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Wonwoo had never been good at saying no to Jeonghan.
It wasn’t that his friend was particularly intimidating. Quite the opposite, actually. Jeonghan was shorter than him by a good five centimeters, had an angelic face that made parents trust him instantly, and was the school’s PE teacher. But Jeonghan had dirt on him, and worse, Jeonghan had leverage.
“Come on, Wonwoo-ya,” Jeonghan had wheedled two weeks ago, cornering him in the teacher’s lounge with that gleam in his eye. “You need to get out more. When was the last time you went on a date?”
“I don’t have time for—”
“Was it before or after you forgot your mic was still on and muttered ‘Here comes another inspirational speech’ before Vice Principal Moon walked in?”
Wonwoo had frozen, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would never!” Jeonghan had gasped, hand to his chest in mock offense. Then his smile turned wicked. “My cousin knows this guy. Perfect for you, I swear. Stable job, good-looking, around your age—”
“Hyung—”
“Just one date! If it doesn’t work out, I’ll never bother you again. But if you don’t go…” He’d pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over what was presumably Vice Principal Moon’s contact. “I’m sure the VP would love to know how you really feel about his speeches.”
And that’s how Wonwoo had found himself grudgingly agreeing to a blind date he immediately tried to forget about.
Which worked spectacularly well. Too well, in fact, until his phone buzzed insistently during his shift on Friday.
> jeon wonwoo.
> please tell me you’re on your way.
Wonwoo nearly dropped his red pen across the essay he was grading.
Shit. Shit. The date was today?
> bittersweet restaurant.
> your date is wearing maroon. ask for the vip table.
> you better be in that taxi right now.
Wonwoo looked down at himself. Well-worn khakis, their color long since dulled by countless washes. A wrinkled button-up that had seen better days. Sneakers that were comfortable for pacing around classrooms but definitely not appropriate for what sounded like an upscale restaurant.
He shoved his papers into his bag, abandoned his desk, and practically sprinted to his locker. There was a bottle green sweater stuffed in the back (relatively unwrinkled, thank God) and a pair of leather shoes he kept for parent-teacher conferences. He changed in record time, ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it, and bolted out of the school.
The taxi ride was agony. Traffic crawled. Wonwoo’s leg bounced anxiously as he typed and deleted several apology texts, ultimately sending nothing because what could he even say? Sorry, I forgot you blackmailed me into this?
When he finally got out of the taxi at 7:29, Bittersweet Restaurant looked every bit as intimidating as he’d imagined. Soft amber light glowed behind its floor-to-ceiling windows, pristine white tablecloths, and well-dressed patrons who had clearly put more thought into their outfits than he had.
Wonwoo took a deep breath. Straightened his sweater. Checked his reflection in the window. His hair still looked messy but in a way that could maybe pass as intentionally tousled if he was lucky. The dark circles behind his glasses were, unfortunately, not going anywhere.
You can do this. It’s just dinner. One dinner, and then Jeonghan will leave you alone.
He pushed through the door.
The interior was even more intimidating than the exterior. A chandelier cast prismatic light over the dining room, and somewhere in the corner a pianist played something soft and classical. At the sleek dark-wood host stand, a woman in an immaculate suit looked him over with professional efficiency before offering a warm, well-rehearsed smile.
“VIP table, please,” Wonwoo managed, trying to sound like someone who regularly dined at places with VIP tables.
She checked her list, then gestured gracefully toward the back. “Right this way.”
The VIP section was partially sectioned off by frosted glass panels and lush potted plants. Wonwoo’s eyes scanned the tables, searching for someone in maroon, and—
There.
His breath caught.
The man sat alone at a table already laden with appetizers, wine glasses glinting in the low light. He wore a maroon button-up that looked like it had been tailored for his broad shoulders, the fabric stretching across his chest in a way that was borderline criminal. Dark hair caught the light, styled with casual perfection. When he lifted his wine glass, Wonwoo caught sight of elegant fingers.
This was his date? This… this absurdly handsome man was who Jeonghan had set him up with?
Wonwoo’s nervousness ratcheted up several notches. He definitely should have tried harder with his appearance. Maybe should have gone home to change. Maybe should have—
The man looked up, and Wonwoo nearly forgot how to walk.
Brown eyes. The same shade as his hair, bright and clear and currently fixed directly on Wonwoo with an expression that was hard to read. Surprise? Curiosity? Confusion?
