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booksndpoetry · 1 day

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Happy to have made you smile :)

A Modern Love Story

A Lee Minho Fanfic

m.list

A/N : Let me know if I should make a prequel or a sequel for this one, since this one's not out of my heart yet :)

WC: 3.6k words

Characters: Lee Minho X Fem reader

Genre: Fluff

Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of nightmares

Entails: Established relationship, pet names, hugging, they're in love.

You’re not a writer, but if you could compile all the moments you were so deeply in love, you would do so. And it would be messy, imperfect, blunt, and out of order, but it would be yours. It’s no grand fairytale, but a modern love story, just as you like it.

i. Thank you for looking at me when you needed comfort.

Words of affirmation are your love language, and acts of service his, but you feel utterly helpless when he's so broken. You don't know what will help ease his hapless cries, but you want to be there for him.

“Hey,” you call out softly. No answer. You go further and plant your feet in the middle of the room.

You and Minho had been together for a short time, a little over a month. It is still a delight whenever you're reminded that he's yours now. The both of you were slowly warming up to each other, but there was still a considerable distance between you two. As though you hadn't dared to go near a line that meant you were truly in it, together. It would mean you were vulnerable and bare, unguarded around the other.

But that changed when you came home to a very tired-looking Minho on the couch, who was utterly drained from the day's events.

Your first reaction was to give him space and time to collect himself. But then it dawned on you that the way you want to be given comfort is not the same way he would expect it.

Carefully, you tread across the room till you reach him and with the tenderness you reserved only for him, you hesitantly card your fingers in his hair and whisper his name.

Minho was so out of it that he failed to register you coming in. He was just lying there on the couch, too tired to even take off his jacket. He was so exhausted, he felt like he could lay that way for hours on end and suddenly he felt your presence.

He feels your fingers in his hair and the caress of his syllables on your tongue. He doesn't know how to react.

He never expected that you'd catch him in his messiest state. He wants to brush this off, play off his embarrassment as nothing and just when he opens his mouth, you beat him to it and ask

"Want me to stay or give you space?"

His lips part at your words. That was the first time you’d spoken to him without stammering. He always thought it cute. But then, if you were going to speak to him like that, in clever but thoughtful sentences, he was going to think you were running after his heart. You give him a small but reassuring smile after and he just…breaks.

Maybe it was the gentleness you handled him with or the considerate question you asked him. The answer to which lay within his choice.

Either way, he can't stop it when fresh tears spring to his eyes and trail down his cheeks before he can stop them. He ducks his head in embarrassment.

He was sure you'd look at him in a different light, and distance yourself from him. Although the logical part of his brain assures him that you're way too kind and understanding to do that, his emotions get the best of him and he cries more.

You concede by wrapping your arms around him and laying his head on your shoulder for now. You were in quite an uncomfortable position. Your office chair was not the most comfortable, and your legs were feeling the impact of it then. But that wasn’t important.

Right then, you simply hold him, knowing that he's capable of picking himself up but being there to help him share the burden of his weight. You tighten your hold around him when he takes in deep breaths, only for sobs to wrack him. You lightly run your fingers on his scalp, until he calms down and you're both sitting in silence.

"You okay now?" you ask him softly, and he almost says yes.

But he doesn't, because he's too warm and cosy in your embrace. He goes with the truth.

"M’better, will be okay" his words come out muffled due to his face resting on your collarbone.

He sighs happily and nuzzles his face in further. You smile. Even though you can’t see his face, you’re sure he’s blushing. You understand and lay your head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you. The both of you stay there for a while, in each other's arms.

After a few minutes, you make a move to get up but he holds you, not letting you go. He looks up at you, and you're at a loss for words.

You'd always known Minho was beautiful. He'd taken your breath away completely multiple times, like when he took you to his home for the first time and you melted at the way he looked at his cats. Or the time when he'd monitored his performance in the camera, eyes unblinking as he analysed himself. His gaze had always left you breathless, evident by the way you could not hold eye contact with him for long.

But the way he was looking at you now, you had no words to describe it. His eyes were soft and raw, begging you to stay. His pupils were dilated, and he looked at you with such intense affection and love. You wanted to capture this moment forever. But instead, you brushed his hair back from his eyes and told him that you were going to be back. He pouts and you almost relent but he loosens his hold on you.

"Come back soon." he pleads and you nod.

You get up from the couch and go into the kitchen, looking for a clean tumbler. Once you find it, you fill it just below its brim with water and hurry to the living room.

