the collar, his skin looks humanly normal, turning into scales right after water drops touch it. It's both a horrible and mesmerizing view. Scales change like tiny dominos, like Mystique's transformation. Seungmin looks at him with an open mouth in a silent scream, unable to make a sound.

When Minho opens his eyes, they have no pupils — only the golden glow flowing under his lids, shimmering neon bright. Seungmin stares at him in awe. The way the voles look at the snake. The way moths fly to the fire, but instead of flames, there's blindly bright golden, lightning the scales in sparkle greenish. He tries to reach out to him unconsciously as if touching Minho will make him believe it's all real, but Minho subtly shifts, stepping backward in the shadows, avoiding Seungmin's hand and pulling on the hood with one sharp movement as he rushes out from the bar. 

Seungmin doesn't follow him.
He wants to get drunk.

Hyunjin smiles like nothing happened as he pushes the bottle of soju to Seungmin in a gentle gesture of care.

"Have you seen this?" Seungmin asks with a hoarse voice, moving the bottle closer.

"What?"

"Minho. I don't know how to explain, but. He... oh, fuck."

"Who is Minho?" Hyunjin frowns, and Seungmin already knows. He forgot. This time he doesn't try to recall Minho in his memory. Probably, the golden eyes and scaly skin are not the only ability of Mingo. Probably, he can just erase himself from others' lives as quickly as he breaks in.

For some reason, Minho didn't erase himself from Seungmin's memory. 

(What a pity. Seungmin will probably thank him for that kindness.)

The thick sweet smell of chocolate from the nearest factory makes him think he's drowning in a vat of caramel, so he can't fall asleep, despite the lulling weight of alcohol. In a short feverish dream, he sees gold and feels salt. They seem so real that as soon as he woke up in the sickening sweetness, he almost rushed away to the sea in the middle of the night.

Golden eyes remain in his memory. He barely remembers the scaly skin and the rest of the transformation, but the light from Minho's eyelids repeats under his vision over and over again. 

Obviously, Minho isn't human.

It explains half of his strangeness. It could even account for his arrogance.
But it doesn't mean that Seungmin will forgive him.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Seungmin once thought how strange and creepy it would be if among all the places he'd met Minho at his workplace. It seems like a nightmare then, so when he sees Minho in the middle of a heated discussion with a client in the conference room, he thinks it's an illusion. Or maybe he fell unconscious, and it's all just a dream. 

Minho, dressed up in a suit, seems pretty real.

His first intention was to strangle him with his tie.

The next thought — to strangle himself.

The client seems completely unbothered with the presence of Minho as he flips pages of the contract, so Seungmin doesn't turn to Minho either. Maybe, if he doesn't look at him, he will dissolve in the air. Seungmin hides his trembling hands under the table.

He locked in this conference room for almost two hours, going through circles of the same conversation, again and again, trying to explain that the company will not pay any compensation for that case. Nothing worked so far; the client screams with insults every time Seungmin tries to convince him. Before Minho's arrival, Seungmin was so desperate to leave this room alive that he'd not be surprised to find a portal to hell under his foot.

"I am once again demanding your attention. If you, Mr. Kim, are so dumb to understand, I —"

"Is he bothering you, my king?" Minho interrupts him with a soft voice right near Seungmin's ear. His presence Seungmin feels almost telepathically, pursing his lips in an unreadable grimace of anger. 

The client notices Minho as soon as he speaks, staring at him wide-eyed.
"And you are?..."

"The head of the commercial unit. Lee Minho," He doesn't even get up from the chair he's comfortably lounging in as he offers his hand to the client, waiting for the latter to reach him on his own. 

And it worked. The rat quickly gets up, sensing fresh bossy blood, and shakes Minho's hand. Minho smiles wide and cheerful, but the predatory spark doesn't leave the bottom of his dark eyes. Seungmin grabs his arm in silent prayer, trying to say wordlessly: "Don't. Whatever you are about to do, don't you even dare."

Minho turns away from him.

"It's amazing that you came! I was trying to explain your employee —"

"That he's dumb?" Minho scoffs. The client tries to avoid Seungmin's glare when he stares right at him. "Don't be shy. I heard everything."

"I don't mean it! I... well, maybe it was too harsh..."

