Red String [VIXX] - ENG.

1.

Morning was the light that filtered through the windows of the Coffee Shop. Sweet were the murmurs that customers occasionally let out, besieged with ease at their carefully garnished wooden table. Everyone thrived in the clear jingling of delicate cutlery, knowing that in a few minutes the tyrannical rhythm of reality would welcome them again as soon as their footsteps led them to the exit, in the midst of nicotine smells, incessant motor noises and various requirements of others.

Taekwoon breathed deeply into the deliciously pungent scent that rose from the tray in his hands. They found themselves shaking with nervous spasms, failing to overflow many times the contents of the little white cup. It was only with difficulty that he forced himself to focus his mind on his gestures rather than on the identity of this client who disturbed him so much, in the vain hope of obtaining the least control over himself. But to make matters worse, the echo of his heartbeat far too brutal drumming up his eardrums. Worse, he did not know what was the most ridiculous between this feeling for a penitent or the state in which the latter put him. Idiot... How much he felt puerile silly to react as well. Maybe more than usual.

- Your order...

Even his vocal cords seemed devoid of all their primitive functions. His voice trembled, unsteady. It was even certain that the end of his sentence had just broken in a breath that only he had heard.

Finally, without any accident, the tray, imprinted by the dampness of his hands, touched the table with a slight crash. The eyes of the young waiter automatically designated him as a landmark to fix, preferring to avoid all visual contact with his person opposite and ignoring even the slightest hint on his posture, or on his dress of the day. He did not do that to be hurtful. Neither towards this man nor towards himself. Yet he felt it; the weight of the guilt weighed down with each faith that he approached this client unable to read in the reflection of his soul. A feeling of oppression invaded his traitor of vital organ, a little more, over all the same days spent in this cafe. But he knew that the choice for this kind of feeling was hardly part of his vocabulary. Indefinitely ? No. In any case, he hoped. Without great conviction, and rather persuaded that it would be only pain and complications to accept it with the ease and carelessness of a child ...

- Thank you, Taekwoon.

In his mad race, his heart missed a beat at the agreement of this low tone. Fuck. He was going crazy.

It was clearly not the moment. Not in its current state. He would only make things worse if he betrayed himself. Staying professional were the watchwords.

But... If the wall of his reason was strong enough to contain his emotions on a daily basis... could he not allow himself a single, single and infinite occasional overflow ? Just one... He didn't ask for material wealth or glory, like so many others. Just the courage and the pleasure of seeing that presence that he was facing, as others would so naturally do...

It was too late before the pros and cons of this issue were evaluated. He yielded. Simply. Without any resistance.

Was that the madness of breaking his own rules ?

With a desire that went against his fears, he ventured to look carefully at the other man. Immediately, he came face to face with a pair of opposing eyes on a firm face, his hairstyle jet being perfectly raised backwards. Can only be transcended by these dark eyes with such sweet pace, time seemed to hang for Taekwoon.

The sketch of a smile, a frank smile, which made a shining gleam of tenderness shine through his irises. And although such an approach represented the world for the young waiter, it was all that he allowed himself, before taking refuge again under his placid mask. As if nothing had happened. As if he remained the same young man inaccessible that everyone saw in him. As if it were only anomaly.