Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first thing Minho noticed when he moved into his new neighborhood wasn’t the quiet streets or the tall gingko tree at the corner—it was the boy next door who always smiled at the morning sun.

It wasn’t a polite smile, or one given out of habit. It was a smile that seemed to happen simply because the world existed.

Every day, at exactly seven a.m., Minho would see him step out of his house in soft pastel hoodies, noise-canceling headphones hanging around his neck, and an expression that made it look like the morning breeze had just told him a happy secret. 

The boy would crouch by the sidewalk, pouring dry food into little metal bowls for a few stray cats and a small brown puppy who practically worshiped him. Sometimes he hummed; other times, he whispered things like, “Good morning, Brownie. You’re growing so fast,” or “Hey, Mackerel, don’t steal his food again.”

Minho watched from his porch one morning, pretending to check his phone. There was something about that boy—soft, bright, genuine—that pulled at him.

He found out later that his name was Seungmin. Nineteen. The youngest of the Kim family.

They met properly on a Thursday morning, when Minho—still half-asleep—stepped out to get his mail and found the brown puppy enthusiastically chewing on his shoelace.

“Hey, no—that’s not food!” Minho crouched down, trying to tug the lace free. That was when he heard a calm, clear voice behind him.

“Don’t pull too fast. He’ll think you’re playing,” the boy said, stepping closer.

Minho turned—and there he was, pastel hoodie and all. Seungmin knelt beside him, reaching out gently until the puppy trotted over without hesitation.

“Sorry,” he explained. “Brownie really likes strings.”

“It’s okay,” Minho said, watching how quickly the puppy calmed in Seungmin’s arms. “He listens to you, huh?”

Seungmin nodded. “He knows my voice. I talk to him every day. He’s not my dog, though—he lives out here. But I think he likes me more than the trash can, so that’s good.”

Minho’s lips curved faintly. “You must have some magic touch.”

Seungmin tilted his head. “No magic. Just patterns. He likes when I say the same words every time.”

There was something so matter-of-fact, so honest about it, and that made Minho smiled even wider. “I’m Minho, by the way,” he said. “I just moved in.”

“I know,” Seungmin replied. “You moved in last week. You had three boxes labeled ‘books,’ one with a guitar drawing, and a coffee machine you didn’t unpack yet.”

Minho blinked. “You… noticed all that?”

“I notice everything,” Seungmin said cheerfully, not like he was bragging—just stating a fact. “I like details. And boxes with words.”

He said it so sincerely that Minho couldn’t help but laugh.

After that morning, they started saying hello regularly. Sometimes Minho joined Seungmin for a few minutes before heading to campus. Other times, he just waved from his window while Seungmin crouched on the sidewalk, talking to his small army of stray animals.

Seungmin’s parents adored him. Minho met them by accident once—Seungmin’s eomma insisted he take a container of homemade kimchi “for the kind new neighbor,” and his appa joked that Seungmin finally had someone else to infodump about lab work to.

His noona, Sohyun, was loud and loving—always teasing, always watching out for her brother. “If he talks about squid intelligence for more than ten minutes, just nod,” she told Minho one evening. “He gets excited when people listen. It’s cute, right?”

Minho’s expression softened, already hooked. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s really cute.”

A week later, Minho realized they went to the same university.

He was a third-year in the Performing Arts faculty, majoring in Dance. While Seungmin was a first-year Science student, already known by professors for his excellent grades and habit of staying after class to ask more questions.

They ran into each other again near the campus cafeteria. Seungmin was carrying a box full of small test tubes, balancing them carefully.

“Need help?” Minho asked, stepping forward.

Seungmin blinked, his face brightening instantly. “Neighbor hyung!”

The nickname made Minho’s chest feel stupidly warm. “Yeah, that’s me. Let me carry that for you.”

Seungmin hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “They’re fragile. And organized by color.”

“I promise I’ll be careful,” Minho said.

He carried the box while Seungmin walked beside him, explaining each tube’s content with excitement that bubbled out of him like sunlight. “This one has nutrient solution A, this one is for control, and this one—I think—might finally help the plant roots grow faster without chemical fertilizer. I’m still testing it. It’s not due until next week, but I like doing it early so I can fix any mistakes.”

Minho smiled, nodding even though he barely understood half of it. “That’s really cool, Seungmin.”

