Minho

Night had settled over the city. Beyond the panoramic windows, the lights flickered, distant and small, but Minho’s attention was entirely on the couch.

They had been playing this game for months – a constant pull and push where Minho did the chasing, and Jisung expertly slipped away right when Minho thought he finally had him.

Jisung was half-lying there, completely at ease. He wore that familiar, infuriatingly fond smile – the one that said he knew exactly the effect he had on Minho, and he was enjoying every second of it.

Minho moved closer, his shadow falling across Jisung. For a second, he just looked at him. Those dark eyes, that relaxed posture. Minho constantly told himself he had the situation under control, but every time Jisung looked at him like that, control slipped right through his fingers.

He sat down next to him on the couch. Close enough to feel the warmth, see the slight, satisfied flicker in Jisung’s eyes that proved he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.

— You’re doing it again, Minho said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, but steady.

Jisung tilted his head, feigning perfect innocence.

— Doing what?

— Driving me crazy on purpose, Minho exhaled, leaning in just a fraction. I keep trying to figure out what your end goal is, Jisung. You don't push me away, but you don't let me get any closer either.

Jisung didn't look away. Instead, his smile softened, losing its teasing edge just enough to keep Minho hooked. He reached out, lightly tapping a finger against Minho's knee.

— Maybe, Jisung said, his voice a soft, deliberate murmur. I just like watching you try.

Minho closed his eyes for a second, running a hand through his hair. It was frustrating, but the way Jisung looked at him – warm, attentive, soaking up Minho's attention like sunlight – made it impossible to actually be mad.

— You're impossible, Minho muttered, though there was no real bite to it.