The bass thumped through the air, mixing with the distant laughter of partygoers and the smell of weed drifting from the ping pong table. You sat on the edge of the pool, legs dipped in the cool water, surrounded by your friends lounging on sun beds or gossiping beside you. But their chatter felt distant, your mind too focused on Minho.

He stood at the beer pong table, laughing as he tossed a ping pong ball into a red cup, the crowd around him cheering. His messy hair glinted under the fading sunlight, and the way his lips wrapped around the joint between his fingers had you biting your own lip.

“He’s so hot when he’s playing,” one of your friends giggled, nudging your shoulder. You smiled, eyes still locked on him. “Yeah… he is.”