You thought he'd not want to initiate more contact, but the moment you're within arm's reach, he pulls you in until you're sitting in his lap. You yelp, precariously holding the glass so no water spills out.

He pays no mind to the glass and simply rests his shoulder in the crook of your neck.

You suddenly feel shy at the action, feeling like hiding away until your cheeks are no longer burning. You were no stranger to physical touch, but it was the first time he was touching you so much and it made your heart race.

"Drink up" you tell him, holding out the glass of water.

He makes no move to take it. He just tilts his head slightly and you understand. You bring the glass to his lips and he takes sips, and then gulps of the water until it is empty. The entire time, he never once loosens his grip around you. Suddenly you feel warm all over, especially in your chest.

When he finishes, he licks his lips and looks at you. "Thank you" he says, and you reply with an automatic

"You're not welcome."

You don’t register the words coming out of your mouth. You’re too busy tracing his now-dried tears. His eyes crinkle with a tiny smile at your words, amused at the way you phrase your words. Even distracted, you never fail to banter with him. You look up and grin, feeling a bit giddy at the fact that you made him smile. Out of all the people in his life, you were the one who got to make him smile.

“Now what?" He asks, eyes no longer sad, but bright. You breathe a little easier.

"I dunno. What’d you wanna do?"

“Hmm” he makes a show of thinking loudly.

You just stare at him, not bothering to cover the awe in your gaze. He looks at you, a single eyebrow raised.

"What?" you grin wider and before you think too much of it, you place a peck on his lips.

He stops moving entirely. You think you've overstepped your boundaries and go to apologise for kissing him without his consent first, but he stops you when he places his lips on yours.

He kisses you softly. His cracked lips are rough, but welcoming on your own. The sensation of kissing him is like soothing a wound you didn’t know you had acquired. He kisses you until you have to break apart for air. He makes no move to stop until you push him lightly. You feel like your entire body is aflame.

"We don’t need to stop." he says, despite his ears turning scarlet. Heat rushes to your face and you lightly hit him. He makes no move to dodge it, and you see a familiar glint of mischief in his irises.

"I almost forgot how to breathe." you say while fanning yourself, eyes not meeting his.

He just smirks, hands still on your waist. He feels great at having made you shy.

Minho makes up his mind on what he wants to do.

“We have two options" he says, and you pause your movements.

He waits a bit more for dramatic effect and says "Option one: I'll make dinner and you can help me" and you grin, nodding.

"Option two: " he drawls out slowly

"We eat each other for dinner".

You blanch and remind him, “I’m not into cannibalism, you know?”.

He pays no heed to your words. his mind is somewhere in a place filled with your eyes and your soft touch, and his eyes are on your lips. It still amazes you, how he can switch up in an instant. You roll your eyes, even as you hold up one finger.

"One." you say, moving away from him. He pouts in reply.

"Only option two is available. It's irresistible." he says earnestly grabbing your hand.

He can’t believe you didn’t choose option two. You're not charmed by his attempts. But you're very endeared, both by his pout and his now-red ears. You go back and grab him by the fabric of his shirt. He stills in place.

"If you want, we can choose option two after dinner.” You say nonchalantly as possible and make your exit. He just blinks and his ears burn. You drive him crazy. He wanted you to keep driving him crazy.

A moment later, he’s hot on his heels, chasing after you. With his heart in tow.

ii. Thanks to you, I’m looking at myself for the first time through your eyes.

“Baby I’m going to get groceries. You want anything?”, you call out while writing your grocery list. He comes into the kitchen and looks over your shoulder. “No?” he questions, more to himself than to you. You’re momentarily distracted by his face, but you snap your head towards your list before he notices. You were still way too flustered around him.

“Do you have ingredients for if you decide to cook?” you ask, still writing down stuff, except your grip on the pen is now tighter. Thanks to him, your Adonis of a boyfriend.

“Your handwriting is nice.”, he claims, as though it is a fact as true as time, even as he ducks under the cabinets to cover his flushed face.

The world stops, then resumes spinning on its axis. You exhale softly.

“Really?”

The words come out a minute later than you intended. Lots of people had said the same thing to you before, the same words thrown around lightly.

But coming from him, you feel as though your handwriting is actually nice. You were used to your slants and the cursive, the font as familiar to you as the back of your hand. Nothing special about it. Now, you fall in love all over again with your own lettering, delighting in each form of the alphabet. With him, everything was new, even parts of yourself that you had grown used to. Loving him was coming back home, in the truest sense of the word.

