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So Very Beautiful : L.M & K.S Lee Minho x fem!reader x Kim Seungmin (College AU)

WC: 19.2K

CW: Smut (kind of), MxM oral, threesome (sort of), Fainting/Collapse, Concussion, Exhaustion & Burnout, Absent Parent, Emotional Neglect, Polyamory, Background Jilix, Found Family 3RACHA, Overdramatic 3RACHA, enemies to lovers & basically strangers to lovers, lots of legal talk and debates

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The polished floors of the lecture hall gleam under the fluorescent lights, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint trace of paper and ink. Professor Gim stands at the front of the room, his arms crossed as he surveys the class with a sharp gaze.

You sit near the centre, your white collared shirt is perfectly tucked into your tailored black trousers. The gold buckle on your belt glints under the overhead lights, and your gold hoop earrings add the perfect touch of elegance.

Today’s topic is one you’ve been looking forward to, should South Korea implement jury trials? It’s a hot debate in legal circles, but your excitement, however, sours just slightly when the professor pulls out the lot box.

You get a gut feeling the moment you unfold the slip of paper in your hands and see Pro-Jury written in thick, black ink, a snort from across the room tells you exactly who has pulled the opposing stance.

Your fingers tighten around the paper for just a second before you exhale through your nose and school your expression into something calm and pleasant. Because despite your reputation for being kind and warm to everyone, there’s one person who you can never quite manage to extend that kindness to.

And that person, unfortunately, is sitting across from you, lazily stretching out in his seat like he has all the time in the world, his black suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened just enough to look effortless but still within the professor’s strict dress code. His dark eyes flick to yours, amusement curling at the edges of his mouth.

“Great,” you say, voice sweet as honey but laced with unmistakable irritation. “Just my luck.”

The class immediately perks up because for whatever reason, you and Kim Seungmin have never been able to have a civil debate.

Seungmin lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t sound so disappointed, sweetheart. I know you love going up against me.”

“I’d rather argue with a brick wall, but sure. Let’s go with that.”

Professor Gim lets out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have the energy for whatever disaster this is about to turn into,” he mutters before clapping his hands together. “Y/N, you’re arguing in favour of jury trials. Seungmin, you’re against. Keep it professional.”

“A jury system is a necessary progression for South Korea’s judicial framework,” you begin, voice steady and confident. “As it stands, our current system relies solely on judges to determine guilt and sentencing. While this may streamline the process, it also centralizes power in the hands of a few, leaving room for corruption, bias, and systemic errors. By implementing juries, we introduce a layer of public participation that represents the perspectives and values of everyday citizens. A diverse jury means a fairer trial, one where decisions aren’t made by a singular entity with personal interpretations of the law.”

There’s a murmur of approval from a few students, and you allow yourself a small sense of satisfaction as you take your seat and Seungmin sighs dramatically before rising to his feet, one hand casually slipping into the pocket of his tailored trousers.

“Juries sound nice in theory. Public participation, fairness, blah blah blah. But in reality? It’s a disaster waiting to happen. The law isn’t based on feelings. It’s based on facts. And who’s more qualified to interpret the law? A trained, highly experienced judge who has dedicated their career to understanding it? Or some random civilian who barely passed high school history and gets their legal knowledge from Netflix dramas?”

The class erupts into laughter again, and you inhale sharply through your nose.

“What’s stopping an incompetent jury from making a decision based on personal bias, public pressure, or just plain ignorance?” Seungmin continues. “In countries where juries exist, we’ve seen wrongful convictions skyrocket because jurors get swayed by emotional manipulation rather than actual evidence. Not to mention the nightmare of jury selection, jury tampering, and the general waste of taxpayer money.”

He sits down with an infuriatingly smug expression as Professor Gim sighs, rubbing his temples. “Alright. Rebuttals?”

You fix Seungmin with a polite smile. “First of all, I’d argue that juries, when properly selected, bring a necessary balance to trials. The law isn’t just about cold, hard facts. It’s about justice. And justice is about people. Which means cases have nuance, and the perspective of ordinary citizens is just as important as legal expertise.”

Seungmin leans forward slightly. “Oh, right, because a grocery store cashier totally has the same understanding of the law as someone who studied it for decades.”