Wonwoo forced himself forward, weaving between tables until he reached the man’s side. “I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, hoping his voice carried enough genuine apology. “Traffic was terrible. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
The lie slipped out easily, better than admitting he’d completely forgotten about this entire thing.
The man blinked at him slowly and said nothing.
The silence stretched. Wonwoo fidgeted with the strap of his bag. “I’m—I’m Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo. I’m really sorry about being late.”
Still nothing. Those eyes tracked over him, from his hair down to his shoes, then back up again. Wonwoo resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny.
Was he angry? He had to be angry. Wonwoo would be angry if someone showed up thirty-five minutes late to a date looking like they’d just escaped from a school building (which, to be fair, he had).
“Should I… sit?” Wonwoo gestured awkwardly at the empty chair across from the man.
A fractional nod.
Wonwoo sat, setting his bag beside his chair and trying not to feel like he was at a job interview he was absolutely bombing. The waiter materialized as if summoned, pouring wine with practiced efficiency before disappearing again. The appetizers looked expensive, some kind of delicate fish preparation, artfully arranged vegetables, things Wonwoo couldn’t identify but that probably cost more than his lunch budget for a week.
He snuck another glance at his date. The man was still watching him with that unreadable expression, wine glass held loosely in one hand.
Wonwoo decided to try filling the awkward silence. “So, um. I’m a middle school teacher. Language Arts. It’s pretty demanding, lots of grading and lesson planning. That’s actually why I was running late, I was finishing up some work and lost track of time.” Another small lie, but close enough to the truth. “My friend Jeonghan, he’s the one who set this up, actually. He’s been on my case about dating for months now. Said I work too much, need to get out more, you know how it is.”
He was rambling. He was definitely rambling. But the alternative was more horrible silence, so Wonwoo forged ahead.
“I didn’t really want to come tonight, if I’m being honest. Not because of you!” he added quickly. “I just… I’m not great at this kind of thing. Dating. Blind dates especially. But Jeonghan kind of blackmailed me into it, and now that I’m here I’m glad he did because you seem—I mean, you’re—”
Devastatingly attractive and way out of my league, Wonwoo’s brain supplied helpfully.
“—nice,” he finished lamely.
Another beat of silence. Then the man tilted his head slightly, brown eyes catching the light in a way that did something unfortunate to Wonwoo’s heart rate.
“Date?” The word was rich and smooth, carrying the faintest edge of confusion.
Wonwoo frowned. “Yes? Our blind date. Right now. This.” He gestured vaguely at the table between them.
More silence. Wonwoo felt his nervousness morphing into something closer to panic. Maybe this was going even worse than he thought. Maybe he should have just let Jeonghan tell Vice Principal Moon about that comment.
“So,” Wonwoo tried again, desperate to salvage this somehow. “What about you? Tell me about yourself? What do you do?”
The man was quiet for several long seconds. Wonwoo wondered if he was angry about the lateness, if he was trying to figure out how to politely excuse himself from this disaster of an evening.
Then the man laughed.
It was a warm sound that seemed to roll through his chest, and when he smiled it revealed sharp canines that should not have been as charming as they were. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and Wonwoo’s heart did an acrobatic leap in his chest.
“Kim Mingyu,” the man said, his voice carrying an amused lilt now. “I’m an urban planner.”
“Mingyu,” Wonwoo repeated, testing the name. It suited him somehow.
“And you’re a teacher?” Mingyu’s lips quirked upward. “Middle school. That must be challenging.”
“You have no idea,” Wonwoo said, relaxing slightly now that they seemed to be actually having a conversation. “Thirteen-year-olds are awful. Last week two seventh-grade girls somehow got themselves trapped in the bathroom after lunch.”
Mingyu blinked. “Trapped?”
“Yes, but the bathroom doesn’t even lock from the inside. There’s just a latch. You twist it, and the door opens.” Wonwoo shook his head. “At first I thought they were skipping class, but they’d spent two periods calling and texting their friends and mothers to get someone to come ‘rescue’ them.”
“...They didn’t think to turn the latch?”
“They swore they tried.” Wonwoo let out a laugh. “By the end of it, I was practically begging them to tell me they’d been ditching instead. It would’ve reflected much better on them.”
Mingyu laughed, the sound warm enough to draw a smile out of Wonwoo. “I’m starting to see why you called them awful.”
“Entertaining but exhausting.” Wonwoo picked up his wine glass, taking a sip for courage. The wine was good, much better than the stuff he usually grabbed from the convenience store. “What about urban planning? That sounds… complicated.”
