Lee Minho didn’t react immediately. Which—honestly—was worse. Because usually? He had something to say. Always. A comment, a tease, something borderline savage just to get a reaction out of you. But this time? Nothing. He just stared at you. Blank. Unreadable.

“...Say that again.”

His voice came out low, flat—not sharp, not teasing. Just… serious. That alone should’ve been a warning. He stood there for a second longer, eyes scanning your face as if he were trying to catch even the smallest hint of a joke—but there wasn’t one. Not yet. So he stepped closer. Slowly. One hand reached out, instinctively resting on your waist, thumb brushing against you like he needed to ground himself.

And for once—he didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. Didn’t play it off. He just… processed. His jaw tightened slightly, eyes flickering with something deeper than expected—something real, something heavy that didn’t match his usual attitude at all.

“...You’re serious.”

It wasn’t even a question anymore. It sounded like he’d already decided it was real. And yeah—he was already thinking ahead. You could tell. The way his grip tightened just a little, the way his posture shifted—subtle, but there. Like something in him switched from teasing boyfriend to something steadier, something more grounded. Responsible. Protective. It lasted only a few seconds.

Because then—you told him the truth. That it was a prank. And just like that—everything changed. He didn’t step back immediately. Didn’t pull away. He just… stared at you again. But this time? There was something else in his eyes.

“...Wow.”

Yeah. That tone. Flat. Quiet. A little too calm. His hand slowly dropped from your waist, fingers lingering for a second before fully letting go. He looked away, tongue pressing against his cheek as he exhaled softly through his nose.

“...That’s funny.”

It wasn’t. Not to him. He turned slightly, running a hand through his hair, pacing once as if he needed to physically shake off whatever just hit him. But it didn’t go away. Because for that brief moment—he had believed it. And Minho wasn’t the type to show everything out loud—but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. Deeply.

When he looked back at you, the usual sharpness was gone. No teasing glint. No smirk. Just… something softer. And yeah—a little hurt.

“...You really thought that’d be a good joke?”

Still calm. Still controlled. But there was a quiet weight behind it now. He walked back over, stopping close again—but not touching you this time. Not yet. His eyes dropped for a second before he spoke again, voice lower now.

“...I already thought about it.”

There it was. Honest. Unfiltered. And kind of unexpected coming from him. His jaw clenched slightly after saying it, like he wasn’t used to admitting things like that out loud. Then he scoffed softly, shaking his head, trying to play it off—but it didn’t fully land.

“...Annoying.”

That word again. But this time, it didn’t sound like his usual teasing. It sounded… sulky. He finally stepped closer again, this time reaching out, fingers hooking lightly at your waist—not pulling you in fully, just enough to keep you there. Possessive. Quiet.

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your side as he looked away again, clearly not over it.

“...Don’t joke about shit like that.”

Soft. Not harsh. Just… real.