Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Misa-chan hid behind the school wall, peeking out with her huge, sparkling green eyes. Her crush was laughing, head thrown back, gently drifting sakura blossoms painting the air pink.

If only she had the courage to go talk to him!

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from the toki-doki-heart sight, sighing as her back hit the wall. One day she’d muster up the courage. Maybe when she got first place in the swimming competition! Yeah. That would give her enough confidence to talk to Hatake-kun.

Armed with a plan, she puffed out her cheeks and opened her eyes, fists clenched in determination.

“Hey.”

Misa-chan jumped, because who was standing in front of her? None other than Kurosaki-kun, the class delinquent.

“What do you want, Kurosaki?” she huffed.

Kurosaki-kun’s narrowed eyes were unreadable, the sakura-infused breeze making his roguish hair dance.

He was such a pain. Always disruptive in class. Popping up out of no where. Why couldn’t he—

Suddenly, Kurosaki’s lips were on her own. Misa-chan blinked. Once, twice, three times. Her hands curled up uselessly by her ears. What? How?!

Blush took over her entire face, and when Kurosaki-kun retreated (with a handsomely aloof smirk), she stood frozen in place. 

Th-that was her first kiss! He’d just STOLEN her first kiss!

Minho was jerked out of his intense frowning match with his laptop screen by Felix clutching his arm and gasping, “How dare he!”

“Total red flag!” Jisung hollered from where his head rested on Felix’s lap, soft brown hair stained blue by the filtered window light. “Ten bucks says she’ll end up with him.”

“Why does the media give us such terrible relationship examples to emulate?” Felix asked, eyes limpid. Minho couldn’t tell if his question was sincere or not.

“And why do we love to watch it anyway?” Jisung said with a grin, craning his chin up to wink at Felix. The anime was still playing, transitioning into the ending song.

Minho rolled his eyes. Jisung thought he was so smooth. Minho chimed in: “And why are we watching this in my room instead of in the living room on the big TV?”

He’d started the show on his own. But then Felix and Jisung had poked their heads in his perpetually open door (for the dual purposes of air-flow, and to call his roommates for favors when he couldn’t be bothered to get up. Suckers that they were, they usually heeded his every whim) like two nosy mice and promptly made themselves at home on his bed with him.

The curtains were closed on the single window in his room, but the strong Australian sun bullied its way in anyway, tinting his room blue and yellow. “Curtains” was a generous word for the sarong he’d nailed over the window. It had been a gift from Felix.

“Because we looove yooouuu,” sang Jisung, ridiculously on-key. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get dragged into some shady entertainment company. He shot his patented gummy smile at Minho, upside down in Felix’s lap.

Minho considered him. Considered that bizarre phrase from the anime.

How could a kiss get stolen? It happened all the time in anime, comics, dramas, and movies. The girl (it was always the girl) would just let some guy (it was always a guy) put his lips on hers. 

How? If someone rapidly approached your face, would you not notice? Would you stay still? 

And their hands! Why did all the animators make these girls forget that they had hands, very suitable for pushing away unwanted men? Sexism, most likely. Or fantasy.

It didn’t matter, because the whole concept of a stolen kiss was stupid and unrealistic.

Minho pressed his own lips together, a tingle of unease in his gut. Unrealistic. Surely.

That unease roiled into an acidic burn. He needed to test how unrealistic it was to force a kiss on someone. And Jisung was right there, his attention drifting to Felix (as usual), and nothing but empty air between his mouth and Minho’s. 

This was the perfect time. No one would expect him to dive in for a kiss, and catching the girl unawares is how most of the stolen kisses happened in the media. So, heart racing stupidly, bile churning in his gut, Minho lunged for Jisung’s lips, shouldering Felix out of the way.

If he was wrong— if Jisung didn’t stop him—

Jisung’s eyes flew wide. His surprised yelp pierced the room. Then, blessedly, his hands smacked into Minho’s face with inches of air still between their lips.

Cool relief and explosive vindication surged through him. Minho had never been so grateful for smooshed cheeks and too-warm palms. Not that he would tell Jisung that.

“What the hell, hyung?!” Scandalized betrayal radiated from Jisung. He’d jerked his head to the side, and now dangled off Felix’s knees.

Minho tried for his signature smirk, but Jisung’s hands made that impossible. Through forcibly pursed lips, he asked, “Dat was a reflex, right?”

Jisung looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Stopping you from head-butting me? Yeah!”

It was humid, and the skin-on-skin was rapidly grossifying. Jisung’s kiss-stopping hold had outlived its usefulness. Minho jerked away and straightened up. 

Felix followed the motion with a curious tilt of his head. “No, Ji,” he said slowly, as if tasting the words as they left his tongue. “He was trying to kiss you.”

Jisung scrambled upright, horror painting his features. “K-kiss me? Why!?”

Minho ignored the question: he didn’t owe these peasants a peek into his fantastic brain. He leveled a finger at Jisung’s round cheeks. “But you stopped me. Immediately. Reflexively.”

Jisung’s eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. “Yeeaaahh?”

Minho nodded, sweet validation replacing the curdled unease in his stomach. He’d been right. Stolen kisses had no place in the real world. He was safe.

“Minho,” Felix asked slowly, “Do you want to kiss Jisung?” His hand was tangled with Jisung’s, his skin dimpling beneath Jisung’s clutching fingers.

Minho wrinkled his nose. True, he didn’t owe them an explanation, but he needed to be crystal clear about this. The poor, sweet, fools would probably try to kiss him out of misplaced pity. Felix, at least, definitely would. 

“Absolutely not.”

Jisung sagged in relief, dropping his head onto Felix’s shoulder. “Oh, thank God.”

Minho bristled. How dare he sound so relieved. As if Minho’s kiss would be a moldy sandwich and not the ultimate privilege of Jisung’s little rat life.

But he didn’t say anything. Best to not confuse him.

The anime was over now. Stuck on the “would you like to keep watching?” screen. And no, Minho would not like to keep watching.

Not when there was another question nagging at the back of his brain.

Why would someone bother to steal a kiss, anyway?

Jisung’s head was still on Felix’s shoulder. Felix gazed down at him, the curve of his freckled cheek betraying his wide smile.

Ugh. They should just date already. 

Minho crossed his arms over his chest and demanded, “You two. Kiss.”

You’d have thought Felix’s shoulder had burst into flames, Jisung sprang off him so fast. Bright red, he gaped at Minho. “Hyung. What is with you today?” His eyes flicked to Felix, who was completely unbothered and smiling peacefully.

Minho shrugged. “What? You two kiss all the time.” He waved his hand lazily. Leave it to Jisung to make things difficult. “Just kiss. I need to see something.”

 Jisung fiddled with the hem of his shirt, looking everywhere but the two others on the bed with him. “I’m, uh, not really in the mood.”

Felix’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. His eyes darkened. “C’mon, Ji,” he said in his criminally deep voice, as smooth as chocolate. “I’ll get you in the mood. I always do.”

Jisung’s gaze flashed up, peering through his eyelashes at Felix, who was slowly leaning in.

“I–I–” Jisung stammered. He didn’t lean away. It was obvious that he could evade the kiss 100 different ways in an instant. (Stolen kisses were definitely a thing of fiction.)

And when Felix’s lips touched his, Jisung’s eyes slid shut. He kissed back immediately, puckering his little red lips, pillowing them against Felix’s. 

Minho noted the relaxing of Jisung’s muscles. How he seemed to melt into Felix, and Felix into him.

Very quickly, it got heated. Felix wrapped his arms around Jisung’s waist, and Jisung clutched at his shoulders. Breathy moans and little throaty sighs invaded Minho's ears while their motions grew wilder and wilder.

Minho harrumphed. Instead of the chaste kiss he had wanted to observe, he now had a 5D seat to shifting jaws and wet smacking sounds and little vibrations of his bed that were somehow incredibly lewd.

Animals. Victims of their base desires. How did he survive living with these two? 

He sprang off his bed and threw his hands up. “That’s enough! Break it up!”

Jisung’s hands had traveled up Felix’s neck, and clutched at his bleach-blonde hair. It stuck up in wonton tufts as Felix pulled away, clearly dazed. Jisung, too, looked at Minho with absolutely no thought behind his eyes.

Minho wrinkled his nose. People sought this out? To be made dumber at the hands (lips) of another? 

Minho was truly surrounded by idiots.

“D-did you see what you needed to, Minho?” asked Felix, voice obscenely gravelly.

“Hmmm. No,” he said shortly. “What’s the big deal about kissing?”

A rapid (and creepily in-sync) one, two, three blink from the two of them before Jisung asked, “Hyung. Have you never kissed someone?”

Minho frowned. “No. I haven’t.” He wasn’t ashamed of being a kiss virgin (or a regular virgin.) Why would he be? It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do. Wasn’t something he’d ever found a person that made him want to do it.

Jisung’s mouth popped open into a little ‘O.’

“That’s fine,” Felix said. Soothingly.

“I know it's fine,” Minho snapped. Honestly. Felix and his misplaced kindness. “I just want to know why you two–and the whole world it seems–are obsessed with kissing. And why someone would bother to steal a kiss.”

A blush spread across Jisung’s cheeks again, as if he hadn’t just had his tongue down Felix’s throat where Minho could see.

While Jisung fidgeted, Felix smiled calmly at Minho. “It feels nice. It feels nice just by itself. It feels even nicer when it’s with someone you know and trust and enjoy. And it’s often a precursor to sex, which feels really nice.” Jisung hid his face in his hands. With a low chuckle, Felix wrapped his fingers loosely around Jisung’s wrist.