Seungmin turned to look at him, eyes wide and earnest. “You mean it?”

“Of course.”

The boy grinned. “Then you can be my test audience next time! I’ll show you how it works. It’s really fun!”

From that day, Minho often found himself sitting in Seungmin’s backyard, listening to him explain experiments, trivia, and random facts about animals. Seungmin would light up whenever he spoke—especially about animals.

“Did you know octopuses have three hearts? Two for the gills and one for the rest of the body!”

Minho chuckled. “That’s two more than me when you talk about science like that.”

Seungmin blinked, not catching the joke at first. Then gave a small, shy laugh. “You mean… you like listening to me?”

“I do,” Minho said, voice quieter. “I like how happy you sound.”

After that, Seungmin talked even more—about the squirrel family living in the old oak tree behind their houses, his favorite documentaries, and his strange ability to remember absurd details but forget his water bottle three times a day. 

Minho learned that Seungmin loved routines, preferred quiet corners over noisy places, disliked bright lights and sudden sounds, and always hummed the same soft tune whenever he focused.

Sometimes Seungmin’s sentences would jump topics—like going from “I saw a pigeon with a green feather today” to “green is the wavelength 520 nanometers”—but Minho never minded. He liked following Seungmin’s thoughts, like chasing stars in an unfamiliar constellation.

Then Hyunjin, Minho’s friend and fellow dancer, noticed it.

“Dude,” He said one afternoon, dropping beside Minho during dance club break. “You’ve been smiling at your phone for like five minutes. Are you texting that science kid again?”

Minho kicked his shin lightly. “His name’s Seungmin.”

“Right, Seungmin,” Hyunjin said, smirking. “He’s cute, I’ll give you that. Kind of like a golden retriever if a golden retriever could quote biology facts.”

“He’s just… interesting,” Minho admitted.

“Mm-hmm. Interesting,” Hyunjin repeated, his grin knowing. “Sure, Minho. Keep saying that. He’s so special for you.”

“He is,” Minho said quietly, half to himself.

He didn’t know if it was a crush or just admiration, but there was something about Seungmin’s honesty that made him feel grounded.

By the second month of being neighbors, it had become routine. Minho would pretend to tie his shoes just as Seungmin stepped outside with his little backpack and headphones.

They’d walk to the bus stop together—sometimes in comfortable silence, sometimes with Seungmin sharing whatever fact he’d learned that morning.

“Did you know cats can’t taste sweet things? That’s why they don’t like candy!”

“Really? So Mackerel isn’t being picky?”

“No! She just doesn’t have sweet receptors!” Seungmin giggled. “I think I’m more like a cat than a dog. But I still like ice cream.”

Minho glanced down at him fondly. “You definitely look happier than any cat I’ve met.”

Seungmin tilted his head, thoughtful. “That’s because I have friends now.”

Minho’s chest tightened. “You didn’t before?”

Seungmin shrugged, still smiling. “Jeongin is my only friend—my best friend! He’s in my class. But before him, people didn’t really talk to me. I talk a lot, and I like things most people don’t care about. Sometimes they say I’m weird. But Jeongin says weird is okay. And you don’t mind either.”

“I won’t ever mind,” Minho said softly.

Seungmin’s smile turned bashful, and he hugged his backpack closer. “Then you’re my favorite neighbor, hyung.”

“Just favorite neighbor?” Minho teased.

Seungmin blinked, confused. “You want another title?”

Minho laughed out loud this time. “Nah. That sounds perfect already.”

A few days later, Minho finally met Jeongin. The boy was smaller than him but sharp-eyed—the kind who seemed to notice everything. When Seungmin introduced them, Jeongin studied Minho for a long moment before giving a small nod.

“So you’re the famous neighbor hyung,” he said.

“Famous?” Minho laughed.

“Yeah. He talks about you a lot. Says you listen. That’s rare.” Jeongin’s smile was brief but genuine. “Thanks for that.”

After that, Minho somehow became part of their little circle. During lunch breaks, Jeongin saved a seat for Seungmin and waved Minho over when he passed the cafeteria. Sohyun joined them sometimes, dropping off homemade snacks and mothering them all with effortless affection.

“You boys are too serious,” she’d scold, placing extra food on their trays. “Jeongin, eat more. Minho, you look tired. Seungmin, don’t forget your vitamins.”

