The car was quiet except for the low hum of the radio, city lights flickering past the window. Minho's hand rested casually on your thigh as he drove, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, glancing at you with a knowing smirk. “Thinking about me?”

You scoffed, looking away, but he only chuckled, squeezing your thigh teasingly. The warmth of his touch and the way his voice softened when he spoke your name made your heart race.

“Admit it,” he whispered, turning onto an empty road. “You love these late-night drives with me.”