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Jaemin had always thought that some people looked as if they had wandered out of a dream and forgotten to leave.
Renjun was one of those people.
He had that strange, delicate kind of beauty that made the world seem to hush around him. Not dazzling in the way of fireworks or stage lights, but soft in a way that lingered. His face looked almost fairy - like, all gentle lines and bright eyes. His hair had grown out into something fluffy and effortless, as if the wind itself had decided to be kind to him. Jaemin had noticed it the first time they met, and then every time after that, as if his eyes had made a private vow to keep returning to Renjun no matter what else was happening.
Renjun, for his part, seemed entirely unaware of the effect he had on people or perhaps he knew and simply chose not to weaponize it.
That was the sort of person he was, Jaemin had decided. Quiet, calm in a way that made other people feel calmer just by standing near him. He spoke as though he had all the time in the world, and when he smiled, it was never wasted. It always seemed to mean something.
So when Renjun invited Jaemin to stay overnight at his place in the countryside, Jaemin nearly forgot how to breathe.
It had been said casually, over a conversation that had started with weather and ended with Renjun tilting his head and saying, “If you’re free, you can come stay for a few days. It’s quieter out there. You might like it.”
Jaemin had tried to answer like a normal person but instead, what came out was, “You’re inviting me to your countryside home. Alone and for several days.”
Renjun had blinked at him, then laughed softly. “Yes. That is what I said.”
Jaemin had wanted to disappear into the floorboards. He had also wanted to say yes so badly that his heart felt like it had taken up sprinting without warning.
So he did.
That was how, on a bright morning with a bag slung over one shoulder and a suspiciously overprepared suitcase in hand, Jaemin found himself riding out of the city and into a place that looked like it had been painted by someone who loved silence.
The countryside unfolded around them in soft green layers. Fields stretched wide and patient under the sky. Trees leaned over narrow roads and the air itself seemed cleaner, gentler, as if it had been filtered through leaves and sunlight before reaching them. By the time Renjun’s home came into view, Jaemin had already begun to feel as though he had stepped into a different rhythm of life.
Renjun’s house was modest and warm, with a little porch and a garden that looked lovingly tended. There were potted plants near the steps, a wind chime that moved with the breeze, and a pair of shoes neatly lined up by the door. It was the kind of place that made you want to lower your voice automatically.
Renjun opened the door before Jaemin could knock.
“Good morning,” he said, and somehow the word sounded like an invitation to rest.
Jaemin smiled too widely. “I’m here.”
“I can see that.”
“I mean, I’m really here.”
Renjun’s eyes curved with amusement. “I can also see that.”
Jaemin, who had been trying very hard to appear composed, immediately failed.
Renjun stepped aside to let him in, and Jaemin entered with the strange, fluttering feeling of being allowed into something private and precious. The house smelled faintly of tea, wood, and maybe something sweet. There was sunlight on the floorboards, a blanket was folded over the back of the sofa. Everything looked lived in, but gently so, as if the home itself had learned how to be quiet for Renjun.
Jaemin set his bag down and looked around.
Then he noticed the strawberries. They were everywhere.
Not literally everywhere, of course, but enough to make an impression. A bowl of them sat on the kitchen counter, bright red and glossy. A small plate of sliced strawberries rested beside a glass of water. He noticed a tiny ceramic dish shaped like a berry sat near the sink, holding what looked like sugar packets. Even the tea towel had little embroidered strawberries on it.
Jaemin stared. Renjun, who had been watching him with mild curiosity, followed his gaze and said, “Ah.”
Jaemin turned slowly. “You like strawberries.”
Renjun looked almost offended by the understatement. “Like them?” He placed a hand over his chest, as if Jaemin had insulted a beloved family member. “I adore strawberries.”
Jaemin’s eyes widened. “You’re serious.”
“I am deeply serious.”
“How deeply?”
Renjun considered this. “If strawberries were a person, I would probably marry them.
Jaemin made a strangled sound. Renjun’s expression remained perfectly calm for exactly one second before he laughed, and the sound was so warm and unexpected that Jaemin felt it in his chest.
That was the first day and on that first day, Jaemin made a decision.
He would not reveal his secret.
His secret, which was not really a secret in the dramatic sense, but felt like one anyway because it was so embarrassingly simple, was this - he did not like strawberries.
He did not hate them or fear them. He simply did not like them, which in a world where Renjun seemed to have built a shrine to the fruit was, in Jaemin’s mind, a social catastrophe.
