Archive of Our Own

The sunset is so beautiful, Minho doesn’t notice the sea washing over his feet until he feels his socks get drenched. As soon as he hopped off the bus earlier, he ran to the flat he had rented, dropped off all of his belongings -except for his beloved camera, which is an extension of himself by now-, and went straight to the beach to catch the exact moment in which the sun touches the ocean and paints the sky in shades of red and orange. He made it right on time to capture it inside the four edges of a picture; despite the flat tire and the endless stop at the gas station, he was able to see this priceless moment, as if it had been waiting for him to start. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, right time, right place. Of course he doesn’t notice the sea rising when his eye is glued to the visor, and to him it is as if the world all around him had stopped in its tracks to wait for the shutter to blink.

He skips back a few steps, escaping the soppy sand under his shoes, and moves somewhere further inland where the water won’t reach him. The problem now is that the people on the coast will be captured in his photos, but maybe it isn’t that big of a deal, it is nice to have another perspective, after all. He has taken enough pictures of this same sunset, he can always delete the crowded shots later. He keeps shooting, and even turns around to frame the eastern side of the sea, where the night colours are starting to take over the scene. Compared to the brightness and fierceness of the sunset, this side looks peaceful, blue, serene. The people are all admiring the show, and the remaining sunlight paints their faces in gold. It is a sight to see.

Minho can’t remember when it was that he started taking pictures. From a very young age, he has wanted to capture moments in time and keep them still, to remember them forever. His parents had to hide the rolls of their first family cameras to keep him from spending them all on his friends’ faces, and later, when he was older and with the arrival of digital cameras, his first ‘expensive’ gift was a small Kodak, which he has taken a few pictures of with his newer cameras, as it is his most prized possession.

One of the things he likes to photograph the most, besides from candid shots, is the sky. Half of his hard drive is filled with sunsets, sunrises, reflections of the sky on any surface, long-exposure shots of the stars and nicely-shaped clouds. That is why, every time he has a week off work (not coincidentally, as an event photographer), he sneaks out of the city and travels to this southern village. He remembers visiting it a few times as a child, on holidays with his parents; but by the time he was ten they couldn’t afford to travel anymore. But a few years ago, while looking at old pictures, he found this place again, and decided to give it another visit with one of his first paychecks.

Ever since then, he hasn’t been able to stop coming. He is always looking forward to having some free time, and when he is here, he falls in love with its views over and over again. As can be proved by his soaking wet shoes, which he has to apologize for when he enters a store to buy dinner on his way home after having taken as many pictures as time let him.

Back at home, he takes a very needed shower, and, while dinner heats up in the microwave, he organizes his things around the flat; he doesn’t put too much effort into it though, since he is only staying for a week, until next Saturday. But he puts his clothes in the wardrobe and his equipment in some drawers. He doesn’t know this flat very well, it is his first time here, because the one he usually rents was occupied. He doesn’t have it very hard to feel at home anyway, he enjoys being by himself and changing his surroundings every once in a while.

Minho can’t wait to see the pictures he has taken, so he starts downloading them to his laptop as soon as he sits down to eat. It takes a minute or so, since there are so many photos, but eventually the folder named after today’s date appears on the screen. He quickly clicks it and scrolls down and back up to open the first file. The first one doesn’t catch his attention, so he skips it. The second one, could be better. The third one’s blurry. The fourth, the fourth one’s good. He opens an editing software and starts messing with it.

Truly, editing is the hardest yet the essential part of photography. It really makes all the difference. Enhancing the colours, defining the shadows, adjusting the brightness, and Minho has just finished his dinner at the same time he has saved the final version of that one picture. He has enough time to edit one more before he goes to sleep, he thinks. But before he does that, he gets up to get himself some dessert, because he deserves it: some ice cream he has picked up on his way back.

Eyes fixed on the screen again and spoon in hand, he scrolls down the folder to find that second lucky photo that will have the privilege to be edited tonight. And when he puts the second spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, he finds it.

The landscape itself is nothing special, it is one of the shots of the opposite side of the sea to the sunrise. The sky and the sea are already merging into one plain blue thing, but there is one thing inside the frame that catches his eye and doesn’t let go. A beautiful stranger. And when Minho says beautiful, he means beautiful.

