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Chapter Text

Kitty had planned everything perfectly. Or so she thought. She’d fallen asleep almost instantly. Exhaustion from the long night catching up to her the moment she curled up on the couch, wrapped in the borrowed blanket with a soft scent of mint and something distinctly Minho lulling her into a deeper sleep than she expected. And somehow, despite the unfamiliar space, despite the knowledge that she wasn’t supposed to be there, she had slept soundly through the night. At some point, Q must have come by, checking on Minho before heading to his own room—but Kitty hadn’t stirred, not even when the door creaked open and shut.

Her plan was simple: wake up before sunrise, sneak out of Minho’s room, and slip back to her own dorm unnoticed. Easy.

Except when she finally did wake up, it wasn’t to the soft glow of early morning or the sound of her alarm—it was to fingers ruffling her hair gently.

Kitty blinked, still caught in the haze of sleep, her mind sluggishly catching up to reality. When she finally registered what was happening, she found herself staring straight into Minho’s face. He was crouched in front of her, his eyes filled with amusement, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep. “Slept well last night?

Panic shot through Kitty instantly. Her plan—her perfect plan—was completely ruined. She was supposed to be gone before Minho even woke up, not be caught red-handed like this. His hand, warm and steady, lingered lightly in her hair, as if he had forgotten to pull away.

“Oh my God.” Her voice came out as a horrified whisper. “It’s already morning??” She shot up so fast she nearly knocked heads with Minho, who rocked back slightly, his brow raising in amusement.

Blanket slipped from her shoulders while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

When she opened her eyes, she caught Minho’s gaze that was locked on her, completely unreadable, mouth slightly parted like his brain had stalled mid-sentence. His usual smirk? Gone. His entire existence? Suspended.

Kitty frowned. “What?”

Minho blinked once. Then twice. Then, in a display of sheer willpower, he forced himself to lean back like nothing had happened, fingers flexing against his knee.

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly. He cleared his throat and turned away, dragging a hand through his hair like that would reset his brain.

“Anyway it’s half past nine, almost noon, princess.” Minho’s voice was scratchy, but the teasing edge was unmistakable. 

Kitty facepalmed, contemplating her life. She was supposed to wake up hours ago! She was supposed to be gone before this happened! 

“Now tell me, even though I was a bit out of it last night, I remembered you saying you’ll leave when Q arrived. And as far as I know, Q already came by, he checked on me last night, so why are you—” He paused with a tilt of his head, tone more teasing than curious.

Kitty froze. Right, he thought she had left last night. Now that Minho caught her, the last thing she needed was to bump into Q outside. She already said she went back to her dorm last night, so if Q saw her exiting Minho’s room, her life is practically over.

“I—” she started, grasping for an excuse but her brain refused to work right when she just woke up. But Minho just nodded his head several times, as if knowing that anything that’d come out of Kitty’s mouth was a pitiful excuse. A small—still-sleepy, but undeniably warm—smile tugging at his lips. 

“You wanted to have a sleepover with the hottest guy in school?” Minho added. Kitty rolled her eyes, knowing that it’d be useless to argue. 

“Join me and Q at breakfast?” Minho points his thumb outside before standing up. Kitty sighed, shoving her face into her hands instead. Great, so she would definitely face Q. 

She heard Minho chuckle before saying “You look good in my shirt, by the way.” before actually leaving.

Kitty grabbed a pillow then groaned into it, ignoring the warmth that crept up her cheeks. Of course, he’d notice. This was already shaping up to be the worst morning ever.

Kitty sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the door like it was her mortal enemy. Beyond it, she could hear the low murmur of Minho and Q’s voices. The sound of cutlery clinking. The sizzle of something cooking. The casual rhythm of a morning she wasn’t supposed to be part of.

She groaned softly, running a hand through her hair. Maybe if she just stayed in here long enough, they’d leave, and she could sneak out unnoticed. Or maybe she could climb out the window. Would she survive the fall? Debatable.

But the longer she sat there, the more ridiculous she felt. Hiding wouldn’t change the fact that she was caught. By Minho. And knowing him, he’d drag this out for as long as possible, teasing her relentlessly until she finally cracked. Better to just face it now and get it over with.

She looked down. Should she change out of Minho’s shirt? But then she’d have to put on last night’s clothes, which would raise even more questions. So, either way, she was doomed. She groaned. There was really no way to make this situation better, was there?

With a deep breath, she stood up, squared her shoulders, and swung the door open. 

She barely had a second to register the sight of Q standing in the middle of the room before he exploded.

“WOW, wow, wow—wait, what? Kitty?! ” His eyes went comically wide as he pointed at her like he’d just seen a ghost. Then, whirling toward Minho—who was flipping eggs, looking completely unbothered—he shrieked, “You two—why are YOU coming out of HIS ROOM?”.

“Look, Q—” 

“Is that MINHO’S SHIRT?!!” Kitty sighed, of course Q would notice that too. 

Without thinking, she blurted, “Q, it’s an accident.” 

Minho scoffed. 

Only then did Kitty realize just how scandalous that sounded.

“Oh my God, no I didn’t mean—”

“Accident? What accident?!” Q looked even more traumatized, his hands flew to his head like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Kitty, you told me you left last night so why am I seeing you walk out of Minho’s room at nine in the morning wearing his shirt?! Oh my god, I think I’m gonna pass out.” He collapsed on the sofa.

Honestly, Kitty also wanted to collapse. Preferably straight into the ground, never to be seen again. 

“Q,” She sighed, “I swear it’s not what it looks like,”

“Breakfast done.” Minho announced, completely unfazed. She shot him a glare—a silent plea for help—but all she got in return was a smirk. 

Q was still clutching his head. “Minho, you have to tell me and Dae if you’re planning to have a—” He hesitated, grimacing. “—a girl over.” He practically choked on the last word. 

Kitty sighed, probably for the tenth time this morning.

Minho, looking far too cheerful for someone who had a major fever last night, set the plates down with an easy grin. “It’s Covey, you know her, Q.” His voice was light, teasing. Q shut his eyes, like his headache just got worse.

“Scrambled or sunny side up?” Minho turned to Kitty, like this was just any other normal morning. Kitty grabbed the scrambled eggs in silence. Maybe… just maybe … they should talk about this after breakfast.

For a brief moment, there was silence as they ate. The only sound was the occasional clink of forks against plates… and Q staring at them like they were an unsolved murder case. Kitty felt his gaze boring into her. Minho, who was beside her, remained completely unbothered.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She sheepishly poked at her scrambled eggs before glancing at Q. “So… what did your coach get mad about last night?”

Q turned his head so fast that she hurriedly looked away, her breakfast suddenly looked interesting. 

“Kitty,” he sighed, then he looked between her and Minho in exasperation, “no, both of you. Tell me the truth, what happened?”

Minho raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Believe me, I’m curious too.” He set his empty plate down, then leaned back, “I woke up this morning and saw this weird lump on my sofa. And when I got closer—” he turned his head to face Kitty, his grin widening as he deliberately drawled, “—turns out, it was a sleeping kitty.”

Kitty blinked. 

Her brain short-circuited for a second. The words barely registered at first, but the moment they did, a wave of heat rushed to her face. Her body betrayed her instantly, warmth creeping up her neck, her ears burning like they were set on fire. She hoped—prayed—that her face wasn’t screaming what the hell was that?! as loudly as her brain was.

She told herself she was blushing because she was embarrassed, not because the way Minho called her name sounded a bit too affectionate.