Minho doesn't answer as he reclines in the chair, turning to face Seungmin when he feels his gaze upon him. Minho smiles fondly and gently, faintly lifting the corners of his lips. This fragile tenderness, hiding under the sharpness of his usual facial expression, hits Seungmin under the ribs with a loud, desperate gasp. He feels caught off-guard, just like the last time when Minho saw him staring, but before he can say something stupid, Minho turns to the client. He looks at him directly and harshly, trying to hypnotize, forcing him to look back. 

"Your issue is solved," Minho says in a plain and even voice, and Seungmin could have sworn that he saw the shimmering gold in his eyes for a second. "You admit you were wrong. You understand that this behavior was highly inappropriate. You're going to say sorry to Kim Seungmin. Then you walk out of here, buy yourself a caramel latte macchiato, and forget that you ever had any complaints. Is everything clear?

The client nods, looking completely confused, and bows to Seungmin, gathering his belongings in between. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please forgive me, Kim-sshi. I'm so sorry —"

"It's enough." Minho waves his hand, and the client stops mumbling. "You can go now."

With muffled "Sorry" and another bow, the client quickly runs away from the conference room.

Seungmin remains still. In the thick silence, he hears only his harsh breath and a quiet rumble of air-conditioner under the ceiling, like Minho doesn't even breathe, or he already disappeared as suddenly as he appeared. 

"I'm sorry," Minho's quiet voice startles him. Seungmin turns to look at him — Minho rubs the bridge of his nose, hunching his shoulders as if trying to look smaller. Seungmin doesn't answer, and Minho lifts up his gaze to him, looking straight into his eyes without blinking. Dark brown corneas almost merge with the pupils, and there's not a single spark of gold in them. "I said something I didn't mean, Seungmin. I'm sorry."

Simple unfamiliar "Seungmin" strikes through him with a softness he didn't expect to gain from Minho, and it catches him in surprise. Seungmin doesn't get a chance to respond, as his attention switches from the calm and tired face of Minho to his boss, opening the door of the conference room with a thumbs up.

"Can you imagine? Our scandalous beast has gone! He took his complaint and went away! How did you do that?"

"Magic," Seungmin doesn't flinch as he answers, glancing at Minho — he grins, shrugging.

"This magic will cost you an extra bonus, I swear. You are a magician. Go grab lunch, don't sit here alone." And he walks away without noticing Minho, who smiles with amusement. 

"And what was it?"

"He bothered you," Minho answers calmly, looking at him with an attentive gaze. "And I made him regret it."

"I don't need your assistance."

"Of course, Kim Seungmin."

"What are you doing here?"

"Are you deaf? I came to say sorry." Minho quickly slips in his usual sarcastic self. It's familiar, but Seungmin catches himself missing the other Minho — quiet and shy, glancing at him with unexpected tenderness. 

"I'm not. The best way you can say sorry is just to fuck off."

Minho looks wounded as he carefully scrutinizes Seungmin for something that he doesn't know he even has. What could it possibly be? Sadness? Regret? Disappointment? Instead of showing any of it, Seungmin remains calm and static as he turns to Minho. 

"Who are you?" Seungmin repeats his old question again, and Minho's smile fades to nothing.

"I can't tell you," He says slowly, as Seungmin looks at him impatiently if there will be a glimpse of gold inside his dark eyes. And when he sees nothing, Seungmin gently dips his fingers in the water in a plastic cup in front of them. Minho seems to know what Seungmin is doing, and he doesn't stop him; when Seungmin slowly touches his skin, rubbing water drops against his cheekbone, watching how it turns under his fingers into scales from the lightest contact. Minho licks off the drop trickling to the corner of his lips, and his gaze blooms with something feral.

Seungmin moves his palm away.

"Who are you?" He echoes, but Minho doesn't answer as he rubs his cheeks like it's burning from the water or Seungmin's fingers, and as soon as he wipes the remaining drops, skin becomes humanly normal again. 

He doesn't say anything, nor when Seungmin gets up, draping his jacket over his arm, nor when he freezes near the door with the last farewell glance, nor when Seungmin walks away.

Seungmin knows for sure: Minho will find the exit on his own. Probably he'll get out as smoothly as he walked in with his power to mild others' memory and will. It's clear now that he did the same thing with all the people around, leaving the fading trail after, so fragile and transparent that it couldn't be sensed. He left their lives, making them ask themselves the same question over and over again:

Who is Lee Minho?

