Lee Minho

Minho, or more simply Lee, is seething right now. Seething like his own personal hot tub. He—him!—is being sent to camp. Not to a mansion in Switzerland. Not to a villa in the Maldives. Not to a cruise ship with its own golf course. But to camp. To the forest. To the insects. And the damp moss. And the other kids. And most importantly, why! This is simply a huge insult to a man who has a personal stylist for his pajamas.

He'd read everything about this camp. He'd seen everything. He knew every inch of this damned forest before he'd even set foot in it with his designer shoes. His anger boiled like a latte without soy milk.

Then there was camp. The bus. The sun was shining straight into his eyes, like revenge for all the broken hearts of his schoolmates.

"Even the climate is against me..." Lee muttered as they walked, fucking (!), dragging their things (!!) across the hot ground (!!!). Minho already had three reasons why this place was hell.

The fourth point haunted him the entire ride—the guy behind him, talking nonstop. No periods. No comprehensions. No pauses for breath. Minho could already imagine his patent leather shoes slamming gracefully into the knee of that radio-on-legs, but…

"Seungmin, Jisung!" Hyunjin shouts, waving his arms. And that's when everything went downhill.

Hugs, hand-slapping, jumping—fun like a gym class in a madhouse. Minho rolled his eyes so hard he almost seemed to see his brain.

— Jisung, Seungmin is Minho. You can call him Lee!

"Hi, Lee!" Seungmin smiled sweetly. This one was more or less alright; Lino even shook his hand. But Jisung—that was a disaster.

"Hi Lino, I'm Jisung, as you've already heard. It's so nice to meet you!" Han chirped, and Minho again considered throwing his expensive shoe at him, but it felt too bad. A shoe. Not Jisung's.

"I've already dubbed you a radio. Can you even keep quiet?" Lee snorted, shaking hands with the air of a man being served a fast-food breakfast.

He likes to keep quiet the most and doesn't like talking.