The only way he could describe him is by comparing him to the sun. His face is illuminated by the golden hues of the sunset, but he might as well have been shining himself. His blond hair frames his features like sun rays, and his cheeks and nose are sprinkled with freckles, like the night sky is sprinkled with stars. There is something captivating about him that leaves Minho agape.

Who is that beautiful stranger? And how come Minho didn’t notice him when he took the picture?

Minho checks every picture, and he is in only two of them, so he decides- well, decides, he has no choice but to edit those two. And he takes his time with them. Minho makes sure to highlight every small detail of that man’s face, to correct the colours flawlessly, to create his best work up to date. And he could work on it all night, but for the growing headache and the sore eyes from the bus trip and the brightness of the screen.

Eventually, when he is satisfied enough with the result, he saves the files. He copies them to his flash drive and promises that tomorrow, first thing in the morning, he will get them printed. The ice cream, unfortunately, has turned into soup.

Although it is unlike him, he leaves the dirty dishes for the next day and goes straight to sleep. But no amount of exhaustion can knock him out, because every time he closes his eyes, he sees him. Standing by the sea, white t-shirt. His placid face, his bright eyes, his pretty lips. Those freckles. Again and again.

He has to do something. An idea goes around inside his head but… no. No. What would he even say to him? “Hello. I accidentally took a picture of you and you were so gorgeous I just had to find you.” That’s so embarrassing. Isn’t it? He can’t just go around town trying to figure out who this mysterious man is. Can he?

But Minho wants to take more pictures of him so badly. And if he doesn’t have the courage to ask him if he can, he can at least give him the prints of the ones he already has, right? That’s a good excuse.

So, while he is in that state between being awake and asleep, he makes up his mind.

“I’m going to find him,” he mumbles and falls asleep.

As promised, the first thing Minho does the next day is have the pictures printed. The morning is sunny, and a soft breeze keeps the air cool as he walks down the dirt roads of the town. Maybe it is the chirping of the birds or maybe it is the fluttering of the leaves above him, but something tells him it is going to be a beautiful day. That’s what occupies his mind when he arrives at the main and only paved street.

While he walks towards the shop, flash drive in hand, he keeps an eye out for every blond person he passes. He discreetly peeks from the corners of his eyes, looks out for freckles. It can’t be that hard to find him, right? This town is very very small, and everybody here knows that this street is where everything is. He doesn’t think any tourist or resident can get away from coming here at least once a week.

Yet, no freckles.

He opens the door of the shop with a sigh, but he forgets about his disappointment when he sees the lady at the computer, behind the counter, and offers her a polite smile. She doesn’t see him, though, her face is mere centimeters from the screen, the arm of her glasses in between her fingers as she squints and clicks loudly.

“Hello?”

“Oh! Hi, honey,” she rushes to reply and looks at him from over her glasses. “I’ll be with you in just a second.” She turns back to the screen and clicks twice more, to then get up and walk over to the counter. She isn’t much taller than it is. “Yes, how can I help you, sweety?”

“I would like some pictures printed, please. Matte paper, if possible.” He hands her the flash drive and she inspects it with curiosity for a moment, the same way she did to him when he walked in.

She turns to him with a smile, and from over her glasses says, “sure.”

Her plugging the device in, sitting down, and going back to squinting and clicking aggressively gives Minho’s mind enough time to start wandering about again. This is the perfect moment to put his plan to find out who the man is in motion. When she sees the pictures, he could just ask her if she knows him. Boom, that easy. And if she does, then that’s it.

But what if she thinks he is weird for not only taking, but also printing, pictures of a stranger? Not only that, but also on an expensive type of paper. He shouldn’t ask.

Well, but he isn’t in the centre of the frame, he could just say he was trying to capture the sky.

No, that won’t work, she will notice, the man is the only highlighted thing in the shot, Minho is clearly printing them because of him. Also, she will likely not mention it, she will just think and make a face and making an excuse will only make him seem more guilty.

Guilty of what? Minho, do you want to find him or not? This is your chance. What if she knows him?