Both Q and Minho seemed to notice the changes on her face. She felt Q’s stare before she even looked at him. And sure enough, when she did, he was watching her with a knowing expression, eyebrows raised, lips pressed together like he was physically holding back a smug grin. 

And, because Minho was Minho, he had the audacity to look pleased with himself. With the way his lips twitched ever so slightly. His eyes gleaming with amusement. Like he had just won something. Like he had thrown bait into the water just to see if she’d bite. 

Kitty willed herself to act normal, to shove down whatever weird, inexplicable thing was happening in her chest. 

She cleared her throat, desperate to move this along before she actually combusted. “Like I said,” she said quickly, voice maybe a bit too loud, “it was an accident. BUT—not that kind of accident.” She pointed a warning fork at Q before he could even try to say something.

Q raised his hands in mock surrender, but the sly smile on his face remained.

“I—see my plan was to stay here because you said the teachers were starting to do nightly checks, then I’d sneak out early, before both of you woke up. Before this—” she gestured vaguely around her, indicating the disaster of a morning she was currently living through, “—could happen.”

Minho let out a soundless laugh, like this was all very fascinating to him. Meanwhile Q already opened his mouth, ready to argue. But Kitty cut him off, “and I knowww you told me to leave already. But I could’ve bumped into them while sneaking out, and, and, I wasn’t taking any chances, Okay? I know it’s not the best plan, I just—” she sighed, slumping in defeat, “I just really thought it was”

Q just stared at her, like he was still trying to process the absolute nonsense she had just spewed. Like he was calculating how many brain cells he had lost listening to her logic. 

Before he could find the words, Minho turned to him and, in the most casual, matter-of-fact voice, said, “Covey wanted to have a sleepover with the hottest guy in school.”

Q snorted, nodding like that explanation actually made way more sense than whatever Kitty had said. Meanwhile Kitty whipped her head toward Minho so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“You know what, Minho?” She groaned, glaring daggers at him. “For someone who could barely stand up last night, you recovered really quickly.”

Q scoffed, “thanks to the one taking care of him then, right Minho?” 

Without missing a beat, the two of them exchanged a lowkey-cool guys-high five, as if Q had just delivered the most groundbreaking revelation of the century.

Kitty rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension. Why was she friends with either of them?

Q stretched as he stood up. “Anyway—bathroom break,” he announced. Then, glancing at the empty plates, he added, “Minho, I’ll do the dishes when I’m back. I’ll be quick.”

Minho nodded, his eyes following Q as he disappeared. The second the door clicked shut, he casually scooted even closer to Kitty. Not that there was much space between them to begin with.

“So,” Minho’s voice dropped lower, teasing. “The explanation about you wearing my shirt?”

Kitty turned to him, arching a brow. If he was going to tease, then fine . She could absolutely play along. 

She hummed, pretending to consider. Then she stretched her arms out, letting the oversized sleeves drape dramatically. “Oh, this?” she said innocently. “Well, you know, I was bored, and I kind of wanted to annoy you—since you gave me such a hard time last night.” She drawled.

Minho hummed in acknowledgment. There was a flicker in his eyes, like he wasn’t expecting her to actually keep up with him. He then turned fully toward her—one arm draped over the couch, the other resting lazily in his lap. Like he was settling in. Like he had all the time in the world for this conversation.

Kitty continued, determined to get back at him for leaving her to die under Q’s interrogation earlier.

“So, I played around with your wardrobe a little,” she said, carefully watching his face. “By the way, your clothes smell weirdly good. What do you do, drown them in perfume?” 

“Yeah?” Minho raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting like whatever Kitty was doing was very entertaining to him.

Kitty nodded, feeling bolder. “And then I found this one,” She tugged at them of the shirt she was wearing, her smile turning sly. “I recall I don’t normally wear black. So I took a look at it. And I thought, huh. I bet it would really piss Minho off if he saw me wearing it.”

A pause. She let her words settle, studying him, waiting for a reaction.

His gaze stayed locked onto her, unwavering. But this time, she swore she caught the tiniest twitch in his fingers—like he had to stop himself from adjusting his posture. Interesting. 

Kitty pushed forward, tilting her head playfully. “But… I see it didn’t bother you that much. Why? Is it because I look really good in it?”

And then—

“You do.”

Minho said it so easily like it was the truth. So casually like he was stating an obvious fact. So genuine like he liked Kitty wearing his clothes. Like he liked seeing Kitty in his clothes.

Minho’s gaze flickered downward for just a fraction of a second—so quick she might’ve imagined it. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to brush something off. When he finally looked her in the eye again, his smirk had returned, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something dangerously close to serious.

She opened her mouth, but—nothing. No response. Nothing remotely intelligent. Just pure, absolute static.

And then Minho—because apparently ruining her life wasn’t enough—licked his lips.

Kitty nearly blacked out.

I kind of want to kiss hi—WHAT. NO.

No, no, no, no. This is so dangerous. 

She swallowed, forcing herself to look away—to breathe—but she could feel his gaze still on her, watching her every movement. 

“You should probably keep it.” His voice was light, casual—too casual. Like he had made a decision not to care, except he obviously did.

Kitty thanked every higher power in existence when Q finally emerged from the bathroom.

-

A few moments had passed, and Kitty was still on the couch, staring at nothing in particular, hands clasped together in her lap. Her mind was racing, but outwardly? She looked suspiciously still. Too still.

Q, ever observant, silently took note of this as he started gathering the dishes. He didn’t say anything, but Kitty could feel his curiosity buzzing in the air.

Meanwhile, Minho had already made a graceful exit. One moment, he was still next to her, looking way too smug for her sanity. The next, he cleared his throat, muttered something about taking a shower, and disappeared.

Q stacked the last plate, giving her a quick glance before heading to the sink. Still, he said nothing.

Kitty exhaled sharply and stood up, making her way over to him. “Need any help?”

Q gave her a smile, “No, it’s fine. I can handle three plates just fine.” 

Kitty grinned, relieved that Q seemed normal again—not traumatized or in full detective mode like earlier. Still, she stayed beside him, grabbing a towel to dry the dishes as he washed.

“Anyway,” she started, then hesitated. “I should probably head back to my dorm soon.” She sighed, her voice tinged with reluctance. “Which sucks, because I’m all alone there. And, you know… how fun is it to hang out with you guys?”

Q glanced at her, smiling knowingly, “so just stay longer.”

“I can’t, I need to clean up and everything—” She glanced down at Minho’s shirt, tugging at the fabric between her fingers, “—laundry this thing, too.”

Q raised a brow. “Did Minho tell you to do that?”

“No,” she said, wringing out the dishcloth. Then after a beat, she continued, “he told me to keep it.”

Q scoffed—almost instantly. “Of course he did.”

Kitty frowned at his immediate reaction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Q finished rinsing the last dish, dried his hands, and finally turned to face her, leveling her with a look.

“Kitty,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”

Kitty blinked. “…Figure what out?”

Q gave her a look like this was physically painful for him. Then, as if speaking to a particularly slow child, he said, “He never gave any of his ex-girlfriends any of his really expensive clothes. What do you think?”

Kitty blinked again. Then, after a beat, she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. He probably just let me keep it because I already contaminated the shirt.”

Q stared at her.

Then he dramatically dragged a hand down his face, like he was personally suffering.

“I can’t take any more of this,” he muttered to himself. Then, looking straight at her, he sighed, exasperated. “Kitty. Please. For the sake of both of us—do something.”

Kitty exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. “Whatever you mean by that? No.” Q leaned on the counter, arms folded, head tilted  in silent judgment. His expression practically screamed Why?