“Thank you.”

He nods.

A moment later, “Can you get me pudding?”

iii. I like your company

Minho is sulking around the house, for reasons unknown to you. This is the fifth time he’s sighed so loudly in the last three minutes, the sound. And as much as his pout is adorable, you don’t want him to be upset.

Turning the television off, you get off the couch and make your way to the bedroom.

He sits there, nearly engulfed by the pile of blankets he’s surrounded himself with. The visual makes you smile.

“Why are you sighing baby?”

“Because you left me when I decided to watch a movie.”

“You were the one who declined my company remember?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually go. I wanted to watch it with you.” He says it like a confession he didn’t intend to make, one he’d hoped to keep in the secret chambers of his heart.

Your self-satisfied stance softens entirely.

“Baby I didn’t know you were teasing me. I thought you wanted some alone time.”

He just presses his lips into a line, and says, “I don’t want to be alone, even when I say so. I just want you with me.” He looks at a distant spot above your head, everywhere except your eyes.

Your eyes crinkle at that, all faux smugness gone. “I won’t know until you tell me, love. Unfortunately, I’m not inntinsic-“

“What’s inntinsic?” he interrupts, and you just give up on what you were going to say, the words forgotten.

You were a goner from the time he took interest in every word you said and carefully listened. You loved to use new words you’d learnt from reading, and every time you mentioned a new one, Minho would interrupt you mid-sentence to demand to know what it meant. It was cute, the way he didn’t want to wait until you were done speaking to understand it, like he wouldn’t miss a fraction of a second with the knowledge of you.

However, thinking back on your words, you just realized that whatever you used was not a real word. You just quoted a book,…and he didn’t know.

“Oh um, never mind. I meant to say telepathic. Inntinsic is…not a real word.” You want to bury yourself in a burrow at the end of the world and disappear.

“You’re using fantasy words now? What about all the times you tricked me? My reputation is at stake, Name.” He’s now sitting up, sounding all cocky at your little slip-up.

Minho knows that you’re meticulous about your grammar, and he hopes to tease you enough so you grant him a shove, a touch, anything. He acts like you’re at his mercy, when really he’s at your mercy, a puppet with the strings entwined in your fingers.

You tsk “I take it you don’t want to watch a movie with me? Great thanks. I’m off now.” Giving him a mock salute, you attempt to bolt out the door.

He laughs and catches you before you can get away. He grips your waist from the edge of the bed and you come crashing into his chest. He tickles you relentlessly, and you squirm in his hold, tears leaking from your eyes. “STOP, stop, please-“

Your shared laughter spills into the air, as the invisible stars in the evening sky bear witness to your glee.

Damn him and his strong arms, you think. But then again, if you’d exercised a little you wouldn’t be in this situation. He was big and warm in his blanket fort. Who were you to refuse?

After you finally catch a break, his eyes rove over you, full of affection. You look away, the eye contact too intense. He smirks at that, and you pretend not to see it, clearing your throat for no reason.

“I call dibs on choosing the movie.”

“We’re watching Home Alone? AGAIN? I thought we talked about thi-”

“Oh shush. It’s starting.”

iv. Walk with me through my nightmares

Your home was empty, except for the petals of lilies scattered around the entire place. You call out to someone, but no one answers. You remember something. Entwined hands, warm shirts, him. Suddenly you’re not at home, but in a dark alley, the entire place pitch black if not for the soft moonlight. You’re standing in front of him. He offers you his hand. You want to take it, but you can’t seem to lift your hands. You try again, but your hand doesn’t budge. You look at him, mouth opening to tell him but strangely, no words come out. He’s retracting his hand and you want to tell him to stay. You try to scream, but it stays lodged in your throat. He turns around, against your wishes. You stay still, even as he goes out of sight. Don’t go, don’t go. Please

You open your eyes, sweating, as you feel something patting your cheek repeatedly. Taking a few deep breaths, you grab something closest to you. An arm, Minho’s arm. You clutch it with your hands. He’s with you, he’s here. Minho holds you tightly, bringing your head to his chest. He rocks you slightly as you try to ground yourself. After a few minutes, he slowly detaches you from his hold, getting up from the bed. You’re too tired to ask him why, sending him a questioning look instead. He merely tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, hand patting your head while telling you to wait.

