Banho (likely a place name)

The perfect Friday evening for Lee Minho: silence, a series on his tablet, and a mug of hot chocolate. He was stretched out on the sofa when the doorbell rang—insistent and cheerful.

Standing on the threshold was his mother, beaming, and beside her—a tall young man with perfect posture.

— Minho, this is Chan and Aunt Soyeon! My friend's son! They're staying overnight!

Minho remembered Chan from childhood photos—always proper, pressed, without a hint of mischief. Now, he looked more imposing. Seventeen-year-old Bang Chan was the embodiment of a parental dream: a straight-A student, an athlete, disciplined to the point of teeth-grinding.

But one detail was confusing. Despite the flawlessness, Chan's hair fell in a messy fringe, covering his eyebrows and softening his features. A proper boy—and suddenly this daring disorder. Minho's gaze caught on the fringe and he couldn't look away.

The "ideal" youth with a backpack stepped across the threshold. While the mothers chatted in the kitchen, Chan and Minho froze in the hallway. The silence was oppressive. Chan looked at Minho—calmly, like an adult. Minho suddenly realized his t-shirt was wrinkled and his hair was sticking up. Chan, on the other hand, looked like he was off a magazine cover—if not for the fringe that kept falling into his eyes.

— Nice to meet you, — Chan extended his hand. His voice was as steady as a metronome.

Minho shook it and realized: the evening was ruined. Instead of a drama—a night with a person who probably even breathes on a schedule. And these weekends were definitely going to turn everything upside down. Or at least force him to pick up his things from the floor.