Chapter Text
1 Changbin P.O.V
“Once upon a time”, I mumble as I chaotically scribble said words on my essay paper. I immediately scratch them: way too cliché. Confident people who write often can maybe pull this off, but I am sure as hell that I am not one of them.
Fuck essays, in fact: fuck literature club!
Why can’t I just silently and effortlessly join the club to occasionally stare at my crush from afar while thinking about all the different things we could do or talk about, while in reality I know that those scenarios would never happen?
I guess the literature club of my college does not even let me be this pathetic. I mean, of course I know it’s a little over the top and cliché to join the club your crush is in (though I am sure that is what most people do, right?) because I literally do not have any interests except for obsessing over the fact that I am single and how I can change that (and going to the gym while listening to techno versions of girl group songs, but sadly this activity isn’t one I can do in any sort of college club), hypothetically, of course.
Hitting on someone in my brain? Pure cinema, the best imaginable entertainment in the world. Hitting on someone in real life? Horrific, I’m sweating and panicking and stumbling and shivering and possibly dying (of embarrassment).
Again, pathetic, I know!
But what sucks even more is this fucking essay one needs to write in order to join the club. Like, the last time I wrote fiction was back in high school when we had short stories in English (I burned the story right after I got it back and received even less points for it than if I hadn’t given in anything at all. What about points for trying? I probably assaulted everyone who has ever written even a grocery list with my poorly executed short story at the time, but that had been high school and where were my points for effort and at least trying to put something on paper?) And that had been about four years ago, but definitely felt like at least ten.
Ugh. Why did he even have to join literature club? Any sports club would have been fine, even chess (though board games where you have to use your brain are only a little bit higher on my skills list than literary writing and that is already so much below average that even an old man with dementia who forgot all language and grammar facts would be able to produce something that is better than what I could come up with.)
“You’re still trying this literature thing?” Minho passes me in one of the study rooms of our college’s library. His left eye-brow is raised in amusement and we both know that trying is even romanticising what I am doing to the blank paper in front of me right now. “How many words does it need to have again?”
“Does that really matter at a point where I haven’t even written down a single letter? Honestly; do you think I could just hand in a paper with a bunch of numbers and call it modern art?” I sigh and use the excuse of coincidently meeting my best friend at the library to take a break, get up from the table and stretch.
Now Minho raises the other brow as he ignores my second question completely and replies: “You’re stretching your arms so disciplined one would assume you’re either competing for the Olympics or hitting on someone by flexing your muscles intensely. But since we’re the only people here-”
“That must mean that I am hitting on you”, I interrupt him, grinning and wiggling my eyebrows over-dramatically like a seventh grader who has just discovered that he has muscles in his eye brows.
Minho rolls his eyes “Obviously”, he comments, even though we both know that he is in a monogamous relationship and that I have the most embarrassing crush on this guy in literature club- and of course that I have not one percent rizz (except for my biceps, but they are just there so that doesn’t speak for my skill set- at all. I guess flirting is also around the area with literature writing and chess on my ‘I would never even dare to think about calling this a skill of mine’-list).
“Where’s Jisung?” I ask, because that is the obvious question to ask Minho when Jisung is not around, because they usually stick closer to each other than I do to the next biggest object to hide behind whenever my crush is near- yes, I am the biggest middle schooler when it comes to the love stuff and I would change it if I could, but that has only lead to me needing to write a literature club essay, which is a lost battle even before I have started to sharpen my knives or whatever.
“What should I know?”, Minho replies, though he definitely does know about his boyfriend’s whereabouts at all times, he is just too lazy to explain it to me and I’m even lazier to ask a second time, because I only ever ask because of politeness, not because I actually want to hear a second about other people’s love lives (because, for the hundredth time; I am pathetically single and can’t bear people being happy in relationships while I am not. There, I said it. Sue me). “You haven’t even written one thing that you didn’t immediately scratch out. Why aren’t you giving yourself a chance?”
