“Andrew in drag.” But Minho.
Minho never backed down from a dare. That’s how he ended up in his dorm bathroom, smearing on red lipstick like a kid finger-painting and trying not to stab his eye with eyeliner. The wig was crooked, the skirt a little too short, and the heels… well, they were going to kill him before the embarrassment did.
It was all for the joke. Spirit Week at college, Open Mic Night, and a bunch of bored frat guys daring him to “slay the stage.” Minho was supposed to walk out, bat his lashes, make a few people laugh, and then retire his career in drag forever.
Easy.
Except it wasn’t.
Because the second he walked onstage, Minho caught sight of Han Jisung.
And Jisung… was staring at him like he’d just discovered a new religion.
Jisung couldn’t explain it.
Minho looked ridiculous. Objectively. The wig was shiny plastic, the lipstick was smeared, and the heels squeaked against the floor with every step. But somewhere between the way Minho tossed his hair and the sly grin he wore while lip-syncing to Britney Spears, Jisung’s heart did something it had no business doing.
It flipped.
He felt warm and dizzy, like he was watching something forbidden. His stomach fluttered, his face burned, and for the first time in his life he thought: Oh no. She’s perfect.
Except it wasn’t “she.” It was Minho.
And that made it worse.
After the show, Minho strutted offstage with a victorious smirk, heels clicking like he’d done this before. He found Jisung hovering by the snack table, holding a plastic cup of Sprite like it was a lifeline.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Minho teased, planting a hand on his hip. “What, never seen a pretty girl before?”
Jisung nearly choked. “I—no—it’s not that—”
“Oh, so you’re saying I didn’t look good?” Minho pouted, batting his fake lashes dramatically.
“Well..you look different..i-in a sense.” Jisung muttered, awkwardly meeting his gaze.
“Different? How so?” Minho asked, a tone of mock sweetness, full of cheekiness instead.