You sit back against the headboard, as you sleepily try to stay awake.

Hot. It was too hot. You needed air.

You abruptly wake up from the bed, the duvet falling off you. You take one, two, three wobbly steps before you come crashing down on the floor. You wince, rubbing your knee where it hurt from the fall, but the sensation of the cold floor feels nice. You sit there, unmoving, trying to make sense of what just happened. You had a nightmare. A really bad one at that. And you don’t know if you can fall asleep again.

Minho was jolted awake when you were whimpering in your sleep, your entire form trembling. This is the first time he’s seen you going through a nightmare, and he’s grateful that he got to be there for you. What was he supposed to do? You’d like some water, right? He could get you some water. When he returns to the room, glass in hand, he sees you curled up on the marble floor, shivering.

He quickly scoops you up in his arms, and you cling to him like a baby. His lips twitch at that, but he knows better than to tease you in this state. Depositing you on the bed, he brings the glass to your lips as you take in greedy gulps of the water. After you’re done, he wipes your lips and tucks you into bed wordlessly. You don’t have the heart to tell him that you can’t fall asleep. You simply close your eyes and stay still, as he gets back into the sheets, tugs you closer until your foreheads meet, and falls asleep.

But you stay awake. The sounds are too much, the absent hum of the air conditioner, the rustling of the bedcovers, faraway sounds of a vehicle.

You put both your hands into your ears and shut your eyes. When you start to think that maybe you might not get to sleep, Minho starts talking, even as his eyes are closed.

“Do you think maybe we should change the curtains tomorrow?”

You’re confused. You respond with a meek “Huh?”

“The curtains. We put them on during spring, I think we can put up different ones for winter. We can decorate the whole house too, if you’d like.” Minho’s voice drowns out the rest of the incessant noise. The rhythm of your heart stutters, then starts again.

He was trying to talk you to sleep. And it was working. Your eyes slowly drift shut, even as you fight to stay awake. You love him, so much. And you want to let him know.

You tap him thrice on the arm. I love you. You do it again. You hope he understands.

He opens on eye to look at you, confused. You tap him again, I love you. Maybe it was your sleep riddled brain, but you swore you felt him tap you back, a smile adorning his face.

v. I don’t want an epilogue. I just want to wake up with you, for the rest of my life.

Weeks pass by, and the leaves outside droop and fall, painting the ground yellow and crimson. Soon enough, as the world outside begins to be covered in snow, your life slowly becomes coloured in the shades of love.

The hues of your love were mellow, but not monochromatic. They were the colour of the sea in spring, when both of you were feeling blue, wordlessly being with each other. They were the colour of his warm eyes, whenever the both of you sat on the kitchen counter, hands trying to eat popsicles before they melted, even as your teeth chattered. They were the colour of the first rays of sunlight, when his arm reached for your waist and your hands reached for his hair, limbs tangled together under the duvet.

These little moments were your favourite. Because it was just you and him. A thousand thoughts roamed your mind, but the thoughts of him prevailed, always. And you hoped it would be so until the end of time. Until the end of your time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

© booksndpoetry 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise, translate, repost or steal my works in any way. All idols used in this piece are just inspiration for characters. They do not reflect the real people in any way.

#+mare reblogs #writing #stray kids #stayblr #skz

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booksndpoetry · 1 day

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I'm glad, for you think that was lovely and you forgive me :)

Nerdy is the New Sexy

A Han Jisung Fanfic

A/N: If anyone gets the title reference, know I love you.

On another note, I hadn't planned for this to be so long. Maybe Han and his long hair are finally getting to me.

Word Count: 1.08k words

Genre: Fluff

Characters: University Student Han Jisung X Gn reader

Triggers/Warnings: Idiots in love, mutual, oblivious pining (I don't like this but here we are)

“Your/Name. Go to sleep.” Jisung says from his room, rubbing his eyes.

You startle at the sudden noise, only to realize it's your roommate, staying up because of the harsh light coming from your room.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’ll just be up for a few more minutes.” “What’s so important you’re staying up for it?”

He comes into your room to peer into your laptop screen. Your breathing quickens at the proximity. He squints for a moment and then he looks at you dead in the eyes.

“Why the hell are you researching Popular dishes of the Medieval Period?” “You never know. I might need it” you weakly defend, though you were just insatiably curious. “God, you’re such a nerd.” He says fondly.

You almost forget how to breathe. Both, from the words coming and the person speaking them.