“Noona, you’re so loud,” Seungmin muttered, cheeks pink.

Minho chuckled softly, warmth blooming in his chest. Somehow, this little circle had become the best part of his day—laughter mingling with sunlight spilling across the cafeteria table.

As they packed up for their next class, Seungmin lingered by the table, fidgeting with his bag straps. He handed Minho a small, neatly folded piece of paper. “I wrote something,” he said shyly.

Minho unfolded it. It was a list titled ‘Facts About Minho Hyung.’

1. He smiles when I talk about animals.
2. He smells like mint and laundry soap.
3. He moves like he’s listening to music even when there’s none.
4. He says good morning even when he looks sleepy.
5. He makes me feel calm.

Minho’s throat tightened, emotion threading through him in a quiet rush.

“Can I keep this?” he asked.

Seungmin nodded. “It’s yours. It’s a good data record.”

“A data record, huh?” Minho chuckled. “Then I’ll make one about you too.”

Seungmin’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.”

And that night, Minho wrote on a small note by his bedside:

‘Facts About Seungmin:’

1. He smiles like sunlight through water.
2. He talks about animals like they’re friends.
3. He doesn’t need to change a thing.
4. I like him more every day.

By the time midterms came around, everyone on campus already knew about Minho and “the Science boy.”

It started harmlessly enough.

Someone posted a photo on the campus forum—Minho and Seungmin sitting together in the courtyard, Seungmin mid-sentence, animatedly talking with his hands while Minho listened with that familiar soft smile.

The caption said, “Campus dance star adopts a science prodigy? Cutest duo!”

The first few comments were teasing. But as the days went by, the tone changed.

“Isn’t that the autistic freshman?”
“Why’s Minho hanging around with him every day?”
“People say Seungmin talks nonstop about animals. How can he stand that?”
“Maybe he just pities him.”

Minho tried to ignore it. He’d been in the public eye before—being the captain of the university dance crew meant people always had something to say. But this was different. They weren’t mocking him this time—they were mocking Seungmin.

He could take insults about himself. But he couldn’t stand people being cruel to someone as kind as Seungmin.

Hyunjin caught on to the tension right away.

“Don’t read those comments,” He warned one afternoon in the practice studio. “You know people talk. It’ll blow over.”

“I don’t care what they say about me,” Minho said quietly, tying his sneakers tighter. “But Seungmin might read them. He’s sensitive to tone—even texts. It’ll hurt him.”

Hyunjin frowned. “You really care about him, huh?”

Minho didn’t answer right away. He looked out the window instead, remembering how Seungmin had proudly shown him his science project the night before—mini hydroponic jars lined up on his porch, each labeled neatly in his handwriting. 

“He’s… different,” Minho finally said. “In the best way. He sees things most people don’t.”

Hyunjin smiled softly. “Then just keep being there for him, yeah? The noise will fade.”

But the noise didn’t fade.

It grew sharper, crueler. People whispered in the cafeteria, in hallways. Some of Seungmin’s classmates started avoiding him more; others whispered “teacher’s pet” or “Minho’s charity case” behind his back.

Jeongin did his best to protect him. When someone muttered something nasty during group work, Jeongin slammed his notebook shut so hard the table rattled.

“Say that again,” he snapped, eyes blazing. “He’s smarter than all of you combined, and at least he’s kind.”

The room went silent. No one dared to speak after that, but the stares didn’t stop.

And Seungmin wasn’t oblivious. He could feel the shift in the air—how people’s smiles grew thinner, how voices hushed when he passed by. He just didn’t understand why.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked Minho one day as they sat under the oak tree behind their houses, Brownie the puppy napping beside them. “People stopped talking to me again.”

Minho shook his head immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Seungmin. You never do.”

“But… they whisper when I talk to you.”

“That’s their problem,” Minho said firmly. “Not yours.”

Seungmin studied him, eyes serious in that way that always felt older than his years. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Mad?” Minho gave a small smile. “Never. You’re the best thing in my campus life, Seungmin.”

The boy’s expression softened. “Then I’m happy.”

And that was that. Seungmin didn’t need long speeches or reassurance. He trusted Minho’s words completely.

It made Minho even more determined to live up to that trust.

He didn’t know it then, but two weeks later, that trust would matter more than ever.

It was supposed to be an ordinary Tuesday. Seungmin had a morning lab session while Minho had practice. They planned to meet for lunch at their favorite spot near the fountain.

