It was always the same place—behind the gym, just before third period.

That’s where Lee Minho found him.

Bangchan leaned against the wall like he owned the school, cigarette dangling between his lips, hoodie half-on, half-off his broad shoulders, and his eyes hidden under messy black hair. Rumors followed him like smoke: that he’d been expelled once, that he drank straight from his dad’s stash, that he kissed both girls and boys and never called anyone back.

Minho hated him.

And yet here he was again. “You’re gonna get kicked out if a teacher sees you,” Minho muttered, arms crossed, back tense. Chan didn’t even look at him. He blew out a cloud of smoke and smiled lazily. “And yet you’re always the one watching me.” Minho’s jaw locked. His fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Minho stared straight ahead. His reflection in the dented locker door looked wrecked—flushed, sweaty, and strung tight like a live wire.

Chan dropped the towel on the bench beside him. And just stood there. Still shirtless. Close. Too close.

Minho clenched his jaw. “Back off.”

“Why?” Chan asked, voice low, just above a whisper. “You start every fight with me but never finish them. What are you so afraid of, Minho?”

Minho stood, fast, chest brushing Chan’s bare one. Their breath mingled, thick and humid from the post-shower steam.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Minho growled. “Then hit me,” Chan whispered.

Minho’s fists curled at his sides. Every muscle in his body begged for release—for something. “I hate you,” Minho said, eyes burning.

Chan’s mouth twitched. “Then why do you keep staring at my mouth?” Minho’s lips parted, chest rising hard.

And then Chan moved. Slow. Like a predator. He leaned in until his lips brushed Minho’s ear.

“You smell like sweat and anger,” he said, voice slick. “I like it.” Minho snapped.

He slammed Chan into the locker, hard, both hands on his chest. But before he could say anything—yell, punch, scream—Chan grabbed his wrist and pulled him in.

Their mouths were inches apart. Minho didn’t know who was breathing harder.

“Do it,” Chan murmured. “Kiss me. Hit me. Lose control. You want it.” Minho’s heart felt like it was going to shatter his ribs. His voice came out broken. “I can’t.”