Because Jaemin liked Renjun.
He liked Renjun with the kind of sincerity that made him feel a little stupid and a little brave at the same time. The way Renjun listened as if every word mattered. He liked the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when thinking. The calmness and softness of him, the way he seemed to carry gentleness like it was second nature.
If there was one thing Jaemin knew about himself, it was that he was a devoted, confident gay man with standards, dignity, and absolutely no intention of being defeated by a fruit.
So when Renjun offered him strawberries that afternoon, Jaemin smiled and said, “They look great.”
Some time after that Renjun asked if he wanted some with cream, Jaemin said, “Maybe later.”
Renjun, with innocent curiosity, asked, “Do you like strawberries?”
Jaemin, with the courage of a man standing at the edge of a cliff, said, “Of course.”
Renjun nodded, satisfied. Jaemin nearly collapsed from the strain of lying.
The first evening passed gently. They ate dinner together at a small table by the window while the sky turned gold and then lavender. Renjun talked about the garden, about the neighbor’s cat. Jaemin listened, smiling whenever he could, trying not to stare too obviously at the way the evening light softened Renjun’s face even further.
At one point Renjun brought out dessert.
Strawberries, because what else. Fresh strawberries with cream, arranged neatly on a plate like a tiny celebration.
Jaemin looked at them as if they were a test from the universe. Renjun set the plate down and sat across from him. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.”
Jaemin froze as Renjun tilted his head. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re about to confess to a crime.”
Jaemin laughed too loudly. “No, no. I’m fine.”
Renjun’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, thoughtful but not suspicious. Then he simply said, “All right.”
Jaemin took one strawberry. He put it in his mouth and started chewing. He swallowed and smiled with the strained serenity of a man being spiritually challenged.
Renjun watched him, then smiled too, though with a little confusion. “You really are trying very hard.”
Jaemin nearly choked. “Trying what?”
“To be polite.”
Jaemin stared at him. Renjun’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to force yourself here.”
The words were so gentle that Jaemin almost told the truth right then and there. Almost admitted that he was not, in fact, a strawberry enthusiast, and that the only thing he was truly enthusiastic about was sitting across from Renjun in a quiet countryside house and pretending he was not hopelessly, embarrassingly smitten.
But he didn’t because Renjun was smiling at him, and because Jaemin was apparently committed to making his own life difficult.
He said, “I’m just being respectful.”
Renjun laughed again, and this time he looked fond. That look alone nearly ruined Jaemin.
The second day began with sunlight and birdsong and the smell of tea. Renjun moved through the house with the easy grace of someone who belonged to the place completely. Jaemin, meanwhile, was trying to survive a domestic environment that seemed to contain strawberries in every possible form.
Strawberry jam on toast. Strawberry tea. Strawberry candies in a bowl by the window. A strawberry-patterned apron hanging near the stove. Jaemin began to suspect that the fruit was not merely a preference but a lifestyle.
Renjun, wearing that apron while making breakfast, looked up and said, “You’re staring again.”
Jaemin blinked. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just admiring your cooking.”
Renjun’s mouth twitched. “That’s a very strange way to look at toast.”
Jaemin glanced down at the toast in his hand, then back at Renjun. “I’m a strange person.”
“That much is obvious.”
Jaemin gasped in mock offense. “Renjun.”
Renjun smiled, and the smile was so soft that Jaemin’s heart did a small, undignified flip.
They spent the morning in the garden. Renjun showed him the vegetables, the herbs, the flowers, and the strawberry patch tucked into one sunny corner like a secret treasure. The plants were healthy and carefully tended, and Renjun’s expression when he looked at them was so tender that Jaemin felt like he was witnessing something sacred.
“These are your favorites,” Jaemin said, crouching beside the patch.
Renjun nodded. “Mm.”
“You really do love them.”
“I told you.”
Jaemin looked up at him. “You said you’d marry them.”
Renjun’s ears turned faintly pink. “That was a joke.”
“It didn’t sound like one.”
Renjun gave him a look. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
Jaemin smiled, and Renjun smiled back, and for a moment the whole garden seemed to settle around them in contentment. Then Renjun picked a strawberry and held it out. Jaemin stared at it as Renjun stared back.
“You should try this one,” Renjun said. “It’s sweet.”
Jaemin’s soul left his body. He took the strawberry with the solemnity of a man accepting a royal decree. Renjun watched him eat it. As Jaemin finished chewing, he smiled widely. Renjun’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you look like you’re enduring a heroic trial.”
