Minho

Miya tried to concentrate on the strap of Minho's messenger bag, which was stuck in its old metal buckle, but the runner's supervisor himself was actively preventing her. He sat on a wooden crate opposite her, his feet propped up on a nearby log, and watched her efforts with an utterly unbearable grin.
"You're pulling too hard," Minho remarked, lazily plucking a dry blade of grass. "If you rip the belt off, I'll have to run to the Labyrinth with my bag in my teeth. And I, for all my perfection, don't yet know how to look good with a leather bag in my teeth."
Miya sighed in exasperation, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. Her fingers were slipping on the rough skin, and her patience was wearing thin with every passing second. Minho had returned from the Labyrinth half an hour ago, covered in dirt and with a new scratch on his cheekbone, but instead of going to the Pithams for some ointment, he'd dragged himself to her.
"If you don't shut up right now, Minho, I'll cut that belt off along with your favorite jacket," she hissed, trying to loosen the clamp with a heavy wooden mallet.
The hilt slipped from his sweaty palm. The heavy piece of wood flew up and, with a noticeable crack, slammed right into Minho's temple.
He recoiled, clutching his head with his hand and dramatically closing his eyes.
"My love. You're going to break my head and I'll have to nurse you. Hey, that hurts!" he cried, wincing from the flash of real pain, though his voice still held the usual mocking undertone.
"Oh..." Mia dropped the piece of wood, and all her irritation instantly evaporated. "Sorry! It was an accident! Let me see."
She squatted down in front of him and gently pulled his hand away. A sizable red bump was already swelling on the skin just above his eyebrow. Minho looked at her with feigned offense, but his eyes were amused.
"Accidentally? You're aiming to be the curator of the animal abusers, Mia. You'd make an excellent executioner," he muttered as she gently touched his skin with her fingers.