Minho pressed his mouth into a firm line. It felt nice ? That wasn’t enough to warrant a planet-wide obsession.

Felix tugged Jisung’s hands away from his dark red face, smiling like an idiot. Jisung bit his lower lip, fingers flexing in Felix’s grip. (Ridiculous. Jisung’s hands were much larger than Felix’s. He could break away easily if he put forth even a modicum of effort.)

Felix leaned toward Jisung, seemingly subconsciously, as Minho stayed silent, considering. He saw Jisung’s chest hitch as his eyes got caught on Felix’s lips. 

Good God. He didn’t want to see them make out again so soon.

“It’s impossible for someone to steal a kiss, right?” he blurted.

Felix halted his lean and turned his face towards Minho. Jisung’s eyes widened even more.

Minho scowled. No need to look at him like he was some kind of freak.

“I mean, no?” Jisung said. “That’s not impossible.”

Felix nodded. “Yeah. I’ve had stolen kisses.”

Minho scoffed. “You don’t count. You love kisses. I bet you don’t even have anti-kiss reflexes.”

Felix’s eyes sharpened. “I didn’t always love kisses. And certainly not from everybody.” 

Minho cocked his head and fought back a chuckle. It seemed like Felix was trying to glare at him. As it was, Felix was only able to whisper his mild annoyance with Minho through his eyes. 

“So, yeah,” he said harshly (for him. Minho remained unaffected). “People have stolen unwilling kisses from me. My first kiss, actually. Was stolen.” He nodded toward the laptop screen. “Just like Misa-chan.”

The internal chuckle vanished. Ice raced through Minho’s veins, hard and cold and heavy. No. No. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Felix tilted his head to the side. His gaze turned soft(er). “Minho? You alright?”

“Yeah,” Minho gritted, fingers frozen into claws as he looked into a future where someone dared to steal from him. “Get lost, you two.”

For once, the two gremlins listened, scurrying out of Minho’s bedroom with tangled fingers. 

Minho shut the door behind them and sat down heavily on his bed. He laced his own two hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes glared at nothing over his laced fingers.

So. People could steal a kiss in real life.

Minho would happily commit murder rather than let some random, entitled person steal his first kiss. He was in charge of his first (and every other) kiss, dammit.

He didn’t get the hype about kissing. But now that he knew it could be stolen from him….

He was going to find someone on whom to bestow his first kiss before a thief could take it.  

Minho scribbled notes on bovine anatomy, just one of countless bodies in the lecture hall. He sat hunched over his notebook, ignoring how the gray carpet and gray tables and gray professor tried to suck out his soul.

He was stronger than that.

His knee bounced. The girl next to him shifted in her seat, swaying closer to Minho.

An attack! He ducked his head and brought his elbow up, glaring at the girl.

She pretended she didn't notice his increased defenses, keeping her blue-eyed gaze firmly on the professor in the front of the class. Psh. As if he’d fall for that ignorant ploy. He'd have to keep an eye on her for future attempts on his lips. After all, this was the real world, and girls were more than capable of stealing kisses.

The rest of the class time passed in a flash, and Minho found himself blinking in confusion when the lecture hall turned noisy with the sound of his fellow students packing up to go.

A tap on his shoulder. From behind. Minho stiffened. 

“Hey, Minho?”

He recognized that voice. It was his fellow veterinary student, Kim Seungmin, who Minho graciously allowed to assist him with the more difficult English terms.

It was Kim Seungmin, who was likely planning to steal Minho’s first kiss as soon as Minho turned around. That's how Felix said his stolen kiss had happened. She had been behind him, so he hadn't seen her, and she'd kissed him before he'd even recognized who she was.

Devious. 

Just like Kim Seungmin was. Minho had thrice seen him lie to another student, innocent puppy eyes shining all the while.

He had to be wary of Kim Seungmin. 

Minho flipped his notebook closed and slapped it to the lower half of his face. An excellent make-shift shield, if he did say so himself.

He whipped around in his chair.

Kim Seungmin’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his bleached, fluffy bangs.

Minho stared at him silently. Daring him to speak.

With a little chuckle, he did. “So, did you get which antibiotic are best for gastrointestinal issues?”

A clever question, to be sure. One that would make him remove his notebook shield from his lips to check.

If he were a fool, that is.

“Nice try, Kim Seungmin,” he said with narrowed eyes. “But I already know that I did not get that part.” There would be no un-shielding today.

Kim Seungmin chuckled, and Minho zeroed in on the stretch of his pale pink lips, the white of his teeth. They were pleasant to look at. Would they be pleasant to feel? 

“Well, would you like to get that section of notes from me?” Kim Seungmin asked, leaning back onto one elbow, an amused quirk to his lips.

Was Kim Seungmin worthy of his first kiss?

“Sure. Give it here. Please,” Minho said politely from behind his notebook shield. He reserved rudeness for his closest friends, after all. Kim Seungmin had not yet earned the privilege of hearing Minho's sharp commands.

“Actually, I was thinking I could give it to you over coffee.”

Oooh, he was tricky. Very tricky. Almost against his will, Minho’s respect for Kim Seungmin grew. 

Not that he was going to fall for this trick.

“No. Now, please.” He thrust his arm out, palm-up, and stared at Kim Seungmin expectantly.

That amused quirk stayed as Kim Seungmin passed his notebook over, the antibiotic name in question face up in blue ink.

“Good,” Minho said as he turned his back on the maybe-thief / first-kiss-candidate to copy the notes, lips safely protected by the desk he hunched close to.

As he copied, his mind whirred. Kim Seungmin was thoughtful enough. Devious enough to be interesting. Good-looking enough. Perhaps he was worthy of a first kiss.

Minho swiveled back around (on his butt, not the actual seat. No university splurged on swivel chairs for their students) and handed the notebook back to Kim Seungmin.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Kim Seungmin said with a knowing smile and a wink.

Instinctively, Minho tensed. That wink was a message. Like that tricky coffee mention was a message. Kim Seungmin wanted to take him on a little (or big, maybe) date.

The tendrils of curiosity recoiled back into his mind, heavy gates shutting them off. 

Minho recognized a kindred spirit when he saw one. Kim Seungmin was slippery, devious, sneaky, and clever. Full of his own ideas and agendas, and unscrupulous in making them come to pass.

Minho couldn’t give his first kiss to someone like that. 

His mind whirred to catch up with the decisive NO he was feeling. To provide him with reasons.

Here was one: Kim Seungmin had already attempted to out-maneuver Minho three times in this brief conversation. If kissed, Minho didn’t doubt Kim Seungmin could find a way to use that information (of first kiss-ness) against Minho. 

In this moment, as he considered Kim Seungmin's sharp shoulders and bespectacled eyes across a desk, Minho realized he wanted the utmost control over his first kiss recipient. He needed to be able to mold and manipulate them into exactly what he wanted.

And sneaky, wildcard Seungmin wasn't moldable. Even if he was cute.

Hyunjin was easy to manipulate. Well, boss around and threaten, more accurately.

“Go clean the bathrooms, Hyunjin,” Minho called over his shoulder, busily scrubbing at a coffee table while a dozen cats watched him like tender little demons. Thunder boomed distantly, the sky dark with early night because of the low, gray clouds.

“But I did them last time,” whined Hyunjin.

The last word wasn’t even out of his mouth when Minho whipped around, glaring louder than the thunder outside.

Hyunjin jumped, predictably, and scurried away, his Meowtastic Coffee apron fluttering around his long legs.

Minho wore a matching apron, naturally, tied around his waist.

He loved closing the cat cafe. He didn’t care that it didn’t pay well, since spending time with the cats was more valuable than 100000 units of money. Their wicked claws, spooky eyes, and self-possessed movements all reminded him to never compromise.

“Hyung hasn’t found someone to kiss yet,” he murmured to the cats. Utterly serious, he said,“It seems like everyone is trying to kiss me, though.” He moved on to sweeping, smiling at an orange tabby sniffing at the table he’d just cleaned. 

“Not Hyunjin, though,” he continued. “He’s too terrified of me to try to steal a kiss.” A pure white long-hair meowed loudly. Minho nodded. “As he should be, yes.”

Minho had contemplated him (meaning: stared at without blinking) for the entirety of their shift. While making coffee, running the till, and gushing over cats with some of the more talkative patients. Hyunjin had noticed right away, hunching his shoulders and periodically casting Minho frightened looks. 

“ What, hyung?” he’d said eventually, fingers tapping nervously next to the cake display. “Why do you keep watching me like you’re trying to peel my skin off with your eyes?”

So dramatic, Hyunjin. That’s why Minho kept him around. For entertainment. 

“Don’t worry, sweet child,” Minho had lilted. “You will keep your skin.” He offered no other explanation, and continued staring and thinking.Minho would never be able to manipulate Hyunjin into offering a kiss. He could easily threaten his friend/co-worker/peon into receiving his first kiss, but that wasn’t the experience Minho was seeking. Hyunjin would squirm and pout and probably go around blabbing to all their friends how Minho had forced him to do it.

Minho wasn’t about forcing himself on anyone.

Minho finished all the rest of the closing-up duties by the time Hyunjin came out of the bathroom. Minho saw him in the reflection of the big glass windows at the front of the store, the darkness outside turning the cafe into a fish bowl.

“Would you be faster if I screwed an engine to your spine?” Minho asked, cross-legged and apron-less on the freshly cleaned floor, petting the three felines who were currently blessing him with their presence.

