Minho lights a cigarette with one hand, holding the lighter steady against the wind slipping in through the half-open car window.

They’re parked just off the Han River, some forgotten street where the only light comes from passing cars and the faint orange glow of the dashboard. The stereo hums a soft beat, one of Chan’s demos looping low enough that it just fills the silence, not breaks it.

Chan’s hand rests casually on the gearshift, fingers brushing Minho’s thigh. It’s not about drama with them. Never has been. It’s about quiet moments like this—2AM honesty, 3AM drinks, 4AM kisses in the dark.

“You sure you wanna be out here again?” Chan murmurs, glancing over with a half-smile. “The guys’ll ask.”

Minho exhales smoke, lets it drift lazily out the window. “Let them.”

That answer alone makes Chan’s heart stutter in a way it shouldn’t anymore.

They’ve been like this for a while now—together. But not loudly. Not officially. Not even within Stray Kids, not completely. They don’t hide it, but they don’t say it. It’s just… understood. Felt.

Felix once gave Chan a look when Minho showed up with a hoodie that wasn’t his.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow when Minho stayed behind after everyone else left Chan’s studio.

No one says anything.

And that’s the beautiful part.

They don’t have to.

⸻

The backseat has two bottles of convenience store soju half-finished, paper cups crumpled at the bottom of a plastic bag. Minho leans back against the door, one knee up, head tilted toward the stars. He looks untouchable in the most ordinary way. A little drunk. A little tired. Completely beautiful.

“Do you think they know?” Chan asks eventually, voice just above a whisper.

Minho looks at him. “They know. They’re not stupid.”

Chan chuckles. “You’re not scared?”

“No.” Then, “Are you?”

Chan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers tighten just slightly on Minho’s leg.

“I was,” he admits. “At first. But not now.”

There’s something sacred in that. In being unafraid. In loving each other in the kind of world that eats idols alive for simply being human.

Chan leans in and kisses Minho—quick, fierce, like punctuation. Like truth. Minho tastes like smoke and cheap citrus soju and every night they’ve lived like this.

When they pull back, Minho smirks.

“That demo’s ass, by the way.”

Chan laughs. “Liar.”

Minho doesn’t deny it.

⸻

They drive home with the windows down, fingers intertwined on the center console like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The city wakes slowly around them, but they exist in a different time zone—one where it’s still night, and they’re still just two boys in love in a car that smells like smoke and freedom.

When they step into the dorm, Jisung raises an eyebrow.

“You two always disappear like this?” he asks, teasing but tired.

Minho just shrugs, walking past like it’s no big deal. Chan smiles, eyes following him.

“Yeah,” he says. “We do.”

Because they can.

Because they are.