Jaemin laughed, helplessly. “I’m not enduring anything.”
Renjun folded his arms. “Then why do you look like you’re about to write a farewell letter to the strawberry patch?”
Jaemin covered his face with one hand.
Renjun burst into laughter, and this time Jaemin laughed too, because there was no point pretending otherwise. Renjun’s laughter was too bright, too genuine. It made the whole world feel less serious.
Still, Jaemin held the line. He would not confess.
Not yet. Not until he had survived the full three days. That was the plan.
Unfortunately, plans have a way of becoming jokes when Renjun is involved.
By the third day, Jaemin had become a master of evasion. If Renjun offered strawberries, Jaemin accepted them with the expression of a man receiving a diplomatic gift. If Renjun asked whether he wanted strawberry jam, Jaemin said, maybe a little, while internally begging for mercy. If Renjun casually mentioned that he had made strawberry milk, Jaemin praised the color and texture with the seriousness of an art critic.
Renjun, to his credit, never pushed.
He only watched Jaemin with growing amusement, as if he had begun to suspect that something was very slightly off but had decided to let the mystery unfold on its own.
That, more than anything, made Jaemin nervous.
Because Renjun was kind. Too kind. The kind of kind that made lying feel like a personal failure.
On the third afternoon, they went for a walk along a narrow path behind the house. The countryside was quiet, the air warm and the fields stretching out in soft waves. Jaemin walked beside Renjun with his hands in his pockets, trying to enjoy the scenery and not the fact that Renjun’s shoulder occasionally brushed his.
They passed a small stream, somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then fell silent.
Renjun stopped near a tree and looked out over the field.
“It’s peaceful here,” he said.
Jaemin nodded. “It is.”
Renjun glanced at him. “You seem more relaxed than when you arrived.”
Jaemin almost laughed. More relaxed. Yes. If by relaxed he meant one wrong strawberry-related question away from emotional collapse.
“I’m adjusting,” Jaemin said.
Renjun hummed. “Good.”
There was a pause and after that Renjun said, very casually, “You really don’t like strawberries, do you?”
Jaemin stopped walking. Renjun turned to face him, expression mild, maybe almost amused, but not unkind. “You’ve been acting like they’re a dangerous substance.”
Jaemin stared at him and Renjun tilted his head. “I’m not upset.”
Jaemin opened his mouth. Then he closed it and opened it again. Then, with the tragic dignity of a man walking into his own embarrassment, he said, “I was trying not to offend you.”
Renjun blinked and after a moment he laughed.
Not a small or polite laugh. A real one, bright and helpless, bending him slightly at the waist. Jaemin watched him, mortified and relieved all at once.
“You thought I’d be offended?” Renjun asked between laughs.
Jaemin rubbed the back of his neck. “You love strawberries.”
“I do.”
“So I thought maybe if I said I didn’t like them, you’d think I was rejecting your entire personality.”
Renjun laughed harder at that, and Jaemin had to turn away because the sight of him laughing like that was almost too much. When Renjun finally calmed down, he was still smiling. “Jaemin.”
Jaemin looked at him with the expression of a man awaiting judgment.
Renjun’s smile softened. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jaemin groaned. “I know.”
“But,” Renjun added, and his voice gentled, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
That made Jaemin go quiet.
The wind moved through the grass around them. The sunlight touched Renjun’s hair and made it look even softer, even more like something from a dream. He stood there with his hands loose at his sides, calm and patient.
Jaemin felt something in his chest loosen.
“I just,” he said slowly, “didn’t want to make you feel bad.”
Renjun’s expression changed, just slightly. “Why would that make me feel bad?”
Jaemin looked at him.
Because I like you, he thought. Because I wanted to be easy to love. Because I wanted to fit neatly into the little world you’ve made here. Because I didn’t want the first thing you learned about me to be something that disappointed you.
He didn’t say any of that.
Instead he said, “Because you’re very attached to strawberries.”
Renjun stared at him for a second. Then he laughed again, but this time there was something warmer in it, something almost tender.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s what this is.”
Jaemin frowned. “What do you mean?”
Renjun stepped closer, just enough that Jaemin’s breathing changed. “You’ve been treating this like a matter of life and death.”
Jaemin muttered, “It kind of was.”
Renjun smiled, and the smile was so soft it nearly undid him. “You’re sweet.”