Hyunjin shuddered, newly-shorn hair sticking straight up and trembling. “Please spare me, Hyung-nim.”

Minho smirked. “I’ll think about it.”

Rain pounded on the windows, so sudden and deafening that all the cats leapt out of his lap and bolted to their hidey-holes.

Minho was ecstatic. He leapt to his feet and ran to the glass door, flinging it wide open, a manic grin on his lips. Tiny flecks of rain burst in, speckling his jeans. The scent of rain blasted him, and he inhaled greedily. Fresh and electric. Wild and rugged. New and nourishing.

It didn’t rain much in Australia. Minho had missed it. 

Hyunjin groaned and dug his phone out of his pocket. “I’m texting Chris.”

Instantly, unwelcome tingles raced around Minho's stomach lining. His fingers clenched involuntarily around the door jamb, and his heart was suddenly trying to keep up with the drumming of the rain.  

Minho stepped back, closed the door, and turned. He licked his lips, tasting rain. “Chris? What are you texting him for?”

“To give me a ride. I’m not going out in that.” Hyunjin gestured at the gorgeous display of raw natural power with a sneer.

Those tingles crawled like ants, infesting every nook and cranny of his body. Itchy, buzzing. Minho needed to get them out . And Hyunjin was right there.

He stalked up to Hyunjin and presses a finger lightly against his sternum. “ How dare you disrespect the storm!”

Hyunjin took a step back, face twisting into a dumpling of confusion. Minho followed, keeping them connected by his finger. “What are you talking about? It’s rain. ”

Minho nodded aggressively. “Yes, it is! And it’s been around longer than you, and will continue long after you’re dead. You would be lucky to have even a fraction of that rain’s power, purpose, or usefulness, Hwang Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin was too slow to dodge Minho’s arm hooking around his neck and yanking him down. Just like that, he was headlocked.

“Help!” Minho’s friend/co-worker/peon warbled, dragging at Minho’s solid forearm. “A madman has me! Someone, help!”

The cats, of course, did not help Hyunjin. Wonderful creatures. And no one else was there to hear.

Until there was.

The door opened. The little bell on it probably tinkled, but Minho didn’t hear it over the rain and the bizarre rush of blood in his ears that surged when he caught sight of the man in the doorway.

Chan heaved a mighty sigh, chest straining against the thin white tank top he wore. He must have parked at the curb right in front of the door, because there was the barest sheen of water on his tanned, round shoulders. Just a few dark speckles on his tank top straps, and none on the black shorts which hit his knee. His curly hair reached up, giving him the illusion of height.

“You know, what? I’m not even surprised,” he said in that ridiculous accent of his. (Yes, Minho heard Australian accents all day, every day, but Chan must have some sort of dialect, because no other Aussie could make a hot flush [of annoyance] bloom throughout his body.) 

“Chris! Help me!”

“You’re fine,” Chan and Minho said at the same time. Chan said it gently, while Minho snapped it, the strange heat on his skin putting him on edge. 

“What happened to roommate solidarity?” moaned Hyunjin, bent in half. Minho was actually holding him up, keeping him from falling to the floor in this current position. This noodle man should be grateful.

Chan and Minho ignored him. Chan shot Minho a wide grin, dimples on display. 

Minho did not smile back. There was nothing charming about accidental synchronization. If anything, Chan had egregiously over-stepped, daring to make his vocal vibrations intertwine with Minho’s. 

There was nothing charming about how seamlessly their voices melded.

So he narrowed his eyes at Chan, waited a few seconds to show everyone who was in charge, and then released Hyunjin, who scowled and slunk away, the diva.

Chan patted his roommate’s shoulder on the way out. Hyunjin gave a little yelp and ran through the rain as if it would kill him. Minho huffed and grabbed his backpack off the floor. The things he had to deal with.

Like Bang Chan. Who stood between him and escape.

Minho sucked his lips into his mouth and widened his eyes threateningly at Chan as he approached the door, wary of stolen kisses.

Because Christopher Chan Bang was definitely someone who would steal a kiss. Steal a kiss, laugh it off, smiling the whole while. And no one would call him out on it. A golden boy, earned through weak-willed stunts like dropping everything to pick up his roommate who couldn’t handle a little rain. Chronically thoughtful, like how he told Minho he could call him by his Korean name after Minho struggled to pronounce Chris properly.

He was, in a word, a pushover.

Minho kept his lips safely tucked away as he strode past Chan on suddenly weak knees (but he did not so much as stumble!), who was holding the door open for him (like a sucker.) The striped awning protected them a little as Chan closed the door and stepped aside so Minho could lock it. The lights stayed on, as per management’s instructions.

The key slid into the lock easily, the metal infinitely colder than Minho’s shoulder that faced Chan. He was infernally warm, likely soaking up the sun’s heat during his hours lifeguarding at a beach, only to radiate it back on unwilling recipients like Minho during chilly nights.

The warmth prickled Minho’s arm, slowly traveling up his neck. He had to get away from it. 

Without so much as a nod, Minho turned his back on Chan and walked away. As soon as he was out from under the awning, the rain welcomed him. It tapped on the crown of his head and slithered down his neck like a curious snake. He was drenched in seconds.

“Minho? Where are you going?”

Minho spun around and started walking backwards. Chan was a golden spot in a gray world, illuminated by the pale yellow lights of the cafe and the red taillights of his idling 1977 Mustang. His brow was furrowed. Worried.

Which just goes to show how much of a fool he was. Why waste energy being worried about your roommate’s friend/co-worker/overlord?

“Anywhere I want!” Minho shouted. 

Chan bit his bottom lip, and darted towards his car.

Minho pivoted smoothly and continued striding towards the bus stop two blocks away, water splashing with every step. He was just going home. But Chan didn’t need to know that. Chan needed to be reminded that Minho was not going to melt for him like the rest of the world did.

A quiet whooshing came from Minho’s right, right before a pair of headlights gave Minho a shadow that stretched forward like a giant.

The car window was already rolled down as Chan crawled along beside him, his head well below Minho’s with how the vintage car hugged the ground. He pleaded, “Get in the car, Minho. You’re going to catch a cold.” The rain pinged off the salt-faded car roof, spraying Minho at a new and interesting angle.

Minho rolled his eyes. “I don’t get sick.” It wasn’t even a lie. The last illness that had overtaken Minho had done so when he was 11 years old. A child, with a child’s body and a child’s will. He’d enjoyed perfect health ever since then.

Chan continued cruising alongside Minho like a helpless puppy trailing after its master. He turned puppy dog eyes on Minho, all pathetically earnest. “I’ll drive you wherever you’re going, Minho. Just get in out of the rain.” 

Temper flaring, Minho arched a single eyebrow and bared his teeth. “Are you ordering me around, Chan?”

Chan inclined his head, a dimple winking at Minho. Minho wanted to claw it off. “I meant I would be honored if you’d care to use me as a chauffeur. I’m yours to command.”

A shiver raced up Minho’s spine. Likely from the rain. Well, whatever the source, it cooled his temper.

He shifted his hands on his wet backpack straps. They chafed his palms. “I don’t know,” he drawled. “Before I hire a chauffeur, I require at least three references from previous employers. Do you have those?”

Chan looked delighted: all sparkling eyes and idiotic smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but Hyunjin spoke up first. From the passenger seat, his groan wafted toward Minho, loud and clear. “Just leave him to walk, Chris. He’s never going to let you give him a ride.”

Minho bristled. Hwang Hyunjin thought he knew the unknowable Lee Minho? He thought he could predict his actions? The audacity.

“Stop the car.”

At Minho’s command, Chan slammed on the breaks, a wave of water washing over the curb and licking at Minho’s soaked sneakers. 

Hyunjin lurched forward in his seatbelt, gasping dramatically. 

Minho smirked and opened the back door, sliding in with a squelch. He slammed the door behind him, and Chan rolled up the window. The rain drumming on the roof was somehow louder than it had been outside.

 Chan craned around, looking entirely too happy to have Minho soaking his back seat. Sand nestled in the stitching of the threadbare upholstery. Chan probably got the inside of his car wet all the time, beach bum that he was.

“Where to?”

“Home.”

Hyunjin scoffed. Completely on its own, Minho's hand smacked him upside the head.

Chan just smiled, holding Minho’s surly gaze with his own bright one. “As you wish,” he said, before turning back to the front and coaxing the car forward.

Minho rested his forehead against the cool glass. His backpack was a solid weight against his thigh, Chan’s car close and humid. City lights whooshed by, blurred by the storm, as distant as Minho’s first kiss.

Minho got sick.

He ached, his body felt weaker than a kitten’s, and his traitorous nasal passage produced enough mucus to fill a bathtub. He lay listlessly in bed, blankets off because it was still stupidly hot, his window thrown open wide. The salty breeze caressing his sweaty skin was the only glimmer of comfort allowed him. The sound of the ocean waves were soothing and hypnotic. He was too tired to watch anime or listen to music or even think. 

A low rap on his door heralded Felix, padding in like a shard of sunshine, a plastic green cup in hand. 

Minho glared with itchy eyes. Felix was too bright. “Back, fiend.” He was too weak to defend himself from any would-be kiss thieves.

Felix raised his brows. “I just brought you orange juice.” 

Minho's throat felt awful. Orange juice sounded amazing. Minho blinked, and suddenly Felix was by his bed.

Through the pounding in his head, he hissed at his housemate. “You just want to take advantage of me in my weakened state!”

Felix looked bewildered. “What are you on about, mate?”

Minho covered his mouth with his hand. “You're a kiss monster, and my virgin lips are too enticing for you.”

