Archive of Our Own

To: LeeLeeKnow
From: J.One

I hope you don’t mind, but I like starting off these emails as if we're picking up a conversation we already started the same morning. I pretend that we’ve already known each other for years, and that we’re just old friends catching up. Maybe from school, or it's our moms who are friends from way back in the day, or anything except for what we actually are: two people who don't even know each other's names.

And I know deep conversations have never really been our thing either, but I like that. I like that when it comes to you, I don’t have to make an effort. Not that you’re not worth any effort! I know I said the word pretend, but it really feels like you’re one of my oldest, closest friends, and I can tell you anything at all without it having to be a big deal.

Like how every morning, at the old dessert shop across the street, these trucks come by and drop off huge bags of chapssalgaru. The street looks the prettiest to me then. Right before the sun rises, when the sky is blue but not daytime blue, and filled with big billowy clouds of flour when the bags are all being loaded up. The air gets so sweet that it’s like I can taste it through my window and it’s just amazing. 

It’s like all right, so that’s a thought I have every single time I’m up to see those trucks come, right? But it never feels like the sort of thing I can just say to anyone in a conversation, you know? Because it’s just a passing moment in the day, and it's nothing special, so there’s no point to mention it really, but with you I just know. I know that I can tell you all about stuff like this and it’s kind of like speaking into the void, but not at all really because I know you’re there. 

You’re there, wherever you are, and you’ll read my emails, and then you’re going to tell me about what your cats were up to today, and if you had kimchi fried rice for dinner again or if you’ve finally moved on to a new recipe, and it doesn’t have to be anything big or special. No major life updates, no anything. Just whatever we feel like. 

It might sound silly because I literally don’t know who you are, and the only reason we even know each other is because of that chat room we were in discussing the new Conan movie so you might not even see these emails as anything special, and none of what I just said feels the same for you at all, but for me at least it's a comfort. It's always comfortable with you. So I guess that's the small something I wanted to talk to you about today.

⊹

The fourth time Minho begins to consider if it’s worth it to keep his job this week alone is halfway through Tuesday.

His eighth floor office is nice. He’s got one of the better views overlooking the city, even though all he’s been staring at these days has been gray October skies. His desk chair is comfortable and ergonomic. The satisfying, thocky clicks of his keyboard always help to clear his mind when the files on his desk start to pile up and all of the publicity updates begin to merge together.

But he’s bored.

Despite the constant flow of work—learning about upcoming titles and reviewing them, drafting copy for promotional materials to go with different books, cultivating sales channels, and simply sitting through meetings—Minho is bored.

It’s the same motions every single day. 

The variables may fluctuate a little, depending on the book and author that they’re working with, but there’s little degree of change to be found overall. There might be an unexpected error in the scheduling to correct, an impromptu collaboration with his colleagues from different departments, and some bigger plans that require more brain power than usual to navigate seamlessly, but when all is said and done, Minho is still bored.

The growing redundancy of his job shouldn’t be the end of the world—and it isn’t.

Not when Minho has always been one to draw a line between his work and personal life, when he easily derives pleasure and joy elsewhere: from pushing the cats around the park in their stroller on sunny days, from planning his night around a new recipe, from catching up with his school friends on the sacred weekends where their schedules all align; from sitting by the window with a mug of hot ginger tea and finally understanding why his parents were always so keen to pass hours on the pyeong-sang in the backyard of their family home.

It’s not the end of the world. It doesn’t keep Minho up at night, or ruin his whole week, or eat up all of his time and consume all of his thoughts. He’s a professional. Work never seeps into his personal life. 

Except he’s still bored.

Maybe that’s why Minho keeps replying to the emails.

Though he knows that’s not the only reason. Not by a long shot. If anything, it should be concerning how quickly and just how deeply a complete stranger has become such an essential part of his day. But he lets him relax. When Minho needs to unwind, when the day leaves him exhausted and just thinking about the reminders in his filofax can induce a migraine, then checking his email and clicking open the latest from J.One is a paid vacation day in itself.

Life becomes a lot kinder when there’s someone to write; someone who writes back. Minho thinks that’s why he continues their correspondence, why he diligently checks his email long after they’ve both moved past the topic of Kogoro Mori‘s backstory.

J.One may be an absolute stranger, but he makes him laugh and always has something to say about whatever nonsense Minho sends back. It’s the most fun he’s had talking to someone who’s not a section chief or manager in a long time.

But Minho is a professional. His work-life balance is important to him. And so, now too is his time with J.One. It’s important to him, has become something he cherishes. He’s not sentimental enough to do something like print his emails out to keep, but he can still find himself spending an hour backreading on his clunky clamshell.

They don’t do anything to solve the problem of his working hours beginning to stagnate.

So when Sooyoung corners Minho at the water cooler before lunch, and asks, "Can you take Hyeju to school for me on Friday?” in a way that isn't a question, in the warm, assured tone he’s all too familiar with from their dance club days gone by, he already knows he’s going to agree to her request, even if only to escape the monotony. 

His pager beeps. Minho ignores it and fills up his paper cup. “What’s on Friday?” 

“I have a meeting with those annoying investors in Yeouido.” Sooyoung huffs, and it makes a strand of hair come loose from her claw clip blow around her face. “I would have to make a detour since the school is in the opposite direction. I don’t want to wake her up so much earlier than usual for that, and you already live close by.”

Minho sips at his water. “So you want me to make a detour instead.”

“It’s a small detour,” Sooyoung says. “If there were better candidates I would have asked, but Hyeju already knows you.” 

She’s right in that Minho would barely have to go more than a few blocks out of his way. And he’s picked up Hyeju after school before, on days when Sooyoung, ever the perfectionist, has stayed late at the office. The place is hardly ten minutes away.

“You’re getting me out of the next hoesik.”

Sooyoung’s smile is both delicate and blinding. 

-

Hyeju is only six years old, and yet she’s already reached a conclusion that most people only arrive at in their thirties: she enjoys her own company far more than others’.

She’s all set and ready to leave when Minho makes it to Sooyoung’s apartment, and aside from a polite greeting, ignores him almost entirely. Children’s natural proclivity to be blunt isn’t anything Minho isn’t already familiar with. He’s even more familiar with Hyeju’s own candidness. 

It could almost feel like he’s chaperoning a peer, if Minho had any peers who only came up to his hip.

A familiar Friday morning scene unfolds before them as they head down the street: parents taking their kids to school, poor souls on their way to work, dogs being walked. Metal grates are pulled up to open flower shops, pharmacies, salons, the fish stores and produce markets. 

They walk by them all at an easy pace, in a mutually understood silence. Minho keeps a step behind Hyeju to keep an eye on the girl. But then they reach the crosswalk and she stops in her tracks. Minho only has a moment to stop himself before she turns around to face him.

“What’s up, Hyeju-yah?” Minho asks, crouching down.

Hyeju reaches a mittened hand forward to tug on Minho's sleeve, and points around the corner with the other. "Can we go in there?" 

