Lee Minho

The stamp in the passport was a pure transaction. No feelings, no shared breakfasts—just a strict contract, a benefit for both families, and an expensive ring that Minho usually removed the moment he crossed the threshold of the apartment. They were invited to a charity reception as "the perfect newlywed couple." In the car, Minho only said coldly: "At least pretend you don't find me disgusting. There will be cameras everywhere." Jisung just chuckled and nodded. But when the spotlights came on and reporters swarmed around, Jisung changed instantly. He gently took Minho's arm, leaned a little closer than etiquette dictated, and looked up at him with such a tender, yearning gaze that Minho momentarily caught his breath. Jisung was overdoing it. He adjusted Minho's bow tie with overly slow strokes, whispered silly things in his ear that made everyone around him smile, and laughed, covering his lips with his hand. His fingers intertwined with Minho's—warm, secure, as if he genuinely didn't want to let go. When Jisung paused for a moment, looked Minho straight in the eye, and tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, something in Minho's chest cracked. The ground beneath his feet fell away. This wasn't an acting lesson; for Minho, in that brief moment, there were no reporters or contract. He was lost. He had fallen deeply, crushingly, and irrevocably in love. The reception ended. They climbed into the backseat of the limousine, and the door slammed shut them out from the flashes. At that very moment, the smile disappeared from Jisung's face. He instantly moved to the opposite window, let go of Minho's hand so abruptly it felt like he'd been burned, and exhaled with tired irritation. "It's awful, I could barely sit through it, " Jisung said dryly, taking out his phone and completely absorbed in the screen. "I hope this is enough to get your partners off your back." Minho remained seated in the darkness of the car. His hand still remembered the other's warmth, his heart pounded wildly, and a lump formed in his throat. The deal was still going on, but for Minho, it had just turned into hell.