Felix's hand flew to his chest. His eyebrows turned up over a pair of innocent round eyes. “Minho! You wound me!”

As usual, Minho couldn't tell if he was joking or actually hurt. He was way too sick to care. So he kept his hand over his mouth and struggled to keep Felix in focus.

 Felix sighed and knelt by Minho’s bed. “Here.” A gentle hand slipped behind Minho's back and helped him sit up. “Drink.”

He eyed Felix suspiciously. This could be a ploy to make him bare his lips.

But he really wanted that orange juice.

Warily, he grabbed the cup and—watching Felix for sudden movements the entire time—drained the orange juice in 5 seconds flat. It cascaded down his sore throat like a healing balm, and pooled coldly in his gut.

Minho passed the empty cup back with weak fingers. He didn’t thank Felix. They were too good of friends for that.

“Do you think you could eat something? Juk? Or toast?”

Minho shook his head, exhausted from sitting up and swallowing and being vigilant. He had no appetite. He graciously allowed Felix to help him lay down again.

Felix left him, and Minho zoned out watching the shadows of leaves tremble on the inside of his walls. The ocean waves out his window hypnotized him with their constant rush and drag. He wished he could sleep, but his body wouldn’t let him.

Minutes or hours or days later, Minho heard a distant squeak. A far-away thud. The indistinct murmur of voices.

“Minho? Can I come in?” 

Minho would have jumped if he’d had more energy. As it was he simply lolled his head around to look at Chan, who was standing awkwardly in the open doorway, a cooler bag weighing heavily on his shoulder.

Minho’s mouth ran on its own accord. “I don’t know. Can you?”

Chan’s awkwardness vanished, and he strode in with a grin. He was all fresh and lively like a mountain. Vital and tan like a platypus. Beautiful and handsome like a disco ball.

God, Minho felt awful. The illness had clearly replaced his brains with mush.

Chan sat at the edge of Minho’s bed. The dip jostled his aching limbs, so he hissed involuntarily. Chan slid to the bare floor.

“I thought you never got sick,” he said cheekily, opening the cooler bag.

So, that was how Chan was going to play? Kick him while he’s down? Test the boundaries? Forget his place beneath Minho’s boot?

“I’ll get you sick,” croaked Minho. His mush-brain assured him that this was an excellent threat. “Come closer. I dare you.”

Leaf-shadows dappled Chan’s face, darkened one eye when he looked up at Minho, a stupid expression on his face. Minho couldn’t quite see it, much less process it, but he was certain it was stupid.

“You want me to come closer?”

Minho frowned, then groaned when that made his head hurt more. Wait, there was a reason why he shouldn’t let Chan come closer. He just couldn’t…remember it right now.

Still, he heeded his instincts and warned, “You better not.”

Chan smiled and looked around the room, furrowing his brow. “Hey, Minho… do you need help? With, like, money?”

“Huh?” Minho answered elegantly.

“You don’t have a lot of things.”

Minho cast his sluggish gaze around. It was true: his room was barren. Especially compared to the packrats he called housemates, with their figurines and games and shoes, Minho’s looked practically empty. He had his plushie-less bed, nothing on the walls, a desk with his laptop and backpack, a closet holding his clothes, and a basket of shower stuff. That was it.

“That’s because I’m smart,” Minho mumbled. His lips really weren’t making words very well.

Chan cocked an eyebrow. His dimples flashed as he asked, “Oh? Are you a minimalist or something?”

Minho couldn’t help the dry laugh that spluttered out of his lax lips. Of course Chan would think that. No one understood his lazy brilliance, even if the math was simple. It went like this: fewer things = fewer things to have to put away. Every time Minho didn’t buy something, he saved Future Minho a chore.

When it became clear Minho wasn’t going to answer (because he’d drifted off into an illness-induced haze again), Chan chuckled and took a container out of the cooler bag. He cracked the top.

The spicy scent of kimchi jjigae attacked Minho’s nose, bringing him back to the present. 

“I told my mom one of my friends was sick, and she made this for you. It’s what got me through all my colds as a kid. Best in Australia.” Chan balanced the container on one broad palm, holding it right next to Minho’s head. “I brought it for you. Along with some ginseng tea.” A silver thermos peeked out of the cooler bag.

This was too much for Minho’s mush-brain to handle. Chan had gone out of his way to acquire home-cooked Korean food— mother food, nonetheless, doubtless imbued with all the magic that mothers possessed—and bring it to Minho. 

Minho’s stomach wobbled and fizzed. Huh. So far, this sickness hadn’t affected his stomach. Weird.

He didn’t have anything to say. But he wanted that mother-made food inside him yesterday. So he just opened his mouth, and watched through slitted eyes as Chan blushed chili-pepper red.

Huh. Interesting.

Chan fished out a sliver of kimchi from the soup with a pair of chopsticks, and placed it into Minho’s mouth.

Minho bit down, the delicious crunch of cabbage improving his quality of life instantly.

He’d never admit it, but his fingers had no dexterity or strength to them right now. So he struggled to sit up against his pillow and made Chan feed him more.   

Chan's knobbly, long fingers never trembled as he brought spoonfuls of soup to Minho’s lips. Not even when beads of sweat sprang up on his hairline, did he spill a single drop. He swiftly switched to chopsticks when Minho grunted. Carefully set down the container to grab the thermos when Minho gestured limply to it. Poured the tea into the cap and held it out of Minho, who simply opened his mouth again.

Face as red as the kimchi jjigae, Chan rose onto his knees.

“I’m gonna—can I—I think I need to touch you. Is that okay?” Chan stammered.

Unimpressed, Minho grunted his assent. Just get that tea into me, already, he was too fatigued to say aloud. Too fatigued to move.

Chan’s fingers slipped against the back of his neck, dry as paper and as warm as the sun. His palm cradled the base of his skull so perfectly, Minho fought to keep his eyes from slipping shut.

He couldn’t do that, because Chan’s face was close. Too close. All flustered lips and blushing cheeks. And Minho was supposed to be guarding against something.

Then there was the press of warm metal against his bottom lip, the gently spicy flavor of ginseng coating his tongue. He swallowed, throat bobbing. It was a tremendous effort.

Minho turned his head slightly away, and Chan withdrew the thermos. Withdrew his hand from the back of Minho’s neck.

And Minho felt grumpy.

He grunted again, looking significantly at the stew on the floor. Chan hurried to spoon more broth into Minho’s waiting mouth. 

As Minho chewed and slurped and ached, he kept his gaze on Chan. Chan, who was ready and willing to fulfill Minho’s whims. Who seemed happy to do so.

There was something significant about that. Something that Minho’s mush-brain couldn’t quite crystalize. So he tucked it away into a soggy corner to contemplate later. 

Right now, his attention was entirely devoted to the spicy heat stinging his lips and tongue, and the man that was delivering that heat to him.

A whole month had passed, and Minho hadn’t found anyone to bestow his first kiss on. Not his fellow cat-aficionados he saw at work, not acquaintances at university, not anyone that he knew well. Nobody. Nobody was worthy of it. Nobody looked like they would properly appreciate the astounding gift he was giving them. 

And so, as Minho rode in Felix’s passenger seat to the beach (never mind that they lived on the beach. Beaches were apparently different from each other, so they were going to Chan’s pick of beaches because apparently it was “First rate sand and cherry water” whatever that meant), he was still a kiss-virgin. And he was antsy about it.  

His leg bounced in the sandy footwell, fingers tapping against the outside of the car. He scowled from behind his sunglasses as they zoomed along the coast, turquoise water sparkling on their left.

These days, Minho didn’t let anyone get within three feet of his face, lest they steal his precious first kiss. Jisung complained it was like rooming with a feral cat. Minho had (in his sweetest voice) threatened to burn his underwear in response.  

With every day that passed, the chances of someone stealing his first kiss against his will increased. He wanted it done and he wanted no regrets about it.

He wasn’t a romantic, so his first kiss wasn’t about a setting. He didn’t care about any build up. He just wanted it to be with the right person. Someone who he could control and manipulate, and who would be sufficiently awed that Minho was kissing them. 

So far, the right person had eluded him.

Which was massively rude of them. Truly.

Felix parked at a beach that looked similar to the one their house sat on. Minho glowered at the sand (still sandy) and the ocean ( still ocean-y). The only discernable difference was that this beach had three times as many people on it.

“We’re here!” Felix sang, flashing his toothpaste commercial smile first at Minho, then at Jisung in the back seat.

Predictably, Jisung smiled back like an idiot. A cooler and a bag full of beach toys hemmed him in on either side, and Felix quickly scrambled out of the car to open the back door. “Let me get those,” he rumbled.

“Aw, thanks, Lixie,” Jisung simpered.

Minho was unaffected by Felix’s smile, but disgustingly affected by those two. They acted like a couple on their honeymoon, why couldn’t they just man up and date already? He knew for a fact Jisung was not anti-relationship, and he suspected the same of Felix. 

Minho grunted and got out, slapping his thonged feet onto the asphalt. Hot, salty air swirled around him. It got worse when a 1977 Mustang pulled up next to him, kicking up a gust of wind. 

Minho put a steadying hand on his bucket hat. The glare he sent the Mustang was reflexive, but it still could have poisoned a man.

Chan climbed out of the car first, shamefully un-poisoned. His curls tugged in the breeze, and Minho got an unwelcome glimpse of himself in Chan’s aviator sunglasses. Hyunjin and Jeongin emerged from the Mustang next, also sunglassed up.