It's hardly the real name.

Seungmin's too tired and broken to go to the beach in the evening, so when he finally survives through his shift and exhausting trip to his apartment, he falls to the couch with Netflix, where only the smell of burning reminds him that he isn't dreaming. That it all was real, as the golden light in Minho's eyes was real. As real as his supernatural presence, a warm gaze, and tender skin under Seungmin's caress.

As real, as comprehension, that his affection for Minho didn't dim or faint. It only stays dormant somewhere inside him like a tortured beast, jerking awake every time Seungmin remembers the golden light in the eyes of Minho.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Seungmin spends another evening on the beach, despite the awful weather and the sharp wind roaring in his ears. He wraps the windbreaker around his shoulders as he stretches down sweater sleeves to protect his frozen knuckles, wistfully pulling strings. When he feels someone's watching him, Seungmin freezes and stops playing with the last wretched note and looks around. He can't see anything among the waves, but he speaks anyway.

"I know you're here."

From the nearest rock, with a loud splash, the familiar golden eyes came out.

Minho.

He looks almost unrecognizable in his otherworldly phase. The scales creep on his bare shoulders, erasing familiar features into something feral and alien. Only the golden in his eyes remains the same as Seungmin remembers it. Cold and ethereal, like the starlight.

Minho swims closer, hitting the water with his giant and sharp tail. It looks like a shark's fin, different from the tails of graceful mermaids from fantasy tales.

"Hi," His voice, usually soft and smooth, sounds like it passed through the reverberation filters. 

"Hi," Seungmin lowers his guitar, gripping the fretboard with both hands. "Is this your answer?"

"What?"

"The answer about who you are."

"Yes and no," Minho says as he flips himself up from the water on a nearby rock with a single strong flip of his tale. In the sunset sunlight, slowly taken by the twilight, his scales glitter with duo-chrome silver. He smiles, revealing the raw of tiny sharp fangs, and Seungmin flinches. "Don't be afraid. I won't bite."

"I didn't know that mermaids can bite."

"Good news, I'm not a mermaid."

"I already knew when I saw your tail," Seungmin retorts without malice, looking at the giant fin moving beneath the waves.

"Ah, Kim Seungmin," Minho's laugh vibrates in his throat as he hits the sea surface with the tail, sending a splash of water towards Seungmin, who barely had time to turn away from them. 

"Not the guitar, creep!"

"I'm sorry."

"How long have you been here?"

"Specify," Minho grins slyly, turning his face to the wind. The water reveals his human features as it dries, and the scales, peeling off, look almost frightening. He winks and continues. "I came to Mokpo two months ago. Probably, in the middle of June. I swam through warm currents and decided to stay."

"How long have you been following me?"

"Following is a strong word. I've been watching you long before I met you in person, Kim Seungmin," Minho laughs, sounding more human than before. "Actually, I only met you because I listened to your voice near those rocks on summer nights."

"Did you listen to me? For real?" Seungmin opens his mouth in surprise, taking down his impregnable facade of composure. He remembers the feeling so vividly, the strange sense of someone's gaze on him, which he always blamed on the vast emptiness of the sea beneath his feet.

"Yeah," Minho nods, and the tips of his ears turn slightly pink — a treacherous echo of his human appearance. "I moved here when the nearby beach suddenly stopped being deserted. I hate boats, you know? I can't stand the grease and the smell of gasoline. It was the best decision, really." He smiles warmly with a tip of sadness on the edges. "The evenings you came to play and sing to me were the best I've had in years."

"I came to play for the sea," Seungmin looks embarrassed, trying to shrink under Minho's staring gaze.

"Does the difference matter?"

Seungmin just shrugs. Minho ruffles his hair with a clawed, wrapped in scales palm and looks back at sunset, where the sun is almost entirely submerged underwater.

"It's going to get really cold soon."

"Are you afraid of freezing?"

"I can't feel cold," Minho playfully twitches his bare shoulder, from which the scales have almost come off, and Seungmin can feel the heat creeping up his neck, even though he's shivering in the wind. "But you can."

"So mermaids live even in the icy waters of the Arctic?"

