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At some point during his story Han had leaned onto his elbows in front of him to rest his chin in his hands, the lamplight beside them illuminating dark irises flecked with slivers of green. Minho blinks and suddenly the green was gone.
“And did it ever sing to you?” Han smiles.
“What?”
“The music box.” The other chuckles with a tilt of his head. Was Han always this pretty? He had never been this close. “I’m a fan of lullabies.”
(OR **Han comes once a month to Minho's shop in the port city of Haewol with pockets of gold and eyes full of secrets only to leave him with one less trinket and a heart wishing he would stay.)
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