Obnoxiously cheerful, Chan called, “G’day, Minho! Feeling better?” What a stupid question. Obviously he was feeling better. And how rude of him to bring up Minho’s recent moment of weakness.

The memory of Chan hand-feeding him like some pathetic invalid made Minho’s cheeks burn. With anger. Of course.

He didn’t answer Chan, instead scampering over to hook his arm with Jeongin’s. “Aigoo, my baby grew so much!”

Jeongin grimaced at Minho and tugged his arm out of his grip. “Ugly hyung. I’m not your baby.”

Ah, his Jeongin-ah. Savage and self-possessed. Minho was so proud. 

Feeling much better, Minho giggled and snuck a pat to the top of Jeongin’s head before  following Felix and Jisung down the beach.

Soon, all the stuff was in a pile safe from the waves. Chan erected a huge rainbow umbrella, digging into the sand to anchor it. Minho didn’t watch the muscles in his bare back flex as he did so. 

No. He padded towards the ocean while the rest of his friends/peons (excluding Jeongin, who was far above a peon status) whooped and hollered and dove head first into the waves. He stopped right at the flat, packed sand, where water could wash over his feet and nothing else.

The ocean sparkled, and Hyunjin’s loud laughter floated through the air. Jeongin’s smile caught the light, and Jisung clung to Felix’s back as a swell lifted them from the sandy ocean floor.

Minho’s own heart lightened as he watched them. Gritty sand beneath his toes, cool water across his ankles. This beach wasn’t so bad.

“You should go further in,” suggested Chan from his left.

His heart skipped a beat, though of course Minho didn't do something as obvious as jump. No, Minho glared at shirtless, tan Chan. Stupid ocean. So loud he couldn’t hear Chan sneaking up on him.

“I like it right here,” Minho said stiffly.

Those damnable dimples appeared, and Chan leaned in. He was so close that he blocked the sun. Yet Minho felt just as hot. “I know you can’t swim, Minho. But you’ll be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Minho’s brain ground to a halt, while his heart was thrown into a riot. Outrage, embarrassment, anger, and something else that will remain unnamed jostled so violently, it felt like butterflies.

Chan’s eyes darted back and forth, back and forth between Minho’s own. The sun backlit him, turning his tanned edges gold. His dimples deepened. “I mean, I do lifeguard here three days a week. I know this stretch of beach well.”

Air. Whooshing in and out of Minho’s lungs. Rapidly. He needed to regain control of the situation. Needed to—how had he let Chan get so close?!

Minho leapt backwards with a hiss, letting the sun shine on him directly once more. He swallowed once, just to make sure he could speak without an embarrassing croak. “Just get in the water, Chan! I’ll do whatever the hell I want!”

Chan winked (winked! The audacity!) and sprinted towards the waves, diving in and bursting back out with a sparkling spray.

Ostentatious. Ugh.

Minho stood ankle-deep in the ocean a few minutes longer, head reeling, chest buzzing, before trooping up to their pile of things. He collapsed in the shade, and rooted around in a cooler until he found his prize: grapes.

The cool purple flesh dimpled beneath his fingers. He yanked it off the bunch, the stem giving a weak little snap, and popped it into his mouth. The grape stood no chance, giving beneath Minho’s sharp teeth and exploding its sweet juices all over the cavern of Minho’s mouth.

Chan was a problem. He made Minho’s insides itch. He challenged Minho more than he should. He thought those damn dimples were a free pass for being uppity.

Minho shoved another grape past his lips, watching the boys in the water. Chan had Felix on his shoulders, doing a stupid chicken fight with a Jeongin-Hyunjin combo. When Hyunjin toppled Felix, Chan helped him back up, laughing brightly.

The waves were loud. But that laugh was louder.

The grapes were delicious. A thought had Minho whipping his gaze off the ocean and to the cooler. He rotated it with his palm, then crushed the rest of the grapes when his other hand spasmed.

These grapes were from Chan’s cooler.

Thoughtful Chan. Chan, who offered to keep him safe so he could enjoy swimming with the others. Chan, who happily obeyed a sick Minho. Chan, who never took people for granted.

All at once, the path forward was crystal clear.

He would use Chan for his first kiss.

Appreciative and biddable, Chan was the perfect candidate. Plus, kissing him would help Minho take control of their dynamic again.

Minho’s tongue dragged across his sticky palm, staring unceasingly at his prey, who frolicked ignorantly in the sea.

There was no privacy on the beach.

Jitters wracked Minho’s limbs, his heart pumping twice as fast as normal. There was a heat in his gut he’d never felt before. It had intensified in the last five hours, as his friends/peons (excluding Jeongin) slogged out of the ocean and played beach games.

Before they'd started, he'd forced a bottle of water into everyone's hands, snarling at Hyunjin when he said he wasn't thirsty. These idiots would probably keel over from dehydration without him, and he wasn't about to let a trip to the hospital derail his plan.

He’d made a decision to kiss Chan, and waiting to make it happen was killing him.

He couldn’t let anyone see him kiss Chan. because then they would gossip and pull faces and think it meant something, which it absolutely wouldn’t. Thus, the need for privacy.

But when the beach was a stretch of flat sand, there was none to be found.

“Nice one, Lix!” called Chan. Minho grit his teeth.

Someone had put up a volleyball net and Jisung had roped Minho into playing because “two on three isn’t fair, and two on two isn’t fun.” Minho had been struggling to keep from grabbing Chan by the hair and dragging him somewhere private (where that would be, he still didn’t know!), so had almost snapped a “Not a chance in hell” at Jisung. But then Jeongin had jogged over and hit him with a pleading pout. And. Well, Minho wasn’t a monster.

So, that’s how Minho found himself teamed up with Chan and Felix on one side of the net, and Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Jisung on the other.

He would have preferred to be Chan’s opponent, so he could destroy him in this game. But he’d have to settle for being a stellar teammate, so phenomenal that Chan would despair at ever measuring up to Minho’s greatness.

But Felix was some kind of volleyball prodigy, and all balls hated Minho. So.

Hyunjin served the ball. It soared, straight towards Minho. Minho raised his hands, keeping his eye on the white orb falling from the sky, leapt forward, and—

The ball landed in the sand at Minho’s feet.

He blinked. Blinked again. It had been coming straight for his palms, how did it get there?

“Aw, better luck next time,” Chan said earnestly, patting his back once before scooping the ball up and rolling it beneath the net.

When Chan touched him, Minho jerked. Even through his T-shirt, his skin seared. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a red mark in the shape of Chan’s hand on his lower back. 

Minho boiled. The least Chan could do would be to shout at him. Huff. Shake his head. Something. How dare he patronize Minho, just because he couldn’t hit a stupid ball in a stupid game.

Let’s see if Chan was so composed later, when Minho kissed him. That would show him who's boss.

The game continued like that, with Chan and Felix carrying Minho’s slack, until Felix and Hyunjin got into an argument about who had the most points. Just when it was getting heated, Chan clapped his hands.

“All right, guys. I think it's time to pack up.”

The sun was low in the sky, hinting at evening. Hyunjin turned away from Felix, his lower lip protruding far enough, a seagull could land on it. He slouched over to Jeongin and draped himself across the maknae’s bare shoulders. Jeongin grabbed one of Hyunjin’s dangling arms.

Huh. Not throwing him off. Not ducking or grimacing or wiggling like snakes were writhing all over him. No. Jeongin just stood there, holding Hyunjin’s wrist, staring at the volleyball net like it had given him a bowl of ice cream.

That was a mystery for another day, because right now, Minho was exhausted, hot, and ready to complete his month-long quest.

He looked around desperately, jitters swirling through his fingers, climbing up his throat. 

Chan and Felix were mucking about beneath the umbrella, packing up the coolers. Jisung was scampering around picking up beach paraphernalia that had diffused across the sand over the course of the afternoon. Jeongin and Hyunjin were standing very close together, trying to take down the net.

His heart clenched painfully. If he didn’t get that kiss now, Chan would drive away in that awful car of his, and Minho would have no idea when he’d see him again. Or worse, he’d have to fabricate some excuse to have Chan come over. Considering he’d never reached out to anyone to hang out, such behavior would immediately raise suspicions.

“Minho! Quit standing there and help,” grumbled Jisung. “Those two could use some help.” He jerked his chin up, looking meaningfully at something behind Minho.

Minho blinked. Jisung, Chan, and Felix were already carrying stuff up to the cars. The beach umbrella now shaded nothing but sand. He turned. The volleyball net was still up, Jeongin and Hyunjin whispering to each other. 

Minho glared at Chan’s bare back, muscles shifting and bulging as he climbed the little sandy hill to the parking lot with his arms full.

It was fine. Chan wouldn’t leave without his roommate. 

Minho jogged over to his favorite and his co-worker/friend/peon. “Is the net defeating you two?”

Pale grains of sand contrasted with Jeongin’s dark hair, peppering the crown of his head like a gift. He looked up at Minho, wide grin never flagging. “Not me. Just Jinnie-hyung.”

Jinnie-hyung? Revolting.

On the other hand, way to throw him under the bus.

Minho smiled approvingly as Hyunjin whined wordlessly, scrunching his face up.

Jeongin’s grin sharpened as he turned back to Hyunjin and pressed a thumb right between his eyebrows, laughing.

And Hyunjin blushed.

What on Earth?

Minho didn’t know what to make of that, so he spun on his heel and approached the lone beach umbrella, still stuck in the sand. He kept one eye on the parking lot, heart hammering in his throat as he struggled to figure out how to close it.

Soon enough, Chan re-appeared walking down the hill.