"There's nothing to eat up there," Minho snorts, hitting the water surface with his tail. "And I'm not a mermaid."

"So, who are you?"

"It's a very long story. If you still want to hear it, grab your stuff and pick me up on the next beach south of here."

"Why there?"

"Kim Seungmin. Enough stupid questions. I should keep my belongings somewhere, don't you think?" Minho grins and, with one sharp movement, falls into the water, immediately surfacing. The golden glow from his eyes reflects from the waves like shards of sunlight. "Catch up!"

He dives deeper with a heavy flick of the tail, and in the lingering twilight, he became almost invisible while the water swirls in tiny whirlpools above his sharp movements.

Seungmin follows him down the road, hastily cycling forward. He stops when he spots a lone figure on the coast in the dim blue light — Minho pulls on an oversize hoodie, hiding his narrow waist under it. He glances over as if he sensed Seungmin's presence and waves his hand just to Seungmin, echoing the gesture.

"How did you manage to dry so fast?"

"What?" Minho looks at Seungmin with a blank stare, taking the guitar case from him. 

"I rode fast. Like, really fast. But you still managed to dry enough to turn into a human."

"Kim Seungmin," Minho breathes right near Seungmin's ear, launching the chain of goosebumps under his lavender sweater. "I don't know if you want to see me fish-like or if you want to see me naked."

"Neither to both." Seungmin exhales, flustered. The flame of embarrassment eats him whole with the awareness of how easy Minho can get his pendulum of indifference off balance. How easy Minho sets everything inside him in pure chaos.

"Every knowledge comes with the price," Minho presses his cheek to Seungmin's shoulder as he tries to get comfy on the luggage seat behind his back. "I'd like to get paid in unhealthy amounts of green tea."

They ride through the young night, with the moon's disk hanging over their backs, casting an unnatural white across everything its light touches. The hills above the coast, touched by its milky glow, look artificial and carved from an engraving. They look like something fantastic — though the only fantastic thing Seungmin is familiar with is warmly pressed against his back, hugging him across the waist. 

Seungmin could take them almost everywhere but still decided to ride home. Minho casually kicks off his sneakers at the entrance and doesn't turn around when Seungmin, with a soft sigh, places them neatly parallel to each other.

"Quite tidy."

"Is this a compliment?"

"Just a statement. It looks like you're always prepared for unexpected guests." Minho looks around, pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie.

"You are my first guest in the last few years."

"It's an honor." Minho shrugs and walks into the kitchen.
"I'd rather not ask you to wash your hands," Seungmin follows, carefully stepping barefoot on cold tiles.

"Oh, I'd like to. But I don't think that I could grab the mug with the claws."

Seungmin imagines him so vividly — domestic Minho in oversized pajama pants and equally huge hoodie, drinking tea in front of the TV, sticking out the interfering claw.

"Are you hungry? I'd cook something."

"Just tea, please. I still can't get used to your food."

"Our food? And what exactly is yours?"

"Shh, Kim Seungmin," Minho shushes him, putting his finger to his lips. "Tea first. Questions can wait."

Seungmin brews Minho a whole teapot of his favorite green powder; while limiting himself to a tiny coffee cup. He pours there a half can of Arabica in the suspicion of needing an extra amount of caffeine. Minho sniffs the coffee suspiciously like an animal and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Oh... you don't like the smell, huh?"

"It's been told that caffeine is poisonous for those like me. I don't want to check," Minho smiles,  walking away to the living room. As soon as he leaves, Seungmin leans his forehead against the cold surface of the kitchen cabinet, silently exhaling in vague disbelief of his stupidity. Minho looks like the predator. Most importantly, Minho is the predator. If he decides to kill Seungmin, no one will identify his body because there won't be anything to identify. 

But on the other hand, in his endless vicious routine of the identical meaningless days, Minho was the only real thing in them. Much more alive than Seungmin himself, overtaken by exhaustion. 

And Minho was worth the risk.

Seungmin sits at the table across from him. They look like two antagonists having the tea party before the final fight. Seungmin stares at him point-blank, while Minho drinks hot like lava tea without even a tiny wincing before he catches the other's gaze at him and puts down his mug. 

"Well, Kim Seungmin. What do you want to know?"

"Why do you have sharp teeth?"