Kitty hesitated, shifting her weight slightly. “Because,” she started, then cleared her throat. “He said he’s done with dating. And whatever I’m feeling right now is just—temporary.”

A lie. A blatant, poorly constructed, laughable lie. But if she said it enough times, maybe it would start sounding true. Maybe. 

She straightened her spine, pushing forward. “And I told you. I’m terrified of whatever this is. He’s one of my best friends, and I’m not risking ruining that. Besides, that guy can’t go five minutes without finding some new way to irritate me.”

Q shot her a knowing look, “to get your attention—”

“—to piss me off.” Kitty corrected  immediately, arms tightening across her chest, as if that could physically block out whatever truth Q was trying to force on her.

Q chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, it’s funny you’re saying all this while wearing his shirt.”

Kitty groaned. “Oh my god, again with the shirt.”

“What’s the origin story there, anyway?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Kitty, your whole plan was stupid.”

She huffed, tilting her head back. “No, well—yes. But I changed out of my shirt because I didn’t want to sleep in my outside clothes. It really was that simple.”

And yet.

Her mind goes back and forth, remembering the way Minho said that she looked good wearing his clothes, the way his eyes had lingered a second too long. Did he just say that to mess with her? To throw her off? Oh my god. Did he know it would mess with her?

She snapped herself out of it, frowning. “And now Minho told me to keep it. Q, is it really that bad when someone borrows your shirt? Like, to the point where you don’t want to wear it again?”

Q stared at her. Slow, deliberate. As if processing how far gone she truly was. “So we’ve reached this stage, huh?”

“What stage?”

He ignored her. “If you keep doing this, you’re just living in constant pain.”

“I’m not—”

A door creaked open, Minho stepped out of his room, freshly showered, damp hair tousled in that effortlessly perfect way that should be illegal. His white t-shirt—slightly wet—clung to him in all the ways that made Kitty’s brain short-circuit, and the scent of his shampoo—clean, expensive, undeniably him—drifted into the air.

He moved with the same easy confidence he always did, like the world bent slightly around him rather than the other way around. Like he was completely unaware of how his presence shifted the atmosphere in a room. Kitty’s fingers twitched at her sides. She resisted the urge to adjust her shirt, fix her hair—do something to shake the sudden awareness settling over her. 

Minho opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water. As he unscrewed the cap, Kitty—desperately needed to regain some ground—blurted out, “You know, you dry your hair first before putting on a shirt.” 

Minho swallowed his sip of water. “Thanks for the advice, Covey. FYI, I usually don’t wear shirts while drying my hair. I did it because I was considerate of you.”

Kitty rolled her eyes because why does he always have something to clapback with?  

Q, who had been leaning back against the counter, perked up. He looked between the two of them like a spectator settling in for a show. Then, because he lived for chaos, he mused, “So you did that because you were thinking about Kitty?”

Minho smirked, finally looking away from Kitty to acknowledge Q. “I’m telling you,” he said with an infuriating air of confidence, “she wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Her jaw clenched, but she schooled her expression into something neutral. No way was she letting Minho see even a flicker of reaction.

“So full of yourself, Mr. Moon.” She let out a deliberately slow, unimpressed smile. 

Minho grinned, clearly delighted at her choice of words. “If you’re talking about my dad, then yeah.” He popped a pill into his mouth and washed it down with another sip of water. 

Q squinted. “You’re still taking medicine?”

Minho shook his head. “Nah, it’s a vitamin. Making sure I’m completely over the fever.” He tilted his head slightly, flashing a knowing smile. “Can’t let nurse Covey’s hard work go to waste, now, can I?”

Kitty gave him an exaggerated, totally forced smile (not really.) “You still owe me, by the way.”

Q added, “She told me she’d like K-BBQ.” 

Kitty’s eyes widened. She whipped her head toward Q, scandalized. Oh my god. He just aired her out like that.  

Minho didn’t miss a beat. He hummed in approval. “Yeah, K-BBQ sounds good. Tonight? Or tomorrow night?”

Then, smoothly—too smoothly—he turned to Kitty. “Covey?”

Kitty blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Huh?”

Minho just waited. Calm, casual, like he didn’t just put her on the spot.

“Tomorrow night is fine,” she said slowly, only now processing what she’d just agreed to. This was supposed to be a joke, not an actual plan.

Then he turned to Q—who had the nerve to look bewildered. “Me?” Q blinked, pointing at himself. “You’re asking me too?”

Minho shrugged, his expression neutral. “Yeah, you made me dinner.”

Q waved a dismissive hand, “It was just porridge. Not a big deal. Besides, I’m totally busy tonight and tomorrow night, so,” he shrugged, “no can do.”

Minho hummed again, a quiet, satisfied sound. “Alright.”

He didn’t say anything else, but when he picked up his water bottle and took a sip, his lips curled slightly around the rim, like he was hiding a smile.

Still clinging to a shred of dignity, Kitty turned to Q, grasping for an out. “You sure you can’t go? We can eat as much as we want, for free—right, Minho?”

Minho nodded, but Q only smiled at her, his gaze flicked from Minho to Kitty, then back again. He smirked, shaking his head like he’d just confirmed something. “Oh, Kitty,” he sighed dramatically, “I’m one hundred percent sure I won’t be able to make it. Just send me a picture of you guys eating if it makes you feel better.”

Mark her words, Kitty will deal with Q later. 

She turned her attention to Minho, just for a second, like she was checking something. He didn’t say anything, just stretching out his arms over his head, looking suspiciously… pleased.

She looked away. Nope. Not reading into that.

After a pause, she turned back to Minho, squaring her shoulders. “I’m gonna enter your room.” She announced, as flatly, before marching toward it.

Minho raised his brows, voice dripping with amusement. “Someone’s getting comfortable.”

Kitty rolled her eyes.

She stepped into his room, shutting the door behind her. The scent of his cologne and faint traces of his shampoo lingered in the air, which so wasn’t distracting. Not at all. Her last night shirt was neatly folded on the sofa. She grabbed it, shaking off the ridiculous thought that maybe he’d done that on purpose. Because he wouldn’t. Right?

As she turned to leave, she caught muffled voices through the door.

Q’s tone was smug. “Seriously? Nurse Covey? ”

Then—Minho’s unmistakably flustered, “Shut up.”

Kitty paused, blinking.

What.

She shook her head and quickly walked back into the living room before she could dwell on it. Minho was now lounging on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, watching her with casual amusement.

“Found what you were looking for?” he asked.

Kitty hummed as an answer, making her way toward her phone. “I need to go back now, guys. Thanks for having me.”

Q, ever the menace, grinned. “Well, we didn’t even know we had you around last night.” He waved her off dramatically. “But yeah, bye-bye Kitty .”

Minho didn’t say much—just smiled, lifting a hand in a lazy wave.

As Kitty opened the door, she heard Q’s voice behind her.

“Weren’t you drying your hair?”

A beat. Then—“Oh, right!” followed by hurried footsteps.

Kitty laughed to herself. Silly Minho.

Chapter Text

Minho lay sprawled on his bed, one arm draped over his forehead, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. His room was dim, the glow from his phone screen casting long shadows against the walls as the time blinked mockingly at him. Too late to be awake, too early to justify the tossing and turning.

With an exasperated sigh, he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. Then onto his stomach. Then onto his back again, limbs splayed like a starfish. Nothing felt comfortable. His sheets were suffocating, the room felt too warm, and no matter how much he adjusted, his brain refused to shut up. Why the hell couldn’t he sleep? He knew why, obviously. He just didn’t want to admit it.

