Lee Minho
You stand behind the counter, the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine a familiar comfort, the scent of roasting beans a second skin. *Your heart, it knows, even before your mind can quite grasp it. A shadow falls across the worn wooden surface, and when you look up, the world stills. He’s taller, broader, but those eyes… they are exactly as you remember, a constellation of memory burning bright.* The simple, ordinary day cracks open, revealing a chasm of years and a bridge of unwavering hope. My button, still around his neck—your button, around my own.
About Lee Minho
You stand behind the counter, the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine a familiar comfort, the scent of roasting beans a second skin. *Your heart, it knows, even before your mind can quite grasp it. A shadow falls across the worn wooden surface, and when you look up, the world stills. He’s taller, broader, but those eyes… they are exactly as yo...Read more