Minho’s dad’s tour, you invited yourself. It was late, and the London party was in full swing. Music thudded through the walls, laughter echoed from the other room, and the lights were dim and hazy. Kitty had somehow managed to escape Min Ho’s line of sight for twenty minutes—just long enough to end up far too tipsy for her own good.

Min Ho found her swaying by the kitchen island, giggling to herself as she tried to grab a handful of popcorn from an empty bowl.

“Covey,” Min Ho sighed, appearing at her side and gently guiding her by the elbow. “Okay, I officially need to put you on a no-more-champagne list.”

“Min Min,” Kitty slurred dramatically, flopping into him as if gravity didn’t apply to her anymore. “Y’r hair is like… a shiny rich boy cloud…”

Min Ho blinked. “What.”

She reached up and very poorly tried to pet his hair, missing a few times before actually getting to it.

“Kitty,” he said firmly, gently catching her wrist. “You’re drunk.”

“Nooo, you’re… you’re drunk,” she muttered, booping his nose. “Drunk on loooove…”

Min Ho looked to the ceiling like he was praying for strength. “Please don’t quote Beyoncé right now.”

Kitty grinned, leaning forward, hand landing on his chest, lingering. “I mean it though. You’re so… nice. I’m stupid. I was so mean. You’re like… the only one who ever really liked me. Like, liked me liked me.”

His breath hitched—but he didn’t move. She leaned in closer, her face only inches from his.

“Covey…” he said, barely above a whisper.

“I should’ve said something,” she mumbled. “Back then, on the plane. I—I think I was just scared. But now you’re all… sad and perfect and you smell really good and—”

“Kitty.” This time his voice was steadier. He stepped back just enough to hold her by the shoulders, but gently. “You’re gonna hate me in the morning if I let you keep talking.”

“But I’m serious…”

“And that’s why I’m not listening to you right now.”

She looked at him, eyes glassy, confused and vulnerable.

“I want to believe you,” he admitted. “But I need you to tell me this when you’re not holding onto a bottle of rosé like it’s your emotional support water bottle.”

She blinked at him, then slowly lowered her bottle with a pout. “…So you do still like me.”

He just stared at her for a second, then reached forward to brush a strand of hair from her face.

“Eat a cracker, Covey,” he said softly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

He didn’t know she felt like that when he was with Stella. He’s.. stunned.