You and Mingi had always danced around it—this slow-burn, almost-something that lived in the space between stolen glances and brushed hands. He was bold when he wanted to be, loud and confident in the way he laughed or teased you in front of your friends. But when it came to you, when it came to this—he got quiet. Careful. Like he didn’t want to mess it up.

Tonight, it was just the two of you, walking home under the soft glow of streetlights. He’d been acting different—more restless, more in his head. You stopped at your door, turning to say goodnight, when he suddenly reached out and caught your wrist.

“Wait.” He said, voice low, his gaze searching yours. “Can I…”

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t speak. You just looked at him—wide-eyed, heart pounding. Then he leaned in, kissed you once—soft, hesitant. But when he pulled back, something shifted in your expression.

“That’s it?” You whispered, breath warm against his lips. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

Mingi didn’t hesitate after that. His hands cupped your face, and this time, he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. Like he meant every second of it.