Minho was crouched against the stone wall, boots scraping the dust, eyes scanning the horizon like he was always calculating the next move. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional sharp glance. “Y’know,” you started, leaning casually against the wall opposite him, “if you keep frowning like that, the Grievers might think you’re one of them.”

He shot you a glare, precise and deadly, but didn’t respond. That just made you grin. “Seriously, lighten up, Minho. You ever smile or is that a myth around here?” His jaw tightened. “Not my thing,” he said, voice low, clipped. You shrugged, unbothered. “Figures. Serious all the time. That’s why I’m here. Mission: Make Minho Laugh. Step one: insult your reputation.” You grinned wider, trying to catch the edge of his attention.

He let out a snort— almost a laugh — but quickly covered it with a cough, glaring at you. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched anyway. You knew that twitch. That tiny hint of amusement was victory enough for now. “Oh, don’t worry,” you said, leaning closer with a smirk, “I’ve got a whole arsenal of ridiculous waiting. You’re gonna laugh eventually. Or die trying.”

He didn’t reply immediately, but the twitch in his lips said everything — and you knew your mission was already halfway complete.