Kept

By the Book

Minho POV

I sat in the dimly lit café, in the corner booth, facing the door. I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. He had really invited me to meet him. Unless it was a trap... No, I wouldn't think like that- the fresh blush of possibility was coursing through me, making my foot tap impatiently. I had been waiting for ten minutes, but I had sprung up and sped over as soon as he'd sent the text. I smoothed my clothes- a plain white t-shirt and jean jacket I had thrown on with my slacks from earlier. It was a haphazard look for me, and I felt suddenly self conscious. I checked my watch, wondering what was taking him so long.

12:32am

I looked down into my mug of coffee, my eyes closing, remembering every single detail I possibly could about him, trying to choose a favorite. Maybe it was his hair, long and lush... or his eyes- like huge luminescent orbs that seemed to see right through me. His delicate hands, or the way his legs seemed made of jelly.

In contrast his wide shoulders were so... strong, his arms- I could tell even through his clothes they were nicely muscled and the thought of seeing them... running my fingers over the smooth expanse of flesh was making my skin crawl. The knowledge that he'd been in the bath while we had chatted was doing things to me... things I hadn't felt in a long time. I simply couldn't chose one favorite aspect of him... he was far too beautiful to be segmented into separate parts for my eyes to desire.

I was not immune to handsome men- having dated and bedded my fair share. But I always tired of them... our dalliances always short lived- none of them able to fulfill what I was looking for. I had never loved a single one of them.

And yet... I'd barely touched Jisung, only known of his existence for a few days and I was wholly and completely besotted with him. Willing to do anything to see him again. It was astonishing to me that I was so sure... completely certain that my only love was sprung from my only hate.

Not my hate... nor his... 

No, our fathers- and that was their problem. But I knew, by the way my gut twisted, that our families would do everything in their power to keep us apart. And I would die a happy man to have just one day in the arms of my beloved.

I blinked, coming back to the moment... "Wow I'm being poetically melancholy..." I thought, smirking lightly.

The door tinkled lightly and a figure entered, shrouded in a black hooded sweatshirt three sizes too big, jeans that beheld grass stains on the knees and a black knit hat was his crown, still damp tendrils of hair escaping the bottom in a haphazard pattern. My breath caught. He was breathtaking. And while he had been gorgeous in his royal finery and his black leather pants, I took in the sight of him, panting slightly, his bronze skin glowing in the subdued lighting and I thought with utter conviction that I had never seen true beauty 'til that night.

His eyes found me and he walked over, working hard to conceal his smile. He failed, having to bite his lower lip in an effort even as the corners of his mouth rose. He was pleased I had met him. "Sorry I'm late." He apologized, sliding into the booth opposite of me. I hailed the waitress to take his order.

I shook my head in refusal. "Didn't anyone ever tell you? A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early."

He laughed, full and heartily. "No... but I'm not a queen either..." he said under his breath, shrugging.

I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth, wetting it as his flavor roiled along my tongue, sampling it like the bouquet of a fine wine- crafted just for my palate. "Not yet..." I muttered, sipping my coffee- watching him over the rim of my mug.