Han Jisung is only 20 years old, but he has the eyes of someone who has already lived too much. Everything he's been through has made him lose himself, drowning his soul in pain.
Lee Minho is 22, but he grew up quickly. He has the smile of someone w...
Lee Minho had the day off, so he decided to get up late, work out and go to a Café for a nice breakfast. There was this place that everyone was raving about at the agency and Minho was curious. It was called Little CupCake.
He had a lot of friends, he was a very sociable boy, but he also loved spending his time alone. So, without notifying anyone, he slipped a pair of bermuda shorts and a t-shirt and set off on foot, following the directions on Google Maps.
The place was located not far from his home and, as soon as he arrived, he immediately got why the café was so popular. It had got an happy, calm atmosphere, well-maintained and modern decor and the desserts looked wonderful.
«Good morning, what can I bring you?»
He hadn't noticed anyone approaching him. He had sat near the entrance and was just staring at the street through the window of the Café.
He turned to the voice and met two big eyes. A boy looking like a squirrel was watching him, tied up in a yellow apron.
What an unusual color.
Minho hinted a smile and spoke to not make the waiter waiting: «Hi! What would you recommend?»
Han was looking at the customer, noting that he actually looked like a k-drama actor. His hair were extremely well-groomed, his features extremely sweet and his eyes were almost black, so large and intense.
«We make a great iced Americano and the cheesecake is excellent, in my opinion» he answered, preparing notebook and pen.
«I take what you said, thank you!» Minho replied with a smile.
He watched the waiter nodding and walking away and he frowned. That boy had an extremely sweet face but, despite him trying to be kind, Minho felt a deep sadness invading those big squirrel eyes. Those two spheres largely covered by dark hair were filled with a pain difficult to understand.
Not that Minho didn't know what pain was, but still.
He watched the boy moving deftly behind the counter, surely he had been working in the Café for a while. His face was cute and probably made him look younger, but Minho struggled to understand his age.
He kept observing his fluid movements in silence, curious of him, until the boy returned to his table with a full tray.
«An iced americano and your cheesecake slice, voilà» he said. His tone was playful but there was no trace of a smile on his face.
As the young waiter placed the order on the table, his sleeves lifted slightly on his wrist. Minho felt a shiver run up his spine: on those delicate arms, there were numerous marks. And they looked just like scars.
Minho refrained himself from grabbing that wrist and examining it better. He clenched his jaw, petrified by those cuts.
«Bon apétit!» the guy made a small bow and walks away, leaving Minho with a helpless feeling on his skin, a feeling he loathed.
Who was that boy? And what had he been through?
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