Mingyu let out a quiet laugh. “Eh, not really. Most days are pretty routine if I’m honest. Site plan reviews, reports, meetings with applicants about their projects. I’m the department head too, so I spend a good chunk of my day answering questions from my planners or dealing with people being… people.”
Wonwoo tilted his head. “Huh. I thought it’d be mostly designing things. I didn’t realize it involved a lot of dealing with people.”
“There’s plenty of that too,” Mingyu said with a smile. “I also work with GIS.”
“GIS?”
“Imagine Google Maps,” Mingyu said, “except instead of helping you get from point A to point B, it helps cities figure out where point A and point B should exist in the first place.”
Wonwoo let out a quiet oh.
“You can stack different kinds of information on top of a map and look for patterns.”
“That does sound more interesting than paperwork.”
“It is. My favorite days are when I get to work with maps, imagine what a place could become. The rest is mostly just patience.”
“How so?”
“Bureaucracy,” Mingyu said dryly. “So much bureaucracy. Do you know how many meetings it takes to approve a single crosswalk? Fourteen. Fourteen meetings, three proposals, and a public hearing where someone complains that the crosswalk will create traffic.”
Wonwoo found himself laughing. “That might actually be worse than middle schoolers.”
“At least middle schoolers are direct about their brattiness. Bureaucrats hide it behind procedure and paperwork.” Mingyu took a drink from his own glass, those deep eyes fixed on Wonwoo in a way that made him feel simultaneously nervous and thrilled. “Though I imagine teachers deal with their own administrative nonsense.”
“Oh God, yes.” Wonwoo leaned forward, warming to the topic. “The amount of paperwork required just to organize a field trip is absurd. Permission slips, medical forms, emergency contacts, budget proposals, and that’s before you factor in actually supervising thirty teenagers loose in a museum.”
The conversation flowed easier after that, like a dam had broken. They talked about their jobs: Mingyu’s current project to redesign a major intersection that had been a traffic nightmare for years (“The city council wants it done in six months with half the budget it actually needs”), Wonwoo’s ongoing battle to get his students to read anything that wasn’t on their phones (“I tried assigning a graphic novel as a compromise. Three students still used SparkNotes”).
The food came and went in courses, each more elaborate than the last. Wonwoo had never been to a restaurant like this, but Mingyu guided him through it, explaining dishes when Wonwoo looked uncertain and sharing bites of his own plates when Wonwoo expressed curiosity.
“The thing that really gets me,” Mingyu said somewhere around the main course, gesturing with his fork, “is when people complain about infrastructure without understanding what goes into it. Everyone wants better roads, better public transit, better parks, but the moment you propose raising taxes or adjusting zoning laws, suddenly it’s all ‘not in my backyard’.”
“That’s like parents who want their kids to get better grades but don’t want them to have homework,” Wonwoo commiserated. “Or who demand we prepare students for the real world while also making sure they never experience any stress or failure. The expectations are completely contradictory.”
“Exactly!” Mingyu’s eyes lit up with the fervor of someone who’d finally found a kindred spirit in complaining. “Or when politicians promise grand infrastructure projects with no understanding of engineering constraints or budget realities. I once had a mayor insist we could build a new subway line in eighteen months.”
“Could you?”
“It took five years. And that was fast.” Mingyu shook his head, but he was smiling. “What about you? What’s the most ridiculous demand you’ve gotten from administration?”
Wonwoo didn’t even have to think about it. “Last year they wanted us to increase test scores by fifteen percent while also cutting classroom time to make room for more ‘wellness activities’. Which, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for student mental health, but you can’t just subtract hours from core subjects and expect performance to improve.”
“Did the test scores go up?”
“They went down. Shocking, I know.”
Mingyu laughed again, and Wonwoo decided it was rapidly becoming his favorite sound. There was something unguarded about it, genuine and bright, that made Wonwoo want to keep saying things to coax it out.
“So,” Wonwoo started, swirling the wine absently. “How old are you?”
Mingyu blinked, leaning back in his chair. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Wonwoo chuckled. “I’m thirty.”
“No way,” Mingyu said, eyes widening. “I genuinely thought you were younger than me. You look—I don’t know, you just don’t look thirty.”
“Really?” Wonwoo laughed, clearly pleased, though he tried to play it off with a modest shake of his head. “How old are you then?”
“Twenty-nine.”
Wonwoo raised a brow. “It’s only a year.”
Mingyu grinned. “So I don’t have to call you hyung or anything, do I?”
