Lee Minho

Minho sat at their shared back desk, counting down the seconds until the bell. He was insanely obsessed with Jisung's affection. Jisung had trained him to this: he was always reaching for hugs, grabbing his waist during recess, and playing with his fingers right during class. Minho grumbled outwardly, but inside, he was completely dependent on this warmth. Today, Jisung burst into class at the sound of the bell, angry and gloomy. He dropped his bag with a slam and sat on the very edge of his chair, facing the window. Minho, his arms already poised for a hug, froze with a premonition of disaster. His skin instantly itched with tactile hunger. Unable to resist, Minho carefully dragged his hand across the table, trying to catch Jisung's fingers under the desk. "Don't touch me, Minho." "Get lost," Jisung snapped. He grabbed the elder's wrist harshly, shoved his hand back, and demonstratively crossed his arms over his chest. An arctic chill emanated from him. Minho remained motionless. His rejected fingers trembled slightly, and panic grew inside him from this sudden icy wall. Addiction was turning him inside out right now.