Tomorrow night, he was getting K-BBQ with Kitty. Just the two of them.

Which shouldn’t be a big deal. It wasn’t like they hadn’t hung out alone before. They’d done stuff together, just the two of them before. Like when he went with her to Bukjeon to meet her extended family. That had been an entire trip. No overthinking necessary. But back then, things were different. Minho had a girlfriend back then—it was easy to categorize their relationship as strictly platonic.

Now?

Now, there was no built-in excuse, no girlfriend-shaped buffer between him and whatever this thing was.

Minho groaned, dragging a hand down his face. It was just dinner. He shouldn’t be overthinking this. But then again, if it was just dinner, why was his stomach twisting itself into knots?

Maybe it was because, when Minho had said he’d take her to dinner to pay her back, the first thing that popped into his head was a date.

No. No, no, no. That was dangerous thinking. Kitty was his friend. His best friend, even. He wasn’t about to risk that.

But his brain, traitorous as ever, flashed back to the way she looked in his shirt, the way she smiled at him in that way she didn’t even realize she did. The way her voice softened when she stayed by his side that night.

Minho sat up abruptly, raking a hand through his hair. He needed to stop. Now. Before he dug himself into a hole he wouldn’t be able to crawl out of.

He flopped back down, gripping his pillow and shoving his face into it. He’d just act normal tomorrow. Treat it like any other dinner. He wasn’t about to be the idiot who made things weird.

But deep down, he knew.

He was so screwed.

Needing to clear his head, Minho swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching until his joints popped. The wooden floor was cool against his bare feet as he padded toward the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

The dorm was quiet at this hour, the usual buzz of life dulled by the late night. He made his way to the kitchen, flipping on a light that cast a dim glow over the countertops. His movements were sluggish as he grabbed a glass and poured himself some oat milk, stirring it absentmindedly as he leaned against the counter. He had just taken a sip when Q’s door swung open.

The man in question emerged, wearing a full-on sheet mask, his face an eerie, glossy white under the kitchen light. For a second, Minho just stared, his glass of milk halfway to his mouth.

“Please tell me you’re actually Q and not some ghost that’s been living in our dorm this whole time,” Minho deadpanned.

Q peeled off the mask and, without missing a beat, hit him with the most unenthusiastic “Boo.” Then he grinned and tossed the mask into the trash.

Minho blinked. “That was genuinely unsettling.”

Q ignored him, leaning slightly to peek at Minho’s glass. “Can’t sleep, huh?”

Minho rolled his eyes, refusing to take the bait. Instead, he narrowed his gaze.  “Were you in your room all night?”

Q nodded easily. Circling the counter to grab himself a bottle of water. Minho frowned, lowering his glass. “Didn’t you say you were busy tonight?”

For just a second, Q hesitated. Barely a flicker. But Minho caught it.

“Well—yeah,” Q finally said, shifting his weight. “I needed to sleep early tonight because I have training tomorrow. Taking care of myself before training is something to do, you know?” He gestured vaguely to his face, as if that proved his point.

Minho squinted. First of all, Q had insisted he needed an early night—so why was he still up? Second, whatever excuse he was trying to sell was straight-up BS. But Minho was too drained to call him out and interrogate whatever nonsense Q was trying to pull. He had bigger things to worry about.

“Right,” Minho said slowly, taking another sip of his drink. “Glad to see you taking self-care so seriously.”

Q hummed in agreement, either oblivious to—or purposefully ignoring—the sarcasm. He downed a few gulps of water before glancing at Minho, this time with a knowing, almost too smug smile.

“You nervous or something?” he asked, far too casually.

Minho bit back his tongue, knowing fully well Q is trying to rile him up. “What?”

Q grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. He turned to head back to his room but, as he passed, gave Minho a casual pat on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he said breezily, like it was an inside joke Minho wasn’t in on.

Minho turned, watching as Q strolled off without another word, disappearing behind his door. He glared at the now-closed door for a solid three seconds before huffing and downing the rest of his oat milk.

Unbelievable.

-

Minho was deep in sleep, curled up under his blankets, when the sudden buzzing of his phone shattered the silence. He groaned, blindly fumbling for the device, cracking one eye open to glance at the caller ID.

Kitty.

Half-asleep, he blinked at the screen, a slow, unconscious smile tugging at his lips. He then glanced at the time—8:30 a.m.—way too early for a normal call. Already thinking of something teasing to say, he sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair in an attempt to shake off the drowsiness. He needed to sound normal. Collected. Not like he’d just been passed out just thirty seconds ago.

But just as he was about to answer, a stupid thought crept in. 

What if Kitty is calling him because she wants to cancel their plan? 

Minho’s hand stalled. His stomach dipped—just slightly, just enough to be annoying. He wasn’t the type to overthink, if she did, she probably had something else to do, or probably she just didn’t feel like going out with him. Not that it should matter. She’d rejected him once before. He could take it. 

With an exhale, he finally answered, voice casual, “Already missing me?”

“Shut up,” Kitty shot back, a little breathless. “Minho, is basic laundry fine, or does it need a tailored approach?”

Minho blinked. His brain, still sluggish from sleep, struggled to process. “..huh?”

Kitty let out an impatient sigh. “Your shirt, Minho. How do you normally wash it?”

Minho leaned back against his headboard, running a palm down his face. He really shouldn’t be feeling anything about this—she was just calling to ask about laundry, for god’s sake—but for some reason, his chest tightened. Not in a dramatic, heart-racing way, but in a way that made him frown at the ceiling. He’d told her to keep it. He wanted her to keep it. And yet, instead of just taking it, she was treating it like a temporary loan. Like she was making sure it could be returned to him, good as new.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, that stung a little.

Still, he kept his tone light. “Depends,” he mused. “How do you want your shirt washed?”

A pause. He could hear her walking, her breath steady through the speaker.

“You’re not serious about letting me keep this,” she finally said.

“Why not?” he countered, amused now.

“Ugh, whatever,” she grumbled. “I’m just gonna take it for a basic dry clean.”

Minho hummed, now fully awake and thoroughly enjoying himself. And because it was in his nature to push her buttons. “This is kind of cute, though.” He said, voice dropping into something a little too smug, “You’re calling me just to talk about laundry?”

For a moment, there was nothing but the faint crackle of the phone line. Then he could her chuckling playfully before answering, “no,” she said smoothly. Then her footsteps slowed, like she had stopped walking.

“I called you because I missed your voice.”

Beep beep beep. 

Kitty hung up.

Minho froze. The words barely had time to settle before the call screen disappeared, leaving him staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him, his heartbeat slamming unexpectedly against his ribs. 

A laugh bubbled up in his chest before he flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Then, because he was losing his mind and his life was officially a joke, he grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

She was probably just messing with him. Probably.

But if he was being honest with himself… he liked that way too much.

Kitty Song Covey truly was something else.

-

Kitty

what color r u gonna wear?

Minho

Why

Kitty

just answer

Minho

White

Kitty

OK

-

Minho spotted Kitty first, wearing a long-sleeve cardigan with jeans and sneakers, standing near the meeting spot with her arms crossed, her phone still in hand. She was scanning the crowd, her foot tapping slightly, as if impatient—though knowing Kitty, she was probably just overthinking something.

As he approached, she turned and immediately zeroed in on him, her eyes widening in horror.

“You said you were wearing white?” she whisper-screamed, looking personally offended.