Minho cranes his neck and follows her direction. Among the shopfronts opening for the day, situated right on the edge of the block, already ready for business, is a quaint little place with its rustico wooden sign reading Haven Books.

It’s an irresistibly inviting store. There are fairy lights in the windows, strung along the frames, twined around large stuffed animals that are propped up so they appear to be reading children's books: Spread My Wings, The Little Prince, Hug Me, The Giving Tree.

Minho lifts his wrist, shimmies it a bit so his coat sleeve falls below his watch. They have time.

“Alright.”

A little silver bell above the door chimes when Minho pulls it open. Inside and the place is pleasantly toasty. The warm lighting overhead is bright enough for him to easily read the titles of books lined along wooden shelves that only come up to his waist. Charming watercolor illustrations of little forest creatures dressed like people line the walls. A glass case full of first editions sits to the side. 

When they make it past the cozy little entranceway, there's a playful display full of blobby ghosts, lit with twinkling lights covered with little orange pumpkin globes set up in the main area. A little uncommon, but fitting for the season; cute enough to not truly startle any children.

Hyeju is quick to scamper off and explore the shelves, waving over her shoulder when he calls out only ten minutes after her.

Further in, and Minho sees a larger area set up so kids can sit and read: tiny chairs and tiny tables grouped together along one side; a few individual chairs here and there; floor cushions arranged in a circle along the perimeter of a large, round rug that looks plush enough to sink his fingers into. A single cushion sits in the middle of it, and a guitar case leans against the wall just behind the area.

The place is a dream for little bookworms. Minho knows he would have definitely loved to come to a charming store like this as a kid to pass the time—he wouldn't mind dropping by now to finally tackle the growing stack of novels on his bedside table, either, if he could without sticking out.

One quick walk around the store, through the rows of shelves and past more cute little displays, and he’s back towards the front, where kids and their parents can check out their new books. Beside the register is a glass jar full of individually wrapped chocolates, an encouraging little paper note taped to it: please take one. they're free! Minho steps over to grab a chocolate for Hyeju when he sees something move in his peripheral. 

A shuffling sound, and a moment later a guy pops up from behind the counter. Minho freezes with his hand above the jar, feeling unnecessarily guilty for the briefest flicker of surprise that flashes across the guy's face before he straightens up fully. 

But then he flashes a tiny smile, and Minho's throat goes dry.

He’s pretty and fresh as a spring day. Big brown eyes, mouth like a rosebud, and a cute nose; hair dark and fluffy and a little too long, a stray strand flopping down across his forehead. The guy blinks it out of his eyes. His lashes cast shadows over impossibly soft cheeks. He looks like he belongs with the rest of the sweet little woodland creatures in one of the watercolors on the wall. 

A vast contrast to the band tee and dark plaid flannel that he's wearing. There’s a name tag pinned to it: Han Jisung. When he speaks, it’s in a voice lower than what Minho expected.

“Oh, hi. Welcome to Haven.” His gaze lowers to Minho’s awkward hand, and Minho, remembering he has nothing to feel ashamed about because the note does encourage him to take one, dips his hand in the jar and pulls out a chocolate. 

“Hi,” he says as he pockets it. Then, suddenly aware of how warm it is inside the shop, thinks better of it and withdraws his hand. “Just looking,” he adds.

“Ah, got you.” Jisung nods in understanding as he walks around the counter, revealing a box of books in his hands. “Mind me asking what you’re looking for?” he asks as he sets the box down, nudging it against the side of the counter and out of the way with his heel. Chucks on his feet. 

“Nothing in particular. The shop looked nice so we came in,” Minho explains. “It’s a great place. Wish I could have come here when I was younger,” he admits.

Jisung smiles, cheeks going extra round. “You can still come around. We may sell children’s books, but there’s no age limits here. Hell, I read the books too.” 

Minho hums. “Any recommendations?” he asks, only so Jisung can keep talking. He’s soft-spoken, yet he delivers his words with the slightest hint of gusto that Minho thinks he can coax more of.

“Well,” Jisung says, tapping a finger to his chin, “it depends. Who’s the book for? What do they like to read? Do they want to read something just like their favorite story or should it be a surprise?” His voice pitches the tiniest bit higher with each question; eagerness physically building up. 

“How about yourself?”

Jisung blinks. “Myself?”

“Yeah. What would you recommend for yourself?”

“I—hm. Is that possible? If I'm making a recommendation then it’s something I’ve read myself, so wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”

Minho hums. “Okay, let me rephrase that. What would you recommend for someone looking to recommend you something?” 

The words barely make sense to Minho himself; he’s only speaking for the sake of speaking. And they stump Jisung completely, the finger at his chin now a fist that he rests it on; pouting in thought.

“Well, I guess the book I’ve read the most would have to b—” The rushing pitter patter of footsteps has both of them quickly turning towards the back of the shop.

Hyeju comes barrelling over, a stack of books in her arms. Another person, who Minho can only assume to be an employee, trails after her. She reaches up to set the stack on the counter and turns to Minho with an air of decidedness.

“I'm getting all of them,” she declares.

Jisung whistles lowly. “That might be an awful lot for your dad to buy at one time.” Oh no.

“I’m not—”

“Ahjussi isn’t my dad,” Hyeju interjects, in a tone between disbelief and a vocal grimace. Like she can’t believe Jisung could have even drawn such a ridiculous conclusion. Minho is mildly offended.

He raises a brow. “Excuse me? Ahjussi?”

She ignores him. “I can get them myself.”

“Are you sure about that?” the guy who’s come after her says. He smiles kindly, cheeks dimpling. The name tag pinned to his shirt reads Yang Jeongin. He looks too young to be a regular employee. A part timer, Minho figures.

Hyeju nods. “Yes!” She wriggles her arms out of her backpack straps and lets it drop to the floor so she can go through the pockets and procure a crumpled five thousand won note. 

Yang Jeongin crouches down to her eye level and lets her hold it out for him to see. “Five thousand for five books,” he says with a nod. “That makes sense.” 

Minho is sure that won’t cover the cost for even one book, but the way Hyeju beams at having her deductive skills validated is a sweet sight. He reaches for his wallet with a sigh, but stops short when Jisung crouches down too.

“But how are you going to carry them all?” He pats Hyeju’s backpack; his hand spans half of the small thing easily. “Are you sure they’ll fit?”

“They can fit.” It sounds more like a question. Hyeju turns to Minho. “Ahjussi, they’ll fit, right?” she asks, more hesitantly.

Minho crouches down to join the three, and his traitorous knees crack—hard. Jisung snorts a giggle that shouldn’t be as cute as Minho finds it. Guess he’s really stuck with Ahjussi now.

“Maybe you can get one today,” he suggests. “Then you can come back with So—with your mom and a bigger bag to carry the rest.”

It only takes Hyeju a moment to think it over. “Okay!” she easily agrees, already grabbing the stack of books again to choose which one she wants. Her final selection is a big square hardcover, with an illustration of a fluffy black wolf curled up into a circle on the cover.