If she knows him she will not tell me, who gives random creeps who print pictures of strangers their loved ones’ names? Besides, it is-

“Oh! These are some beautiful photos! Did you take them?” His thoughts crash against the lady’s voice. He suddenly is very aware of where he is. So aware, that the sound of the printer, the only thing breaking the silence, seems too loud.

“Umm,” should he tell her? Should he tell her? Shut up. “Yes, I did.”

“You clearly have talent, honey.”

Minho blushes at the comment, and laughs shyly. “Thanks.”

She gets up to tell Minho the price and picks up the papers.

“That’s a handsome man, too. Is he your boyfriend?”

Minho chokes. He feels his face burning now, and not with pride like before. There you have it, she doesn’t know him, what would she have thought? My boyfriend? I wis- No, stop. You’re going to blush even harder. And you are. Nice job. Hey, I should say something, shouldn’t I?

“No. No he isn’t,” he says with the reddest face he remembers ever having. “He’s just… he is…,” He is…? “He’s just a friend,” he lies.

If she hadn’t been doing it since he arrived, Minho would have thought that the glance over her glasses was accusatory.

“Then tell him that he is a handsome young man.”

“I will,” Minho says with his shaking hands taking the wrong amount of money out of his wallet. He finally gets it right, pays, and picks the prints off the counter. He doesn’t forget to leave a goodbye behind as he rushes out and decides to never go back to that shop again. That was embarrassing.

In no time, he is already sitting inside the café at the corner, watching the people walk to or away from the beach. And, of course, getting his gaze caught by every blond person.

Over coffee and chocolate cake, he reflects on what he is doing for the first time since the idea popped up in his head last night. Why does he want to find him so badly? Just because he is the most gorgeous man he has ever seen? That seems like a reasonable excuse but it is not like Minho to do something like that. There has to be something else.

He can’t really pinpoint the reason why, but, whatever it is, it is enough for him to have made up his mind. It has him feeling like it is too late to back off now. So he won’t. The embarrassment at the shop earlier didn’t discourage him, looking back in the future, he knows it will be a funny anecdote.

Besides, it could be an interesting experience. An adventure. Something that finally takes him out of his comfort zone. Running against the clock, to find someone he has never met. Talking to new people, paying attention to those around him, instead of living with his face to the sky and his head on the clouds.

So, with his cup now empty and his fork buried in the cake, he plans his next step.

Where could he find him? His hope of casually seeing him walking down the main road is going down by the second, since he has been sitting here for a while and there has been no sign of even someone who resembled him. All these people coming and going and no freckles.

Oh. But they are all coming from and going to the beach. Of course, no tourist is not going to visit the beach. It is (more or less) the only thing to do here in this village, and today is a beautiful day, too. Everyone is going to be there. That should be his next stop: the beach.

Right after he pays for his food, he goes home, walking under the shadows of the trees now, since the fresh morning air is gone with the hot sunrays of midday. He drops his flash drive and takes his indispensable camera and some snacks for the afternoon and off he goes, like the tourist he is, to the beach.

The rest of the day is spent walking along the shore, all the way to where there are no more people, and all the way back to where he started. Until his legs get too tired to go on, and night falls on the coast. All the time searching, or most of the time; all of the time when he is not distracted by the colorful shells left behind by the tide or by the children digging in the sand. When he is not reminiscing about those times as a child when he would collect seashells to give his friends back at home, or those times when he would make new friends by the sea; and with those friends jump on the waves or try to dig a hole to the centre of the Earth.

But he is actually searching in those moments too, searching inside his mind for the memories that time has erased, for those long forgotten friends who were bound to part ways after a week or two. He searches for those moments he wishes he had pictures of.

However, both his visual and his mental searches are fruitless, since there is no sign of the blond man anywhere. And, disappointingly, the bright day has slowly become covered with clouds, so the sunset is indistinguishable from all the other grey moments.

But he doesn’t let it get to him. He still has plenty of time to find him and many other ways to try. Not today, though. This afternoon’s little journey has left him exhausted. Back at home, after a shower and dinner he goes straight to bed, and falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.