Minho slowed his steps, taken aback. “Yeah?” He glanced down at himself, wondering what was wrong. His outfit was solid—a white turtleneck, black pants, and his light brown wool coat. Classic, stylish, undeniably him.

He then opened the coat slightly, revealing his sweater underneath. “My inner is white.” He looked back at her expectantly, as if that should settle it.

“That’s light brown, ” she accused, pointing at his coat like it had personally wronged her.

Minho raised his eyebrow, “Very correct.” He said, tone amused. “Now let’s guess the color of my pants?” 

Kitty rolled her eyes, catching his sarcastic tone. She started walking ahead, her pace brisk and determined, but Minho easily caught up with her in a few strides. As they fell into step together, their arms brushed. He chuckled. “What is it?”

Kitty huffed, running a hand through her hair in frustration before gesturing between them. “I’m wearing beige, and you’re wearing a light brown coat.”

Minho blinked. “Okay…” He dragged out the word, still waiting for the part where this was an actual problem.

“So,” Kitty let out an exasperated sigh, “we look like we’re matching.”

Minho stared at her for a second before letting out a soft, soundless laugh. Her brain never failed to fascinate him. “So that’s why you asked earlier. You didn’t want to match me.”

Kitty pressed her lips into a thin line, saying nothing.

Minho smirked, stepping closer as they reached the intersection. “Why?” He lightly guided her by the shoulder to turn right.

Because it was already ambiguous enough—the two of them, going out together for a K-BBQ dinner, dressed nicely, at a nice place. No need to add matching clothes to blur the line even more.

He knew, but for now he set that thought aside. “Relax, Covey. I’ll make sure we don’t get caught by paparazzi,” he said playfully. 

Kitty snorted. “Oh thank God. I was worried about all the headlines tomorrow.”

Minho grinned. “At least we didn’t wear our matching heart-shaped shirts that complete each other when we stand side by side,”

Kitty playfully slapped his arm. He turned his head to face her, “shut up…” She laughed heartily. “No way you have those kinds of clothes.”

“We can go to Hongdae. Heard they have the latest collection,” he blurted, just to make her laugh again. 

They were a few blocks away from the restaurant when Kitty glanced at him, suspicious. “You don’t actually own those matching heart shirts, do you?”

Minho scoffed. “You don’t seriously think I’d commit such a fashion crime, do you?”

Kitty grinned, but before the silence could settle for too long, she suddenly asked, “Wait, we’re going to be grilling right? Like actually putting the beef on fire?”

“Yes, Covey. It’s the whole concept of BBQ.” Minho answered, smirking.

“Funny. Anyway, is the smoke going to get into my clothes?” 

Minho turned to her, eyebrows slightly raised. Keeping up with the way her mind worked was an actual skill. “Probably. Why?”

“It’s such a shame because I just tried on a new perfume.” 

Minho hummed in acknowledgement, then, without thinking, said, “really? I noticed that you smell different.”

Kitty blinked. “You can tell?”

Minho opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked ahead, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he just slipped up. “Uh… yeah. I mean, it’s pretty obvious.” He bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to cringe at himself.

Kitty tilted her head, watching him like she was trying to figure something out. Then, as if testing him, she held out her wrist. “What’s it smell like?”

Minho hesitated before leaning in slightly. “Sweet pear?”

Kitty let out an impressed “Ooooh,” then pulled her hand back. “It’s from that fancy laundry place that I went to this morning.”

Minho scoffed, relieved for the shift in conversation. “So… laundry detergent?”

“Hey, it smells good!” Kitty laughed, making him laugh too.

They neared the restaurant, the warm light and slight murmur could be heard from outside. Minho reached for the door, pulling it open before she could. She gave him a silent thanks then stepped inside. Minho followed, inhaling deeply. The smell of grilled meat hit him first—the second thing was the realization that this almost felt like a date. He exhaled, willing himself to act normal.

As soon as they settled into their seats, Kitty glanced around before leaning in and whispering, “Isn’t this a private booth?”

Minho, already scanning the menu, hummed in confirmation. Kitty looked around again. They weren’t completely shut off from other diners, but the seating was definitely more secluded—better seats, better ambiance.

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you actually ask for this?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Why?”

“Too noisy and smoky over there,” he said simply, still focused on the menu.

Kitty shook her head but finally picked up her own menu. “The best cut... woo samgyup? Ooh, I’ve heard of this one—deungsim, deungsim,” she repeated, almost like a chant.

 Minho couldn’t help but look at her.

Adorable.

Oh, he’s so helpless.

“They sell wagyu too?” Kitty mused, mostly to herself. “Um, but we’re eating K-BBQ so I guess not..”

Minho chimed, “There is literally no rules on what to ord—”

“Shhh.” Kitty held up a finger, silencing him before he could finish.

Minho rolled his eyes, deciding not to engage in whatever internal debate she was having.

When the server came, Kitty ordered thoughtfully—with Korean, no less—picking a few good options. Minho noticed how she was careful not to choose anything too expensive. Without missing a beat, he added, “And we’ll take an order of the special Wagyu.”

Kitty’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing.

Minho leaned back lazily. “For me, Covey.”

She stared at him, like she was trying to decide if he was being ridiculous on purpose. Then, slowly, she smiled—not her usual teasing grin, but something softer. Something genuine. Something that made Minho feel like he’d just won a round he didn’t even know he was playing.

The server went to get their order, and both of them thanked her. Kitty then picked up her chopsticks and focused on setting up the grill, her face filled with anticipation.

Minho, watching her closely, couldn’t help himself. “Someone’s a happy Kitty.”

The reaction was instant.

Kitty visibly stiffened, her hand jerking slightly as she clicked the chopsticks she was holding. The sizzling sound indicated that the grill had emitted hot air, but Minho noted that the redness on her neck couldn’t just be from the heat of the grill. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—like a fish struggling to breathe.

Minho raised the corner of his mouth. Oh.

“You should really stop calling me that,” she finally muttered, her voice a little too tight.

“That’s your name.”

“I know but you said it differently!”

Minho tilted his head, watching her every movement. “Differently how?”

Kitty’s chopsticks fumbled as she played with it, nearly dropping it. “Just—weird. Like you have a different intention. Like a—like a pet name.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, “Technically, it is a pet name.”

“Ha ha.” She pouted. Then—almost like she was trying to shift the conversation—reached for the soy sauce, poured some into a small glass, and slid it toward him. “Here. Have a drink.”

Minho chuckled, genuinely amused at her silliness. “If I drink this in one shot, you have to do it too.”

Kitty’s eyes widened, alarm flashing across her face. “Hell no.” 

By the time the grill sizzled with perfectly seared cuts of meat, Kitty had launched into full gossip mode.

“I texted Peter last night, right? Just asking about something. It was probably, like, 6 a.m. in California, and he texted back in three seconds —just to tell me I’m stupid. Turns out, he was Face Timing Lara Jean. And you wanna know how I know? They invited me to their call. Just to say whatever Peter had said in his text. Like, I get it no need to gang up on me?” 

Minho cut another piece of meat before meeting her eyes, “Peter called you stupid?”

“Well not the word stupid, but, you know what I mean.” She huffed. “Also how annoying is it to facetime someone at six in the morning?”

Minho let out a small scoff, resting his elbow on the table as he turned toward her. “He’s calling his girlfriend.” He winced as he nudged the sizzling meat. “There’s nothing annoying about that. You’d understand sometime.”

He could feel her stare on her. And when he looked back at her he noticed her grip on her chopsticks tightened, but she recovered quickly, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Minho.” She took a sip of her drink before adding, “And Lara Jean can be too much sometimes. Especially in the morning.”

