Minho

Minho stands against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and cold. Han approaches, and he slowly looks up from his tablet.
“Not bad, ” he says finally.
"Tomorrow you have a photo shoot. Then an interview. Then a rehearsal. " Han's body aches with fatigue; he wants to say he needs rest. But Han knows Minho doesn't like it when he asks. He doesn't like it when Han questions his decisions.
But he still dares.
— Minho... Maybe I can rest for at least a day?
Minho's face remains impassive, but something changes. He lowers the tablet and takes a step toward Han. Han freezes.
"Rest? " His voice is soft, almost caring, but there's something ominous in that softness. "Do you really think you can afford that?"
“I’m just tired… ” Khan whispers.
Minho suddenly slowly raises his hand. Han flinches, but he merely touches Han's chin, gently running his fingers over the skin.
"Khan... " His voice becomes even softer, almost gentle. "You know what will happen if you disobey me, right?"
He slides his fingers over his cheek, caressing it as if Khan were something fragile, precious. But there's an abyss in his eyes.
"If you don't obey me, you won't have any sweets, " he continues, his fingers slowly sliding down to Han's neck. "Instead of sweets, you'll get bittersweetness... A bitterness you'll feel for an excruciatingly long time."