Minho goes for his wallet again, but this time Jisung stops him with a hand on his wrist. His stomach doesn’t quite flip, but it sure does something close. 

Quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, Minho murmurs, “I got it.”

“I know,” Jisung says. “It’s fine.”

Minho frowns as they watch Jeongin help Hyeju fit the book into her bag. The artwork on the cover alone is stunning, and the spine is moderately thick for a kid’s book. “That can’t be fine for business.”

Jisung waves him off with the hand not curled around Minho’s wrist. “I’m sure we’ll survive just fine,” he says as he stands. “And besides, you're going to come back again, aren't you?” he asks.

Minho is sure he's not just imagining the hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“Of course,” he blurts out, shooting up himself.

"And this is why we've got nothing to worry about,” Jisung says confidently. “Our customers are loyal.” He grins, gives Minho an exaggerated wink. As if he's in on something, as if this isn't the first time he's walked into the place; as if he's a long time regular. 

Jeongin, finished helping Hyeju get her arms through her backpack straps, must see the puzzled look on Minho’s face. By way of explanation he says, "They opened a Bang's Books around the corner." 

The smile drops off Jisung’s face.

It shifts into a look of pure contempt. And as unintimidating as Minho finds him, the expression is ice cold. 

“That place has nothing to do with us.” He lets go of his hold on Minho’s wrist to cross his arms, tilts his chin up and sniffs disdainfully. “It's nothing but a big, impersonal, franchise run by ignorant businessmen.”

Once, when Minho was in school, he’d played hooky with a couple of friends. 

They had gone to play Devil Zone at the new arcade across town, spending the entire day getting each of their names up on the leaderboard. On their way back home, they’d stopped by a street vendor. And when they were all seated outside a convenience store, cold drinks and dakkochi ready to be enjoyed, Minho had turned his head and found himself making direct eye contact with his homeroom teacher: across the street, looking back, and headed towards the same store.

The specific concoction of budding horror, guilt, and shame that crawled down Minho’s spine back then is the exact same as the chill that runs through him now at the sheer loathing in Jisung’s voice as he speaks of the company he works for.

Hyeju clearly doesn’t register said loathing, nor feel the same. She whips her head up. “Oh, my mom wo—”

“Would like to make sure you get to school on time, Hyeju-yah.” Minho is impressed with himself for keeping his voice cool. He places a hand on Hyeju’s shoulder and steers her towards the door. 

She shoots him a dirty look for cutting her off, which Minho easily fixes with a, “Look what I got for you,” and the chocolate he’s been holding onto placed into her hands.

“It was nice meeting you both,” he says quickly, “but we’ve gotta go.” He looks at his watch, makes his eyes go wide in an oh, would you look at the time sort of way, and hopes it looks natural.

Jeongin gives him a funny look, but the frosty expression on Jisung’s face immediately melts back into his easy smile. 

“Goodbye! We’ll see you again!” He gives a little wave. 

Minho could swear the shop brightens by at least five hundred lumens.

⊹

To: LeeLeeKnow
From: J.One

I think I've read Howl's Moving Castle about 100 times, and every single time I read it, without fail, I worry that the poor prince is never going to get his body back, and that he’s going to end up stuck as a dog forever—even though I know his curse is going to be broken. But I’ll always worry, and I’ll never not be relieved when the curse is finally broken, and I think that that says so much. 

Because this book has become such a comfort for me, and I’ll never get sick of it. I think it’s so special that I can just pick it up whenever I need a pick-me-up myself, and each time I’ll feel the same feelings for each scene.

I think the books and comics and the movies we enjoy say a lot about who we turn out to be. It sounds dramatic. I know it does. But to read a book that takes place in a world full of magic, but also in a world where the people are selfless and good and can overcome their own self-imposed notions about themselves, I think reading that really helped me get through a lot of my own teen angst.

I’ve tried looking for a Korean version of the book, but so far no luck. I don’t have a problem reading it in English, but that’s also probably because at this point I have the thing half memorized. I don’t know if your English is good too, so maybe this is presumptuous, but I wish a translation could hurry up and exist right now so you could read it. Sorry to be pushy, but it’s the type of book I believe everyone should try to read at least once.

This might just sound really brash of me. But maybe I’m a little nostalgic too.

⊹

Ironically, it’s at a convenience store where they next run into each other.

Minho is in the middle of deciding between tuna gimbap and beef gimbap for lunch—pointless when he knows he’s going to get tuna, as usual—when he hears a familiar voice.

“Shit, wait. I’m just gonna grab something real quick.”

It takes Minho a moment to register why that sounds so familiar, but by the time he both grabs his tuna gimbap and places the voice, Jisung appears before him in front of the coolers.

Minho watches, amused, as his hand hovers between banana milk and chocolate milk. It flits between them for a good few seconds before Jisung takes the chocolate. Heads back towards the counter, then does a double take and stumbles over to Minho.

“You know, you should say hello when you see someone you know,” Jisung huffs.

Minho tilts his head. “I was waiting for you to notice me.”

Jisung splutters. “You noticed me first! And didn’t say anything!”

“How do you know I wasn’t about to say something?” He wasn’t. 

“Well I don’t, but still. If you were, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“I’ll speak now then. Hi, Han Jisung.” He leans into a bow that Jisung hastily returns. His hair flops down over his face before he tucks it behind an ear. His fingernails are painted black.

“Hi, Ahjussi.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “Hilarious, aren’t you?”

Jisung grins and makes his way back towards the counter. “You said it, not me. But I suppose a name to call you by would be nice, too.”

Shaking his head, Minho places his lunch selection beside Jisung’s milk and the handful of snacks he’d left. “Lee Minho.” He makes eye contact with the bored looking cashier and nods at a pack of smokes behind him.

He has his wallet out before Jisung can protest, and then, when he does protest, ignores him to hand the cashier a few bills.

“Hey, Lee Minho. I didn’t say you could pay for me,” Jisung complains as he grabs his bag of goodies and follows him out of the store.

Already sticking a cigarette between his teeth, “Didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Jisung huffs and holds out a hand, palm up. Minho places the packet in his hand and fishes a lighter from the pocket of his slacks.

“Consider it even for the book.”

Jisung huffs a quick laugh, his first drag whooshing out his nose. “You’d have to buy me snacks for a week if you really want to get even for that. Which you don’t, by the way. I said it was fine.”

Minho considers his next words carefully as he takes a pull. 

“Even with that terrible Bang’s Books stealing your business?” Well he’s never really been subtle.

“Bang’s Books is not going to steal my business,” Jisung scoffs. “All they do is discount. And they don’t even focus on children’s books! Haven is a community establishment. It was my mom who ran it first, actually. I used to help out when I was a kid, and let me tell you, Lee Minho. There are some things that just can’t be replicated by big ugly franchises. Those snobby salespeople and stupid generic advertisements and whatever the hell else they got don’t even come close.”