At noon, Minho packed his lunch, texting Seungmin.

[M]: Meet you at 12:15? I got us strawberry milk.

No reply.

That wasn’t unusual—sometimes Seungmin muted his phone during class. But when 12:30 came and their table was still empty, Minho started to feel uneasy.

He texted again.

Then called.

Then again.

No answer.

Jeongin wasn’t around either; he had a seminar that day.

“Maybe his class ran long,” Hyunjin said when Minho started pacing near the fountain. “Relax a little.”

But Minho couldn’t relax. Something felt off—and he knew it.

So after Hyunjin left to catch his own class, he approached a few science students sitting nearby. “Hey, do you know if Professor Seo’s lab session ended?”

One of them looked up, surprised. “That class got canceled this morning. The prof’s sick.”

Minho froze. “Canceled? Then… where’s Seungmin?”

The student shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe someone forgot to tell him.”

Cold dread shot through Minho’s entire body.

He sprinted across campus, heart pounding in his ears.

The science building was quiet when he arrived. Most doors were open, except one—room 203, Seungmin’s usual lab. The hallway was empty, lights dim.

Minho tried the handle.

Locked.

He knocked. “Seungmin? You in there?”

For a moment, silence. Then—a small, broken sound.

“...hyung?”

It was barely a whisper, trembling, scared.

Minho’s chest constricted. “Seungmin, it’s me. Minho. Are you okay?”

A stifled sob. “It’s dark—I can’t—The door won’t open—I—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Minho said quickly, voice steady even as panic clawed at him. “I’m here. Just hold on, okay? Don’t move. I’ll get you out.”

He ran to find the janitor, got the spare key, and sprinted back. When he pushed the door open, the room was pitch black—the lights deliberately switched off.

Seungmin was sitting on the floor near a desk, hands over his ears, his whole body shaking.

Minho dropped to his knees, pulling him close but careful, steady—the kind of touch that spoke of home more than anything else.

“Seungmin, it’s me. You’re safe now.”

Seungmin flinched at the touch but then recognized the scent—mint and laundry soap—and latched onto it like a lifeline. “Hyung… it was dark and the door—someone—”

“I know, I know,” Minho whispered, gently rubbing his back. “Breathe with me, yeah? In through your nose… out through your mouth.”

He’d read about sensory grounding for autistic meltdowns. He’d watched videos, read forums, asked Seungmin’s eomma once about how to help when he was overwhelmed.

Now he used everything he’d learned—soft voice, no sudden movements, offering the small stuffed puppy he always kept in his bag because Seungmin liked tactile comfort.

“Good job,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Lights are on. Door’s open. I’m here.”

It took a few minutes, but slowly, the trembling eased. Seungmin’s breathing steadied, his eyes unfocused but calmer. When he finally leaned forward and pressed his face against Minho’s chest, the older felt his own tears burn.

“I was scared,” Seungmin whispered, voice small. “I called, but no one came.”

Minho held him tighter. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin. You didn’t deserve this. I should’ve been here sooner.”

Seungmin shook his head weakly. “It’s okay now. You came.”

Minho swallowed hard. “Always.”

He helped Seungmin stand, keeping a hand on his shoulder, guiding him gently out of the room. Seungmin clung to his sleeve the whole way.

By the time they reached the courtyard, Seungmin’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He’d cried until his body couldn’t keep up anymore. And without thinking, he leaned into Minho’s shoulder, letting the quiet wash over him.

Minho brushed a hand through his hair softly. “Sleep, sunshine. You’re safe now.”

Then his gaze hardened, scanning the quiet grounds. Whoever did this—whoever thought trapping Seungmin in the dark was funny—was going to regret it.

Luckily, he didn’t need long to find out who it was.

Because the very next afternoon, right before dance practice, Minho caught two girls whispering by the lockers.

“I can’t stand that Seungmin kid,” one of them scoffed. “Acting all innocent, trying to get attention from Minho oppa.”

The other giggled. “Yeah, I know. He’s so weird. Minho’s too nice, that’s why he humors him.”

Then the first girl laughed—low and mean. “That’s why I locked him in the lab yesterday. Maybe now he knows his place. Total bookworm freak.”

Minho’s blood ran cold.

He recognized her voice. She was someone who had confessed to him multiple times, the same girl he’d turned down every time.