“I’m not a nerd,” you reply, your tone soft, but firm.

“I’m not a nerd because nerds genuinely spend their time learning new things, things that make them appreciate the world more. Something that justifies as well as glorifies their existence on this planet. It's like giving back because you have a chance to live a life. I'm not a nerd because I sometimes procrastinate and end up hurriedly finishing the essay in two hours instead of the four I'd originally kept apart for it.” You ramble in one breath.

Han watches you, soft eyes taking in your every breath and relishing in the words you speak. He didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much, without even touching them. For him, you were the human embodiment of love and he didn’t like it when you discredited yourself, even for the smallest of things.

“But you write as good of an essay you do in two as well as you do one in four.” He says firmly.

“That’s true,” you muse, “Work expands to fill the Time allocated to it, I guess.” He gives you a self-satisfied look that says ‘See? I told you so.’

“You’re a nerd,” he says in finality. ”Don't even start about how you're not qualified to be one. You're the biggest nerd I know. You're a writer, you make everything sound enjoyable, you're kind, and you have such thoughts about nerds. You're the epitome of a nerd if I ever saw one. So don't worry your little head and come back to sleep. I don't want to drag you to class tomorrow and hear your whining.” He ends his speech with a tired expression as if recounting all the times he dragged your whiny self to classes held at ungodly hours of the morning.

Your heart lurched and backflipped in your chest. God, this was embarrassing, even if you were the only one who witnessed your lovesickness.

He was basically confessing to you, in terms of, hot romance novel terms. But he wasn't the male lead of a romcom and you weren't the protagonist. He was your roommate and you were his friend he was forced to get acquainted with because of your living situation, nothing more.

You don’t want to have fantasies that will end up being just that, fantasies.

So you don’t think about how nice his smile is, or how his arms have been bulging out from his sleeveless shirts recently and how utterly easy it is to love him.

You decide you'll just keep this safely tucked into your mind, where nothing can reach it. You vow to yourself you'll keep it safe for when you second guess whether you really want to keep loving him, when you second guess if you need to keep writing, or when you feel like giving up on yourself. You're nothing if not a writer of your words.

‘What a lame excuse of a pun.’ You tell yourself. But then with the look he's giving you, you realise you haven't given him a response to his words, yet. And you sheepishly smile as he shakes his head, knowing you got caught up in your head again.

“Thank you,” you tell him. You want to tell him of your gratitude in great detail, in a much more deserving way, but words have deserted your mind now and these will have to do.

He smiles, “You act like it isn't true. It is. Now hurry up and get to bed.” He pats your bed and falls into the mass of pillows you’ve kept there. You giggle at his action. That was another thing. You were always smiling around him. He made it so easy.

"Talk dirty to me, why don't you?" you say, playfully wiggling your eyebrows and he throws a chocolate wrapper around you. You frown at that.

“That was my bookmark, you dweeb.”

“So?” he questions as though it means nothing.

“Find another one” he says nonchalantly and you want to throw a brick at his stupidly beautiful face.

“I can’t. Ugh. What do you know about the struggles of a bookworm?”

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics. Even as he makes a note to carry some chocolates for you tomorrow, so you can have enough bookmarks.

“I’ll get you your favourite drink if you come to bed right now,” he says, attentive eyes waiting for your reaction.

For one moment, when he says that, you pretend he's your boyfriend who’s really in love with you. You know you shouldn’t do it but all the fics on your phone say otherwise. So, you pretend he's beckoning you to come sleep next to him, waiting to pull your face under his chin and rest his head on yours. It feels heavenly, the feeling. You wouldn't ever refuse to go to bed if it were real. So you don't refuse now. You turn off your computer and your desk lamp, take off your glasses and dive headfirst into your bed, and it’s his turn to giggle at your antics. You won’t refuse him anything even if he’s not yours. The power he had over you, you didn’t ever want him to know.

He tucks you in like a baby, and whispers “Sleep well, you nerd”, and then he’s off to his own room. You merely smile and snuggle in, and you’re out like a light moments after.

Only when the door is firmly shut, does he kick his feet in the air, having a full-on meltdown after being so near to you. Was this his punishment for writing songs with unrequited love? He groaned. It was so unfair.