“Because I know I’m gonna suck at it!” I whine (like the totally grown and mature adult I am). “I didn’t choose a science mayor and received the lowest grades humanity has ever received in subjects where one needs to write more than a few words just because I felt like it! I simply suck at finding the right words and the right tone and you know I low-key think the only thing grammar is, is a name for my grandmother, so that says it all really.”
“Maybe you’ve gotten better.”
“By doing what exactly? I haven’t even texted a full sentence ever since high school and you can hardly call that writing”, god I can’t even listen to myself complaining. Why am I so annoying? Maybe the real problem isn’t the writing itself, maybe, I think, I don’t even have anything to say that is worth sharing.
So how in the world would I find something that is worth to be written about?
Honestly, I have never been good with words. I regularly say things the wrong way so people get upset, I never find the right words in important situations and even more crucial: I hate it when I have the attention of a group and have to say something about myself that is somehow deep or funny or interesting enough so people will continue to listen to what I have to say (but also not too deep, because that would be trauma dumping and not too funny because not everything is a joke).
I’ve always been the better listener. But I am not really able to put other people’s story on paper either. I mean, yes I can somehow understand what people are feeling or thinking in certain situations, but my type of understanding does not manifest in words, not even feelings- it is usually just vibes and gut feeling… maybe.
I think.
Probably.
When it all comes down to a scheme of how my love life is going, it would start with the hypothesis that I am not good with flirting and while searching for proof for this statement, one would first find out that a) I am socially awkward, that I sometimes don’t even have things to say to my closest friend and that, b) at the core, I hate talking (especially about myself) and finding words and everything that comes with it.
Jisung once advised me that if speaking doesn’t work I should try to flirt with gazes instead, which in fact had led to a girl approaching me at a bar, but then eventually asking me something, which ultimately resulted in me malfunctioning and excusing myself to the bathroom (I never saw the girl again). So, yes, I guess I am able to flirt with my eyes, but what is that even good for if I can’t even answer a simple question like “are you here often?” or “don’t we have ‘the laws of physics’ together?”. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too important whether my replies would be flirty or a little clumsy, if people are interested, it will probably still work- but if I don’t say anything at all: that’s definitely bad.
“Maybe you should ask someone for help”, Minho offers as he takes a seat next to mine, where I still haven’t sat back in, because I am still convincing myself that intensely stretching my arms would achieve any difference in my ability to write- as if my brain wasn’t the problem in the first place.
“Do you want to write the essay for me?” I ask, finally sitting down again with puppy eyes, blinking at Minho like crazy.
“Please never do this again, it’s scaring the shit out of me”, Minho doesn’t react to my charm at all. Annoying.
“Who else could I ask?” I honestly am not in contact with anyone from high school except Minho and only started to look for a few more friends last semester when Minho and Jisung started dating and Minho suddenly didn’t have as much time for me anymore- which is why I really don’t know if any of my newer friends have any talent for literary writing (I mean anyone would be better at this than me, but even then there would still be a big space left to be accepted into literature club).
“I don’t think I know anyone in literature club”, Minho admits, opening his own books to study, as if my problem weren’t important at all- I consider to stubbornly close his books again, but I really do not want to be that person- though, I clearly know I have the spirit of a seven year old. “But I might know someone who can help you get into writing.”
So that’s how I ended up cramped in front of a queer café called “LGB-tea and more”, soaked in rain because a) it rains and b) I am too scared to go inside to meet the friend of Minho: Seungmin.
The real problem is that said friend doesn’t even know I’ll be coming (Minho didn’t reach him via text message, but knew he would be working today, so he highly encouraged me to still go since the deadline is way too close) and that I have no clue how in the world I would even approach this person that I have met only once- to ask for a favour. It isn’t just that I am afraid to ask for help, but that I am afraid to ask- like in general (I even have a generalized anxiety disorder with social anxiety tendencies diagnosed but that diagnosis makes things feel even more finalised and ultimately makes me struggle even more).