Minho didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His silence carried more weight than any anger ever could.

He walked over quietly, phone in hand—already recording.

When they noticed him, their laughter snapped off like a switch.

“You don’t get to call that a joke,” Minho said coldly. “You terrified someone who did nothing but be kind. You made him cry. That’s not a prank—it’s cruelty.”

The girl stammered, panic rising. “No, oppa, you don’t understand—it wasn’t like that! Seungmin—”

Minho pressed play. Her own voice echoed from the speaker—every word, every laugh, proof laid bare. Her face went pale.

“Stay away from him,” Minho said, voice steady as steel. “And stay away from me. You don’t even deserve to say his name.”

After that, rumors spread again—but this time, they whispered that Minho had gone too far defending that boy.

Minho didn’t care. If protecting Seungmin made him look too much, then so be it. Let them talk.

One evening, Seungmin’s parents invited Minho to dinner. They thanked him quietly—his eomma’s eyes misty, his appa clasping Minho’s hand in gratitude. Sohyun bustled around the kitchen, insisting Minho eat more, teasing that he’d become part of the family whether he liked it or not.

Seungmin was quieter than usual, stirring his rice absentmindedly.

“You okay?” Minho asked softly.

Seungmin nodded. “Just tired. But… thank you, hyung.”

“For what?”

“For finding me.” He looked up, eyes clear and honest. “When you said you’d come, I believed you. And you did.”

Minho smiled faintly. “Always, Seungmin.”

Seungmin thought for a moment, then said softly, “I think I get to like you more.”

Minho’s breath caught.

“I mean, I always like how you treat me and make me feel,” Seungmin clarified. “Like the world isn’t too loud.”

Minho’s chest ached in the best way—warm, full, and wordless. “That’s how you make me feel too,” he whispered.

The campus festival arrived with sunlight and noise and everything Seungmin usually avoided.

But this time, he wanted to be there.

Because Minho was performing.

It had been three weeks since the incident, and Seungmin had slowly returned to his routine—feeding Brownie and the stray cats, working on his hydroponic project, chatting with Jeongin under the trees between classes. 

Yet a faint nervousness still lingered in how he double-checked doors before entering a room, or how his hands trembled when the lights flickered.

Minho noticed every detail. He never commented, never pushed Seungmin to talk, but he adjusted quietly—texting reminders, walking him to class, waiting outside until the lights were on, always making sure the younger had his noise-canceling headphones for crowded places.

Seungmin noticed too.

He noticed how Minho never left practice until he was sure Seungmin was home safe. How his smile brightened whenever he shared a new animal fact. How his eyes softened whenever he needed a little more time to speak.

So when Minho invited him to the festival, Seungmin hesitated only for a second. “It’ll be loud,” he murmured.

“I’ll make it worth it,” Minho promised.

And Seungmin believed him—because Minho always kept his promises.

That Saturday, he wore his softest oversized sweater, looped his headphones around his neck. He arrived with Jeongin and Sohyun, who had volunteered to be his “safety team.”

“Don’t worry,” Sohyun said warmly. “We’ll stay near the front but not too close to the speakers.”

Jeongin nodded, handing him a pack of earplugs. “We’ve got you, hyung.”

Seungmin’s lips curved into a shy smile. “Thank you.”

The stage gleamed under the blue sky, the crowd buzzing with excitement. Minho’s dance team was the final act—the most anticipated performance.

Seungmin spotted him easily, standing at the side of the stage in a black outfit that shimmered subtly under the sun. His hair was styled differently, pushed back, and for a moment, Seungmin forgot to breathe.

“Pretty,” he whispered without thinking.

Sohyun grinned. “He’d love to hear that.”

And then the music started.

Minho moved like the rhythm lived in his veins—sharp, fluid, magnetic. Every turn, every beat, every flick of his hand was a story. Seungmin watched, completely transfixed, his heart racing not from the crowd but from the warmth blooming in his chest.

That was his Minho—the one who fed stray cats with him, who laughed at his trivia, who found him in the dark.

When the final note hit, the crowd erupted. Minho’s gaze swept over the sea of faces until it landed on Seungmin—and the moment it did, his whole expression softened.

He smiled—the kind of smile that belonged only to him.

And Seungmin’s world felt brighter.

