Strangers.

If only I could go back to this time. This time when I had no inkling about who Lee Taemin was.
If I had the chance though, would I?

I’m here again.

Like I am everyday. Here; even as the snow has started to fall, the season of fall itself long gone. The trees are left barren, not a single leaf left anywhere. The cold air freezes me to the bone. At least it would. It would had I not had experience. Experience when it came to this.

To what?

Ah, wait. There it is. The ringing of the tower bell. The time was seven thirty in the morning. A bitter, cold, unforgiving Monday morning. Few students were out — not many classes started this early. Mine don’t start till 9. Yet here I am. Sitting here again.

A cup of tea warming me as I held it between my fingers. Warming me as I lifted it to my mouth slowly. Blowing on it as small flakes of snow fell into it, evaporating upon contact. Warming me as I took a sip, and the liquid flowed down my throat and hit my stomach.

I breathed out, the result a puff of white condensation that flowed from my lips, disappearing into the wind.

It’s 7:31 now. 7:31 and like clock work, it happened.

The large wooden double doors of El Dorado Hall on this, my college’s campus, flew open.

He came tumbling out, his scarf dangling from his neck as he hadn’t the time to properly put it on. His jacket was hanging from his shoulders, backpack dangling as its straps dug into the inside of his elbows. His almond brown hair was in disarray, and a pair of black framed glasses lay crooked on the bridge of his nose. He had a cup in his hand.

A cup of coffee maybe? Hot cocoa as it’s been getting cold lately? Perhaps just water? Or maybe tea?

He goes running towards the grass, uncaring if his drink were to spill or not. Caring even less that the grass had a “Do Not Walk on the Grass” sign planted firmly by where he laid that first step. And there he went, sprinting across, the cold, biting frost of the wind hitting his face. Hitting his exposed neck as his scarf had almost slipped from his shoulders completely.

He passed by me then.

Even if he was more than 20 feet away, he still did. He passed by me as I sat on that cement bench. My tea in my hands as I watched him. Bundled up to the bone because I was used to this. I was used to this every day since September: when I first spotted him. It was November now. And as he had always done, as he had always done while crossing over that forbidden patch of grass, as he ascended the steps up to the building right across from the one he had just run from, he bounced. He bounced in place once.

Just once.

Psyching himself up. Psyching himself up before he entered another building named Pearl Hall through it’s own large wooden doors, disappearing. Disappearing just as fast as he had appeared.

I lifted my cup of tea once more, blowing on it before taking another sip. And I stood from the bench that faced the vast ocean of grass that existed between him and me. Him like the pirate who could sail it as he wished without fear, and me like the young sailor stuck on the shore. I stood up, sticking my free hand into my pocket before walking away, the snow lightly showering my face.  

You could say this is a hobby of mine. Watching him every morning at 7:31. 7:31 when he goes rushing off into Pearl Hall, his long legs trampling the ground, his lithe body gracefully sprinting forward. His hair flipping back, revealing his forehead beneath, before it fell back down in feathery layers as he came to stop.

I like it. I like watching him. Watching him from afar as he rushes into each and every one of his weekday mornings.

I don’t know what it is that he has in that cup of his every morning. I don’t care for it. I don’t know what he’s rushing for. I don’t care for it. I don’t even know his family name. And again, I don’t care for it. 

Just watching him is enough.

It’s energizing and inspiring.

It’s not a secret hobby either. I’ve told my close friend about it. He told me I was crazy. But then he said I’ve always been crazy. Crazy when it came to the anatomy of human beings. In figuring out how they move. In watching both the graceful and the erratic movements of them.

And he, he the boy who ran, was both of these.

Erratic and graceful. Unpredictable and poised. Thus, my fascination with him was justified. Thus, my thoughts of him as I myself move were justified.

As I move across the stage and I think of how the taut cotton tights lining my legs are so unlike the loose, deep, red scarf that hung around his neck every day since the cold weather started to set in.

Maybe that’s why I’m so interested in him. Because he’s raw. His movements aren’t practiced. They’re loose. They’re natural.

Yes, maybe that’s why. I haven’t thought about it too much. I think I’ll simply listen to my friend’s, listen to Jongin’s, opinion about it. I’m just crazy. And I’m fine with it.

Fine with never knowing what’s in his cup every morning. Fine with never knowing what he’s rushing for. Fine with never knowing his name.

I leaned over, stretching out my leg on one of the wall-mounted poles that lined the glass walls of the room. A soft moan escaped my mouth as I felt my muscles only now begin to warm up — despite having changed long ago. Why? For ballet class.

A head of black hair invaded my view as I returned to an upright position, dark eyes watching me with a hint of excitement. A smile spread out across his face, slightly tanned skin glowing underneath the recessed lighting above.