"I'm surprised. I thought you'd ask me again who I am," Minho smiles, making himself comfy on the chair.

"You didn't answer this last time."

"I promised I'd answer everything, didn't I?"

"I forgot about this part." Seungmin mirrors Minho's pose, leaning back in his chair. "So, who are you?"

"It's two questions already," Minho turns his head to the shoulder, staring at Seungmin with attention. Like he isn't in the middle of an impromptu interrogation, and all he's here for is to keep his eyes on Seungmin. "But they are connected. I need the sharpness of my teeth to bite."

"Well, I thought human teeth designed with the same purpose —"

"Yours can't bite the same. Mine can dig through the skin to the artery." Minho smiles wider, pressing the pad of his finger against his human fang. "This prop is just for chewing sandwiches."

"So... Are you a vampire? Vampire-mermaid? " Voicing it out loud makes Seungmin feel like either an idiot or Bella from Twilight or all at once.

"Probably both. I'm not the vampire humans are used to picture in their fantasies, but my kind needs blood to survive."

"And you... well. You kill people, yeah?"

"Ew." Minho winces as if Seungmin has shoved a rotten octopus under his nose. "Of course not. Do I look like a barbarian? It's a pretty gentle question, but when you bite someone to death, the stress and fear of the victim make blood bitter. And makes it powerful, yeah. But it tastes too disgusting for me to like it."

"You sound like someone who tasted it."

"I've been told. But like with the coffee, I prefer to remain an obedient theorist."

"So... How do you bite people outside the water?"

"I don't need it to turn."

"But you turned when I splash the whole mochito in your face in the bar."

"You caught me and my defensive mechanism off-guard. When the water touches the skin, our true form reflexively comes out."

"So the way you look now is just an illusion? Is that someone else's face?"

"No, Kim Seungmin, it's also me," Minho speaks slowly and thoroughly as if explaining something to a child. "You try to reduce everything to one denominator, but life is more complex and more complicated. I am not just sharp teeth and a mermaid's tail. And you are not just a pretty voice."

"You say it like you know me," Seungmin snaps.

Minho just shakes his head.

"Yes and no."

"Don't tell me you have telepathy among your many fishy talents."

"Fishy sounds offensive. I'm just old enough to learn how to read humans."You're how old you are? A thousand years?"

"I'm not that old."

"How much exactly?"

"Oh, leave the poor vampire his secrets."

"You already told me you are not a vampire."

"I know. But it's easier for you to understand."

Silence hangs between them. All the sounds from the outside are clear and loud. He can hear the neighbor's noise from above as he trampled on the floor and beeping traffic lights under the windows - the soothing sounds of a night with a usual burning stink. Minho sniffs and wrinkles.

"No wonder you ride to the sea in the evenings. If I smelled that every day, I'd become you too."

"Should I take it like a compliment or an insult?"

"Decide it yourself," Minho grins, and Seungmin presses down the urge to erase it. "I know there's something else you wanted to ask."

And he's right. This question has been on the tip of Seungmin's tongue ever since there were gaps in his attempts to explain Minho with human laws.

"Your ability to persuade. Is that why people forget you?

"Yes," Minho nods while sipping his tea. "Usually, it's used to make sure the victim isn't afraid. Let's just say it's not a gift of persuasion, it's a charm - they just can't say no."

"It doesn't explain that they forget you as soon as you're out of sight."

"Human memory is flexible, but it's solid. You can't just put anything in it and hope it just fits in. Have you seen Inception?"

"I can't believe I'm having a conversation about Inception references with a hundred years old vampire." Seungmin shakes his head.

"I'm interested in modern art. And people."

"That's why you are here?"

"Yes and no. But you're right, I really came here to learn more about people. And to eat," Minho contentedly grins when Seungmin flinches. "But mostly the first reason. I thought working in a public place would be a good idea."

"By convincing employees that you're their relative?"

"It's enough to suggest that I'm their closest person. They do the rest by themselves. The lie must be simple, or the conscience will reject it." Minho points the finger at Seungmin. "Your kind developed the good defense against my kind."

"What about hunters?"

"What?"

"Oh, you know. If there are vampires, there will be hunters, ancient orders, and everything."