After the show, the festival grounds buzzed with noise and laughter. Minho found them near the trees, still in his stage outfit, forehead damp with sweat.

“Hyung!” Seungmin called out, his voice light and bright, excitement spilling through every syllable. “You were amazing! You moved so fast, I almost forgot to blink!”

Minho let out a shaky breath and a grin tugged at his lips. “If I’d known that was the consequence, I’d have danced slower.”

Sohyun patted Seungmin’s shoulder. “We’ll give you two some time, okay?” she teased, winking before tugging Jeongin away toward the food stalls.

As they walked away, the sounds of the festival faded into a soft hum. Minho turned to Seungmin, still smiling.

“Thank you for coming,” he said gently. “I know it’s not easy for you.”

Seungmin shook his head. “It’s okay. I wanted to see you dance.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Because you love it. When you talk about dancing, your eyes shine the same way mine do when I talk about Brownie.”

That made Minho laugh—soft and full of fondness. “You really do notice everything.”

Seungmin nodded seriously. “I always notice you.”

Minho’s heart stuttered.

For a moment, the world seemed to still. The breeze brushed Seungmin’s hair gently, and Minho thought there wasn’t a single thing more beautiful in that moment.

“Seungmin,” his tone was quiet, careful. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Seungmin tilted his head, curious.

“I like you,” Minho said. The words were steady, sure, filled with something deep and unshakable. “I mean… not just as a friend or a neighbor. I really like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Seungmin blinked, processing. “You like me?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Then Seungmin’s brows furrowed slightly in thought. “Does that mean you want to kiss me?”

Minho froze, tongue-tied and utterly flustered. “Y-yes… kind of… only if—do you want that?”

Seungmin thought for a beat, then nodded earnestly. “I think so. Because when Jeongin said his boyfriend loves him, he kissed him, and he looked really happy. And you make me happy too.”

Minho’s chest melted completely. “Then… can I?” he asked softly. “Only if you want to.”

Seungmin smiled—small, shy, but sure. “Yes.”

Minho leaned forward, slow enough that Seungmin could move away if he changed his mind. When their lips finally touched, it was barely more than a whisper—soft, sweet, and pure. Seungmin’s hand trembled slightly against Minho’s chest, but Minho covered it with his own, steady and warm.

When they pulled back, Seungmin’s cheeks were pink. “That felt nice,” he said quietly.

Minho grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like… when the sun is warm but not too hot.”

A low chuckle escaped Minho, tender and a little breathless. “Then that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Seungmin giggled, hiding his face in his sleeves. “You’re smiling a lot, hyung.”

“That’s because of you.”

He peeked out, eyes bright. “Does this mean we’re dating now?”

Minho chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Seungmin’s forehead. “If you want to.”

“I do,” Seungmin said right away. “I like you too. You make the world not too loud. And I want to be with you—even when you’re dancing, or when I’m feeding Brownie.”

Minho’s throat tightened with emotion. “Then it’s official.”

Seungmin grinned—wide, radiant, and completely unguarded. “Okay. Then tomorrow, we feed the cats together again.”

Minho smiled, eyes soft. “It’s a date.”

The days that followed felt like a dream.

The whispers didn’t stop completely, but Minho didn’t care. He walked across campus with Seungmin’s hand in his, unbothered by the looks, unashamed of the softness between them.

People learned—slowly but surely—that Minho wasn’t joking. His love for Seungmin wasn’t pity or curiosity. It was real. It was steady. It was kind.

When Seungmin won the University’s Science Competition, Minho was the first to cheer, loud enough to make the professors laugh.

“That’s my boyfriend!” he shouted, pride bright as daylight.

Seungmin turned red instantly, hiding behind his folder for five full minutes.

At night, when the neighborhood was quiet, they often sat side by side on the porch steps. Brownie and the stray cats would nap nearby, the air soft with purrs and a hint of mint.

“Hyung,” Seungmin said out of the blue, tapping his fingers in rhythm. “Did you know fireflies make light because of a chemical reaction called bioluminescence?”

“I didn’t,” Minho murmured, smiling. “Tell me more.”

And Seungmin did—his words gentle, his eyes shining like the lights he described.

Minho listened, as he always did, thinking that maybe love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect timing.

Maybe love was simply this—a quiet night, a soft voice, and a boy whose smile could outshine every star in the sky.

And for Minho, that was more than enough.