Minho holds his hands up placatingly. “I didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Surprisingly, Jisung tips his chin to his chest, peering down at his sneakers. Scratches his neck; bashful after his little spiel. “You didn’t,” he says. “Sorry. But you are right. Business has been kind of slow these days.” He lifts his head. His eyes dart to the side as he takes a puff off his cigarette. “A lot slow, actually. But the thing is, it’s not really about that. Bang’s Books just sells the products. I don’t mean to sound pretentious, but what I’m selling is a reflection of each kid that comes into our store. For so many of them, what they choose in there is the first book they pick out by themselves, and that alone means it ends up being their favorite story. And having a book like that, having a place of comfort that you can keep in your backpack, or on the coffee table, or to just hold, is something special.”

There’s no bravado in his voice. None of the business owner confidence that Minho had seen just last week. But he likes what he hears now much more: the quiet, steady surety in the way Jisung wholeheartedly says each word. Passion entwined around the vowels.

“You really take this seriously,” Minho says. 

Jisung chuckles and rubs at his throat again. ”I guess I do. Maybe it’s also because I was a bit of a nerd growing up, and I used to read everything I could, but it makes me kind of sad to think that some people don’t have stories like that. I mean, not everyone has to enjoy reading, but to not have even one single book that they can always go back to and lose themselves in is a very sad thought.” He furrows his brow. “I think everyone should have one like that. Even if it’s just your favorite book you used to read growing up, or maybe especially because of that. And again, you’re right that Bang’s Books is ruining that, but not Haven. We’ll manage. We always do.” 

“Is it just the two of you?” Minho asks. “You and Yang Jeongin?”

Jisung shakes his head. “No, there’s Changbin-hyung, too. He handles all the finances and supply chain stuff. The real brains behind the operation.” He grins. “Jeonginie helps out when he can, but he’s still a student.  We have a deal. He works around the shop, and it counts as credit for his major.” Another puff. Minho might give him the whole pack. “He’s in early childhood education, so it’s relevant. Kind of. I’m pretty sure he just sweet talked his professors, but I’m not complaining.”

Minho hums. “And you bring the customers in, then?”

“I’d like to think it’s my business savvy, yeah.” He grins, smug. “And the kids do love me.” 

“I’m sure they do, Han Jisung.”

And then, Minho makes a mistake.

It’s the mistake of pushing the bottom of his coat aside to slip the lighter back into his pocket, and, for just a moment, letting the ID card clipped to his belt peek out. He doesn’t even realize anything has happened until he turns to face Jisung again.

He’s gone completely still. His gaze is laser focused on Minho’s waist, which would normally have him feeling a completely different type of way, except a little something just crumbles there on his face. And then he’s looking at Minho with an expression that immediately tells him: he knows.

“Are you spying on me?” Minho wasn’t expecting that.

“Am I what?”

Crossing his arms, cigarette in his hand forgotten, “Is that why you pretended not to see me? So you could what, follow me around or something for intel?”

The idea is so ridiculous that Minho scoffs, which is the wrong thing to do because Jisung is looking at him with his lip curled and fingers flexed tight. 

“You do remember that you’re the one who came in after me, right? So who’s spying on who now?” 

Jisung ignores the question and lifts the bag of snacks hanging on his arm. “What’s this then?”

Minho squints at the bag. “Chocolate milk and nude pepero?”

Jisung scoffs. “You mean bribery? And what about that poor girl. Hyeju. Did you bribe her to go in the shop with you too?”

Minho can’t actually stop the laugh that forces its way out of his mouth at that. “Han Jisung. What would I even be bribing you for?” Jisung opens his mouth to speak, but Minho continues. “Do you even know what it is that I do for that company? What makes you think my job specifically has anything to do at all with your store?”

The scowl on Jisung’s face would be funny if it weren’t aimed at him. “You working there in the first place has to do with it.”

Minho raises a brow, because, “I thought it had nothing to do with your place? Isn’t it just a big, impersonal franchise?” Which he does actually agree with—employee loyalty does not exist—but Minho is curious now. 

“It is. It totally is.” Jisung nods. “But it’s still competition.” The way he says the word competition is an insult in itself. 

“Your store probably sells three hundred million’s worth in books a year.”

“How do you know that?” Jisung demands.

“I’m in the book business,” he replies coolly.

“I am in the books business,” Jisung says through gritted teeth.

“Then what makes you think a shop like yours is going to have a corporation like Bang’s Books send someone out to spy on you? Surely it can’t be for fear that you’d drive them out of business?” The words come out coarser than Minho intends. 

Jisung’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t respond.

Minho watches him turn on his heel and march down the street without another word, and feels like the world’s biggest asshole. 

-

He doesn’t expect to see Jisung again. Not after that. 

Minho doesn’t expect to go anywhere near Haven again, either. He has no reason to, after all. 

Sooyoung had already thanked him for the book and store recommendation, had found the place just so charming when she took Hyeju around, so he can’t exactly offer to take her again. None of Minho’s cousins are young enough that it would make sense to take them along, and none of his friends have kids he could use as an excuse, either.

So Minho resigns himself to the idea that whatever he’d hoped would come out of that fateful run-in just won’t. A missed connection or something. Or rather, a botched connection.

It shouldn’t bother him. It makes more sense than if they had, in fact, gotten to live out some meet-cute romance. It’s more realistic. It’s easier to live with.

But it still leaves a sour feeling in the back of Minho’s throat for a week. The urge for a do over is grating at him. Which is concerning, because Minho has never once felt badly over leaving a less than stellar impression on anyone before. He doesn’t expect everyone to like him; he certainly doesn’t like everyone he’s ever met, either.

Yet something about Jisung being someone left with such an impression, and because of something that isn’t even part of Minho himself, doesn’t sit right with him. It isn’t as if he’s just going to quit his job on the spot and go begging Jisung for forgiveness; not when they’re still essentially strangers. Not when Minho doesn’t owe him a thing. Jisung doesn’t owe him a thing, either. 

That should be that. 

⊹

To: LeeLeeKnow
From: J.One

I live an average life. I used to wonder if maybe I wasn’t doing enough with it. Not because it felt like what I was doing was insignificant, but it felt like maybe I was supposed to be doing more. But I’m proud with what I do. I’ve accomplished so much more than I thought I could have.

When it comes down to it, I think it’s about finding a way of life that you’re satisfied with. As long as you’re confident about your value, you have infinite possibilities. So no matter what you do, even if you don’t achieve some specific goals or fulfill a specific dream, nothing can lower your value.

I think people experience more negative emotions than positive emotions and that’s just how we operate. Everyone has their own concerns and worries, and everyone is operating under a level of stress, and when something nice happens it’s special. Not huge miracles either, but every day things.

Taking a nap and feeling like you’ve gotten a full night’s sleep but it’s only been a few minutes and you still have your whole day ahead of you. Or walking by a bakery and seeing they have your favorite cake on sale. Putting a bouquet of fresh daisies in a vase. Going to the movies and getting salted popcorn but then somehow there’s a few surprise pieces of caramel. Nothing big or grandiose, but they make all the difference.

