Seokmin falls for the guy who doesn't believe in love.
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The buzzing of the city blurred into the background as Seokmin hurried down the street, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck.
The autumn air was crisp, biting, and he could see his breath in small clouds every time he exhaled.
He was late, and he knew it, Minghao was nothing if not punctual, and the last thing he wanted was to keep the man waiting.
Not that Minghao would say anything, necessarily.
Seokmin just didn't want to give him another reason to roll his eyes, another reason to mutter that relationships were a bother, that connections with people were more trouble than they were worth.
He spotted the familiar flash of Minghao's silver hair from across the park.
There he was, standing by the edge of the small pond with hands stuffed in his coat pockets, staring into the distance with a focused, almost philosophical look on his face.
Seokmin felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name, a strange mixture of longing and exhilaration, as he approached.
Minghao was beautiful in a way Seokmin couldn't shake, no matter how many times he'd told himself not to get attached.
Minghao's sharp jawline, the way his eyes seemed to glint like hidden stars, the way he looked at people as though he saw something they didn't see themselves, it all made Seokmin's heart trip in his chest, even when he knew better.
"Hey,"
Seokmin greeted, trying to sound casual, even though he was already out of breath.
"Sorry I'm late. Got held up at the studio."
Minghao turned, one eyebrow raised, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at his lips.
"You're always running late."
He replied, though his voice lacked any real irritation.
There was something amused in his tone, like he'd come to expect this from Seokmin. And maybe he had.
Seokmin grinned, hoping it was enough to bridge the small distance between them.
"Guess I like keeping you on your toes."
Minghao rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Or maybe you're just perpetually disorganized."
"Both can be true."
Seokmin admitted with a shrug.
Minghao's laughter, a short, reluctant chuckle, filled the air between them, and Seokmin's chest swelled.
For some reason, he always felt like a hero when he got Minghao to laugh.
Minghao was typically so aloof, so distant; it was as if he lived in his own world, and only occasionally deigned to acknowledge anyone else's presence.