“Interesting that you assume only judges can be rational,” you muse, tilting your head slightly. “I mean, considering your track record of emotional outbursts whenever I prove you wrong, maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Cute. But you’re still wrong.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself every night before you go to sleep,” you say sweetly. “But let’s get back to the topic at hand. You brought up jury tampering as a major flaw, which, sure, it can happen. But judicial corruption also exists. At least with a jury, the power isn’t concentrated in the hands of one person. It’s distributed. And I’d argue that’s safer than a single judge deciding someone’s fate.”

Seungmin taps his fingers against the desk before tilting his head. “I’ll give you that. But your argument assumes juries are made up of competent, unbiased individuals and we both know that’s not the case.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re worse than a singular authority figure with their own potential biases.”

“Are you implying judges are incompetent? Because I’d love to see you argue that in front of an actual judge.”

“I’m saying that no one, judge or juror, is completely free from bias. That’s why having multiple perspectives leads to a more balanced decision.”

Professor Gim finally raises a hand as he looks between the two of you, expression unreadable before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “That was certainly something.”

Laughter ripples through the class as Seungmin slouches back in his seat, a victorious gleam in his eye that makes your fingers itch to throw something at him. Because despite how much you loathe arguing with Seungmin, there’s a part of you, one you refuse to acknowledge, that enjoys the fight. Even if you’d rather die than admit it.

The walk across campus to the music department is mercifully short, the music studios are at the far end of the hall, past the rows of soundproofed practice rooms and the faint hum of instruments filtering through the thick walls. The second you step inside, the familiar scent of coffee and cologne washes over you.

Chan is perched in front of his computer, one hand resting on the keyboard while the other twirls a pencil between his fingers, his brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusts the mix. Jisung is sprawled in the corner, his laptop balanced on his knees, fingers moving at lightning speed over the keys. Across from him, Changbin sits with a thick sports science textbook open on his lap, tapping a highlighter against the edge of the page like he’s contemplating using it as a weapon.

A tray of drinks sits abandoned on the table, three iced Americanos and one matcha green tea latte sweating against the cardboard holder. You don’t even hesitate as you beeline straight for it, grabbing the latte and plopping yourself down between Jisung and Changbin.

Jisung 's eyes flicker to you. “You okay, my extremely fashionable child?”

“My feet hurt, and that bastard- He- Just ugh!”

Jisung smirks, finally tearing his gaze away from his laptop to reach for your cup. “Drink,” he instructs, guiding the straw to your lips and he pats your head. “There you go, let the caffeine soothe your poor, abused soul.”

Changbin barely glances up from his book. “I assume ‘that bastard’ is Seungmin.”

“Of course, it’s fucking Seungmin. I swear to god, he exists just to piss me off.”

Chan hums from across the room, finally looking up from his mix. “What was the debate topic this time?”

“Jury trials,” you say, rubbing your temples. “I was arguing for them, and he was arguing against, and he did that thing-” You wave your hands wildly in the air, trying to summon the words to describe the exact level of smugness that radiated from Seungmin’s stupidly perfect face. “-where he acts like he’s so fucking logical and above it all, but really he’s just being a dick for fun.”

Jisung snorts. “Seungmin, a dick? Say it ain’t so.”

Chan just shakes his head, sipping at his coffee. “I assume you wiped the floor with him.”

“Obviously.” You sit up a little straighter, pride flickering across your face before your irritation takes over again. “But still. He’s so infuriating. He actually had the audacity to say that jurors are too emotional to make rational decisions as if judges aren’t also human beings with their own fucking biases.”

Jisung nods sagely. “You’re right. Jury trials are a necessary component of a fair judicial system.”

Changbin finally shuts his book with an audible thump. “I disagree.”

“Wow, Changbin, so you don’t believe in the restriction of judicial powers to prevent judicial overreach and the rights of the people in deciding guilt and innocence?”

Jisung lets out a loud, theatrical gasp, smacking Changbin on the arm. “Oh my god, it makes so much sense. He’s like Napoleon, the original case of little man syndrome. Singular person power to make up for their height lacking because he’s the shortest in the frat and, dare I say, one of the shortest on campus.”

Changbin scowls, reaching out to smack Jisung upside the head, but Jisung dodges. “We need the one true opinion to settle this.”

All three of you swivel your heads toward Chan, who groans as he sets his laptop aside. “As the oldest,” you say solemnly, “you have the most sway.”

Chan rolls his eyes but takes a moment to actually consider. “Juries make sense, there’s a reason so many judicial systems around the world use them. A singular judge has just as much potential for bias as a jury, and at least with a jury, there’s balance.”

You and Jisung immediately turn to Changbin and stick your tongues out in sync.

