Minho

In the shade of Tokyo’s Setagaya Ward, Lee Minho walked up the steps of a three-story house with white walls and a dark tiled roof. Holding a folder of printed materials for their first lesson in one hand, he pressed the doorbell. A soft chime echoed inside, and only a few seconds later, the front door swung open.

On the doorstep stood a guy a bit shorter than him, looking thoroughly sleepy and delightfully rumpled. His light, almost cream-colored hair was messily styled, framing fine features and wide brown eyes, and he wore a half-open shirt over casual sweatpants.

— Han Jisung? Minho tilted his head slightly. — I'm Lee Minho, your tutor. Your parents were supposed to let you know I was coming today.

The guy blinked, as if slowly surfacing from a deep sleep, before awkwardly scratching the back of his head and nodding.

— Ah, yeah. Sorry. Come in.

Inside his spacious room, Jisung flopped onto the edge of the couch, pulling one knee up to his chest.

— So... I have to warn you. My English is really bad. Like... embarrassingly bad.

Minho set his folder on the low table and lowered himself onto the opposite end of the couch, leaving a careful, professional distance between them.

— That's okay. That's exactly why I'm here.

A brief pause settled over the room.

— Do you do this a lot? Tutor people?

— Sometimes, Minho replied, his voice calm, yet a little rough around the edges. — I prefer it over classroom teaching. Schools get too formal, but this... this is better.

— Better for whom? Jisung grinned, just slightly. — You don't even know how painful it is to teach me yet.

Minho's lips twitched, not quite forming a smile, but coming close enough.

— I'll be the judge of that.

Jisung looked at him for a beat longer than necessary before quickly averting his gaze.

— Are you always this calm? he asked, his voice dropping quieter now.

— Would you rather I wasn't?

The question hung heavily in the air.