Minho frowned. “Where are Felix and Jisung,” he called when Chan got close enough.

Chan shook his head, a single dimple peeking out to mock Minho. Fire surged in his belly. “They said they’d just wait for you to go up there. I guess they are tired.”

Not too tired to make out in the privacy of the car.

Damn. That would have been a good idea. He should have followed them to the parking lot, intimidated Felix and Jisung into leaving, and then ambushed Chan in a car.

Minho watched his prey veer over to the volleyball net. Minho clenched his jaw, gripping the open umbrella struts tight enough to sting. He shook it a little, and it fell, slowly bouncing to the ground and blocking his view of the three.

Blocking his view.

Excitement raced through his veins. Minho licked his lips. “Hey, Chan! Come here and help me with this!”

Smug, he settled himself cross-legged on the sand, a spider lying in wait. Chan would come willingly, driven by his foolish people-pleasing tendencies, and fall right into his trap.

Sure enough, Minho’s prey rounded the edge of the umbrella mere seconds later. “Is this old thing giving you trouble?” He didn’t give Minho a chance to answer. “Yeah, it’s pretty rusted.” Chan reached for the center struts.

Minho lunged forward, grabbing Chan’s hands and shoving them down. He didn’t let go.

Chan blinked at him, eyebrows up. “Minho?”

Minho swallowed. Rich dusk light streamed through the multi-colored fabric of the umbrella, painting the contours of Chan’s bare torso blue and red. Their hands, linked by Minho’s fierce grip and resting on Chan’s lap, were green and yellow.

The jitters were gone, replaced by the warm, rough skin of Chan’s hands. Minho looked up, stared at Chan’s decadent, red-stained lips, before dragging his gaze up to Chan’s eyes.

Minho’s tongue darted out. He wanted this. His first kiss, happening under his terms.

Salty air filled Minho’s lungs, bracing him. He leaned forward slowly, giving Chan plenty of time to know what was coming. If Chan didn’t want Minho’s first kiss, he could push him away, like Jisung had done. Or he could turn his head or lean away. There were 100 ways Chan could avoid a kiss if he wanted to.

But he didn’t. His eyes widened, flicking down to Minho’s lips as Minho slowly closed the gap between them. Something bright burned in Chan’s pupils a second before his eyelids hid them away. Minho’s eyelids slipped shut a second later.

Sightless, the first touch of his lips on Chan’s shocked him to his very core. The instant Chan touched him, Minho was no longer an organism of blood and bones, no. Now he was made of candy floss and lightning. Sweetness zinged through his veins, lit up his circulatory system like a christmas tree. It raced to his chest, where fireworks exploded into multicolor glory. 

Warm and salt-sticky, Chan’s mouth opened along with Minho’s tiny gasp. That gasp drew Chan’s breath into him, behind his teeth, where it seeped sweetly into his candy floss flesh.

This was insane.

Minho jerked back, breathing heavily. His fingers hurt, and he looked down briefly to see himself digging into Chan’s thighs. He relaxed his grip and looked back up.

There were fireworks in Chan’s eyes, too. He looked at Minho with wonder, smiling so wide his dimples were as deep as Minho had ever seen them.

“Minho, that was—”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Minho blurted. He scrambled to his feet, limbs shaky from the sugar-lighting in his veins.  “G-good kiss. Thanks. Now zip it.”

Teeth on display, Chan blinked up at him, dangerously beautiful.

Either the beach or Minho’s head was spinning as he ran for the parking lot. His thighs burned with how fast he climbed the sandy hill, but he didn’t stop until he had a hand on the handle of the back door of Felix’s car.

The metal screeched as he yanked the door open, startling Felix and Jisung from their make out session over the center console. Their lips were shiny and swollen, cheeks flushed.

Minho didn’t care. He dove into the back seat and slammed the door closed. “Go, go, go! Come on!”

Felix cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we wait for Cha—”

“No!” Minho screeched, fumbling with his seatbelt. Stupid clumsy fingers. Kisses were dangerous. Kisses were fantastic.    

  He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. He wasn’t in any danger. Chan wouldn’t tell anyone. Not when Minho commanded him not to. He’d never.

He was certain.

“We can go,” he said evenly, finally getting the seat-belt to click. “Chan said so.” He bit his lip to keep from smirking.

Felix shrugged and turned the car on, quickly maneuvering them onto the highway.

Minho had to keep biting his lips, because they surged upward on their own accord. All the way home, he found himself smiling dopily out at the sunset sea, sugary sparks randomly shooting through his veins. He licked his lips and fancied he could taste salty sweetness.

It had been a short kiss. Probably less than two seconds. And yet. And yet.

Lying in his bed that night, curled up and staring at his hibiscus-print sarong fluttering over his open window, Minho couldn’t stop grinning.

I want to feel that again.

Maybe Minho had been a bit hasty, dismissing Seungmin as a possible kiss companion. Now with Minho’s first kiss deliciously bestowed, that antsy urgency was gone, and he could explore.

(He’d spent a whole week congratulating himself on selecting the perfect candidate. Chan had been properly appreciative in the moment, and, considering none of their mutual friends had been looking at him oddly, had obeyed Minho and not divulged their kiss. Minho had been, and still was, in complete control.)

So, when Minho spotted Seungmin’s battered baby blue backpack and square shoulders coming out of the campus library, he booked it over there, grabbed Seungmin by the wrist, and said, “I want that coffee date, now.”

Minho waited with his heart pounding in his throat, the memory of Chan’s lips and ghosts of intra-organ fireworks conspiring to make him shiver while Seungmin’s eyes widened.

“Coffee date?”

“Yes,” said Minho impatiently. “You asked me out on a coffee date last month. Let’s do it.”

Seungmin raised one devastating eyebrow. “I said coffee , not date—”

Minho jerked Seungmin toward him, bringing his other hand up to grip the collar of his shirt. “You can’t fool me, Kim Seungmin. You said coffee, and followed it up with a very suggestive wink. So, either you man-up and keep your word, or you are a spineless coward who I will no longer associate with. WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?”

Seungmin’s eyes disappeared with the force of his laugh. He threw his head back, baring his stupidly long neck to the noonday sun. His chest shook beneath Minho’s knuckles.

“Okay, okay! Let’s go on our coffee date. Yes, you’re right. I was asking you out.”

Minho released him, seething. “Of course I’m right.” He couldn’t tell if Seungmin’s inappropriate laughter made him want to kiss him more or less.

They walked to the campus cafe and ordered coffees. Seungmin paid, and they sat in the corner, engaging in small talk.

“Why’d you decide to study veterinary medicine?”

“I love cats.”

“Cats are great. Anything else?”

“Learning how a living body is just a collection of blood and viscera is pretty cool, too. How it’s simultaneously delicate and resilient. For example, if you take a mammal’s bones away—they are toast. But if you destroyed half of all its systems, it might find a way to survive using the remaining half.”

“...Cool, indeed.”

“And how there are organisms inside organisms. Like, to a bacteria, a horse is an entire world.”

“You’re a pretty interesting guy, Minho.”

“And you have an interesting face.”

They finished their coffees, and Seungmin sat back in his chair, lounging like he hadn’t a care in the world. Eyes steady, like he saw through Minho’s flesh to his very bones, Seungmin’s mouth held a familiar, amused quirk that needled Minho to no end.

He slapped his hands on the table. Leaned across it threateningly. “Listen, Kim Seungmin. I want to kiss you. Probably just a little. Are you down?” He wanted that feeling, again. A candy floss shock that lingered for hours and hours. He’d gotten it from Chan. Why not from Kim Seungmin?

That quirk bloomed into a full-fledged grin. Kim Seungmin’s gaze stayed calculating.  “Yes.”

In a flash, he was up, around the little table, and sliding his hands over Minho’s shoulders.

This was not what Minho meant. He wanted to go somewhere private. A place no one would see him kiss Kim Seungmin. Who knew how this information would be used against him in the future. And good God, he didn’t want people gossipping about him.

He darted his gaze around the coffee shop. Miraculously, no one else was here. Even the barista was in the back for the moment.

And Minho would only need a moment.

So he leaned forward and met Kim Seungmin in the middle, eyes slipping shut. The first brush of pillowy softness didn’t send lightening racing through his jaw, like kissing Chan had. 

Warmth dotted Minho’s neck as Seungmin lightly rested his fingers there, tilting his head a little and pressing more firmly on Minho’s mouth.

Minho puckered his lips, and moved with Seungmin’s warmth.

It was…fine. Beige. 

Minho pulled away. His lips didn’t tingle. His gut remained distinctly firework-less. Nothing raced through his veins but blood.

Seungmin didn’t chase after his lips, just opened those too-knowing eyes from a breath away, and winked.

Minho huffed. Stood up abruptly. “Thank you. I’ll see you in class.”

He strode past Seungmin, head held high, only to be caught around the elbow. He paused, glared at Seungmin’s fingers, then up at Seungmin’s face.

That infuriating quirk was back on those lips. Lips that Minho had kissed. And felt nothing. 

“We won’t be doing that again, will we?” Seungmin asked levelly.

“No.”

Seungmin nodded and released Minho, who stalked away with a scowl.

Black smoke swirled around his heart, cloying and restless. Disappointment. Dis-satisfaction. Why on earth did kissing Chan and kissing Seungmin feel so different? A kiss was a kiss, wasn’t it? Or was a person’s first kiss the best, and all subsequent kisses paled in comparison? Or were there other variables that came into play?

Bizarre.

This warranted further study.