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booksndpoetry · 1 day

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The Gratitude Series

A Lee Minho Fanfic

WC : 2.8k words

Pairing : Lee Minho X Fem reader

Genre : Fluff

Triggers/Warnings : Repetitions of two particular words and mentions of brownies; read at your own risk of temptation

A/N : This was inspired by my own conversations with my friends when they told me to stop thanking them. I hope each of you who reads this, gets someone who'll thank you from the bottom of their heart.

m.list

“Some days I adore you a little more than a human being can adore” – Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

To Lee Minho, you were an enigma of sorts. You were like a ball of yarn, threaded with your secrets. And he was the cat, ever curious. Each thread that unravelled, satiated his curiosity, until he wanted more. Until he knew it was never going to be enough. It was more of a depraved hunger than anything, but you didn’t have to know that.

Minho had always considered his part-time job as a barista at the local café just as a way to spend his time wisely and earn some money. He did not expect the best people to be the customers, nor did he think the café was particularly interesting. It just…..was.

But that was his opinion before you came into the café.

The first time he’d seen you, you had ordered a milkshake and sat down at one of the tables, book in hand, the nearly empty café a reflection of your quiet, poised state.

When he’d come to serve your milkshake, you’d stopped reading your book, the original volume of Howl’s Moving Castle he’d observed, as he approached you.

You read his name off his name tag, gifted him, a complete stranger back then, a dazzling smile and said “Thank you.” with the calmest voice he’d ever heard.

He had been surprised. Not because you’d thanked him, more so because you stopped what you were doing just to acknowledge him and thank him, face to face.

He hadn’t known what to do. Receiving thanks or compliments had always been awkward for him.

And so he gave away his embarrassment with the tips of his ears glowing red, muttering something incoherent in reply, and your smile had become a little bit wider.

Just a little bit, but he’d noticed it.

That is how he remembers his first encounter with you, with him completely flustered by you and your bright smile.

ii.

After you had left the café that day, he had come in extra early to work every day, in hopes of catching you if you were an early riser. But to no avail.

After two days, he thought himself stupid. He barely knew you. And you would’ve probably forgotten his name, he reasoned with himself.

Still, his nights were filled with thoughts of you. He thought long and hard about you.

Did you thank everyone that way? Or was it just him you thanked that way?

He had hoped, foolish as it was, that it was the latter.

Had you found him attractive and hence given him your attention?

The question wasn’t entirely baseless. Lots of people frequented the café just to flirt with him. But he knew that it wasn’t the case, he would have remembered you if you’d come there before.

Would you come back again? Would he see you again?

And so, he’d tossed and turned. He couldn’t get his mind off you.

The two days turned into four weeks and the study group he was in at University, had set up a meeting at the music club.

When he’d asked Chan, the person who had organized everything, why they hadn’t set up the meeting in the University’s large library, the latter had unashamedly said that the library wouldn’t allow food in and hence the spot was selected.

Even on the walk to the meeting, Minho rolls his eyes.

The library would have been much quieter. With no rules to maintain silence, he had no idea how to protect his ears from his group of extremely loud friends.

He arrives minutes before the meeting. The tiny room was packed and he was already assessing the number of decibels emitted from the inside.

Taking a breath, he pushes the door open and walks inside. The entire study group had assembled for the first time, and there were a lot more people than he’d expected.

As soon as he sits down, Chan who had been chatting with someone next to him, turns and greets Minho. Minho nods in acknowledgement, looking away and that’s when he sees you for the second time.

You sit in a corner of the room, nose deep in a book, just like the first time he’d met you.

Today, you’re decked up in a long winter coat, and a lemon-coloured scarf wrapped around your neck.

Just like the first time, you’re smiling as you read your book.

Just like the first time, you manage to take his breath away.

And just like the first time, he doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to do.

Despite that, he knows that he might not have a chance to see you again and thus, musters up all his courage and approaches you, which is exactly when Felix decides to announce that he brought brownies for everyone. Minho has to clamp his mouth shut to stop a groan from escaping him.

Great, he thinks, now he would never ever have a chance with you again and he would die an old cat gentleman.

Even in his head, he thinks it sounds ridiculous. He reminds himself not to hang out too much around Hyunjin. The dramatics were rubbing off on him.

Shaking his head, he goes back to retake his seat when he notices Felix distributing scrumptious looking brownies (that he knew were delectable) to the large group of people, by himself.

He also notices another box, and maybe it is because he’s gotten so used to serving people, he takes the box up and starts distributing brownies to the other table.

Felix offers him a cheery thanks and Minho just waves him off.