Minho reached for a slice of grilled beef, placed it in a lettuce wrap, added garlic and ssamjang, and rolled it up neatly. His hands moved automatically, years of practice kicking in.

Then, without thinking, he lifted the wrap—toward her .

Kitty blinked, startled.

Minho froze.

For a brief, horrifying moment, they just stared at each other. Minho’s hand was still mid-air, the wrap extended in her direction.

What. The. Hell.

Kitty’s eyes flickered between the wrap and his face, her lips parting slightly as if she, too, was processing what just happened. Her fingers curled against the table, her breath catching for just a second too long.

Minho, finally catching up with himself, cleared his throat and instead of feeding her, he dropped the wrap onto her plate, like that was his intention all along.

Kitty, who had just witnessed his momentary lapse in sanity, leaned forward with a slow, teasing smile. “You wanted to feed me?”

Minho felt warmth creep up his neck. “Just eat.” He reached for his drink, taking a longer-than-necessary sip to mask whatever that was. “And don’t talk about Lara Jean like that—she’s your sister.”

Kitty, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, took a bite. The moment the flavors hit, her eyes widened in delight. “Mmhmm!” she mumbled through a mouthful, practically melting into the seat. “Thwis is swo gwood !”

Minho smirked. “Uh-huh, rweally ?” he mocked, his voice a perfect imitation of her muffled speech. He bit back a smile when she shot him an annoyed look.

By the time she finished chewing, Minho had already assembled another wrap. He glanced at her, gauging her reaction, then lifted the wrap with his chopsticks—like he was about to place it on her plate again.

Kitty raised an eyebrow, waiting.

At the last second, Minho popped it into his own mouth instead.

He chewed, smiling way too smugly.

Kitty’s mouth fell open. How dare he.

And in an attempt to cheer herself, she grabbed a piece of lettuce with determination, “I can make my own.” She declared.

Only, it was a huge disaster.

The lettuce was too small, barely holding anything together. The meat stuck out at odd angles. The garlic teetered dangerously on top instead of being tucked inside. It looked less like food and more like a tragic lettuce boat about to sink.

Minho didn’t even have to say anything. The sheer judgment in his silence was loud enough.

Then, predictably, when Kitty tried to lift it, the whole thing collapsed—half the meat slipping onto her plate.

They both stared at the mess, as if mourning it.

Minho exhaled, shaking his head. “Nice try.”

Kitty scowled, jabbing her chopsticks in his direction. “Shut up.” She snatched another lettuce leaf, this time making sure she got it right. Minho plucked another piece of meat off the grill, wrapped it up flawlessly , and—without a word—handed it to her.

She hesitated before accepting it. Begrudgingly. While she took a bite, Minho watched her, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. She chewed thoughtfully, then grabbed another lettuce piece, determination settling in her expression.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, teach me how to actually make one."

Still busy grilling some of the last pieces, he smirked. “Now you want my wisdom.”

He transferred the cooked meat onto their shared plate before reaching for a wide piece of lettuce. “First of all, the base. Pick the right size. If the foundation is weak, the whole thing falls apart.” He shot her a knowing look. “Like your last disaster.”

Kitty rolled her eyes but followed his lead, carefully choosing a larger piece of lettuce.

“Next, the filling.” Minho placed a slice of meat at the center, then added just the right amount of ssamjang and a small clove of garlic. “If you overload it, the flavors won’t mix right. But if you skimp out, it’ll be bland.”

From across the table, she studied his hands carefully, mimicking his motions with a focus that almost made him grin. “So, balance is key.”

“Yeah,” Minho nodded, “but at the end of the day, it’s about how you like it. My brother loves garlic—he always puts two cloves in one wrap.”

The mention of his family made Kitty glance up, brows lifting slightly. Minho realized it too late. He rarely talked about them unless it was to complain. His fingers stilled for half a second before he forced himself to move again.

Then, something small but unexpected—her lips curled into a smile. Not a teasing one, not smug, just… soft. Understanding.

It caught him off guard enough that he returned it without thinking, just a flicker before he looked away.

She didn’t say anything about it, just went back to examining the food. Her gaze flicked to the plate between them. “Wait—did you cook all this meat without cutting it smaller?”

Minho scoffed. “Hey, I was busy cooking, eating, and making wraps for you all at the same time. Just take this one.” He nudged the smaller wagyu pieces toward her.

She hesitated. “But that’s yours…”

“And?” One brow lifted, daring her to argue.

After a second, she grabbed it anyway.

“Careful,” Minho already finished his ‘training’ wrap. He propped his chin on his hand, watching as Kitty tried again. “You pile on too much at once, things get messy and will start to fall apart. Too little, and it feels like something’s missing.”

He didn’t mean to, but his voice had softened somewhere along the way. Kitty’s hands slowed as she pressed the wrap together, thinking of the double meaning. “That’s… kind of true.”

A low chuckle escaped his throat, but it lacked the usual amusement. “It’s okay if it falls apart, you just gotta try again.” His voice was steady, but there was something in the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about food.

Her eyes lifted to his. For a second, neither of them spoke. Something warm and fragile sat between them, the kind of moment that felt like a held breath.

Then, she blinked and quickly looked down, clearing her throat. “Well, let’s see if I did this right.”

A slow, triumphant grin spread across her face as Kitty lifted the wrap, perfectly intact. “Ha!” She exclaimed. Minho gave her a slow, approving nod. He then leaned back, watching with barely concealed amusement. 

Kitty took a bite, chewing carefully. The moment she swallowed, she met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression before she finally said, “Not bad at all.”

A pause. 

“You’re lying. I saw you put too much ssamjang.” Minho teased when he saw her stiffened, face scrunching up ever so slightly.

She coughed, once, then twice. “No, it’s actually good alright!”

“That’s the wagyu coming to save the day.” Minho shook his head slowly, reaching for the water pitcher, pouring her a cup before sliding it across the table. Kitty took it wordlessly, gulping down the water. And while she was busy recovering, he silently placed the rest of the wagyu on the grill—like he hadn’t just spent the last thirty seconds silently laughing at her suffering.

-

Minho tapped his card against the reader, the sleek black credit card catching the light as he handed it over. The cashier, a young woman with neatly tied hair, glanced at it before flicking her gaze up at him, her smile turning just a little sweeter.

"It must be your first time here," she remarked casually before adding, "Do you have a girlfriend?" Her tone was light, but there was an unmistakable hint of interest beneath it.

He was taken aback by the sudden question. He let out a short, sheepish laugh, looking for an answer. Then—

A hand curled around his arm before he could say anything else. His brain short-circuited for half a second as Kitty leaned in ever so slightly, her fingers resting on his sleeve as she looked up at him. She wasn’t even looking at the cashier—her gaze was locked on him, expectant and completely unfazed.

“You done yet?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just sent his entire system into temporary shutdown. 

Minho barely breathed as he glanced down at where her fingers clung to his sleeve. His arm was suddenly hyper-aware of her presence, of the way she fit against him so effortlessly.

The cashier blinked, her confident expression faltering. "O-Oh," she mumbled, quickly finishing the transaction.

As she handed back the card, she cleared her throat. “Please wait just a second,” she said before disappearing behind a back door. Kitty shot Minho a questioning look, but the latter only shrugged. It was less than a minute when the cashier returned with two paper cups.

“Please accept our homemade green tea,” she said, handing them the drinks. “It’s complimentary for high-spending customers. This will help with digestion and get rid of the strong smell of garlic, so you can leave feeling fresh.” She explained. Minho accepted the cup with a nod, silently praying Kitty hadn’t caught the words “high-spending.”