“Fucking traitors,” Changbin mutters, but he’s smiling.

Satisfied, you lean into Jisung’s side, and he immediately starts scratching your head, fingers massaging lightly at your scalp. “Okay,” you murmur, voice thick with exhaustion. “I have a half-hour nap now, and then I can study for criminal law.”

Chan snorts. “You need to actually sleep.”

“I don’t have time,” you mumble. “South Korea has a lot of legislation and precedent to learn.”

Jisung shifts, tapping your cheek lightly. “Use my lap as a pillow.”

You don’t even hesitate before curling up against him, letting your head rest against his thigh. He immediately starts running his fingers through your hair again, and you sigh in pure contentment.

Seungmin barely registers the usual chaos of the Alpha Phi frat house as he steps inside, slamming the door behind him. Someone yells in protest, probably Jeongin, but he ignores it, muttering under his breath as he storms upstairs.

The debate had been bullshit. Not because he argued poorly, he’s Kim Seungmin, but because he’d been forced to take a side he didn’t even believe in.

Frustration still simmering, he yanks off his dress shirt, tosses it onto his chair, and pulls on a t-shirt and sweats before heading straight for Minho’s room.

Minho is sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his phone, but the second Seungmin walks in, he glances up, takes one look at his scowl, and opens his arms.

Seungmin dives into them, burying his face against Minho’s chest. “She’s so fucking annoying,” he growls.

Minho hums, fingers threading lazily through Seungmin’s hair. “Do you?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

Minho chuckles. “Alright. What happened this time?”

Seungmin groans. “That fucking debate. I had to argue against jury trials. Do you know how stupid that is? I think we should have juries! It’s a human right! It prevents judicial overreach! But noooo, I had to sit there and pretend I disagreed.”

Minho shakes with silent laughter, making Seungmin glare up at him.

“So, you’re mad because she’s right?”

“Yes! And I hate it.”

Minho smirks. “I think you’re just mad she’s better at pissing you off than you are at pissing her off.”

Seungmin groans, flopping dramatically onto Minho’s chest. “And she’s so rude but only to me! To everyone else, she’s a fucking Disney princess. To me? A bitch.”

Minho outright laughs. “Seungminnie, I love you. You know I do. But your personality? An acquired taste.”

Seungmin narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“A taste I adore,” Minho adds smoothly. “But for some people? You come off as a massive dick.”

Seungmin stares, betrayed, before rolling off of Minho with a huff. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” Minho says, rubbing circles into Seungmin’s back. “But I wouldn’t blame someone for finding you insufferable.”

Seungmin glares half-heartedly before muttering, “She’s still the worst.”

Minho hums, thoughtful. He doesn’t know much about you, aside from the fact that Jisung, Changbin, and Chan treat you like their baby. But Seungmin, who never lets anything rattle him, gets shaken by you every single time.

“You know,” Minho muses, “I think I want to meet her.”

Seungmin lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Minho shrugs, fingers back in his hair. “She must be something to get under your skin like this.”

Seungmin scowls. “She’s not special. She’s insufferable.”

Minho smirks. “You said the same thing about me.”

Seungmin exhales sharply, tension coiling in his chest as his frustration simmers beneath his skin. His hands flex where they rest against Minho’s chest, fingers curling slightly before relaxing again. His irritation from earlier still lingers, gnawing at the back of his mind, and he knows he won’t be able to shake it unless he redirects it.

“I need to make myself feel better,” he mutters, tilting his head just enough to meet Minho’s gaze.

Minho, whose fingers are still lazily combing through Seungmin’s hair, lifts an eyebrow in mild curiosity. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Seungmin shifts, pushing himself up onto one elbow, his weight shifting just enough to give himself leverage. His lips curl slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners. “By putting your dick in my mouth.”

Minho stills, his fingers briefly pausing against Seungmin’s scalp before he exhales through his nose, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He shakes his head slightly, lips twitching. “Well, who am I to complain about how you cope?”

Seungmin smirks at the response, wasting no time. He pushes himself up further, settling between Minho’s legs with an ease that speaks to familiarity, to the fact that he knows exactly what he’s doing. His hands find the waistband of Minho’s sweatpants, his fingers curling into the soft fabric before he tugs them down with little care, dragging them over the smooth skin of Minho’s thighs.

Minho doesn’t move to help, doesn’t lift his hips or shift at all, he just watches, one brow arched, as Seungmin settles lower. “You seem very motivated,” he muses, voice smooth, but there’s a slight edge of anticipation hidden beneath the amusement.