“Early as usual,” he mused, voice carrying in it an insinuation that he knew exactly why I was early again. As usual. And he did know. He knew completely. I had told him, after all.

This was my friend. This was Kim Jongin. “I think.” I leaned over again, stretching once more. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

“That’s because you won’t let me tell you about him,” he reasoned as he squatted down, his black tank top hugging his body. He peeked up at me, maintaining eye contact even as I ascended once more. He simply stood up then, not bothering to back away. The result was his nose a hair’s width away from my own.

“I don’t want to know,” I whispered, not meeting his gaze. The proximity wasn’t unnerving. It wasn’t unsettling in the least. We had been closer before. Much closer.

Especially in stage productions we would put on for our classes. We were both minoring in dance —  Jongin was even thinking of double majoring in it. As for me, considering how things were going, I would likely end up following him down that path. 

“If you let me tell you, then I wouldn’t keep bringing it up,” he mumbled back, his forehead leaning towards my own until I felt the stray hairs of his fringe brush against my bare skin. The sensation caused my nerve endings to fire off wildly. “Then no fun will be had.”

I let my fingers reach upwards, gripping onto the fabric of his tank top as I murmured once more, “I’m not going to dance with you in the Winter Spectacular, so stop with the bribes.” I pushed him away, and he groaned, pivoting on one heel in a circle before dramatically collapsing into a squat onto the wooden floor of the dance classroom. He grumbled a series of complaints as I went back to what I was doing, ignoring the tantrum.

“I’m much closer to him than you think, you know,” he suddenly spoke. I remained impartial, standing by my decision despite it all.

“I told you: I don’t want to know.”

I wanted him, the boy who runs, to remain a stranger. To remain a hobby. A way to pass the mornings.

No more. No less.

“Where are you?” I spoke breathlessly into the phone, a bit peeved with the sudden request by a certain friend of mine: Kim Jongin. My lunch break was delayed due to Jongin’s sudden desire to eat somewhere different today. It was a sudden switch up of the schedule we kept on Mondays and Wednesdays; we both headed off to the same Statistics class right after.

“Where are you?” he repeated the question right back, mischief coating his voice.

“I’m in the building,” I responded, not giving him the satisfaction of arguing, “but I don’t see you.” I walked down the hall, peeking through every doorway of the large space. More and more students began to notice my odd behavior.

“Look for the tall guy waving his hand in the air like a maniac.”

His description of his position was in no way helpful, but, miraculously, as I looked across the large space, I saw exactly what he was talking about.

A tall male waving towards me. I reached up, waving back. Only to have him freeze as soon as I did, the smile fading from his face so quickly I thought the gesture was just a figment of my imagination. The tall male retreated downwards, disappearing amongst the heads of many other students. Luckily, I was able to tell where he was sitting.

“You saw him,” Jongin’s voice echoed into my ear, reminding me I still remained on the phone with him. I heard faint complaints in the background and the sound of Jongin laughing right after. “Do hurry over now,” Jongin managed to say between laughs as he paused for a moment to take a breath.

“I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone, understanding now why he had wanted to meet here instead. He wanted to eat with his friend. Or rather, as I got closer now, his friends. The first eyes I met were those of the tall male who ducked down, hiding his face behind a bobbing head of curls as he spoke to the smaller framed boy by his side, saying something I couldn’t make out.

A few steps closer and Jongin turned, his arm resting on top of the chair he was sitting in. He threw me his usual smile that I begrudgingly, understanding yet still not okay with the sudden change in lunch plans, did not return. A few steps closer and I saw the younger boy beside him nudge Jongin in the side with his elbow — a boy who looked younger than Jongin and the taller male. A few steps closer and I could make out the auburn hair of the one the taller male had spoken to earlier. His eyes looked up at me, looking just as curious as I was about the sudden meeting.

Just a few steps away and I stopped. I stopped because I recognized that fluffed hair of chestnut brown. I recognized who it belonged to before he even turned around, revealing himself to me.

It was him.

The boy who ran.

“I wanted you to meet him.” Jongin’s words sounded as though he were talking as a train traveled through a tunnel, his voice only a low mumble in my head as I locked eyes with him. With his own brown ones staring back, ensnaring me, freezing me in place with the intensity with which they looked upon me: a stranger.

Something I wanted to remain.

Something I was no longer as Jongin introduced me to his group of four friends — the boy who ran included.

Something he was no longer to me as Jongin let his name slip.

A name that etched itself on the forefront of my whiteboard mind with a permanent marker, “This is Lee Taemin.”

A/N: So here's the first chapter after so much deliberation that it was painful and I had to give into taemtation and write it. Thank you for all the support everyone and I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! It was a long one, however, the chapters will probably range from this length to shorter in the future. But, of course, I'm still going to put my all into it. I will update this story every Sunday (once a week) as I do with my other ongoing FF so I hope to see you all then!