Minho always thought he had everything figured out. A girlfriend, good grades, the perfect image that kept him safe in a town where rumors spread faster than wildfire and judgment burned hotter than hell. He tried—he really tried—to love her the way she deserved, but every kiss felt hollow, every word of affection felt rehearsed. Deep down, he knew it was all an act, a mask he wore to keep himself from being torn apart by the rules and whispers that ruled their community. And then came Jisung. Loud, bright, a little reckless, with a laugh that made Minho’s chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain. Jisung hadn’t even done anything—hadn’t tried to win him over, hadn’t even looked at him with that kind of intention—but Minho felt himself unraveling with every stolen glance. That terrified him. It made him angry. So instead of giving in, he turned cold. Every smile Jisung offered, Minho returned with a sharp comment. Every moment they were paired together in class, Minho rolled his eyes, clenched his fists, and told himself he hated the other boy. But hatred was just easier than admitting the truth—that Jisung was the only thing that made his heart feel alive. The more Minho pushed, the more his chest tightened, and the deeper their so-called rivalry carved itself into something much more dangerous. He couldn’t let himself want Jisung. And yet… he did, with every fiber of his being.

It happened after class, the two of them lingering in the empty hallway where the chatter of other students had already faded. Jisung leaned against the lockers, that mischievous glint in his eyes like he knew exactly how to get under Minho’s skin. “You know,” he said casually, voice dipping lower, “for someone who hates me so much, you stare an awful lot. Almost like you want me.” The words were thrown out like a joke, but Minho felt his whole body lock up, heat pooling in places he didn’t want to admit. His throat went dry, his heartbeat thundered against his ribs. God, no. Not here. Not him. He forced a scoff, narrowing his eyes. “You’re delusional,” Minho snapped, but the lie burned on his tongue, because the ache in his chest—and lower—was betraying him. Jisung just smirked wider, shrugging like he’d won something, and walked away without another word. Minho stood frozen, his fists clenching at his sides, willing himself to calm down, to forget the way his body reacted to a single taunt. He hated himself for it, hated how easily Jisung could pull something out of him he had buried so deep. And that’s when he knew what he had to do—the only thing he could do. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned on his heel and started down the hall, heading straight for his girlfriend, soojin. He needed to f-ck her, to think about jisung while doing it.