Jaemin’s face went hot. Renjun, apparently unaware of the damage he had just caused, continued, “I’m not going to force you to like strawberries. I just like them. That’s all.”
Jaemin looked at him. Renjun’s eyes were calm and kind. Something in Jaemin’s chest ached.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Renjun nodded once, as if that settled it. Then, with the same easy gentleness, he reached into the small basket he had brought along and pulled out a handful of berries.
Not strawberries.
Jaemin blinked. Renjun held them out. “Gooseberries.”
Jaemin stared. “Gooseberries?”
Renjun’s mouth curved. “I thought I’d try them.”
“You just switched?”
Renjun looked at him with perfect seriousness. “I can be flexible.”
Jaemin laughed so suddenly that he had to bend over slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
“You were ready to abandon strawberries for gooseberries because I’m bad at lying?”
Renjun considered this. “Partly because you’re bad at lying.”
Jaemin straightened, still laughing. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s very fair.”
“And partly?”
Renjun looked at the berries in his hand, then back at Jaemin. “Because I wanted to see if you’d smile.”
Jaemin stopped laughing. The air between them changed, becoming quieter, softer, more fragile in the best possible way.
Renjun held out the gooseberries again. “Try one.”
Jaemin took it. It was tart, bright, and unexpectedly refreshing. His eyes widened. “Oh.”
Renjun watched him. “Good?”
Jaemin nodded. “Good.”
Renjun smiled, pleased. “Then I’ll make something with them tomorrow.”
Jaemin looked at him, at the calm line of his mouth, the softness of his eyes and the way the countryside light seemed to settle around him like it belonged there.
Suddenly the whole trip felt different.
Not because the secret had been revealed or the strawberries had been defeated. Because Renjun had listened and then adjusted without making a fuss, as if Jaemin’s comfort mattered more than any fruit ever could.
That evening, they sat on the porch with tea while the sky turned dark blue and the first stars appeared. The house behind them glowed warmly through the windows. Somewhere nearby, insects sang in the grass and the world felt very far away.
Jaemin held his cup with both hands and said, “I was really worried.”
Renjun turned to him. “About the strawberries?”
Jaemin made a face. “About you.”
Renjun went still. Jaemin looked down at his tea, suddenly shy. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I was difficult.”
Renjun was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Jaemin, you’ve spent three days pretending to enjoy strawberries for my sake. If anything, that makes you very, very difficult.”
Jaemin laughed despite himself. Renjun’s smile was small and fond. “But not in a bad way.”
Jaemin looked at him and found himself unable to hide the softness in his own expression. Renjun noticed that immediately.
His gaze lingered, thoughtful and gentle, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Then Renjun said, almost casually, “You know, I like when you’re honest.”
Jaemin’s heart stumbled as Renjun continued, “Even when it’s about something silly.”
Jaemin swallowed. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.”
The silence that followed was not awkward. It was warm and strangely safe.
Jaemin thought that maybe this was what he had wanted all along. Not a perfect confession or a dramatic moment. Just this - a quiet place with a kind person. The feeling of being accepted even when he was being ridiculous.
Renjun set his cup down and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the sky. After a while he said, “Tomorrow I’ll make gooseberry pie.”
Jaemin turned to him. “You’re really committed to this.”
Renjun smiled without looking away from the stars. “I told you. I can be flexible.”
Jaemin laughed softly and after a pause, he said, “For the record, I like you.”
Renjun turned his head. Jaemin’s face warmed, but he kept going before he could lose his nerve. “A lot.”
Renjun looked at him for a long moment, and the expression on his face was so gentle it almost hurt. Then he smiled but not wide. It was not teasing, just soft and full of something that made Jaemin’s chest feel too small for his own heart.
“I know,” Renjun said.
Jaemin blinked. “You know?”
Renjun’s eyes curved. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m made of moonlight.”
Jaemin covered his face with one hand. “That is not true.”
“It is absolutely true.”
Jaemin groaned. “I hate you.”
Renjun laughed, and the sound was warm enough to wrap around them both.
“No, you don’t,” he said.
And Jaemin, because he was honest now and because Renjun was looking at him like that, said, “No. I really don’t.”
The stars kept shining and the house stayed warm behind them.
And somewhere in the quiet countryside, where strawberries had been replaced by gooseberries and embarrassment had turned into laughter, Jaemin realized that the heart could swell from the smallest things.
A shared cup of tea and a gentle hand not forcing anything.
A person who listened. A person who stayed.