You and Minho had been best friends for as long as you could remember. "Platonic soulmates"—that’s what those who knew you well enough called your relationship, and no one ever dared argue otherwise. Finding comfort in each other's company, neither of you ever saw any downsides to living together. Sharing an apartment was cheaper, more fun, and just made sense. Minho would cook, and you'd clean. The pros heavily outweighed the cons. Besides, you’d promised to part ways without complaints if one of you ever found someone special. Yet, as time went on, it seemed like you were becoming more inseparable than ever.

Tonight was different from all the others. Usually, you preferred the company of just one person—the one whose gaze could make time itself stand still, whose voice was as soothing as a cat’s purr (a sound you could listen to endlessly), and whose soft hands felt far too gentle for their fleeting, casual touches to be accidental. But tonight, you’d agreed to join your coworkers for drinks at a bar to celebrate someone’s birthday. One cocktail turned into another, and by the time you stumbled back home past midnight, cheeks flushed and guilt written all over your face, you realized you’d missed a dozen calls. Not that you noticed them before fumbling with the stubborn key in the lock of a door that had never felt quite so impossibly small.

"Well, at least someone’s having fun." Minho greeted you, noting the unstoppable grin plastered across your face. Even with his arms crossed and a stern look aimed your way, you could tell he wasn’t truly mad. You heard it in his voice, soft around the edges, and saw it in the faint twitches of a face you knew better than your own. "Need some help?" Not waiting for your reply, he pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against moments earlier and took a step toward you, watching as you struggled to keep your balance while wrestling with your shoes.