So no matter what, I’m sure you can find a way of life that’s at least bearable.

⊹

The chime of the bell above Haven’s door is only audible to Minho because he’s right under it. 

Louder than it is the distinct sound of children’s voices coming from further in the shop, accompanied by the rhythmic strumming of a guitar.

The place looks very much the same as it did the last time he was here, except now, on a Saturday afternoon, there are actually kids roaming about. But only a few are actually taking a look at the shelves, because the day’s main event appears to be the story time session that Minho can now see properly.

Parents occupy the tiny kid sized chairs to the side, and their kids occupy the big round rug before them. There don’t seem to be enough cushions for them all, but that hardly seems to matter because most of them aren’t even sitting on the ones available anyway. Instead, they group together as close as they can to Jisung, sitting in the center with a guitar.

He doesn’t look up from the kids before him, doesn’t seem to have noticed Minho, so he stops where he is by one of the shelves and tries to be as discreet as possible. He’s not spying. 

Except that’s very much what Minho feels like he’s doing as he listens to Jisung conduct what’s not just story time, but a mini sing-along about the tale of a poor little alien that crashlands on Earth. It speaks of the loyalty of Haven’s customers that Jisung had boasted to him before that most of the kids seem to know the words already. They follow along, out of pitch and not really singing so much as shouting, but Jisung keeps the melody going with a smile.

Minho waits until the kids have begged for and gotten two more songs and the session finally comes to an end before he finally approaches. Parents help their kids into their coats, bundle them up with scarves, and Minho weaves his way through the crowd of children that still aren’t ready to go home yet to make his way to Jisung.

His head is lowered as he fidgets with one of the tuning pegs of his guitar. Minho walks right up to him, as close as he can without stepping on the rug.

“Did you write those songs yourself?”

Jisung startles so hard he nearly drops the guitar. “What are you doing here?”

“That surprised to see me?” Minho tilts his head.

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Surprised I didn't hear your cloven hooves trampling children's dreams on your way in,” he huffs, turning his back to Minho and placing the guitar into its case.

Well, Minho does kind of deserve that.

Jisung doesn’t say anything more, and he doesn’t tell Minho to get lost either, but he does ignore Minho when he follows after him. He watches Jisung tidy away stray books, straighten up the shelves and make sure the displays are in order. He trails after him until Jisung steps behind the counter to fiddle around with the register, and that’s when he finally acknowledges Minho again.

“Well?” he demands.

Minho blinks. “Well what?”

“What do you want?”

That sure is a question. Minho isn’t sure what he wants himself. What he knows is that he still felt like shit days after that disaster outside the convenience store; that he doesn’t want Jisung to think he’s one of the ignorant, crass businessmen he’s no doubt had to deal with when Bang’s Books opened on his turf.

He knows that he wants his life to be a little more bearable.

“To apologize.”

Jisung blinks.

“For the other day,” Minho continues. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. Or, not like that. I know this is more than business for you, Jisung. But Bang’s Books is practically a monopoly. They’re not going to worry about how you’re doing. They might try to buy the place out, but if they don’t then you’re just not on their radar.” He sees Jisung’s nose twitch; his lip stiffens. “But that’s their own issue,” he quickly adds. “Because they don’t even focus on children’s books. The section only exists so they can say they have some of everything.”

Jisung crosses his arms. “So what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say no big company can lower the value in what you’re doing,” Minho says.

“Well I know that,” Jisung huffs, but he stands a little straighter. His shoulders loosen. “Of course I know that. No flashy marketing campaign can come close to hand selling books.”

Minho thinks about all the book promotions he’s managed. Jisung is right, because while tailored to each title, he’s certain that none of them can compare to the feeling of having Han Jisung look you in the eye and recommend a book he’s read and enjoyed and believes can find another home to appreciate.

His throat clicks around a swallow. “Well good. Good that you know, I mean.” He doesn't know why he’s nervous. 

Jisung sighs. “Guess I can’t kick you out now,” he says, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Not after that. But—” he points a finger at Minho over the counter, “—don’t think I’m going to be telling you any trade secrets. You’re still competition.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking.”

-

A newspaper slams down on Minho’s desk Monday morning. 

“Did you read this?” Kim Seungmin demands, tapping the end of the paper against the wood.

Minho goes to smack his hand away but Seungmin snatches it back, still clutching the newspaper. 

Before Minho can reply that no, he hasn’t,  clearly he hasn’t or else Seungmin wouldn’t be terrorizing him this early, Seungmin unfolds the paper and begins to read:

"The Seoul Literary world was shocked this week when notoriously reclusive author and illustrator Hwang Hyunjin announced that he was coming out of hiding for a book signing event to be held at a small children's bookstore in Yeonnam-dong. Haven Books, owned and operated by Han Jisung, has been a fixture of the neighborhood for almost twenty years.”

Minho leans back in his seat. 

“Good for Han Jisung,” he says, because it is. Although he’s curious to know just how in the world he managed to pull this off.

Seungmin squints at him. “Not good for us. Do you know how hard Chan has been trying to get Hwang Hyunjin to hold a book signing?”

“Sure do. Hasn't he refused four times already?”

“No, he’s refused four times this year. We’ve been asking him since ninety-five.”

Minho rolls his chair back, stands, stretches his arms, and groans. “What’s your point?”

“My point is how did a—” he checks the paper again, —”’small children’s bookstore in Yeonnam-dong’ get Hwang Hyunjin to agree when we couldn't?”

That’s what Minho wants to know too.

-

The odd little Halloween display is gone when Minho steps into Haven after work. It’s been replaced with snowmen and reindeers and a beagle, all ready to welcome in the snowy season.

It’s the first time that Jisung is already behind the counter when Minho enters. He spots him immediately, and the smug, more than pleased with himself look on Jisung’s face has Minho cracking a smile as well.

“Trade secrets?” he asks as he walks over. “Is this what you meant?”

“What’s ‘this?’ You should be more specific.” Jisung practically bounces on the balls of his feet. 

Minho snorts. “You know what, and you want to gloat, so go ahead.”

His smile widens. Something leaps in Minho’s chest.

Jisung beckons for him to lean closer, so Minho does, resting an elbow on the dark wood of the counter top. Jisung leans in too, both their heads bowed over. Like school children sharing a secret.

“This, Lee Minho,” Jisung whispers, “is thanks to the power of connections. Real connections.” 

“Who’s your connection to Hwang Hyunjin?” Minho whispers back.

“Did you know Hwang Hyunjin used to be a dancer?”

Minho did, in fact, know that. He’s done more than some light research on the guy. But as elusive as he is, that’s the most Minho found out. Not even the name of the school. 

“Did you know I used to be a dancer?” he says instead.

“Are you going to get me an exclusive book signing with one of the most beloved illustrators of our time?”