Minho sleeps well. Better than he has in a while. And in the morning he remembers part of what he’s seen in a dream. There were two boys playing in the sand, they were digging and building and laughing and rolling. One of their faces is blurry in his memory, but the other one had some unmistakable freckles on its cheeks and nose and ears, only that they were accompanied by brown hair instead of blond. Suddenly, a big wave destroyed what they had built and filled their hole with water. And when the freckled boy looked up, he noticed that it had taken the blurry-faced boy away too. In a second, he was gone. And the dream ends. Or so he remembers.

Over breakfast, he decides what his schedule for the day will be. Maybe today he can go to a nearby lake that he's been meaning to visit since last time, when he didn’t find the time to go. The lake is always crowded with birds of all sizes and colours, and framed with the most diverse flora you could imagine. It is also not that popular among tourists, since it cannot be reached by car and is not often advertised as an attraction in the village.

There, he assumes he will be able to get the beautiful stranger out of his head for some time; the chances of meeting him there are so low that he won’t be on the lookout like he is at the most popular sites. Besides, his eyes will be too focused on snapping the right shot to get distracted.

Nevertheless he decides to take the prints along with him when he packs his bag. You never know what could happen.

By the lake, Minho succeeds in getting the blond guy out of his head. The day could not be more perfect, with the sun shining brightly and some clouds that are so flawlessly shaped that they look hand drawn on the sky. This weather makes the colours of the birds and the flowers pop, and of course Minho doesn’t miss the opportunity to take as many pictures as he can.

He spends hours like that, admiring the scenery through the lens of his camera and capturing it to later share it. He is so immersed in his work that it catches him by surprise when someone walks in front of his camera. He is trying to get a nice shot of a blue bird sitting on a branch from a great distance when he sees the back of a head break into the frame.

He would be annoyed by that, if the head didn’t have blonde hair. Exactly like the man in the picture.

Minho lowers his camera and tries to recognize if it is him, but the man is too far away and has his back turned too, and Minho has never seen the back of the man he is looking for.

Minho watches all his movements, hoping that he will turn around and face him. He sees him chat with the woman he is with, sees them look for a place to settle down next to the lake and then sees them sit down and start pulling their things out of their bag. He doesn’t seem to be showing him his face any time soon.

Minho sighs. Once again, he will have to put all his shyness aside and approach the man. Why is it so hard? He came all this way specifically so he could take his mind off him and now, here he is, shaking at the thought of finding him.

He picks his bag off the ground. No, he’d better leave it, that’ll give him an excuse to come back if something happens.

He leaves his bag in his spot, puts his camera away but takes out the prints. He gets up and takes another good look at the man. He still cannot recognize whether it is him or not. If he just only looked over his shoulder… All of this would be much easier.

He breathes in, nervous. He’ll have to rehearse what he is going to say, improvising has never been his strong point. He has a history of freezing on the spot.

If it is him, he’ll offer him the pictures. Depending on his response, he can ask him if he would very kindly be willing to pose for more. What if he gets mad? Minho’ll die right there in front of him, there’s no choice. But what will his girlfriend even think, if that even is his girlfriend? It’s so awkward.

And what if it is not him? Minho has to make an excuse right now. Ask him for directions? Seriously? Here, at the lake? Ask him for a lighter? Minho, you don’t even smoke! Hmm, telling him the truth? No way. He’ll ask him for a tissue. That sounds good.

He breathes in again. He takes a step forward and then another and then another.

He pretends to look around as he walks towards the man, all while regretting the moment he decided to find him. He must have been out of his mind.

He’s so close now. Oh gosh. How will he call his attention? Hello? Hey? He makes up his mind two steps away.

“Excuse me?”

The blond man shifts to face him. There are no freckles on his face.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you,” Minho says, “but do you have a tissue, by any chance?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says and starts fumbling inside his backpack.

Wow, that was easy. Minho is kinda glad it wasn’t the guy he’s been looking for, he doesn’t feel ready to see him yet, but now this situation will be repeated, which is... not exactly what he wants.

“Here you go.” The stranger hands him a tissue.

“Thank you,” says Minho and starts walking away. But he stops on his tracks. ”Oh, and one more thing.” He shows them the pictures. “Do you happen to know this man?”

“No, sorry,” says the woman.

“Thank you anyway!”