When he gets to your table, Minho holds his breath. He expects you to have forgotten him, but you lift your head and say,

“Hey, Minho right? We meet again.”

and all the practice he’s given himself goes down the drain. Clearing his throat, he pretends he isn’t affected by the fact that you remember his name, and extends a brownie towards you. You look at his outstretched hand and take the brownie, and just as he’d predicted, you look up at him, still smiling, and gift him a:

“Thank you.”

He’s just as bothered, with the base of his neck going red at the words. However, in a burst of courage, he’s taking a chance with you just to lengthen the conversation.

“I’m not the one who made them, Felix did.”, he informs you and you tilt your head slightly.

“I know, I’ll thank him later.”, you reply, “I’m thanking you now.”

“Why?” he asks. He doesn’t know, why you did it. He wanted to know.

“Because”, you say, your words slow and deliberate, like you had all the time in the world,

“you could have let him distribute them to everyone, all the thirty five students, all by himself. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. But you chose to help him and give some of us a brownie, when you could’ve eaten yours first. So, thank you.”

He’s stunned. Both by the sincerity of your words and the honesty you delivered them with.

For a moment he stands there, absorbing your words. Before he can respond, one of them asks if they can have one more cupcake and he gets to his senses. You smile and wave him off.

The second time too, he thinks, was just as delightful as the first.

Maybe Chan chose the right spot after all.

iii.

Slowly, Minho eases his way into your life until you’re both latched together, like two sides of the same coin. He makes you milkshakes even when he’s not in the café and you smile and thank him for it, every time.

He’s grown used to your words of gratitude, but he knows that you don’t throw the words around lightly. So, he makes space in his heart for all your thank yous, and slowly learns how to respond to them too.

He wonders whether it is because you two aren’t close yet, that perhaps you feel the need to thank him for every little thing. He shrugs it off, feeling like you might stop your adorable habit once you fully get to know him.

But mostly, he wants you to stop looking at him and smiling at him like he’s the candle burning on your desk at dawn, the only source of light when you need it. Because, he feels like it might never be enough when he falls for you.

It was so easy to fall in love with you, your entire existence a balm to his soul effortlessly.

He thinks about it then, when he jogs to get you your water bottle from your bag, placed at the very end of the basketball court you were running in to get your daily laps in.

Just as he’d predicted, you tell him:

“Thank you.”

His chest feels too tight, like he’s been running for an hour, when he’s only been jogging for twenty minutes.

He wants you to stop.

He wants you to tell him those words for the rest of his life.

Minho feels like collapsing in the middle of the basketball court, to hit his head hard enough. Just so he can stop this heady feeling from consuming him whole.

iv.

Minho feels himself flying in love with you. Why? Because he sees you are already in love with him too.

It’s unmistakably your eyes search for him whenever he comes into a room.

It’s in how you always try to say yes to all his plans even though he tells you it’s okay if you feel otherwise.

It’s in the way you smile at him, something only for him to see.

But mostly, he knows it because of your eyes. Your eyes light up at his arrival, and they are transparent pools of your love for him, as clear as daylight.

And that, he learns, makes all the difference.

Before you, Minho had a hard time trusting words.

Why?

Because they were grand and promising at first, but empty if they weren’t followed by true actions.

Most of the people early in his life only talked and talked, empty words with thoughts of what could’ve been, except they never were.

But with you, Minho knew they were true to their meaning.

He’d seen you bear the weight of them when you stayed behind for two hours in class to help a failing classmate.

He’d seen you fulfil them when you stayed up for hours writing something for the highest grade you had ever gotten, even if it was for extra credit.

He sees you stay true to them when you call your mom every single day like you’d promised, and when you call him without fail each time you go to the department store to ask him if he wants something.

All he sees is you.

You were an exception to his every agenda, every single time.

He has no complaints.

vi.

One week before the finals, you're holed up in your room, ignoring all his calls, and Minho knows what's up.

Your Psychology exams are what’s up.

He drops by to your place and lets himself in, shoes placed in your shoe stand, just the way you do it. Going in, he gives a shout to let you know of his arrival. You holler something back & he takes it that you know.

Wandering to the kitchen, he spots a fruit bowl. Thinking that you could use a snack after all the studying you've done, he takes a few oranges from it and heads to your room.

The sight of you hunched over your desk, buried in your books, your glasses barely hanging off your nose is what greets him.

For a moment, all of it ceases to exist except him and his thoughts and you.