Minho pinches his arm. Jisung makes a sound that’s half yelp and half laugh.

“But anyway, Changbin-hyung used to dance, believe it or not.” Minho doesn’t point out that he hasn’t even met the guy, so he has little he can or can’t believe. “He used to be the co-captain of his college dance team. And guess who went to college with him?”

“God, I wonder who it could be.”

“Exactly.” Jisung grins. “And guess who used to have a huge crush on Changbin-hyung that never really died?”

“No way.”

“Way,” Jisung insists. “It just took one dinner date for him to agree. And they’re going out again, too, so it’s a win-win all around.”

“That’s some stroke of luck.”

“Well you know what they say,” Jisung says as he straightens back up. “Good things happen to good people.”

⊹

To: LeeLeeKnow
From: J.One

My mother died when I was ten. I was staying with my dad when it happened. They weren’t separated or anything, but he would go on overseas business trips a lot and thought it was good to expose me to different places and cultures at a young age. I don’t regret any of it. I’m grateful for it. I wouldn’t be who I am without those experiences.

But I do resent that last trip we were away. My dad’s way of breaking the news of her death was to tell me that she wouldn’t be coming to pick us up at the airport as usual. Because she died. He wasn’t trying to be funny or anything when he said it, but I guess he was depressed and nervous because how are you supposed to tell your kid his mom is gone when your wife is dead? But when I think back about it, it was kind of hilarious of him to say it that way.

It was a car accident, and I don't know where she was going or if she was alone when she passed. She was very beautiful. People throw that word around a lot, but my mom really was. 

I think what I owe her most is my tendency to cover any serious emotion with a joke. A useful gift, unless you want to know what you're feeling. Which is why I’m going to apologize now for this bummer of an email. I don’t feel sad anymore when I think about it, but I know when you tell someone your mom is dead then they feel obligated to feel sad too.

I don’t want you to feel sad, or like you need to reply with condolences. It’s just something that happened. I know we agreed on no personal information, but I don’t think it’s that uncommon to have a dead parent, so does it really count the same way something like a street name would? But like I said, I don’t want you to feel bad over it. So I’ll apologize now if you got that feeling at first, and also thank you, wherever you are, whoever you are, for being one of the safest places that I’ve ever known.

⊹

Stopping by the shop after work very quickly becomes a routine.

At first Minho tells himself it’s because the place is on his way back home from work—which is true, but it’s a new route that he’d never really taken before. Not out of his way, not the long way around, but just one that Minho never found himself following before. Until now.

Now, he finds himself walking past Haven on his way back from the train station. He finds himself stopping to admire the display in the window, to read the ever changing titles of the books propped up for the day. He finds himself poking his head in to see if Jisung is at the register, and ignoring the sly looks the Jeongin gives him when he has to go inside properly and search for him between the shelves.

It’s hardly more than ten minutes out of his day. Less time than it takes him to write an email to J.One. Emails which he’s been receiving in more sporadic bursts lately. But every line he has ever shared is neatly filed in Minho’s memory. Shared pieces of him that he admittedly hasn't shared with anyone else. A part of him that will remain alive always. And he’s never given Minho flack for being flakey either, so Minho doesn't mind. 

What he does mind is that the book signing is scheduled for next week—the big sign in the shop window boasts not only a signing, but a book reading by Hwang Hyunjin himself—and Jisung is visibly running himself ragged over it.

Minho doesn’t expect him to come running straight to him for help, either. If he were in Jisung’s shoes, he wouldn’t be keen on letting his competitor anywhere near the store during preparations either. But it’s a small operation. Jeongin’s part time work has become part part time with upcoming exams. He’s yet to meet financial genius Changbin-hyung either.

That leaves Jisung, who, to Minho’s great pleasure, visibly brightens when he enters the shop, but will keep on his feet and go around the store cataloging books and unpacking orders while they chat. Minho had brought him an iced americano once, after Jisung admitted that he too prefers his iced coffee even during winter, and by the time he’d left it was still sitting on the counter top, ice all melty.

So when he walks into the store two days before the literary event of the season, only to be met with the sight of Jisung on the phone, on the verge of tears, Minho minds. 

He waits until Jisung hangs up the phone, slamming it down with a loud clack against the cradle before speaking. But Jisung beats him to it.

“Fuck,” he sighs. Minho turns around to make sure no kids are ambling around the shop.

“What happened?” he asks. Then, thinking better of it, “Can I ask?”

Jisung presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and nods. He rubs them for a moment, like he’s physically pushing any tears back in there, before letting his arms drop. His lashline is wet.

“It’s the books we ordered for the signing. They’re all misprints.” That is fuck.

“Fuck.”

“It’s only on one page, but there’s not enough time to send them back or to just wait for a good batch to arrive.”

Minho begins to mentally run through the list of people he’s on relatively good terms with in supply chain. “How many copies do you need?”

Jisung gives him a wary look. “Don’t even think about it. There’s no way I’m purchasing a single book from that place. No offense.” Minho opens his mouth to speak, but Jisung continues. “And don’t think I’d let you pay for them either. It’s the principle.” 

Shit. “Isn’t the principle providing all those kids who are going to be coming in with good memories? I’m sure they won’t mind reading a misprint. I’m pretty sure half of them won’t even read the book anyway. Isn’t it more about the illustrations?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says hesitantly. “But still. They may be kids but they’ll want to read it later on, too. So they’ll notice it then. And besides, just because they’re kids doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a perfect copy.”

“I always thought the best copy of a book is one that’s been through hell because it’s been read so much.”

Jisung hums. His eyes look less glossy. “That’s true. But still. You need a good clean slate to start with.”

That’s true too.

“Well, maybe we can fix that. Show me the misprint.”

Jisung gives him a look that Minho can’t quite decipher, but leads him to the back where the boxes are all stacked up. An opened one sits on the floor, and Jisung rolls his sleeves up before crouching down to pull out one of the copies of the books.

The cover is stunning. The illustrations inside even more so. Minho flips through the pages, and he forgets that he’s supposed to be looking at the text until Jisung directs him to one of the last pages.

It’s a single letter out of order. A blink and you’ll miss it type error. A mistake no one would really notice because their gaze would be too focused on the rest of the page.

Minho means to tell Jisung as much, but finds that he can’t. 

“Couldn’t you sell it at a discount?” he asks instead.

“I’m already gonna be doing that,” Jisung sighs. “But I need to do something about this.” He reaches over to press his fingertip against the offending word. His arm brushes against Minho’s. There’s a glittery cat sticker on the inside of his elbow.

“Maybe you can.”

-

Jisung’s apartment is right above the shop. The stairs to get in are through the back, and Minho nearly breaks his back on them hoisting boxes upon boxes of book copies upstairs.

The place is messy but tidy; organized chaos. The boxes take up the majority of the floor space; all of the furniture is pushed back towards the walls to make room. The only pieces that don’t need to be moved are the two tall bookshelves by the windows. Though they’re home to more than books. 

