That Lemon Candy

🍋 Chapter 5 🍋

Jisung stared down at the nearly empty candy bag in his hand, his eyes widening with a mix of disbelief and horror. The bright yellow plastic crinkled softly as he shook it, hoping maybe, just maybe, a hidden lemon candy would tumble out like magic. But no such luck.

No lemon candies left.

His stomach twisted into a knot, sharp and sudden. How had he forgotten? How had he let the sacred candy stash—the tiny treasure that was both ritual and comfort—run dry? He'd been so wrapped up in studying, in planning his next moves, and silently freaking out about Minho, that the candy had slipped completely out of his mind. It was a failure on a scale that felt monumental.

He blinked rapidly, trying to will the situation into something less dire, but the truth sat stubbornly heavy in his chest.

No candy. No ritual. No way to keep the quiet connection alive today.

The next afternoon arrived under a sky painted in soft grays and the gentle patter of drizzle. It was the perfect weather for their usual ritual—a rain-soaked backdrop to their silent exchanges, the world outside muffled and blurred as if holding its breath along with them.

Jisung sat at his usual spot by the window, the library feeling both familiar and fragile without the usual sound of rain hammering the glass. The steady drip was quieter, more tentative, like the calm before a storm. He had his notes laid out neatly, pens at the ready, and his phone open to the playlist they had almost named by now.

His hand hovered over the candy bag—a bag that felt far too light.

Minutes stretched thin until the familiar thud announced Minho's arrival. He slid into the chair across from Jisung, soaked from a quick dash between classes despite the drizzle. Drops of water clung to his dark hoodie, tracing lazy paths down his sleeves, and his hair stuck to his forehead in wet strands.

Jisung's heart leapt, relief flooding through him. He reached for the candy bag, ready to offer a lemon candy like always—except... his hand faltered.

The bag was empty.

A flush of panic rose, hot and suffocating. He glanced up, meeting Minho's calm, expectant eyes. Minho said nothing, just sat and waited, silent but steady, the same quiet presence he always was.

And waited.

Jisung's heart hammered against his ribs. Every second without candy between them felt like a crack forming in their strange, sour-sweet bond.

He had to do something.

He fished desperately into the bottom of the bag.

His fingers closed around a crumpled, half-melted candy, sticky and misshapen, clearly overlooked in a moment of distracted packing.

Jisung pulled it out and held it up like a sad trophy.

Minho's eyes flicked briefly to the sad little candy, then quickly away.

The silence stretched—thick and heavy.

Jisung's mind raced.

Was this a disaster?

Was he about to lose the unspoken connection they'd built on sour sweets and quiet gestures?

His chest tightened with panic, the weight of expectation pressing down.

Without a word, without a glance, Jisung grabbed his bag.

Then he bolted from the library, heart pounding in his ears, the crumpled candy still clutched tightly in his palm.

In his haste, he forgot his backpack.

Outside, the drizzle had grown into a steady rain—a curtain of wetness that blurred streetlights and sent reflections dancing on puddles.