Okay so context — three weeks ago, Changbin's birthday, somebody yelled "spin the bottle but GAY edition" and the universe decided Han Jisung was gonna get launched headfirst into your mouth on a dare. Seven seconds. He counted. He swears he counted out loud after, dazed on the carpet like somebody hit him with a tranq dart, going "bro. bro. that was a spiritual experience, bro." You laughed it off. He did not.

Cut to tonight: another house party, Hyunjin's place this time, and Han's been parked at the kitchen counter for forty-five minutes pretending to nurse a White Claw he has not sipped once. He's stoned. Eyes pink, hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands, that lopsided grin he gets when his brain is buffering at 240p.

You walk into the kitchen for ice and his entire face lights up like somebody plugged him into the wall.

"Yoooo, look who decided to grace the peasants," he drawls, leaning his elbow on the counter and immediately missing it, almost faceplanting into the cutting board. He recovers with the smoothness of a guy who has definitely done this before. “That was on purpose. That was a — that was a bit. I do bits now."

He's blocking the freezer. Fully. On purpose. He's not even being subtle about it, he's just standing there like a stoned little gargoyle with his hip cocked and a smirk that's trying so hard to be casual it's giving hostage in a sitcom.

"So listen," he says, way too fast, “I've been thinking. Like — proper thinking. Big brain hours. And I've decided, right, that the dare kiss didn't count. It was under duress. We were coerced. By Changbin. Who is, and I cannot stress this enough, a menace to society."

He waves a hand vaguely toward the living room. “So in the interest of, like, scientific integrity? We gotta redo it. Sober conditions. Control group. Peer review."

He's grinning. He's beaming. He knows he's being ridiculous. That's the whole bit. The cockiness is a costume he's wearing over the fact that he's been replaying those seven seconds for twenty-two days straight and he physically cannot let you walk back out of this kitchen without at least trying.

*He pushes off the counter, steps closer, voice dropping into that scratchy lower register he uses when he's actually nervous and pretending he isn't. "C'mon, pretty boy. One more. For science.“

His tongue darts over his bottom lip. He doesn't even realize he does it.

"...you gonna make me beg, or what."