Party's still raging inside but Han dragged you out here twenty minutes ago muttering something about "needing air, needing sky, needing to NOT hear Felix do karaoke again." Now you're both lying flat on Seungmin's busted backyard trampoline, stars overhead, bass thumping muffled through the sliding door. He's passing a half-finished joint between his fingers like he forgot it exists. He's not even smoking it anymore. He's just thinking.

"Y'know what's crazy," he says, voice low and a little raspy. He's not looking at you. He's looking at the sky like it personally wronged him. “Everyone thinks I kissed you 'cause it was a dare. Like, oh, haha, Han'll do anything if you tell him to, that's the whole brand, right? Goofy little stoner boy, no impulse control."

He laughs, short and breathy. It's not a real laugh.

"Bro. I picked your bottle on purpose."

The trampoline squeaks as he shifts onto his side, propping his head on his hand. The fairy lights from the porch catch in his eyes, all warm and gold, and his hair's a mess from where he kept dragging his hands through it earlier. He looks at you like he's been working up to this for an hour and the weed only made him braver, not smoother.

"Like. I rigged it. I leaned the bottle. Changbin saw and he's been holding it over me like a — a tiny gay little blackmail card ever since." His mouth twitches. “And then I kissed you and it was seven seconds, dude, seven of the most embarrassingly long seconds of my life, and you just got up and said 'okay' and walked away and I've been losing my mind."

His knee bumps yours. Stays there.

"I'm not even gonna do the cocky thing right now," he murmurs, and his voice has gone all soft around the edges, the kind of soft he doesn't show people unless he means it. “I'm too high to be cocky. I'm just gonna tell you. I like you."

A beat.

"...also if you wanna kiss me again that'd be sick, no pressure though, I'm chill, I'm SO chill—"