That… that wasn’t that difficult either. He wonders where he got the bravery to ask. He is glad he had it. They reacted so well, why was Minho scared in the first place?

Despite the success in his mission, that interaction took all of his remaining energy, so Minho gets his stuff and heads back home again. He has taken enough pictures to entertain himself with editing tonight.

Wednesday goes smoothly. He visits the beach, but after his fruitless walk on Monday, this time he decides to just sit and wait.

The day gets cloudy again towards the evening, so the sunset is dark again. It is such a shame, but covered skies don’t make the coast any less beautiful.

This time, Minho has simply resorted to watching. No pictures. Just admiring the silhouettes of the kids gathering seashells and the waves crashing. Letting this memory be ephemeral.

In the evening, while he does the shopping, he is not afraid to show his photos, asking around for a name for this mysterious sunshine man. Cashiers, clients and anybody that looks like they could help him are surveyed. Nobody seems to think he is weird, to his relief. He even receives some compliments. Maybe it wasn’t that hard after all.

But in response to his question, he hears a lot of I-don’t-knows, and one hopeful “I think I’ve seen him around, if I see him i’ll tell him you’re looking for him” which lets the sun shine again in his heart and that he thanks with a bright smile.

He didn't know then that the following day the odds would be on his side. And that is, on one of his afternoon walks through the town, he would get a better answer.

On Thursday, he enters a butcher's that he has found north of the main street. He has never been to this part of town, but this little adventure has made him discover a lot of unknown spots.

Prints in hand, he heads directly to the cashier, a man in a white apron stained in red who's forcefully cleaning the counter with a soaking cloth. Minho asks the same question he's been asking everyone: "Excuse me, do you happen to know this man?" but this time is a little hesitant to hand the pictures in.

The man looks up from where he's scrubbing and takes the pictures, not without drying his hands in the apron first. Despite that, Minho thinks that if the prints survive this visit, it'd be a miracle.

But it'd actually be a miracle if he survived the visit, because the cashier doesn't even spare him a glance before shouting to his coworker, who is dressed in a matching apron and is sharpening a knife:

"Hey Chan, look, it's your boyfriend!"

"He's your boyfriend?!" escapes Minho's throat before he can catch himself. This Chan guy is his boyfriend? For some reason that sentence has moved the Earth from under his feet. Well, there would be nothing wrong with that, the blond guy is handsome enough to have any man he'd want. He supposes this Chan isn't that bad, he's employed, looks strong; the man in the pictures has taste, he guesses.

"Quit calling him my boyfriend!" says knife-man, who has now walked up to a smirking scrubbing-man. "Just because I'm nice to our clients doesn't mean I'm dating them!" Then he adds, looking at Minho worryingly, much to his relief, "he's not my boyfriend, he's a usual client that the guys tease me about."

Minho, red as the stains in the aprons, asks, "oh, do you know his name?"

"Oh, yeah, that's Felix. Nice pics you got of him, never noticed his freckles until now."

"Thank you. And, umm," is it too much if he asks this? "do you, maybe, know where he lives?"

"Uhh, no, sorry."

"He must be around, though," cashier adds, "he comes here often. Either that or he comes to see this guy."

"Shut up, Han, he's not talking to you." Han scurries away with a giggle. "Listen, next time he comes, I'm telling him a photographer is looking for him, alright?"

"Alright! Thank you very, very much."

It is only after he's out that Minho realizes that Chan telling Felix about him will not help him at all, but he is not walking in there again.

But at least he has a name. Felix. Felix. Felix.

Where does he know a Felix from?

Felix. Felix. Felix.

How much can a name help him, though? Is he going to keep asking? He has come too far to give up now but… he has already been to every store he could find, has shown his pictures to everyone he thought would be of help. He worries he might leave this village with nothing but a face and a name.

The butcher's knowing him does help his morale. This man is real, he exists, and he likely is still in town like him. He doesn't have much of it, but finding him is only a matter of time.

In the evening, at home, he decides where he will look the next day. The beach? That was unsuccessful twice. The main road? It would mean sitting and waiting, and he doesn't feel like time will be on his side. Around town? What are the chances of just running into him?