Wonwoo felt his heart skip before he let out a quiet chuckle. “This brat.”
Mingyu laughed, warm and unrestrained.
“So,” Wonwoo said, still smiling, “what does this dongsaeng of mine like to do?”
That earned him another laugh. “Photography. Mostly when I’m visiting project sites or just wandering around the city on weekends.”
“I do too,” Wonwoo said, surprised. “Mostly street photography, though. Nothing serious.”
“What do you shoot?”
“Whatever catches my eye. Nature. Old buildings. People.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I go out with my camera and just… walk.”
“That sounds a lot like what I do.”
“We should do a photo walk together sometime,” Wonwoo said, then immediately froze because what was he doing? Suggesting future dates when this one wasn’t even over yet, when he’d shown up late and underdressed and—
But Mingyu’s smile had gone soft and pleased. “I’d like that.”
Wonwoo’s heart did that acrobatic thing again.
Dessert arrived. Some kind of delicate chocolate construction that looked more like art than food. They shared it, trading the plate back and forth, and Wonwoo found himself noticing little things. Mingyu reached for his fork with his left hand. The way Mingyu’s eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled. How his hands moved when he talked, graceful and expressive. The small scar above his left eyebrow that Wonwoo wanted to ask about but didn’t quite dare.
By the time the check came (Mingyu insisted on paying, waving off Wonwoo’s protests with “You can get the next one,” which implied there would be a next one and made Wonwoo’s stomach flutter), Wonwoo had completely forgotten his initial reluctance about this whole blind date thing.
Outside the restaurant, the night air was cool and sharp, a contrast to the warmth inside. Wonwoo breathed it in, feeling slightly dizzy. From the wine or the company, he wasn’t sure.
“Where are you headed?” Mingyu asked, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good backlit by the restaurant’s windows.
“It’s not far, I can just grab a taxi—”
“Let me drive you.”
It wasn’t really a question, and Wonwoo found he didn’t want to argue. Mingyu’s car turned out to be sleek and black and probably cost more than Wonwoo made in a year, and Mingyu handled it with casual ease, navigating the nighttime traffic while Wonwoo gave directions.
They talked more in the car, quieter conversation now, about nothing and everything. Favorite movies (they both loved drama, had both watched the same obscure indie film), books (Mingyu admitted he didn’t read as much as he should, Wonwoo threatened to lend him his entire collection). The strange phenomenon of Seoul getting both bigger and smaller at the same time, sprawling but somehow more connected.
When Mingyu pulled up outside Wonwoo’s apartment building, Wonwoo felt a pang of disappointment that the evening was ending.
“This was…” Wonwoo started, then paused, trying to find words adequate to describe the unexpected perfection of the night. “Really nice. Better than nice. I’m glad Jeonghan bullied me into this.”
Mingyu turned to face him, and in the dim light of the car, those brown eyes were molten and warm. “I’m glad too.”
Wonwoo knew he should get out of the car. Should thank Mingyu again, say goodnight, go inside. Instead he sat frozen, caught in Mingyu’s gaze, the air between them feeling thick and charged.
Mingyu leaned in slowly, giving Wonwoo plenty of time to pull away. Wonwoo didn’t.
The kiss was soft, questioning, Mingyu’s lips gentle against his. Wonwoo’s eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming up to rest on Mingyu’s shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt. It was brief, just a few heartbeats, but when Mingyu pulled back, Wonwoo’s entire body felt like a live wire.
“Can I… can I have your number?” Wonwoo managed, his voice embarrassingly breathless.
Mingyu smiled, pulling out his phone. They exchanged numbers there in the car, fingers brushing as they traded devices. When Wonwoo reluctantly climbed out, he found himself grinning like an idiot.
“Text me when you get home safe,” Mingyu called through the window.
“You’re literally watching me walk into my building.”
“Text me anyway.”
Wonwoo did, still smiling. And then he texted again when he got upstairs. And Mingyu replied immediately, and they ended up texting for another hour before Wonwoo finally forced himself to put the phone down and go to sleep.
He fell asleep still smiling, replaying the evening in his head, the conversation and the laughter and that perfect, perfect kiss.
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Monday morning arrived too early, as Mondays always did. Wonwoo dragged himself through his first period class on autopilot, still riding the high of Friday night. He’d texted with Mingyu all weekend. Good morning messages and random thoughts throughout the day and long conversations at night. They’d made plans for Saturday, a second date, and Wonwoo found himself checking his phone between classes like a teenager.
