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The yogurt cup sits innocently at the edge of the basketball court.
Minho doesn’t even know how it catches his eye. He’s been there for more than thirty minutes, having shot enough hoops to leave him sweaty and thinking about a tall, iced glass of lemonade to ease his thirst.
It’s insane how dry his throat has gotten, but more insane is the inconspicuous cup of yogurt that’s been abandoned at some public park for whatever reason (How does that even happen? Did it fall out of someone’s lunch bag? Did the universe just decide to spawn it into existence? Does that mean there’s a chance for a yogurt cup to spawn at the very top of a skyscraper, then?). By all means, he should just leave it alone and go back to thinking about making that glass of lemonade happen.
He ends up going to the yogurt cup.
“What the fuck-“ Minho says when he gets a good look at the label. Because, apparently, strawberry-jalapeño yogurt is a thing. Who even browses through the thousand significantly better flavour options for a yogurt and think- ah, yes, just what I wanted, strawberry-jalapeño yogurt for breakfast.
“Shit-“ A scowl forms on his face as soon as he takes a look at the expiration date. Two weeks off its golden period. Technically- it could still be good. Minho’s eaten enough expired products in his lifetime (the longest one being a cake roll that had expired a year already), so he’s not put out by the idea of eating expired food.
It’s just- There’s something inherently evil about expired strawberry-jalapeño yogurt.
Maybe the universe put him in that path for a reason. It just knew that Minho had a tough stomach and so, he’d be able to look at such monstrosity and take on the task of getting rid of it, for the sake of world peace, or something.
Minho’s disgust slowly shifts to proud determination, which he directs at the somewhat dirty packaging of the yogurt cup.
He ends up eating it.
He doesn’t mean to- He doesn’t even have a spoon to scoop it out like a civilized human being, but he just knows that one second he’s pondering what to do with the offensive yogurt, and the next, he’s peeling off the sealing tag, not even paying attention to the yogurt smeared on the lid as he just brings the cup up to his mouth and goes to town with it.
His taste buds don’t understand what’s happening at first. He gets a taste of sweet strawberry, always so satisfying and delightful but- then there’s a spike of something that shouldn’t be mixed with the yogurt. Something spicy and bold in composition, seemingly invested in taking over the taste of the strawberry but ending up in a fairly matched battle with it instead.
Minho is… kind of invested in the flavour. He chases for each lick of sweet and spicy strawberry-jalapeño yogurt that- frankly, now he’s had the fortune of tasting in all of his mortal life. He needs to get every drop of it. Until it’s gone and no one but Minho can provide testimony of his experience. All sounds begin to fade out of his awareness. He forgets what he was doing five minutes ago. It’s just him and the yogurt. Him and the audacity of human ingenuity.
Eventually, there’s no more yogurt to eat. Minho resurfaces from his focused pursuit with yogurt smeared on his nose and throat clogged up with the remnants of the oddest yogurt he’s ever tasted in his life.
His legs have gone numb from how long he’s been crouching. He probably looks like a suspicious individual, just- crouching down at an empty basketball court, cup of yogurt clutched in his hands and eyes half-lidded.
He doesn’t realize that someone’s been standing close to him all this time until he finally tears his gaze from the yogurt cup and meets the wide, somewhat petrified gaze of a boy, his pudgy chipmunk cheeks and the pink tote bag clutched a little tightly in his hold and close to him, like there was a possibility that Minho would just jump up and try to steal it.
Minho stays prone where he is at (his legs are still numb, moving would just be a mistake after all), unwavering under the boy’s shock.
“Yah…” The stranger says eventually in a murmur, mouth still slightly parted in a way that didn’t have the right to be endearing at all. “What the hell was that?”
Minho quietly swallows around the aftertaste of yogurt, nonplussed. “What was what?” He asks innocently. He sees the disbelief on the boy’s eyes grow and his eyes flicker to their surroundings with just the tiniest hint of doubt.
“That-“
The stranger makes a vague motion in the empty space between them and Minho’s eyes narrow, like the stranger’s just said something that didn’t make sense.
“That!” In his exasperation, the boy motions a little harder, in an aborted kind of way like he’s not sure how to react to the situation. “That thing with the-“ He then points accusingly at the empty cup on Minho’s hand. “Were you eating a yogurt cup that you found on the ground?”
Minho doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
“Why would you- “ Oh- the boy’s going through the five stages of grief now—The denial, the anger- It’s kind of funny seeing a person look so distraught because of a yogurt cup. A yogurt cup with an odd flavour that ended up being kind of good, actually. Minho wonders if he’ll be able to find the brand online, or he’ll just end up finding himself the subject of a nice little break in the Matrix. Nice.
Although-
He’d be jealous that some world out there has strawberry-jalapeño yogurt as a staple.
When he focuses back on the conversation, the boy is still talking, motioning more animatedly. “-so I don’t know if I should call the police or a mental ward, because that’s just not normal dude.” He’s saying.
Minho’s eyebrows furrow. “Don’t call me dude.” He gives the boy a once-over, pursing his lips. “Is that how you treat your hyungs? Tch, where’s the respect nowadays?”
“Where’s the respect?” The boy now just looks like he’s finally reached the stage of acceptance. “How are you even sure that you’re older than me? What’s the logical process behind that?” Minho slightly shifts where he’s squatting to regard the boy a little better, eyes narrowing a little more.
“Sorry, who are you? The yogurt police?” Minho says instead. “I was just minding my own business, you know. Playing basketball, thinking about lunch, eating yogurt cups from the ground. Standard human behaviour-“
“That’s not normal-“ The boy protests but Minho just treads on.