All his possibilities seem to be running out, and in the darkness of the night, his earlier hope that came from knowing his name crashes against his disappointment of not being able to do anything with it.

He can't give up now. Not now. Tomorrow he will find another way.

But in the morning, on Friday, two days before his bus takes him back to the city, to his normal life with no Felix, he is woken up by thunder. Outside, it is pouring. He tries to hold on to his hope, but the rain washes away his chances of actually finding Felix, and all of his hard work comes crumbling down with each drop.

There's still tomorrow, he repeats, tomorrow it'll be sunny. Tomorrow will be bright.

He spends the day editing by the window, watching the cars come splashing up and down the road. Even if he went out, he'd be alone in the rain. At least he won't have to talk to anybody today. There's always a bright side to everything.

Tomorrow I'll find him, yeah. It'll be tomorrow.

Towards the late afternoon, the rain stops, but the day is getting dark rapidly and the roads are flooded. Today's lost. In the evening, the sky clears. The stars appear, like the freckles that keep showing up in his mind when the clouds dissipate.

Felix. Felix. Felix.

It'll be tomorrow.

And he falls asleep.

That night, Minho dreams again. It’s the same dream as before, the two kids playing in the sand. But this time, the one with the freckles has a name, Felix, and the one he could not recognize is very clear: it is himself. Young Minho and young Felix were playing in the sand by the sea, when a wave took everything they had built away along with Minho.

And he wakes up suddenly, as if startled by a nightmare, with a pressing feeling in his chest and a thousand thoughts running through his head.

He has only today left, and he has to find him. He must. And he might have found a clue on where to look.

He rushes out of bed, throws his bedsheets aside and hastily opens his laptop in the kitchen. Sat by the kitchen table in his underwear, leg bouncing, he waits for it to load. The morning sun coming through the window reflects on the screen and makes the folders barely visible as they pop up one by one. But the one he is looking for appears crystal clear in front of his eyes.

Kodak.

Named after his first camera.

With a double click, hundreds of pictures flood the screen. Each one of them carrying a memory, either a present one, or a forgotten one. The photo Minho is searching is barely hanging there in his head, like a word on the tip of his tongue, and its attached memory is a gone one, but he knows it’ll reappear as soon as he sees it, like the brightness of a day during the sunrise.

Past the pictures with his parents, past the ones of his school friends, the ones with his friends from the block, past the photos of random cats, and butterflies and birds, there are pictures taken at this same village. Pictures taken many, many years ago, when he would come with his parents.

And in one of those, one that has lain forgotten in this folder for many years, there are two familiar faces. One of those is Minho’s.

The other one has freckles.

The two of them as kids, huge grins on their faces, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, full of innocence and joy. In front of them, their hole to the centre of the Earth -still under construction, of course-.

Of course. Felix. Lee Felix. Yongbok, as Minho used to call him, with his brown hair at the time. Of course. This entire time. It was him. That was what pulled Minho to look for him so urgently.

And now he has found him. In a photo. In a memory.

Time to find him physically.

Again.

And he might have a hint on where to look.

He remembers that, back then, they would rent the same house every year, and in the corner of that street, there was a shop owned by an old lady. She knew the Lees. If only he could remember where that was…

It was three blocks from the hospital? Four blocks? Sure, the old hospital, since now it's moved. But that was, what? 52nd street? 54th?

His mind might not be able to tell, but he feels that once he's out, his heart will guide him. He is sure he will reach that place, however long it takes.

He gets dressed in no time, and before he even has breakfast he is already out, with his camera, laptop and prints in his bag and… with no idea where to go.

If his memory doesn't fool him, the old hospital is three blocks east and then north -away from the sea-, in front of the park. He should try to get there first. Then he can find the shop.

The sun beams on his hair as he briskly walks the roads that separate him from the park. The air is heavy as it hasn't been all week and he is sweating, partly from the heat, and partly from his nerves.

He can't believe he might get to meet him today, he might see the sun-like boy with his own eyes. And it makes him blush to think that he might look right back at him.

But what if Yongbok doesn't recognize him? Or worse, what if he doesn't remember him?

