Minho had seen that guy a million times before. Oversized Japanese selvage denim, jangly jewelry, a tote bag that screamed thrifted but actually stolen from his ex, and of course—his labubu keychain dangling like a neon sign.
He was perched in the corner of the café like he was staging a photoshoot for “mysterious intellectual boyfriend.” Open book in one hand (The Power by Robert Greene, of course), pastel green matcha latte in the other. He sipped it with a face so pinched Minho almost laughed out loud.
He hates it, Minho thought. And yet he’ll die before ordering an iced Americano like a normal person.
Minho knew the type—fake progressive, fake deep, probably used Mitski lyrics in his Instagram captions. Red flag after red flag. And yet… Minho couldn’t stop staring. His stupid heart skipped when the guy tilted his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes like he’d practiced in the mirror.
“Wowie,” Minho muttered before he could stop himself.
Minho was trying to mind his own business at the café. Really, he was. Earbuds in, americano in hand, staring blankly at his laptop like a normal person.
And then came him.
The boy with the jewelry that clinked louder than windchimes, oversized jeans, chipped nail polish, and a labubu keychain dangling off his belt loop like a trophy. He’d staked out a corner table, cracked open a copy of Women, Race, & Class, and held it just high enough that the title was visible from every angle.
Minho didn’t even need to look twice. He knew the type. Performative. Manipulative. Probably said things like “yeah, I went to one protest in 2020, it was life-changing.”
And then he heard it.
A long, theatrical sigh.
The boy adjusted his posture, brushed his hair from his eyes, and sighed again, louder this time.
Minho’s jaw tightened. Oh my god, he’s fishing.
Sure enough, the boy glanced around, as if waiting for someone to ask. Minho tried to resist, but it was like watching someone stage-dive into a kiddie pool. Too pathetic. Too funny. Too… weirdly charming.
Minho spoke, almost an exasperated question, “are you okay?”