Another problem is that I have the feeling I might be intruding the queer space of the café, even though I know I am queer myself and also that no one would be asking me about it if I wasn’t (Minho told me about a billion times whenever we went). In fact I know that Jisung sometimes goes there with some of his cis straight friends and everyone is cool with it.
But I guess even though I currently have a crush on a guy that even is the reason I am here after all, I never really feel queer enough, hence the only relationship I ever had was with a straight woman while I also identified with being straight, having mostly straight friends and looking into the café now I just feel so different from everyone there (they seem so confident in who they are…while I am barely holding up).
I know that being straight passing sadly is still a privilege in this world, but it always makes me feel less cool and less accepted or even less needed in queer spaces. Other people whose dress-code goes against what society considers the norm in terms of style or gender (or whatever the patriarchy can think of next), really need a space where they can feel normal and seen and accepted and I don’t. Or at least I feel like I don’t.
I take a quick look at my watch after brushing the rain drops off it. 5 pm. Minho’s friend Seungmin gets off work exactly now. And I should have gone in at least twenty minutes ago to put in an electrical order, get the order delivered to my table by Seungmin himself (I am sure he’s not the only one waiting there, but this is my optimistic dream scenario, okay?) and then ask him if he would be kind enough to help me find inspiration for and to actually write my essay (which he would obviously be super impressed with and gladly offer his help because in my dream scenarios I’m just that eloquent and awesome and cool).
I had met this guy only once two years ago at Minho’s birthday party and hadn’t talked to him much. He is deaf on one ear, and can’t hear much on the other ear either, but since we had a kid that was hard of hearing in Minho’s and my class in middle school I know a little sign language so I talked to Seungmin for a while (after all signing is doing something with the body instead of the brain and I have always been better at practical things. I usually wonder where to put my hands or what facial expression to use, but while signing all these problems seem to just disappear).
The questions I asked him were middle school level, like: what’s your favourite animal (he signed dog after I wasn’t able to identify the thing he signed first). I learned that he does not have a favourite colour and that his favourite season is autumn (we tried to go in more depth about that, but to all the questions I could sign I would not be able to understand the answer, except for ‘what do you like to wear for autumn?’, but Minho’s birthday is in autumn so I could see what he liked to wear anyway).
Now that I think about it I remember our conversation very fondly. We may have talked on a very small talk level (because of my lack of skill), but it would have been the same with me and other people as well (probably worse, because I would have panicked about where to put my hands and where to look). It was fun to use sign language again, since I wasn’t in contact with the kid from middle school anymore and didn’t know anyone who could sign except for Minho, but he does not need to (since we are both hearing) and it is more convenient for us to talk to each other with words anyway, since when we meet up we would play video games or study together, so there wouldn’t be any opportunities where we would see each other’s hands.
The thought of talking to Seungmin again sparks a little bit of excitement in my chest, but as soon as I realise it I feel embarrassed. On the way to the café I have intensely thought about how I would communicate what I want from him. I do know the signs for “writing”, “essay” and “help” and that would get my intentions across, but I really don’t know what I would tell Seungmin if he asks why. I do not know the words for “literature club”, “crush” or “Minho forced me to because I have been postponing this for a month and it has been making me crazy up to this point and if I don’t finish it until the deadline on Tuesday I will probably hate myself till the rest of my life”.
Lost in thought I look at my watch again- it finally stopped raining (but I am drenched to the bone anyway so what does it matter at this point?)- ten minutes after 5pm. Has Seungmin already come out, without me noticing? I have been spiralling in thoughts too much to notice who passed me.
After another five minutes I eventually decide to leave again, undo the lock on my bike and then just when I am about to take a seat on the saddle ready to start cycling, Seungmin appears in front of me so suddenly as if this were a sporning place in a video game.