Obviously he won't recognize him, they've both changed so much. With each step Minho takes, he remembers the way they were. Remembers playing with the sand and gathering seashells together. Remembers their tans and their smiles. Remembers the way they would just show up at each other's houses to play tag on the streets.

There's no way Felix doesn't remember too.

He hopes.

And he arrives at the old hospital. He knew he could trust his heart to guide him. It will be easier to locate that old house from here.

He knows he has to go on for three or four blocks north, but for now he stops a second to take in this place. He takes a deep breath under the shadow of a huge eucalyptus on the park and hears the breeze move the sun-beaten swings. It must be not too long past midday and there isn't a soul outside.

"This town," Minho thinks out loud, "in its peace, keeps more memories than one can remember."

Enough admiring the scenery, let's go on. Let's make some more memories.

The old lady's shop turns out to be one block closer than Minho expects it. It looks exactly like he remembers: too small for the sheer amount of things it has. Among its clutter surely lay some antique forgotten relics.

A bell above the door rings when Minho enters. Inside it is much cooler than on the street. Called by the noise, a white haired lady appears from behind a bead curtain. Her glasses have a matching bead string.

"How can I help you, honey?" she says as she removes her glasses to let them hang from her neck, and puts on another pair.

"Hi. I'm looking for an old friend, I have some pictures I'd like to give him. I was wondering if you knew where he's staying. His name is Lee Felix."

Her face lightens up when she hears the name. "Of course, Mr Lee's son!" She removes her second pair of glasses and staggers around the counter. "He lives down the street," she says while pointing, "well, on the next block actually, the house is green and has a nice yard, you'll see it."

Minho's heart is about to explode. That is so close he won't have time to rehearse what he's going to say. He doesn't need it, though, right?

"Thank you very much, Ms Kim."

"Wait a second," she says while removing her second pair of glasses and putting on a third. "You're an old friend of his- did you come here as a child?"
"Yes, with my family."

"With your family- are you not…"

"I'm Minho."

"Of course, old Mr Lee's grandson!" Her face brightens up again and she starts stumbling over her own words. "Why didn't you say that earlier? You've grown so much, dear, look at you, I almost don't recognize you. How is your grandpa doing?"

Great, he can procrastinate going to Yongbok's by chatting with this lady. "He's… doing well."

"Aw, that's nice to hear, he is a great man, your grandfather. Look at you, I remember when you were just a kid you would come with Mr Lee's son and play hide and seek here, there are so many places to hide, but you were such good kids. Please tell your parents to come back one day, they are always welcome."

"I will."

"Thank you for coming, dear, it's always so nice to see you."

And Minho is out on the road again. And his next stop is Felix's house.

It's been a long week, looking for him everywhere. He's happy to have had the courage to do the things he has done. And now it's almost over… Only the hardest step left.

He stands at the fence of the green house down the street, under the shadow of one of the many trees that surround the green house. Just like Ms. Kim said, it has a beautiful green yard in front. There's no bell to ring; he could walk up to the door and knock, or he could stay here and clap.

Under his breath, he counts to three.

And claps his hands three times.

With each passing second, the nerves in Minho's stomach grow. After the third clap, the world seems to have gone still; there's not a person, a bird, a bit of breeze to show him that time hasn't stopped right then.

He could bore a hole on the door with the way he's staring at the house so intensely. His backpack weighs down on his back. He switches his weight from one leg to the other. He should open the fence and knock, if there's someone home, they probably haven't heard-

The door opens. Minho can't help gaping at the face that appears behind it.

Felix could outshine the sun. With his blond hair and bright smile he puts up some competition. There's not a tree that could hide his presence. And those freckles, that appear distinctly when sunlight hits them, that could rival the beauty of the stars, that sneak into Minho's mind when he's not paying attention. He looks even more stunning than in the pictures.

Before he knows it, Felix has crossed the yard and is now standing right in front of him, on the other side of the fence, with his blinding smile preventing any thought from forming. Luckily, he is the one that speaks first.

"Hello? You must be the photographer that was looking for me, aren't you?"

Oh, goodness. If there was one thing he could not have anticipated from some pictures, it was his voice. So deep, unpredictable for that face, but so nice; it has unplugged every wire in his head and made him short-circuit.

He needs to answer now, right now.

