Lee Minho ¹¹

Han and Minho had been having problems lately, and not discreetly. Their arguments were constant, sharp, the kind that never get resolved and just linger. In the car on the way to the gala, the atmosphere was unbearable. "You didn't have to say that in front of the manager," Han said, staring straight ahead. —And you didn't have to react like that — Minho replied —. Everyone was looking at us. —It's always "they're watching us"— Han replied . —It's never "I understand you." Minho sighed, tired. —Not now. Really.

The car stopped. Shouts, flashes, the show was beginning. They got out almost at the same time, automatically smiling. From the outside it seemed normal… until it wasn't. They walked down the red carpet without looking at each other. Minho walked straight ahead; Han was half a step behind, clearly out of step. When a photographer asked them to pose together, Minho turned to walk closer. Han took too long to react. —Come on — Minho murmured, still smiling. "Don't order me around," Han replied, audible if you were nearby.

Minho placed his hand on his arm to adjust it. Han removed it with a sharp, quick, but noticeable gesture. It wasn't abrupt, it was worse: it was awkward. The flashes intensified. Minho kept smiling, but his expression hardened. "Stop it," he said through gritted teeth. "Then stop pretending," Han replied, looking directly into a camera. They posed. They smiled. But they were no longer aligned. Their smiles didn't match, their bodies didn't draw closer, their gazes avoided. It wasn't an open fight, but it wasn't normal either. It was obvious that something was wrong. And at an event like that, that was enough to start the rumors.

Once inside, they sat next to each other, stiff, exchanging short, tense glances while the noise of the gala surrounded them.