“Oh” I form with my mouth and then wave a “hello” and add the sign for Seungmin’s name. I do the snake version, because that is what Minho usually signed his name as, but I roughly remember Seungmin mentioning that his signed name is also the sign for dog when we had talked about our favourite animals.
Seungmin’s eyes widen at the sight of his signed nickname. I am not sure how many people call him like that and only now I realise that I had never called him that either and also that I probably would have been uncomfortable if some stranger I sort of met two years ago would call be by my nickname- big mistake, I scrunch up my face in embarrassment.
“Hi”, Seungmin signs back, without a name, because he’s probably still figuring who the hell I even am. I can imagine that he is meeting lots of people at the café every day and that naturally lots of faces would accumulate who probably know his name, while he doesn’t know theirs.
I wouldn’t blame him if he forgot my name or me as a person at all, even though I would be a little sad about it, because I still sometimes think about the birthday party of Minho two years ago, especially talking to Seungmin that day- seeing his happy face after realising someone else knows sign language apart from Minho and then quickly hiding the expression so it wouldn’t come across as weird. I had known this specific feeling by heart at that point, but what would make me feel embarrassed regularly, would look charming and sort of cute on him.
“Who-” Seungmin signs, but stops the question mid sentence, to scan my body again. His careful gaze immediately shoots heat into my face and I hope it isn’t too visible against the slightly pink cheeks I already have due to the cold season anyway.
I suddenly wonder if my appearance has changed much, since we last saw each other and surprise myself when I come to the conclusion that it has. I don’t really feel much different from before (just a lot more confident in how my body works and looks. It’s my brain and personality that give me headache nowadays), but I am probably twice as buff as before, since I started to hit the gym way more regularly since I don’t have any hobbies except for listening to music anyway- but sadly I didn’t even grow even a centimetre taller. Seungmin, on the other hand, probably grew about five.
Apart from that, his appearance hasn’t changed. He still has dark puppy eyes that have that glimmer of mischief and his hands sign as elegantly as a pro piano player (not that I have ever seen one signing, but if one did, it would definitely look similar to what I am witnessing right now- which is obviously still hot as fuck, but I try not to think about that too much).
As his gaze reaches my chest and face area I sign “name” and then the letters of my name individually, since I do not have a specific sign for my name yet (Minho always has silly ideas like muscle man, mosquito, chin or whiny, which I all, obviously declined. Not because I hated them, but because it would be dead embarrassing to introduce myself as muscle man or what else he has to offer).
It takes me a while to finish my name in letters, because I’m out of practice with the alphabet, but Seungmin gets it at the first half already, so eventually I stop thinking about whether the pointing finger or the pinky signs the letter I.
“You’re Minho’s friend”, Seungmin eventually signs and I grin at Minho’s signed name: ambidextrous rabbit.
I nod in reply, even though I know two more ways than a simple “yes” to agree to a statement in sign language. I get down from my bike and suddenly regret taking the bike to the café because when I hold the handlebars I can’t sign- jeez am I dumb.
Seungmin signs something I don’t pick anything up from except “text message” and “Minho”. I assume that he just read the message Minho send him when he and I had met at the library and Minho suddenly had the idea that Seungmin, who writes a lot (with people who do not know sign language, since he does not speak and for written versions of signed poetry slams as well) would be the ideal person to help me.
I nod again, but way more excited because I am so happy to have kind of understood what he said and then let him hold my bike to sign the words “help” and “essay” and finally “please”. Seungmin laughs at my enthusiasm- or at my abrupt and sort of cut off way of signing a sentence, or both even. It is a nice sound, his laugh, and I suddenly wonder how it sounds (feels) to him- if he can hear it at all.
“Sure, I’ll help you”, he signs and I beam at him in reply because I honestly thought it would take a lot more convincing and explaining that would have probably contained way more pantomime than actual sign language and therefore would have been very awkward.