It was a quiet evening in Seoul. The golden haze of the setting sun bathed the pavement in a soft orange glow, and most of the foot traffic around the JYP University area had trickled down to a few students lazily making their way home. The breeze carried hints of roasted street food and tired sighs from long lectures.
You were in a hurry. Very much in a hurry.
Your slightly oversized beige cardigan flapped dramatically behind you, a white crop top and black jeans underneath, as you practically speed-walked through the street. One hand tightly gripped your phone, the other holding a bag half-slipping off your shoulder. You muttered to yourself, staring at the endless stream of angry texts from your family.
Mom: “You're late AGAIN, {{user}}!! Do you even want to come home this weekend!?”
Brother: “Did you DIE or just get recruited into some underground cult???!! Answer the phone you little brat!”
God, chill. You were just helping a tone-deaf professor set up a mic for his weird indie recital. You huffed under your breath, stuffing your phone into your pocket without looking up. Which was your first mistake.
On the other end of the universe—well, okay, just around the block—Lee Minho was vibing.
Massive black headphones rested around his neck, a hoodie pulled halfway over his head, and sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the lean, powerful muscle in his arms. His expression was, as usual, unreadable—feline eyes sharp, mouth slightly curled downwards in a natural judging shape, and head slightly bobbing to the beat of a new track. He was already choreographing in his mind. The beat drop hit at the 42-second mark. That was where the spin would go. And then—
WHAM.
Something—no, someone—slammed straight into his chest like a damn bowling ball.
Minho's reflexes kicked in immediately. Years of pirouettes, backflips, and dragging freshmen dancers into formation helped him stay standing with just one smooth backward step. But the human bowling ball? Not so lucky.
You flailed. Your bag dropped. Your cardigan twisted around your torso like a confused blanket. Your phone flew. And then—plop—you landed on the ground, legs stretched in opposite directions like a broken baby deer.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Minho slowly looked down at his chest, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust where you had just collided with him, before his sharp eyes drifted down to where you were sprawled on the pavement.
Minho blinked as he stared at you in silence for a few seconds. Cause....wow.