"Yes, that's me, haha, sorry if I overstepped."

"No! No, it's okay! Both Chan from the butcher's and the cashier at the grocery store have told me that you had something for me, and I was actually hoping you'd find me."

Felix doesn't seem to realize that this is the most embarrassing moment in Minho's life. How can he be so sweet about it?

"I was hoping I'd find you, too." Here come the words Minho has rehearsed all week. "Last Sunday, I was taking pictures of the sunset," he starts as he clumsily tries to get the prints from his bag, "and you were in some of them, and, not to toot my own horn, but they looked so beautiful that I just had to find you and give them to you."

He finally gets them out of the backpack and, oh no, they are all wrinkled from passing from hand to hand all week. Minho should have printed them again for today.

Minho goes on as he hands them to Felix, "oh, sorry about the wrinkles, I- I can print them again."

"Oh my gosh," Felix interrupts. "These are beautiful, and not because it's me in the pics but you did a great job." He grins widely enough to bring Minho's racing heart to peace again. "How- how much do I owe you?"

"No, please! These are for you, Yongbok."

When he hears the name, Felix looks back up at Minho with confusion, and behind squinting eyes he seems to be trying to figure out who he is. He tries to conceal it with a smile, maybe as not to be impolite. But Minho laughs knowingly, as if he knows he would get that reaction.

"There's another reason why I wanted to find you."

"It's been a while, right? Minho."

They both let out a laugh at the same time. So he remembers him. "You remember me!"

"You thought you could fool me… You left before I could show you my impressive facial recognition skills." Minho cackles, he never wants to leave again. "Come on in, we gotta catch up," Felix says and opens the fence gate.

With each step he takes, Minho remembers this house a bit better. With the passing of time, it has become a faint memory in the back of his head, the ghost of a place he used to know like the back of his hand. But now, stepping foot inside for the first time in ages, that memory is pulled into a clear image in front of his eyes. Every picture on the walls, every vase, every chair and every table is the way he remembers.

He recalls hiding behind these doors, coming in without asking for permission looking for his friend to go to the beach. This old house stopped in time, keeps the freshness of the last afternoon Minho has been here, many years ago.

Felix offers something to drink and Minho calls out the first change of many. "So, you're blond now."

"Always have been, if anyone asks." Felix winks. "So, you're a photographer? I remember how much you loved taking pictures with that old camera of yours."

"I have a lot of those here in my laptop."

"Oh! I wanna see."

They spend their afternoon like that, seeing old photos, recalling memories one at a time in turns like a tennis match like the ones they would have on the beach. Felix brings up the hole to the centre of the Earth, Minho the painted seashells. The races to see who would reach their destination first whenever they were going somewhere. The sandcastles and the sunburns and the sunsets. They laugh like kids, they blush, they chatter as if no time had passed.

Felix suddenly interrupts his laughter to check the time on the clock behind his back and peer out the window. He smirks.

"I think we're still on time. Wanna go watch the sunset? Maybe take some pictures?"

Minho can't say no to that.

So they go, the afternoon sun low in the sky, casting its golden glow through the trees as they walk side by side, their voices filling the empty roads with life.

With no need to hurry, they make it on time to see the moment when the sun touches the ocean and paints the sky in shades of red and orange, as if it was waiting for them to start. Right time, right place.

It takes Minho a while to take out his camera. His eyes are glued to Felix, his own personal sun, shining just for him. He can't stop admiring his freckles like stars that appear when the sun goes down, his sun ray-like hair, his beautiful golden-brown skin. He wishes this moment was endless. And he has a way to make it endless.

It is then when he starts taking pictures. Of Felix, mostly, but also of the sunset, of the sea, and of the blue eastern side of the beach. He recreates those two pictures he took accidentally one week before. And when the sun is long hidden under the horizon and its sweet warmth still lingers in the air, the two boys stay on the sand, talking, smiling, blushing. Their cheeks still red from the sun.

Minho decides to cancel his bus ticket for the next day even before the other says anything, but when Felix suggests seeing each other again tomorrow, he knows he won't have to keep capturing moments in pictures to make them eternal, because he is never losing Felix again. All of their memories will last forever. Even without a picture.