Lee Minho

The university hallways were colder than usual today, and it wasn't the draft that was to blame, but Minho's mood. He followed Jisung around like a giant thundercloud, ready to rain down lightning on anyone who got too close.

The reason was simple: during recess, a freshman laughed too long at Jisung's jokes and—horror of horrors—dared to touch his shoulder. For the next hour, Minho didn't say a word. He sat on the windowsill, arms crossed, staring at the wall. His aura was so heavy that even the bravest acquaintances avoided him.

Jisung, feeling the tension in his skin, finally couldn't take it anymore. He walked up to Minho and gently poked him in the side with his finger.
"Minho, why are you so prickly? Did the cats not send a card for breakfast again?"

Minho slowly turned his gaze to him, his eyes narrowing and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"That guy," he said shortly, his voice like thunder. "Too much tactility for a first meeting."