True to his prediction, Kitty tilted her head, clearly not catching a word that she said.  Before Minho could say anything, the cashier hesitated before switching to broken English, gesturing toward the tea. “Um, green tea. You drink, umm.. no garlic smell.”

Kitty nodded in understanding, offering her a thankful smile taking her cup. Then, completely out of nowhere, she blurted, “So now you can kiss people guilt-free.”

Minho nearly choked on his tea. He stared at her, incredulous. "What a weird conclusion." Kitty just shrugged, taking a sip of her tea like she hadn’t just said something completely unhinged.

They stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air greeting them as they walked side by side, still sipping their tea. Kitty’s hand remained hooked around Minho’s arm, her grip light but steady, as if she wasn’t even aware she was still holding onto him. Minho glanced down at her, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Comfortable there?”

Kitty tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her expression warm. “Yeah, actually.”

Something about the way she said it—so naturally, so simply—made his stomach dip in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Minho exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. But before he could say anything else, Kitty’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She slipped her hand from his arm to check the notification, and he frowned slightly at the sudden loss of contact.

“Didn’t say you should let go,” he murmured.

“No no,” she waved him off. “It’s from that fancy laundry place. They’re done with your shirt and will deliver it tonight.” She typed out a quick reply before glancing back up at him. “You should stop by.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, his smirk hidden behind his cup. “One night without me and you already can’t take it anymore?”

“To get your shirt, Minho,” she deadpanned. “They’re delivering it to my dorm so you can take it back directly. Ugh.” Kitty groaned, stomping ahead with exaggerated frustration.

Minho chuckled, effortlessly keeping up. “Wait for me.”

As they walked, he stole a glance at Kitty. She tugged at her sleeves, lips pressed together like she was pretending to be annoyed—but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her. They reached her dorm surprisingly fast, though neither seemed to notice. Conversation had made time slip by effortlessly. The hallway was unusually quiet for a Sunday night.

Kitty fished for her key, muttering under her breath, “You better not make this weird.”

Minho leaned lazily against the wall beside her, watching with a smirk. “What? The fact that it’s just the two of us in your dorm room at night? Alone .”

She froze for half a second before snapping her head toward him. “First warning.” She pushed the door open and stepped inside, making no move to hold it for him. Minho lingered at the threshold, looking far too amused. 

“Hey, you invited me.” Still, he followed her in—door locking behind him with a quiet click.

His eyes flickered around her room. It was small but warm, the kind of tidy that still felt lived-in. Photos, trinkets, fresh flowers—Kitty was everywhere here. As Minho took it all in, Kitty moved around, straightening things unnecessarily. Then she turned to him, hand outstretched.

He blinked. “What?”

“Your coat,” she said, like it was obvious.

Minho’s lips twitched, but he shrugged it off, sliding out of his coat with an amused look. “Didn’t know I’d be staying long enough to get comfortable.”

Before he could hand it over, Kitty snatched it from his grasp. He watched in silence as she hung it up, her back to him. He then sank onto the couch, stretching out like he belonged there, watching her with an unreadable look.

“Nice place, Covey,” Minho finally said, voice dropping slightly. He leaned back against the couch, watching as Kitty moved around like she was looking for something to do. She wasn’t fidgeting exactly, but the way she kept adjusting things—a book on her desk, the washed dishes, a slightly tilted potted plant—told him she wasn’t as composed as she wanted to look.

“You always this antsy?” he mused, arms stretching out along the couch.

Kitty exhaled, “I don’t usually have people over.” 

Minho smirked. “Relax, Covey. Didn’t know I was that breathtaking.”

Kitty shot him an unimpressed look, but the corner of her mouth twitched—like she was refusing to let him get a reaction. He pushed himself off the couch and wandered toward the counter, still grinning. “Can I get some water?” he asked. When she didn’t move, he tilted his head. “Please?”

She huffed but ended up pulling a glass from the fridge, handing it over. “Not your favorite collagen water, though,” she muttered.

Minho accepted the glass, tapping a thoughtful finger against the rim. “It’s okay, I need something to freshen my throat after the hot tea. I’m thirsty.”

Kitty choked. It was subtle—barely a stutter in her breath—but he caught it. Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was because she, too was thirsty, because she immediately grabbed a glass of water for herself.

She took a sip. Too fast. Then—

She coughed, nearly choking on it.

“Covey,” Minho sighed, setting his glass down before stepping in to lightly tap her back. She waved him off, still coughing, but he ignored it and slid an arm around her shoulder, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

“There, there,” he murmured, mockingly gentle, like he was comforting a child. Kitty, still red from coughing, scowled at him.

Once she calmed, Minho grabbed the glass again and refilled it with warm water, handing it over. Kitty muttered a quiet “thanks,” taking a sip—slower this time. He didn’t move away, though. Instead, he watched her as she drank, gaze lingering a little longer than necessary.

He stood, taking his time, before casually closing the space between them. Not too close—but enough that when she turned left, she found herself looking up at him.

Kitty blinked. “What?”

Minho chuckled. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Kitty took a deep breath.

He hummed like he didn’t quite believe her. Then, he lifted a hand. Kitty barely had time to react before his fingers brushed the ends of her hair, plucking a stray thread from her cardigan. He rolled it between his fingers—almost like he wasn’t in a hurry—before flicking it away.

“There.” He murmured, voice smooth. “All good now.”

Kitty exhaled, blinking like she had to reset her brain. “That was unnecessary.”

Minho’s lips curled. “Was it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being normal.” He leaned in slightly, just enough for her to notice. “You, on the other hand, have been acting like I walked in here and suddenly everything’s out of balance.” His head tilted. “What’s the matter, Covey? Why so nervous?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Please. Like you could ever make me nervous.”

The words were bold, but her voice wavered. He noticed. The faint pink on her cheeks, the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she seemed unsure if she should hold his gaze or look away. She didn’t, though. She kept looking right at him, chin lifted like she had something to prove.

Minho raised a brow, considering. Then, in one step, he closed the gap between them—so fast that Kitty sucked in a sharp breath, her back nearly hitting the edge of the counter.

His gaze flickered over her, half amused, half testing. “No?” His voice was quieter now, smoother, edged with something unreadable. “Not even a little?”

Kitty swallowed. Hard.

Then, as if sensing his win, Minho smirked and tilted his chin down—just barely closing the distance. The air between them turned thick, charged, like something waiting to snap. The logical part of him—the part that usually kept him in check—was screaming at him to back off, to step away before he did something stupid. But another part of him, the one that had spent months pretending he wasn’t looking at her too much, wasn’t listening.

He told himself it’s because he enjoys her reaction. Her flustered face, tinted pink cheeks, the way she always had a clever clapback ready. But right now, she wasn’t moving. Right now she was watching him, lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling just a little too quickly. He could feel the warmth of her skin even without touching her, and his pulse had started pounding at the thought of how easy it would be to close the gap.

Why wasn’t she pushing him away?

She was still close, still right there, her breath warm against his skin. His hand twitched at his side, the air between them impossibly thin. He lingered there, hovering, waiting.

For what, he wasn’t sure.

Maybe for her to push him away. Maybe for her to do the exact opposite.

He felt the sharp hitch in her breath the moment he leaned in, caught the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but she didn’t stop him.

Then, with the smallest tilt of her head, Kitty closed the space for him.

The first touch was light, a barely-there press of lips—soft, hesitant, unsure. But then she leaned in just a fraction more, and Minho felt himself melt into the touch.