"Someone has obviously seen too much fantasy, Kim Seungmin. The greatest enemies of a twenty-first-century vampire are fishing nets, global warming, and plastics. With friends like you who need enemies?

"I don't think you have any enemies at all."

"Well, the main enemies of any predators at the top of the food chain are themselves. By the way, did you know that you were marked?"

"What? When?"

"The right question is "by who". Your colleague. I don't think you even remember talking to him, do you? I smelled a trace of someone else's influence on you at the bar where you first saw me. I usually don't care who bites who, even if that's the bite of death. I'm not the moral compass. But I've been listening to you by the sea for weeks already, so I decided to interfere." Minho licks his lips in a predatory, triumphant way. "I probably shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself."

"I doubt it was done out of humanity."

"You know me so well," Minho chuckles, leaning on the table. "Yes. I just don't like when someone desires something that doesn't belong to them."

"And where is he?"

"I hope he's halfway to Busan or wherever he's going. Assuming he survived."

"Did you kill him?"

"No, no. I'm not a murderer, Kim Seungmin. Some people just need to know their place."

"So that's what I am to you," Seungmin says, suddenly putting the puzzle together. "Just.. a prey."

"Oh, no, and why did such wonderful conclusions come to this beautiful head? We started so well."

"No. Stop." Seungmin abruptly stands up from the wave of realization washing over him, ignoring Minho pouting in a fake grievance. "I get it."

"Enlighten me."

"You can force people to do what you want, right? It explains why I — why —" Seungmin stops,  unconsciously pressing his hand to his heart, unable to finish, holding the unspoken words on his half-closed lips. He glares at Minho — why did you do this? — and finds no response in Minho's eyes. Minho hides the sadness beneath them, turning away from Seungmin.

Trap closed.

He tried so hard to hide those feelings — he didn't even think they could be someone's evil will. He didn't have to wonder why the presence of Minho next to him blossomed inside with a sparkling flower — because though it was beautiful, it wasn't real.

He'd like to rip it out.

None of this was real. 
Minho's concern and false admiration were no more than the instinct of a predator whom Seungmin openly opened his home.
Opened his heart.
What his inner barriers had given up for, erased into dust as if they never existed.

Seungmin slowly approaches Minho, who stares without blinking at the balcony door in front of him, where the outlines of his figure and room behind him are barely guessed, and clings firmly to his shoulder.

"Go away."

"You didn't finish your sentence, Seungmin," Minho says, barely audible, and Seungmin's hand loosens its grip.

"What?"

"You didn't finish, "Minho echoes, turning around to look at him. There are smoldering golden sparks in the depths of his dark eyes, tiny like stardust. "Explains why you — what? Why you like me?"

"I didn't say that." Seungmin pulls his hand away, rushing both hands into the pockets in a defensive posture. He keeps his face still, but his ragged breath in the silence speaks louder than words. It speaks the way Minho can read it.

"Really?"

"You're pissing me off."

"I don't doubt it."

"I don't care if you are a vampire. I don't care at all. I hate you, fucking showoff."

"Rude," Minho smiles slightly, twitching his lips, while Seungmin dies in flames. He just wants to banter forever until the itch inside will be hidden under the ash to remain forgotten.

"Take your charms from me and fuck off."

"Clarify. Have I charmed you, or do you hate me?"

Seungmin angrily slams his mouth shut, taking a couple of steps back. Another trap he voluntarily stepped into and allowed it to close. Again. But Minho doesn't look triumphant or happy. His eyes clouds vague melancholy — Seungmin saw her glimpses in him rarely, but he remembered and absorbed it in contrast to his usual sarcastic state.

"Kim Seungmin," Minho speaks softly and gently as he gets up from his chair and gets dangerously close to Seungmin. His face, unnaturally pale from the milky moonlight, seems even more beautiful than in the glow of the sunlight, and Seungmin holds his breath. "You are so smart, but you are so stupid, I swear."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Yes, and yes," Minho reaches out to his cheek, gently touching it with his fingertips. "There's no difference with me. You weren't paying attention."

"I listened to you very carefully, Minho —"
"Shh." Minho puts his finger to his lips, and Seungmin falls silent. "If I ordered you to do something, why do you remember me?"

"Oh," Seungmin exhales, hardly audible. "And what now? You will bite me to death?"