Minho braced his forearms against the counter next to the coffee maker, watching Hyunjin come back from delivering a couple’s fairy bread and latte. His gaze zeroed in on Hyunjin’s plump lips.

Maybe kissing success was about physical dimensions. Chan’s lips were large and cushiony, the top and bottom equally luscious. Seungmin's lips were an entirely different shape. Maybe that was why there had been no zing.

It could be that large, soft lips were simply the most compatible with Minho’s. Like puzzle pieces. 

He needed to test that theory.

When Hyunjin slid behind the counter, setting his tray in the appropriate stack, Minho pounced.

“Let’s kiss.”

Hyunjin jerked, flailing arms knocking over the stack of trays, sending them sliding off the counter.

Minho caught them before they hit the floor.

Hyunjin stared at him, hand to his heaving chest, plush lips slack and eyes wide while Minho stacked the trays again, annoyed. Really, Hyunjin? 

“W-w-why?” his friend/co-worker/peon stuttered.

Minho ran a finger along the edge of his apron, and resigned himself to explaining. “I’m conducting an experiment.”

There. That should be enough reason for Hyunjin’s peanut brain.

Apparently not. Because Hyunjin crossed his arms and pouted. (Ridiculously pink and cushiony lips.) “What does that have to do with me? I don’t want to kiss you.”

Good God, Minho was going to have to persuade him, wasn’t he? Shudder. He had no practice at that. But he couldn’t threaten him into a kiss—it would throw off the results for sure. No, he had to be as willing as Chan had been.

A handsome tabby pressed its nose against the glass, giving Minho the strength he needed.

“It’s an important experiment about kissing. To see what factors are important. Believe me, I don’t want to kiss you either—” Hyunjin had the gall to look offended “---so it can be short. Just a peck. A slow peck.”

Minho waited with his heart uncomfortably high in his chest, tapping his foot. He hated giving Hyunjin this much power over him. Stupid, stupid. This was stupid. Finding out why Chan’s kiss was so sweetly electrifying wasn’t worth this. So what if Minho never feels that again. It’s not—

“Fine,” Hyunjin said with a dramatic sigh. He jabbed a skinny finger in Minho’s direction. “But I’m only doing this once, okay? So you better get your data or whatever on the first try.”

Minho smiled sweetly and grabbed that offending finger, gratified by Hyunjin’s shiver. “All right. Now, you have to kiss back. You can’t just stand there like a statue.”

This was important for the experiment. Because Chan had kissed back. Minho knew that lips—animal and human—had more than ten muscles to allow for detailed manipulation. But he’d never thought that he’d be able to feel them all against his own. And when Chan had kissed back…it had been delicate and precise and wonderful.

Minho shook his head slightly, focusing back on Hyunjin’s unimpressed expression.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll kiss back. Just once , though.”

Minho took a deep breath and hooked his hand around the back of Hyunjin’s neck. His eyes dropped to those plush lips, and he slowly leaned in. It wouldn’t do to miss his target. He only had one shot, after all.

Hyunjin’s breath puffed warmly against his lips, and Minho closed his eyes the instant before making contact. 

Soft smoothness caressed him. Just as he promised, Hyunjin puckered his lips against Minho’s, a delicate press not unlike Chan’s.

Yet, a dissonant shiver scraped down Minho’s spine, like nails on a chalkboard. He bounced back on his heels, frantically scrubbing at his lips. 

Clearly, lip dimension was not the key. 

God, Minho couldn’t even look at Hyunjin, he felt so off-kilter.

The shop door jingled, and Minho turned, grateful for the distraction. “Welcome to Meowtas—”

Jeongin was there in the door, an expression so heartbroken, Minho choked on his words.

“Innie!” Hyunjin called uselessly, while Minho took action and careened around the counter, reaching for Jeongin. Fire curled in his belly. Whoever made Jeongin look like that was about to be on the receiving end of Minho’s considerable malicious creativity. Creepy phone messages. Threats scrawled on windows. Some good old-fashioned stalking. Popping all the lenses out of sunglasses. Digging up their deepest, darkest secrets and spreading it to the world. Minho had endless wells of motivation for his sweet Jeongin. He wouldn’t stop until—

 Jeongin slapped his reaching hands away roughly, which wasn’t unusual. Minho blinked. What was unusual was the vicious betrayal in Jeongin’s eyes as he glared at him.

“What happened, Innie?” Minho asked urgently. “Who hurt you? Tell hyung, I’ll fix it.”

Jeongin—blew him off. He scoffed, (a pathetic, sad attempt of one when his eyes shone with tears and his voice broke), turning to Hyunjin, who was frozen behind the counter.

Minho looked between them, utterly baffled. 

Staring brokenheartedly at Hyunjin, Jeongin opened his mouth, took a breath, then spun on his heel and fled Meowtastic Coffee with a sob. 

“Shit,” said Hyunjin, low and fervent, thawing and tripping over himself to run after Innie. He shouldered Minho aside roughly as he passed through the door.

The large glass windows at the front of the shop afforded Minho the perfect view to  watch their progress. Brilliant sun shone down on Jeongin’s smooth black hair, his chin tucked to his chest as he power-walked down the street, hands swiping at his face periodically. Hyunjin sprinted after him, catching his toe on nothing and stumbling, arms windmilling wildly as he saved himself from faceplanting. His mouth opened in a squawk, and Jeongin stopped in his tracks, shoulders hunched beneath his plain white T-shirt.

Hyunjin raced to him, big hands sliding from his shoulders and down his arms as Hyunjin darted to Jeongin’s front. He ducked down, trying to catch Jeongin’s eyes, passing cars kicking up enough wind to flutter his apron.

Jeongin kept his head down, gesturing sharply. Hyunjin said something, then Jeongin did, then Hyunjin swiped a thumb across Jeongin’s cheek, and Jeongin rested his forehead on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

Minho watched in bemusement as Hyunjin wrapped his arms around Jeongin in a tight hug and Jeongin’s shoulders relaxed. Hyunjin rested his cheek against Jeongin’s bowed head.

“Excuse me? Can I order something?”

Minho turned robotically at the female, Australian voice. “Of course.” 

He took the woman’s order alone. As soon as she left, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Automatically, he pulled it out and glanced down. A message from Chan. He put his phone away, leaving the message unread. Ignoring the squirmy heat in his stomach, he locked eyes with that same tabby on the other side of the glass.

“When did those two get so close?”

The tabby licked its lips, jaw gaping wide to show off little sharp teeth. Minho nodded. “I might need to do terrible things to Hyunjin. How dare he agree to kiss me if he knew it would hurt Jeongin’s feelings!”

Minho sighed. He hoped Hyunjin was apologizing. If necessary, he could also apologize. It was Jeongin. He could make an exception for Jeongin. 

The world tipped as Minho braced his hands on the counter and rocked back, stretching out his spine and arms. He felt a little sick, and a lot irritated. Kissing Hyunjin had been awful, and while that was an important data point, the fact that it also hurt Jeongin made the whole thing a net 0.

The bell over the door jingled. Minho looked up. Hand in hand, Hyunjin and Jeongin walked in, both their eyes puffy and red.

Minho glared daggers at Hyunjin, but said nothing.

Jeongin took a deep breath. “Hyunjin and I are boyfriends.” A pink flush crept across his cheekbones as he said it.

Minho cocked an eyebrow. “As of when?”

“Two minutes ago,” answered Hyunjin, cowering a little behind Jeongin.

“Mmm,” Minho hummed. Jisung and Felix could learn something from these two.

Jeongin cleared his throat, trying to sound tough. “So, I’m the only one who kisses Hyunjin, now.” His mouth betrayed him, the corners tugging up into an adorable smile. 

Minho squinted, refusing to let his own mouth betray him. “You might want to re-think that, Jeonginnie. Kissing him was no fun.”

“Hey!” Hyunjin pouted. 

Jeongin slipped a hand around Hyunjin’s waist and gave Minho a quizzical look, still smiling. “Well, I’ve never had any complaints.”

Minho’s jaw dropped. “You’ve kissed him before ? Already? ”

They both ducked their heads, foreheads bumping. “Yeah,” Jeongin said with a stupid little laugh. (Stupidly endearing.)

Minho chewed on the inside of his cheek. Hesitantly, he asked, “So, what does kissing Hyunjin feel like?”

“Hyung!” Jeongin groaned, hiding his face in his hands. As huge as they were, they couldn’t cover his smile. “Is this part of your weird kissing experiment?”

“Yes.” So Hyunjin told him. Good. Minho would decrease his punishment accordingly.

“Go on, tell him, baby,” said Hyunjin with a dopey smile, poking Jeongin in the side. Always ticklish, Jeongin jerked away, bending like a banana. Minho grit his teeth to avoid pouting: Jeongin always protested when he called him baby.

“It’s–it’s–gah!” Jeongin took a deep breath and (still covering his eyes) practically shouted, “It’s the best! My heart explodes and it makes me so happy and I never want to stop!”

He ripped his palms from his face and pointed accusingly at Minho (wow, they were a couple). Color high on his cheeks, he said, “Never make me do that again!” He rotated so his accusatory finger dug into Hyunjin’s shoulder. “You, too!”

And, for the second time in fifteen minutes, Jeongin ran out of the store. 

Clad in short shorts and a baggy tank top, Minho stalked barefoot around the living room. So, apparently Hyunjin wasn’t, himself, unkissable. And clearly lip dimensions weren’t the secret to Chan’s wonderful kiss. So, what did Minho need to do to get that amazing feeling via kiss? To feel, as Jeongin had said, like his heart was exploding (dramatic. Hyunjin was rubbing off on him already. What a pity.) 