“-you know. What I find non-standard human behaviour-“ He pauses for good effect. “Is the fact that you’ve been watching me long enough to know that it’s a yogurt cup. Anyone in passing wouldn’t even bother to see what the cup’s contents are.”
The boy opens his mouth to protest, then quickly closes it, and Minho sees his cheeks reddening and- oh.
“You were watching me.” Minho muses, mouth expanding into a smug smirk. “You dirty criminal.-“
“Yah- Come on-“ The boy tries defending.
“You pink, tote owning rascal-“
“What does that even mean?”
“You curious little fiend.” Minho finishes, and he sees the boy shift a little in place, intimidated under Minho’s gaze. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just standing… right there, while Minho squats right where he’s at.
The boy then mumbles something, and Minho leans a little forward, brows furrowing. “What?”
“I said-“ The boy looks at the street adjacent to the basketball court, then at Minho, looking all of embarrassed about whatever he said just now.
“I said I was coming to see what the cup had in it.” Minho’s face goes blank at that, which the boy takes as incentive to elaborate his argument further and consequently, dig himself into a deeper grave. “I was curious, okay?! I saw it from the distance, when I left my apartment complex. But then you had beat me to it by the time I got all the way here and when I saw you eating it, I was too shocked to leave.”
Minho’s mouth slightly parts open.
“Please say something.” The boy says when the silence goes on for too long between them.
He tries his best to muster up a reply, he really does, but he gets as far as opening his mouth before the amusement in his chest evolves into full-blown laughter.
“It’s not funny.” The boy defends weakly, tugging his hat a little lower on his face and crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. Minho’s laughter echoes all around the basketball court. It’s so fierce that he ends up crushing the plastic cup a little, tears forming at his eyes.
“It’s not funny.” The boy repeats, obviously infected by Minho’s laughter as his mouth quirks up a little with amusement. “Seriously, it’s not.”
“You-“ Minho says when he can finally manage to speak. “You’re ridiculous. Oh my god.”
“You’re the ridiculous one.” The boy retaliates. “Squatting and laughing like a maniac in the middle of some basketball court after eating a yogurt cup from the ground. Do you know how dangerous that is? What if it was poisoned? Or just- Spoiled or something. It’s not morally right.”
“Do I look like the average moral-abiding person?” Minho asks, and this time, the boy’s the one that is laughing, shaking his head. Minho’s smirk broadens.
“This is just ridiculous. All of this.” The boy says in between one laugh and the next. “It’s the yogurt’s fault, if anything. I don’t- What flavour is it even? It looked like you enjoyed it a lot.” He says as he tries to get a glimpse at the label on it.
“Strawberry-jalapeño.” Minho doesn’t blink just to catch the way the boy’s eyes widen, disgust and intrigue crossing his features.
“That’s a thing?”
Minho shrugs. “Apparently.” He says. “It’s better than you would think, actually. I intend on looking it up online when I get home.”
“Me too- What’s the brand-“ The boy stops when his tote bag vibrates a few times. He opens it up and reaches inside to grab it, eyes widening when he sees the screen. “I’m running late!” Minho, unexpectedly, feels a little disappointment with this new development. He lightly jabs a fist against his chest a few times, wondering if the yogurt’s given him heartburn.
“Aigo… I dicked around too much. And I still have to go back to my apartment for my laptop! Then I have to go to the store and buy breakfast.”
“Where do you live?” Minho asks and follows the boy’s finger when he turns to point at a building that…
Is exactly the one where Minho lives, which confuses him further. He doesn’t remember ever seeing the boy around before, although he did hear about a few people moving in the past month and- ah.
“We’re neighbours.” Minho informs, hoping that the noisy neighbour from downstairs did actually end up moving out and not dying- as he’d assumed first because it’d been blissfully quiet for the past three weeks. The boy’s mouth parts open in surprise. “What floor are you on?”
“Three.”
“Four.” Minho replies. “307?” He asks, and when the boy nods, Minho internally celebrates. “Thank gods, you just replaced the noisiest neighbour ever. You’ve done us all a favour at the building.”
“Oh, well-“ The boy shrugs a little, crumpling up at the praise. Cute.
(What?)
“I can guarantee I’m going to be in my best behaviour. I’d hate disturbing everyone else.” The boy says, sighing. “I’d really like to stay and bully you about your questionable decision-taking skills but-“
“Only mine?” Mino muses.
“-I really have to go.” The boy finishes regretfully, clutching at his tote bag and beginning to head back to the building where he’d come from. “I hope the yogurt doesn’t poison you and that you’re able to get up from that squat- Seriously. You’ve been fixed on it for a concerningly long time.” The boy’s voice raises the further away he gets, and before he can get too far, he raises an arm and waves at Minho. “I’m Han by the way!”
“Don’t trip over your feet.” Minho offers loudly.
“Okay! But, what’s your name?!” The boy—Han, shouts back.
“Good luck figuring it out!” Minho delights in the indignation that crosses Han’s face, who’s picked up the pace into a light jog. “Not fair!” Han’s voice drifts across the parking lot in front of the apartment complex. Minho sees him disappear into the building.
Somehow, he gets the feeling it won’t be the last time he sees Han around. But then, again, it could be the yogurt working in his system in strange ways.
“Shit.” Minho says when he tries to move from his crouch, toppling onto the ground the second he changes his balance.
At least he didn’t fall on the empty yogurt cup.
(Because why would he not keep it as a trophy?)