"Sure." Minho nods and reaches for his neck — Seungmin squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation of the sharp, piercing pain when instead of fangs on his pulse, he feels a careful touch of the soft lips. His body is hit with an electric pulse that radiates from his shoulders to his ribs, and, abruptly losing the point of gravity, he clings with both hands to Minho's forearms.

Minho only smiles, barely breaking away from the slow kiss for a second, and that smile is the last thing that triggers Seungmin like the lighter thrown into the gas tank.

And he stops thinking.
Stops analyzing it.

His entire consciousness concentrates on one thing — erasing Minho's smile with an angry and careless kiss on the verge of irritation. So that Seungmin wouldn't realize how he is drawn into the pool of attraction between them, how Minho kisses him back with unexpected softness and tenderness. As soon as he breaks the kiss, he sees in the gaze of Minho a shining golden light, shimmering in the darkness with the blinding brightness of the sun.

And Seungmin closes his eyes.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

The concept of time next to the Minho ceases to exist at all.
So, when Minho moves away from Seungmin, licking his swollen lips in a predatory manner, he pulls him back with the absolute conviction that it's been about five minutes since they migrated as a linked puzzle to the sofa.

"This is all very romantic, but I need to get back to the sea," Minho pushes lightly away from the armrest, settling himself comfortably between the Seungmin's legs. "I'd need a ride."

"Really? In the middle of the night?"

"Love demands sacrifices."

"I don't love you."

"Keep going," Minho chuckles. "One day, you will convince yourself, Kim Seungmin."

Instead of replying, Seungmin throws the nearest cushion at him — Minho catches it on the fly with a wide smile.

"How about we compromise for a sea salt bath?

"Only if the salt is flavorless. I don't want my precious scales to smell like peaches."

"Oh, that fish," Seungmin starts and gets hit by a cushion.
Although Minho continues to whine and complain that his fins will fall off without proper seawater, and he will be forced to live with Seungmin like an aquarium fish until old age, he willingly climbs in a hot tub, tentatively sniffing the water and telling Seungmin to turn away.

(He turns around but continues to look through the oblique reflection in the mirror, as the touch of water clothes Minho's leg in scaly armor, growing a tail that barely fits in the narrow tub diagonally.)

"I know you've been looking," Minho gently taps his palm, taking a giant mug from Seungmin's hands. He's half-lying in the water up to his throat, gently waving his tail as he slips down further.

Seungmin ignores his remark completely.

"I can't believe I kissed a fish," He says grimly to no one in particular and gets a splash of water on his back.

"You're gross."

"I'm the worst. Why are you still here?" Seungmin echoes with a grave face.

"Hatred extends lifespan." Minho giggles.

"Come on, you're already immortal."

"Not unless I drink the blood of pretty boys."

"Don't you dare!"

"What makes you think I'm talking about you?"

"I wish I could drown you."

"You can try."

Seungmin reaches out to Minho's throat in the strangling gesture, but he intercepts him across the body, carefully closing the clawed paws on his waist, pulling him into water. Seungmin barely manages to push himself up, avoiding falling in the tub, but still ends up in a soaked t-shirt.

"Look what you did. I literally hate you."

"Boo, don't be sad. I won't drink you anyway," Minho winks as he reaches for a mug on the edge of a tub and loudly gulps the tea. "I'm pretty sure you are bitter as mugwort."

"I consume a year's supply of caramel in Mokpo myself."

"Are you seducing me?"

"Err, I don't need to," Seungmin snorts, rubbing his temples. It's been a really long day, and he will probably pass out in the middle of another round of bickering with Minho, who sinks into the tub up to the neck with closed eyes, almost purring with pleasure. "Please, try not to flood everything while getting out."

"I can convince your neighbors that the flood was only in their imagination."

"Don't you dare."

"Look at him, bossing around after a simple kiss."

"Should I wait till our wedding and the subsequent divorce?"

Minho laughs, sinking deeper, and the scales crawl into his jaw.

"Actually, I thought that next summer I'd swim somewhere closer to Jeju," he sits up, clinging to the edges of the tub for support, launching a wave dangerously close to splashing out on the floor. "But I think I'll stay here for a while."

And Seungmin, who gently runs his palm over the scaly hand and kisses Minho on a half-open lips, doesn't need more than that.