The first thing to catch Minho’s eye is the action figures displayed neatly along the top shelf of one. A mix of collectibles and what look like vending machine toys. Below that is a row of manga. The shelves get messier the further down, with the final one being crammed full of stacks of books, cables of varying sizes, a box of guitar strings, and crumbled up papers shoved into the crevices between them all. The second shelf is in a similar state.

“Come on,” Jisung says, already getting comfortable on the floor, legs folded beneath himself as he slides one of the boxes closer. Minho watches him pick at the edge of the tape sealing it shut for a good minute before he lets himself into Jisung’s kitchen, finds a single, dull knife, and brings it back. 

Jisung already has the box open by then, but Minho works on unsealing the rest while he unpacks it to spare his manicure from further damage. By the time he’s finished, Jisung is laying out stacks of books and rolls of corrective stickers to one side.

An assembly line method is difficult to get going with only two people, but somehow they manage. Jisung flips the books open to the page that needs to be corrected and lays them out. Minho pushes up his sleeve and gets a row of stickers half stuck to his arm for easy access and gets them on as many pages as he can until he’s out. Repeat.

It goes by surprisingly faster than Minho had been expecting, but he’d checked the time before they began. Going through one box completely takes half an hour. They have a dozen left.

And the space on Jisung’s floor is limited. Laying out a box’s worth of open books means Jisung has to lay them in rows over the entire room, and moves the uncorrected ones closer to Minho while keeping the good ones separate.

Halfway through the fourth box: empty coffee cans littering the floor and sticker residue beginning to itch Minho’s skin. And the constant walking back and forth and leaning down to grab more books seems to be getting toJisung. The way he presses his hands against his lower back doesn’t escape Minho’s notice.

“Do you want to switch?” he asks as Jisung hands him another book. He savors the accidental brush of their fingers. “I’ll move the books and you can put the stickers on.”

Jisung sighs and shakes his head, flopping down to sit for the first time in an hour. His knee knocks into Minho’s.

“That won’t work,” he says, holding his hands out flat, palms down. “Look.” Minho does. Jisung’s fingers shake. “You get them on right each time. It would take me too long to get them right, and moving the sticker would mess up the page.”

Minho frowns. “Well you should still take a break anyway. I can manage the rest of this batch just fine.”

Jisung chuckles dryly. “What kind of business would I be running if I can’t even handle doing this much?”

“That’s not a fair assessment at all.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t be if I didn’t need help from the competition.” He sighs hard and leans back on his palms, but he doesn’t sound bitter. When Minho turns to look at him properly, there’s a wry grin on his face. “But the competition isn’t so bad.”

“It’s not?” Minho tries to keep his tone even.

“Nah. Well—actually.” He rests an elbow on his knee, rests his cheek in his hand and looks at Minho through wisps of hair that keep falling in his face. Minho gives in to the urge to reach forward and brush it back. Jisung closes his eyes, leaning into the touch the way his cats do. 

“Actually?” Minho prods. He doesn’t move his hand.

“Actually, I guess the competition can be nice sometimes.” He cracks an eye open. “But only this competition right here.” Jisung reaches his free hand up and curls his fingers around the bare skin of Minho’s forearm. The touch courses through him, hot and sharp. “Not the place itself. Or whoever that Bang Chan is.”

Minho snorts. “I know who that Bang Chan is. I think you’d like him.” Partly true, because the few times he’s met the CEO he’s gotten the feeling that he’s a pleasant enough guy. Partly because the way Jisung wrinkles his nose and leans back is a sight he’d hate to miss.

“Suddenly I don’t think I need the competition’s help.”

“Sure you don’t. You have sleep crust in your eyes because it matches your little grunge aesthetic.”

Jisung smacks his arm with an indignant sound but it’s more whine than anything. 

“I guess the competition could take a break with me to get some more coffee.”

-

Outside and it's raining, thick raindrops that splatter their coats at first, and then hail. They run together, without umbrellas because they’d only realized it was raining once they made it down to the shop. They run from the awning to the convenience store on the corner, only to find that it's inconveniently closed. 

Jisung’s cheeks are red and despite how drenched they are, he starts to laugh. The kind of laughter that lifts the fresh rainy air and reaches right into Jisung’s dark, sparkling eyes as his hair curls and sticks to his forehead; the kind that makes Minho feel like he’s floating.

Minho’s ears are starting to burn even as he chuckles. Jisung shakes his head, droplets flying everywhere; lips pressing together, but his smile somehow only gets wider. Sly, bashful, sweet and a million other emotions slipping into one expression. Minho feels his stomach flip over itself without his permission.

The sound of the raindrops is muffled back in the shop, but somehow louder when they clamber their way up to Jisung’s apartment. Maybe because Minho is aware of them now. But it’s still a distant sound, as far away as the sound of the cars on the street below. 

They’re still cold and wet after they slip their shoes off and hang up their coats, so Jisung goes to retrieve them a couple towels. Minho hovers by the sofa, not wanting the rainwater drips of his hair near the books. Jisung returns with a towel around his shoulders and another in his hands. But he doesn’t just give it to him. Instead, he motions for Minho to sit on the sofa. So he does.

The towel is thrown down across his head very unceremoniously, and then Jisung starts rubbing at Minho’s hair vigorously. Like he’s drying off a dog. 

Fear for his hairline has Minho reaching up to grab Jisung’s hands and flinging off the towel.

“What the hell is that?”

Jisung frowns. “Don’t want your hair dried?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to lose it either,” Minho huffs.

“Oh. Sorry. Was it that rough?” Jisung asks, sheepish.

Minho means to tell him that yeah, it was. He means to ask if Jisung has never dried his own hair before either. He means to ask if he has a pet. 

But Minho doesn’t say any of that, because when he brushes the half-damp hair out of his eyes and looks at Jisung properly, his breath gets lost somewhere in his throat.

Jisung gives him an apologetic smile, and he’s still flushed from the cold, and he looks so sweet, and for some reason, nervous. Minho is pretty sure it’s the same reason his hands are the ones that now shake. But there’s so much more behind his dark, earnest eyes. The look in them has Minho’s pulse thundering in his temple.

Without thinking, his hands come up to curve around Jisung’s cheeks, thumb smoothing over his brow bone. 

A quiet, hoarse noise erupts from Jisung’s throat. Or his chest. Maybe somewhere in between. His voice comes out as nothing but a croak when he asks, “What are you doing?” 

Minho doesn’t answer, because he doesn't know what he’s doing. He keeps smoothing his thumbs over the sides of Jisung’s face. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. 

“No.” Quietly, like he’s too shy to admit he likes it. Jisung leans his head closer into the sensation. 

Minho isn’t sure who surges forward first, but one moment they’re staring each other down, and in the next, Jisung is kissing him.

Golden sun melts down his throat. Minho's stomach melts into a happy, gooey mess. So does the cold. So does his brain. He kisses Jisung until he feels like he’s going to dissolve into a puddle right on his floor, and when they part, Jisung leans closer still; until their foreheads bump together. 

