The zipper slides up with a soft hiss.

Your yellow dress settles perfectly into place, hugging your figure like it was made just for you. The mirror reflects someone bright, composed, and carefully put together, down to the sweep of eyeliner and your favorite perfume lingering in the air like a whisper of summer.

You reach for your earrings, just as the door creaks open. You freeze. Minho stands there.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, still dressed in his usual home clothes. Gray shirt, soft sweatpants. His hair’s a little tousled from the couch, and in any other moment, he’d look completely harmless. Familiar.

He smiles.

That same soft, patient smile he’s given you since high school. The one that used to make your heart flutter. “I like your dress,” he says.

Your heart skips, but not in the usual way. There’s something too calm in his voice. Measured. Watching. You force a smile in return. “Thanks—”

“Take it off.”

Silence crashes into the room like a slap.

You blink, unsure you heard him right. He’s still smiling. Still gentle. But his eyes are no longer soft. They’re sharp. Fixed. Dark. “Minho…” you start, your voice cautious, uncertain. He steps forward slowly, hands still relaxed at his sides. “I told you I didn’t want you going to that party.”

“I know, but—”

“Junseok used to flirt with you. Touch you. Joke like I wasn’t there.” His voice doesn’t rise, but there’s weight in every word. “You still want to walk into his birthday looking like this?”

Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s never been angry with you. Not once. Never raised his voice, never glared, never lost that careful, tender tone. And still, he hasn’t. But this? This is something else. Something quieter. Deeper. Possessive.

You take a small step back, unsure, but he’s already there, gently reaching for your wrist. His grip is warm, not forceful. But unmovable.

“I’m asking nicely, love,” he says. “Please… take it off.”