Minho paced around the bamboo furniture and the battered coffee table before coming up with a new variable to test.

Maybe it was about skill and experience. 

Lucky for him, he lived with an extremely experienced kisser.

He whirled, cutting through the humid air and straight to Felix’s room, where  the tell-tale click-clack of the keyboard emanated. 

Minho strode through the wide open door and didn’t stop until he stood next to the desk, right beside the computer.

Shirtless, Felix’s long blonde hair brushed the back of his neck, headphones flattening it as he focused on the screen. His left-hand fingers spammed the keyboard while his right clicked around on the mouse. The sun filtered through the pink sarong he had nailed to the window, turning him into a rosy, speckled boy.

Minho loomed, unblinking, until Felix took his headphones off and smiled up at him like a defenseless kitten. “What’s up, Minho?”

 No beating around the bush. “You kiss Jisung a lot, and he keeps coming back for more, so he must like it. And before Jisung, you kissed a lot of people. Who also came back to you for a repeat performance, yes?”

Felix leaned back from Minho’s intense looming, thumbing at his own pulse. “Um. Well. Yeah. That’s…accurate.” He laughed breathlessly. 

Minho grabbed him around the wrist and hauled him up. Felix stumbled into him, catching himself against Minho’s chest. 

“Kiss me, Lix.”

“Um…” Felix didn’t push away. He stayed, arms trapped between them, looking up fairy-bright. Minho’s arms held him up, wrapped around his waist.

Felix was a lot like Chan. A people-pleaser. Always wanting to improve the lives of others. So, Minho phrased it like a favor. “I want to experience a really good kiss. It would mean a lot if you could help me.”

Minho practically saw that word ‘help’ bounce around in Felix’s brain through the shining windows of his huge eyes. 

Felix straightened, pushing away a little. 

Smug victory settled in Minho’s chest. Got ‘em.

At Felix’s light touch against the side of his face, Minho closed his eyes. His heart thrummed steadily. His toes tingled. His lips felt hot.

Any second, he’d feel Felix’s lips on them. Any second, now. Any second. Any—

“I’m sorry, hyung. I can’t do that for you.”

Minho snapped open his eyes and took a step back. “Wh-what?”

Felix shook his head ruefully, more composed than Minho, which wasn’t allowed. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

Minho whirled away, jaw tight. His pride stung. How could Felix reject him? Sweet, kind sunshine Felix. A lie. His persona was clearly a complete and utter lie.

Behind him, Felix said, “It just wouldn't feel right. And it wouldn't be fair to Jisung.”

“I didn't ask,” Minho bit out, hunching his shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” Felix said, deep voice gentle.

Sorry didn't change anything. Sorry didn't get him any closer to figuring out this damned kissing mystery.

He slammed his door behind him, the bed squeaking as he threw himself down on it, jaw flexing. 

Perhaps Felix wasn't such a pushover. If forced, Minho could admit that standing his ground and denying Minho (who was clever and intimidating) was impressive.

Begrudgingly, Minho had to respect him a very little.

And while Jisung had less rights than Jeongin, Minho supposed it was good that Felix had stayed strong where Hyunjin had been weak. For Jisung's sake. With whatever situationship those two had going on.

Minho groaned and rolled onto his side, glaring at the fluttering sarong in his window. Searching for another experienced kisser to experiment on sounded like too much work. Minho would have to research and talk to people. Basically seek out gossip.

No. Too much effort. No way he was doing that. 

Which meant he had to find another variable to test

Maybe the key was setting.

Which is how Minho found himself at the same cursed beach where he’d given Chan his first kiss last month.

His bucket hat and long-sleeved whiterashguard protected him from the sunset rays as he picked his way down the beach. His target: a pop-up club on the sand. Multiple speakers blasted music loud enough to drown out the sound of the ocean. Poles, speared into the sand in the shape of a large square were strung with soft white fairy lights. 

Dozens of young people milled beneath the lights, most with drinks in their hands, taken from several open coolers nestled in the sand.

Minho slipped among them, a leopard (in a bucket hat) among mice.  He scanned the short shorts and the tank-tops, the bare midriffs and legs in every color the human palette had to offer. Surely, he could find a willing participant for his experiment.

The DJ was good. Minho bopped his shoulder appreciatively at the smooth transition from chill-step to something more bass-heavy. He smirked, a diabolical idea blooming. 

Minho was an excellent dancer. He’d trained as a child and teenager before deciding the performing life was a bit too much work for him, and set his sights on working with the only pure beings on the planet. 

Usually he danced alone. Mere mortals were not worthy of watching him dance. And dancing with him? Ha! 

But. In this situation, what better way to attract a kiss subject than to dance? Whoever appreciated him as they should would likely also appreciate the immeasurable gift of Minho’s kiss.

So Minho moved to the center of the dance floor and put all those years of dance training to use. Ra-ta-ta-ta went the percussion, and Minho hit every beat. He brought out the body waves and the hip circles and the head throws. His hat flew off at one point, and he grabbed it in mid-air. (That was his favorite hat, dammit.)

Losing himself in the music was easy. His blood rushed through his veins, sparkling with the eyes he felt on him.

Weaving a web to snare his prey, himself the honey bait at the center.

The song ended, merging into another, and he stopped dancing, walking slowly towards one of the open coolers. His prey would follow him.

Sure enough. “You’re really good,” said a certain buff man Minho had noticed watching him.

Minho cocked a hip and crossed his arms, giving the man a once over. He wore jean shorts and a black tank that gave a generous view of his side boobs. Arms the size of Minho’s head. Black, soft-looking curls. A guileless face. Just like…

Hmm, yes. He’d do wonderfully.

“Thank you,” Minho purred. He’d never tried to seduce anyone in real life, but half of his dance training was about projecting sexiness. “I’m Minho. What’s your name?”

The man blinked, then grinned like a cherub. His next sentence was in Korean. “Minho? Are you Korean?”

Pleasant surprise lit up Minho’s brain. “Yes, I am! Born and raised there.”

“Sweet! I’m Seo Changbin, by the way. I feel like it’s been ages since I got to practice Korean with anyone outside my family.”

They chatted for a long time, getting some drinks, doing some dancing, and talking talking talking.

It was all part of Minho’s plan. Experiments were only supposed to change one variable at a time. And since everyone else—most importantly Chan—who Minho had kissed had been a non-stranger, it was good for him to get to know Changbin as much as this one interaction would allow.

So Minho nodded and smiled; Changbin managed to surprise a real laugh out of him, too. He learned how Changbin’s parents emigrated from Korea. How he was born here. How he only got into weight lifting recently, but can’t remember his life before it. How he loved music and animals, but was allergic to pretty much all of them.

Minho had been guiding Changbin away from the light and music of the party while they talked. Changbin had followed with zero suspicion, as clueless as a lamb being led to slaughter.

When Minho had found a sandy patch of darkness up to his standards, he spun to face Changbin, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

“Changbin-ah,” he lilted, smirking a little. “I–”

Wait. He didn't ask Chan for a kiss. So he shouldn't ask Changbin.

Changbin chuckled, sliding his warm fingers over Minho’s wrist. “Yeah?”

Changbin's eyes were pale smears in the night. Minho locked with them, then slowly leaned forward, lips pursed.

A grin bunched Changbin’s cheeks for a moment, and then his hand was on the back of Minho’s neck, and their mouths crashed together.

Chapped , was Minho's first thought. His body stayed distinctly organic and candyfloss-less as Changbin’s lips moved beneath his. The hand at his nape was nice, and the beachy smell coming from Changbin was nice, but the kiss was doing nothing for him.

Minho pulled away within a second, shaking his head to dislodge Changbin’s hand.

He dropped it, stepping out of Minho’s space quickly. The moonlight bouncing off the ocean showed his chagrined face. “Shoot, was that okay? Sorry, I thought you gave me a sign.”

So quick to second-guess himself and apologize. Social prey behavior.

“I did give you a sign,” Minho intoned. He was the puppeteer here, which meant it was his responsibility to make sure his test subject didn't suffer undue mental stress.

Minho bowed properly, hoping Changbin’s Korean upbringing would allow him to recognize it properly. “Thank you for lending me your lips for a second. Good night.”

Head held high, Minho walked past Changbin. The parking lot was nearby: he had purposefully brought Changbin in this direction so he wouldn't have to waste energy backtracking. Sometimes, he impressed even himself.

A hand caught him round the elbow.

Minho stiffened, and turned slowly to glare at Changbin.

“Wait, what?”

Ugh. These peons who desired answers. Annoying.

“Unhand me,” snapped Minho. 

Changbin’s grip tightened for a second before he let go. “Seriously, man, what was that? We hang out and talk and then you kiss me and then just book it?”

Minho groaned out a sigh. “Yes. You got it. Hit it on the head. Well done. Now, bye.” He turned away again and started walking.

“That’s messed up, man!” Changbin called after him.

Minho didn't bother to answer. It wasn't messed up. He hadn't done anything to Changbin against his will. It wasn't his fault that Changbin had formed expectations in that dim brain of his.

Minho banged into the front seat of Felix’s car. The plastic steering wheel squeaked with how hard he gripped it.

He felt empty. Once again, a kiss had failed to give him that sweet, sweet shock.

He furrowed his brow, gazing out at the black ocean. Could he be mis-remembering it? Had kissing Chan actually made him feel like fireworks, or not? 

There was only one logical conclusion.

The dormant embers in his gut stirred to life, a few lone sparks drifting through him. 

He needed to kiss Chan again.