Their hair is still wet.

-

The last book is finished at a quarter to four in the morning.

Jisung lays flat on his back on the living room floor and lets out a groan that’s part triumph and part relief. Minho looks down at him for a moment before nudging his side with his foot. Does it again until Jisung squirms and swats at him.

“Let me rest for a minute,” he whines.

Minho shakes his head. “If you rest now you’ll sleep the whole day away. And we still need to put the books back into their boxes and take them downstairs.” 

Jisung snarts to fake snore. Minho digs his toes into his side until he whines and sits up. 

It’s past four when they’re actually finished, and Minho feels ready to pass out himself. He’d usually be waking up in two hours. He’ll have to call in sick.

For all his grumbling, Jisung seems perfectly fine staying awake. Minho helps him push the furniture back into place, and while he himself flops backwards across the sofa, Jisung putters around a while longer. 

“Hey,” Minho calls out, closing his eyes. “Can I crash on your sofa?”

Jisung doesn’t answer.

“Han Jisung.”

Minho’s eyes burn when he blinks them open. He lifts his neck, and sees Jisung still in the living room—so he’d just been ignoring him—sat on the floor in front of the windows, looking out at something. 

“Is it still raining?” Minho asks as he forces himself off the sofa and and pads over to where Jisung’s got his nose nearly pressed against the glass.

“No, look.” 

Minho crouches down and looks. The streets are empty, and the rain has cleared the air. Dark, deep blue pre-dawn sky and twinkling city lights. An occasional car. A few lights on in the shopfronts. A big, white truck that’s parked across the street.

“What am I looking at?”

Jisung smiles. “Just look.”

Minho keeps looking. He sees two people make their way to the back of the truck and push it open. A minute goes by, and he’s going to ask Jisung just what it is he’s looking for, when he sees it. 

Big, thick bags being pulled out of the truck. At first Minho thinks they’re rice. But then the wind blows by, and a puff of flour rises from a bag. He watches. And watches. 

Swirling, powder-soft clouds building up, flowing around; until the blue hour sky is filled with them; until it looks like the snow they’re still waiting on; until the air gets so, so sweet—

“It’s like you can taste it,” Jisung whispers.

⊹

To: LeeLeeKnow
From: J.One

I know it’s been a few days since I emailed you. But I’ve been busy lately. Actually, I’ve been a lot busy. But in a good way. In a really, really good way! I know I haven't mentioned it yet, but I have a feeling that you get what I mean. You always do.

Lots of good things have been happening these days. But I can’t say I’ve been that good about them myself. I’m not ungrateful for any of it, but some pretty not bad, but not good things happened too. You know when someone kind of provokes you, and you want to smile and move on, but you can’t, and it’s like a badly behaved version of you just has to come out?

Something like that happened. I don’t think I acted horribly, but I wish I handled it better. The person who had to deal with it was a lot kinder than I expected. That sort of made me feel worse about it, but not for long, because they sort of asked for it. 

But then I went home and read that email you sent me about how you get why old people like to sit outside drinking tea all day, and it made me smile and also made me realize that maybe that person could be someone I would like to sit around all day with too. And it made me more willing to forgive their heinous crimes. Like when Sophie spared the witch of the waste (which you’ll understand soon.) So thank you for that.

I know I’ve been thanking you a lot in these emails, and don’t take it the wrong way. I just think you know that all your wise words of wisdom are appreciated.

⊹

“He’s not here,” Jeongin informs Minho before he can even get a foot in the door.

“But today was the big day. Did he miss it?” Minho frowns; Jeongin mirrors it.

“Well he didn’t want to scare our celebrity away with all the snot,” he sighs.

Shit. They really should have grabbed an umbrella.

“Hey,” Jeongin calls after him as Minho turns to leave. “He’s not contagious!”

-

Jisung’s voice sounds clogged even through the door.

“Who is it?” he asks; Minho wonders who else besides him and the two other employees he could be expecting.

“Lee Minho.”

The door opens with a click to reveal a red-nosed, messy haired Jisung. He’s in a t-shirt that looks two sizes too big, the hem stuck between his body and the walkman he’s tucked into his waistband. The headphones hang around his neck.

“It’s really not a good idea for you to come in,” he says, stepping to the side anyway.

Minho keeps his hands behind his back as he awkwardly shuffles past in a way that keeps Jisung from seeing what he’s holding. “Jeongin said you’re not contagious.”

“I could be,” Jisung says as he locks the door. “I could be so contagious.” Like he’s bragging about it. Minho snorts.

“Are you taking vitamin C?” he asks as he takes in the various wadded up tissues scattered around the living room.

“God, you really are an ahjussi.” It doesn’t sound as insulting when Jisung’s voice is extra nasally. “Did you come here just to nag me?”

“I heard you were sick and wanted to make sure you didn’t slip on your own snot and die.”

“Charming.” 

“What are you listening to?” Minho steps his way sideways into the kitchen.

Jisung trails after him. “Documentary recording.”

“Learn any fun facts?” 

“You could tell me a fun fact.” He tilts his head and nods towards Minho’s awkward elbows. “What have you got there?”

Suddenly self-conscious, Minho sheepishly presents the bouquet he’s been hiding; daisies, wrapped in neat brown paper.

Jisung gasps, mouth already a heart. “I love daisies.”

I know, Minho thinks. You told me.

Jisung takes them. His fingers are cold when they graze over Minho’s hands.

“I should put them in water,” he mumbles. “Can you check the kettle?”

The kettle is already on the stove, but empty. Minho fills it while Jisung gets a vase out of one of the cabinets, sets it on the flame while Jisung fills the vase. He primps the petals and sets it on the tiny kitchen table.

“Jeongin says hello,” Minho says. “He’s ruined your store.”

A sigh, like this was expected. “What’s he done?”

“A complete revolution. It doesn’t even look the same anymore, and he says you’re fired. And that no one is allowed to work there who doesn’t have a degree he approves of.”

“I always knew he’d take it from me one day. Well, as long as he doesn’t change the name.”

Minho sets a hand on his shoulder, leans down to look right into his eyes. “He has,” he says solemnly.

Jisung sighs, long and hard and rattling. “Fine then, as long as it’s not a Bang’s Books.” Sly grin.

The kettle whistles. Minho sees to it. “Mugs?”

“Upper right.”

“Tea?” 

“Behind you.”

“Honey?”

Jisung nods and holds up two fingers. 

Minho sets their tea down and takes the only other chair at the table. He waits until Jisung has taken a sip before he speaks again.

“I didn’t just come because you’re sick,” he admits. 

Jisung nods. “We kissed.”

“We did.” His ears feel hot.

Jisung shifts the vase of daisies from the center of the table over to the side; rests his elbows on the table and leans halfway across. His face is fever flushed pink and Minho wants to hold it between his hands again.

“Well? I’m not contagious.”

⊹

To: J.One
From: LeeLeeKnow

Do you think we should meet?