At first, his hands gripped the counter behind her, just to ground himself, to make sure this wasn’t some fever dream. He waited, barely breathing, giving her every chance to change her mind.

She didn’t. And that made something in him snapped.

Minho tilted his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, enough to feel the warmth of her more fully, to let himself chase the feeling that had been taunting him for months. His hand finally moved, finding its way to her waist, fingers curling instinctively against the fabric of her cardigan as he pulled her closer.

Kitty inhaled sharply, like the shift caught her off guard—but she didn’t pull away. 

The kiss deepened, slow but deliberate, like he was committing every second to memory. Kitty’s hands—small, warm—gripped the front of his sweater, and Minho felt the last thread of his restraint unravel. His grip tightened at her waist as he kissed her properly this time—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing her.

It was like time had stopped. Because nothing mattered beyond the soft press of her lips, the way she tasted faintly of green tea, the way her fingers curled against him like she didn’t want to let go.

Minho tilted his head, chasing the warmth of her lips, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself stop thinking.

Because holy shit —this was happening. And there was no part of him that wanted to stop.

He wasn’t sure who pulled away first, but the moment their lips separated, he could feel his heart dropkick itself out of his chest. His head felt dizzy, as if all the air had been sucked out of it.

The room felt different now—warmer, heavier, like the air itself had thickened around them. The soft hum of the fridge filled the silence, but Minho barely registered it. His focus was locked on Kitty, still close, still standing right in front of him. Hands still resting on his sweater. His own hand had fallen away from her waist,, but somehow, he still had her caged in—both hands gripping the counter behind her, arms subtly bracketing her in place.

His heart pounded against his ribs, breath uneven. He could still feel the warmth of her, still see the way her lashes flickered slightly as she stared up at him, lips parted like she had something to say.

Minho swallowed, grip tightening against the counter. His mind was racing, flipping through every possible explanation—every reason why she wasn’t pulling away, why she wasn’t laughing this off, why she was still looking at him like that.

Does this mean she likes me?

The thought slammed into him so hard that his hands clenched instinctively. If this didn’t mean anything, she would’ve shoved him away by now. But she was still here, standing in the space between his arms, looking up at him with so much longing that it hurts .

Something tugged at his chest, and before he could stop himself—before he could process the weight of it—a slow, almost involuntary smile tugged at his lips. Not his usual teasing smirk. Just something softer, something real.

Kitty’s gaze flickered, then, to his complete and utter downfall—she chuckled.

The sound was quiet, barely above a breath, but it did something to him. Before he could even process it, she moved closer, lowering her head until her forehead rested against his chest, hands gripping lightly at his waist.

Minho stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His hands twitched, unsure if he should touch her, hold her, do anything at all. Then, muffled into his chest, she whispered—

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

Minho stopped breathing.

Everything in him—his thoughts, his heartbeat, the very foundation of his reality—came to a screeching halt. His fingers twitched against the counter, his entire body locked in place, every nerve in his system trying to process what she had just said.

Slowly, instinctively, he gripped her arms, easing her back just enough to see her face. His voice was barely a whisper. “What?”

Because what did she mean? She’d been wanting this? Wanting him? For so long?

Her warmth lingered against him, her scent filling his lungs, and for the first time, he could see it—the certainty in her expression, the way she held his gaze without a trace of doubt.

Kitty inhaled sharply, like she was finally letting herself breathe. And then, she exhaled, shaking her head. “I didn’t want to like you,” she admitted, her voice raw. “I told myself I didn’t. I told myself I couldn’t.”

Minho’s grip on her arms tightened, his stomach twisting.

“Last semester, you were always there. Always right there when I needed someone, when I was at my lowest. At first I kept telling myself that was all it was.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, like she was biting back the rest of her words, but she shook her head and kept going. “But feelings,” she let out a breathless laugh—one that wasn’t light, wasn’t easy. 

“Feelings are funny aren’t they? Because I’m the one who basically told you to get over me, but then everytime I see you suddenly my day gets better.”

“Then you said you swore off all relationships,” her voice cracked slightly, but she swallowed it down. “So I tried to forget it, convinced myself that whatever I was feeling—it wasn’t real. That I just missed you because I was alone, because I was dependent, because you were the only one who saw me when no one else did.”

Minho felt his heart hammer against his ribs, felt the way her hands curled against him like she was barely holding it together.

“I tried to let it go,” she continued, her voice quieter now, breaking at the edges. Then, suddenly, she was glaring at him—hitting his chest lightly, frustration crackling beneath every word. “But you and your annoying ass —”

Minho caught her hand, laughing, “Covey,” voice dripping with adoration.

“You—you hug me like it means something. Compliment me and everything. You and your prolonging stare, you think I wouldn’t notice? It’s so annoying.” Her voice rose slightly, like she was finally letting herself feel everything she had shoved down for months.

Minho’s chest tightened. He watched her, really watched her, like he was committing every detail to memory. And when his hand found hers, gentler than he meant to be, thumb brushing her wrist in slow, steady strokes. A silent reassurance. But beneath that tenderness, something flickered in his expression—something raw, something that told her, you think this was easy for me?

“You tease me like it’s a full time job. Q told me you did that to get my attention but I was so deep in denial that I have to keep reminding myself that your hobby was just to piss me off. I can’t let myself believe that you have even an ounce of interest in me or else I’m going to fall, so, deep, ” she paused, forehead dropping against his chest again “and I’m not ready for that.”

He swallowed, something thick lodged in his throat, but before he could even think of what to say, she was looking up at him again, her expression suddenly softer, more vulnerable than he’d ever seen it.

“You made it impossible, you know that? You’d always do something stupid like calling me with those stupid nicknames, ruffling my hair. Oh, and last time I just wanted to take care of your sick ass, the next second we’re hugging on your bed. Gosh, I hate you so much.” She huffed, eyes flicking between him like she was piecing it all together in real time.

Minho chuckled, something unbearably warm tugging at his chest. He tilted his head, brushing his nose against hers, just barely. Then, before he could stop himself, he kissed her again, a feather-light press of lips, something quiet and unhurried.

Kitty pulled back just slightly, meeting his eyes. “Does this mean that you still like me?”

He lifted a hand, brushing away a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering at her temple. He swallowed, his voice low and hoarse. “Covey, you and your annoying ass keep barging into my life.” He gave her a subtle, almost helpless smile, “How could I stop?”

Kitty let out a soft laugh, but then she was pulling him in again, her hands curling around his shoulders, his arms sliding around her waist. The kiss deepened, slow and lingering, like neither of them were in a rush to let go.

Their kiss was sweet, carrying the warmth of every stolen glance, every unspoken feeling that had lingered between them for months. It was intimate, like the effortless way their hands found each other, like they had always been meant to fit. And it was deep—slow and aching, steeped in the quiet torment of restraint, of all the moments they had spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

And when they broke apart for air, his lips twitched with the restless want to kiss her again—to stay close, to keep holding her like this. But he didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just waited.

Waited for her. 

And then, she leaned in again. Slow but sure.

Minho’s breath hitched, but he stayed still, letting her close the distance, letting her press her lips to his in a kiss that felt like something inevitable. And when she did, when their mouths met once more, he couldn’t stop the soft smile that tugged at his lips. His grip on her waist tightened slightly as he angled himself better, deepening the kiss with a deliberate, unhurried pull, letting the press of their mouths grow firmer, warmer. Like he was learning the shape of her, memorizing the way she fit against him, as he let Kitty kiss him again, and again, and again.