He was in such a good mood that he didn’t immediately register Jeonghan’s cold shoulder during their shared lunch period.
“Hey,” Wonwoo said, setting his tray down at their usual table in the teacher’s lounge.
Jeonghan didn’t look up from his sandwich.
“Hyung?”
Nothing.
Wonwoo frowned. “Are you mad at me?”
“You tell me.” Jeonghan’s voice was flat, still not making eye contact.
“Okay, I know I initially refused, and I was late, but he’s great, we really hit it off, and Mingyu—”
“Mingyu?” Now Jeonghan looked up, eyes sharp. “Now who the hell is Mingyu?”
Wonwoo blinked. “My… date? From Friday? The guy you set me up with?”
“I set you up with Hajoon. Hajoon, my cousin’s friend? The guy you were supposed to meet?”
The world tilted slightly on its axis. “What?”
“Hajoon texted me Friday night saying you never showed up. He waited for an hour, Wonwoo. An entire hour.”
“But I—I was there. At Bittersweet. I sat down at the VIP table with the guy in maroon—”
“Oh my God.” Jeonghan’s eyes were getting progressively wider. “Wonwoo. Wonwoo, what did you do?”
“I went there! I found the VIP table and the guy in maroon and—” Wonwoo pulled out his phone, pulling up Mingyu’s contact, showing Jeonghan the string of messages. “See? We’ve been texting all weekend. We’re meeting again on Saturday.”
Jeonghan stared at the phone like it might explode. “That’s not—Wonwoo, that’s not Hajoon.”
They looked at each other for a long, horrible moment.
“Then who…” Wonwoo started.
“How the hell should I know?!” Jeonghan’s voice had gone shrill enough that several other teachers looked over. He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “You sat down with a complete stranger? A random guy at a restaurant?”
“He was wearing maroon! At the VIP table! What was I supposed to think?”
“That maybe you should have, I don’t know, introduced yourself first? Confirmed who he was?”
Wonwoo’s face felt hot. “I was late and nervous and he was just there and—oh my God. Oh my God. What do I do?”
“You have to tell him!”
“I can’t tell him! I’ve been texting him for three days! We have a date on Saturday!”
“Then tell him on Saturday!”
“And say what? ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else, this was all a huge mistake’?”
Jeonghan dragged a hand down his face. “Wonwoo. You have to. You can’t just—this is insane.”
But Wonwoo was thinking about Mingyu’s laugh. The way he’d leaned in during conversation. That kiss in the car. The dozens of messages they’d exchanged, getting to know each other, making plans.
“He seemed confused at first,” Wonwoo said slowly. “When I sat down. But then he just… went with it.”
“That doesn’t make it less weird!”
“I know, I know, I just—” Wonwoo slumped in his chair. “I really like him, Jeonghan.”
“You met him once!”
“I know, but—” How to explain that it had felt easy and right in a way Wonwoo’s few previous attempts at dating never had? That Mingyu made him laugh, challenged him, looked at him like Wonwoo was interesting instead of just the awkward middle school teacher he usually felt like?
Jeonghan’s expression softened slightly. “Look. I get it. But you still have to tell him the truth. If he really likes you too, he’ll understand. If not...” He shrugged. “Better to know now than six months down the line.”
Wonwoo knew Jeonghan was right. The reasonable, adult thing to do would be to call Mingyu immediately, explain the misunderstanding, apologize profusely.
Instead, he texted Mingyu that night:
Still on for Saturday? <
The reply came within minutes.
> absolutely. looking forward to it!
Wonwoo would tell him on Saturday. Face to face. It would be fine.
Probably.
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Saturday took approximately seven thousand years to arrive. Wonwoo changed outfits four times, then changed back to the second option, then seriously considered canceling the entire thing and moving to a different country.
He didn’t.
They’d agreed to meet at a café in Hongdae, something more casual than the restaurant. Wonwoo arrived early for once, securing a corner table and ordering an Americano he was too nervous to drink.
When Mingyu walked in, Wonwoo’s breath caught the same way it had on Friday. Casual clothes this time, dark jeans and a light gray sweater that somehow made his eyes look even more stand out. He spotted Wonwoo and smiled, weaving through the crowded café to their table.
“Hey,” Mingyu said, sliding into the seat across from him.
“Hey,” Wonwoo echoed. Then, because he couldn’t put it off any longer: “So. I need to tell you something.”
Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not, well, maybe it is. I don’t know.” Wonwoo took a breath. “Last Friday. At the restaurant. I wasn’t supposed to meet you.”
“...okay?”
“I mean—God, this sounds insane. My friend Jeonghan set me up on a blind date. Told me to look for someone in maroon at the VIP table at Bittersweet. And you were there, wearing maroon, and I was late and flustered and I just assumed, but apparently my actual date was someone named Hajoon who I never met because I sat down with you instead.”
The words tumbled out in a rush. Wonwoo couldn’t quite bring himself to look directly at Mingyu, focusing instead on his coffee cup.
“So this whole time,” Wonwoo continued, “I’ve been talking to you thinking you were my blind date, but you were just… some random person? At a restaurant? And I’m so sorry, I should have clarified at the beginning, but you just went with it and I didn’t realize and—”
“Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo finally looked up. Mingyu’s expression was complicated. Surprise, definitely, but also something that might have been amusement?
“I know,” Mingyu said.
“You—what?”
“I know. I mean, I figured it out. Pretty quickly, actually.” Mingyu leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing at his lips. “When you sat down and started apologizing about traffic, I was confused as hell. I was just there for dinner, a business dinner that got canceled last minute, but I’d already ordered so I figured I’d eat anyway. Then this cute guy shows up, calls me his date, and starts talking about how his friend set the whole thing up.”
Did Mingyu just say cute? Wonwoo’s face was absolutely on fire. “And you just… went with it?”
“I thought it was a prank at first. Like one of those hidden camera shows. I kept expecting someone to jump out and yell ‘gotcha!’ or something.” Mingyu’s smile widened. “But nobody did. And you seemed so genuinely nervous and earnest, and I thought, what the hell. If this is a prank, might as well play along. If it’s not...” He shrugged. “Free entertainment either way.”
“I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo said again, mortified. “I basically hijacked your dinner.”
“Don’t be sorry. It was the most interesting Friday I’ve had in months.” Mingyu leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you sat at the wrong table.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” Mingyu’s voice went quieter, almost shy. “You’re exactly my type, you know. Smart, passionate about your work, funny when you’re not trying to be. I figured even if it was some weird misunderstanding, I wanted to see where it went.”
Wonwoo’s heart was doing gymnastics again. “Really?”
“Really. Though I have to ask. Did you ever figure out what happened to your actual date? The Hajoon guy?”
“Oh God.” Wonwoo had almost forgotten about that part. “Jeonghan said he waited for an hour. I feel terrible about that too.”
“You should probably apologize to him.”
“I know, I know.” Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair. “This is such a mess. I can’t believe I—”
“Hey.” Mingyu reached across the table, fingers brushing against Wonwoo’s hand. “It worked out, didn’t it? We’re here. Together. On purpose this time.”
“On purpose,” Wonwoo repeated, feeling something warm unfurl in his chest. “Yeah. We are.”
“So stop apologizing and drink your coffee, then you can tell me more about that book series.”
Wonwoo laughed, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. “Deal.”
They stayed at the café for three hours, talking and laughing, and if Wonwoo had thought their first date was good, this one was even better, because it was real this time. Mingyu was funny and self-deprecating and listened when Wonwoo talked about his students with the kind of genuine interest that made Wonwoo’s chest ache.
When they finally left, Mingyu took Wonwoo’s hand as they walked through the crowded Hongdae streets, and Wonwoo squeezed back.
“So,” Mingyu said as they paused at a crosswalk. “Next time, should I wear maroon?”
Wonwoo groaned. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“Absolutely not. I’m telling this story at our wedding.”
“Our—” Wonwoo turned to stare at him, but Mingyu was grinning, sharp canines on full display, eyes bright with mischief.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
“Noted.” The light changed, and Mingyu tugged Wonwoo forward. “I’ll bring it up again on date five.”
“Date five?”
“I’m an optimist.”
And looking at Mingyu’s smile, feeling the warmth of his hand, Wonwoo thought maybe he was becoming an optimist too.
(Later, Wonwoo would apologize profusely to Hajoon, who turned out to be very understanding about the whole thing and would eventually become one of their mutual friends. Jeonghan would never let Wonwoo forget about the incident, bringing it up at every possible opportunity. And Mingyu would indeed wear maroon to their fifth date, and their tenth, and eventually to their wedding, because some jokes were too good not to commit to.
But that Saturday, walking through Hongdae with Mingyu’s hand in his, Wonwoo just smiled and thought about how sometimes the best things came from the biggest mistakes.)