He'd read all about the pinings of writers and poets who'd sworn that their lovers and muses were capable of taking their breath away at any time, even when they might look unflattering to the rest of the world.

Minho had disagreed. One had to look unpresentable when they were buried in work and gave no thought about maintaining their appearance, right?

Wrong.

He's rendered wrong.

So, so, wrong.

Because the sight of you then, bare-faced and bespectacled, puckered lips and furrowed eyebrows elicits an emotion he doesn't know how to name.

It's strong, this little feeling and every time you purse your lips or scrunch your nose, it grows stronger. He doesn't know what to do with the stubborn feeling, but he knows it's there to stay.

You were so engrossed in your reading that it took you a good three minutes to find out Minho was in the room.

After you do though, you abandon your textbook on the study desk and turn your attention to Minho.

“Oh hey. Need something?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his silky, wine-red strands as he takes you in fully, eyes subtle but greedy in their perusal of you.

“I should be the one asking you that, you being buried in work and all.”

He gestures to your growing pile of papers, notes, and books.

You let a whine in response.

“Don’t remind me of that. I’m taking a break. Seriously, I don’t get why I need to know the names of all the medical records used in the world. How am I supposed to treat other people, when I myself am slowly going insane?”

You punctuate your rambling by sinking further into your chair until it shakes.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. But he does know how to make you feel better, that’s one thing he prides himself in.

Coming to stand in front of you, he slowly reveals the arm behind his back and flourishes the oranges he’s fetched, like a magician exhibiting a miracle.

You’re a magician of your own, giving away one of your dizzying smiles that he can see in his head for days on end.

He slowly sits down on the floor, and starts peeling an orange. You join him and reach for one, but he swats your hand away. You frown, but abandon all thoughts of oranges when you remember your assignment, still very much unfinished.

You abruptly get up, startling Minho out of his trance. He flinches before glaring at you. You cheekily smile down at him.

“Sorry Min, I have to get this done before nightfall.”

“Okay.” He says, even as gets up to shove a piece of fruit in your mouth.

“Mo, yw don undastan-“

“Don’t talk while you’re eating.”

You glare at him, but do as he says.

Even in your disgruntled state, you manage a quiet “Thank you.”

You know how Minho left the comfort of his home just to come to cheer you up, even when he’s a homebody. And you’re grateful for it; you would’ve holed up in your room until you disintegrated into bits otherwise.

He just shakes his head.

Silence prevails in the room for a while, unless interrupted by the clicks of the keyboard and the quiet chewing as he feeds you slices.

“You don’t have to say thank you to me all the time, y’know?” Minho begins, leaning beside you on your mahogany desk.

You absently hum and finish typing the sentence. Only then do you fully process his words.

“Huh?”

“We’re friends now, or at least I think we are. So, you don’t have to thank me for every little thing. It feels like you’re being formal with me.”

This is the longest you’ve spoken with me, and it’s because of my thank yous. Isn’t that reason enough for me to tell you those words every time?

The words are at the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. They weren’t for now, this moment.

You just exhale and give his head a ruffle. He dodges it, and glares at you, reminding you of his cats.

Your mouth curves upwards.

“What are the words ‘Thank you’ for then?

I don’t think they exist just for a half-hearted appreciation for someone I barely know.

I think they exist so I can try and convey my gratitude to the people close to me. I won’t ever be able to fully convey the feelings in words, but I can try.

So think of each of my thank yous as a two-word love letter sealed with joy for being in my life.

Is that better?”

You duck your head down, shy after your sudden outburst of emotion.

I won’t ever be able to convey my gratitude fully, but I can try.

A two-word love letter sealed with joy for being in my life.

Good god, he believes you’re an angel at that instant.

You were ethereal in every way, whether that be the way you talked, the way you walked or the way you looked at him with thoughtful eyes, like he was the star in each one of your universes.

No ordinary person could be like that, could they?

He’s at a loss for words, like usual. And that doesn’t surprise you. He was a man of a few words anyway.

Stealing an orange slice, you get back to work.

This time, Minho thinks, even the word ‘delightful’ doesn’t cover it. He’s sure that no word can encompass even a sliver of your essence, except maybe the words ‘Thank you’.

And he hopes that now you’ll let him tell you that every single day.

#and its out #please give it lots of love #+mare reblogs

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booksndpoetry · 1 day

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The Gratitude Series

A Lee Minho Fanfic

Prequel to "A Modern Love Story"