Seungmin doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge the teasing. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his lips against the inside of Minho’s thigh, dragging them slowly across the sensitive skin. He feels the way Minho shifts slightly beneath him, how his fingers twitch, one hand moving lazily through Seungmin’s hair as he settles into the feeling.

A quiet exhale slips past Minho’s lips as Seungmin presses another kiss against his thigh, this time letting his tongue flick out, just for a brief second, just to tease. The sharp inhale above him makes his smirk widen.

Minho’s muscles tense, just slightly, his free hand gripping loosely at the sheets as Seungmin continues his slow, deliberate path of kisses. There’s no rush, no urgency, just careful, methodical intention. Seungmin knows exactly what he’s doing, and the control in it only makes him feel even better.

Minho’s fingers flex against his scalp, the pressure light but firm, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. Seungmin lets himself bask in it for a moment, soaking in the quiet sounds, the slight shifts of Minho’s body, the way his head tilts back just a little. Then, finally, he stops teasing and takes Minho into his mouth.

Minho’s breath stutters, his lips parting slightly as his fingers tighten for real this time, nails grazing lightly against Seungmin’s scalp.

Seungmin hums in satisfaction, feeling the way Minho’s body reacts, how his muscles shift under the subtle pull of pleasure. He works with precision, slow and purposeful, dragging his tongue in deliberate movements that have Minho’s grip tightening further, his knuckles pressing into the mattress.

There’s something deeply satisfying about it, the way Minho lets himself sink into it, the way he’s so responsive despite how much he tries to keep his reactions measured. Seungmin knows all of Minho’s tells, every little shift, every twitch of his fingers, every change in his breathing. He knows how to push him further, how to make him unravel completely.

Minho’s free hand moves from the sheets to his own stomach, fingers twitching slightly before curling into a loose fist, his breath turning uneven. Seungmin takes that as his cue, pushing him further, his pace never wavering.

A low hum rumbles through Minho’s chest, his head tipping back even further, his brows drawing together as his hips tense. Seungmin feels it when Minho finally reaches the edge, when his breath hitches, when his fingers curl tight.

And then, finally, Minho shudders, exhaling a low, drawn-out sigh as his entire body relaxes beneath Seungmin.

Seungmin pulls back slowly, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking as he flops back onto Minho’s chest. “Better.”

Minho lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, still catching his breath. “Yeah, I bet.”

Seungmin stretches, utterly content, his limbs tangling with Minho’s as he nestles against his side. Minho doesn’t push him away, just sighs and tugs him closer, pressing a lazy kiss against his temple.

“You’re ridiculous,” Minho murmurs, his voice slightly raspier than before.

Seungmin grins, eyes closed, his satisfaction practically radiating off of him. “And you love me.”

Minho chuckles, his fingers slipping back into Seungmin’s hair, continuing the soothing motions from earlier. “Yeah, I do.”

Minho steps into the music department, the heavy doors clicking shut behind him as the familiar scent of coffee, soundproofing foam, and warm electronics fills his senses. The hallway leading to the studio is dimly lit, the hum of distant instruments and the occasional muffled beat leaking through the walls. Today, he has a mission.

Seungmin hadn’t shut up about you in the past few days, not in the way a normal person would complain about someone they despised, but in a way that was borderline obsessive. The ranting had gone on for so long that Minho had tuned half of it out, only picking up bits and pieces. So now, with a bag of takeout containers in hand, Minho pushes open the studio door, stepping inside.

Chan is exactly where Minho expects him to be, behind his laptop, tweaking a beat, his fingers ghosting over the keyboard as he listens with a deep-set concentration that only breaks when the door swings open. Minho doesn’t immediately acknowledge him because his gaze has already landed elsewhere, on the couch in the corner of the room.

You’re there, lying with your head in Jisung’s lap, your eyes scanning over a thick legal textbook with focused intent. Jisung is leaning over, scribbling in his notebook, a look of pure determination on his face, while Changbin is hunched over his own notes, twirling a pen between his fingers.

The first thing Minho notices is how effortlessly put together you are. Your fitted white ribbed top is tucked perfectly into your tailored black trousers, accentuated with a sleek black belt featuring a gold buckle. Your hair falls in soft waves around your face, framing your features, and the subtle gold hoops in your ears catch the light just enough to be noticeable.

Seungmin never mentioned you were stunning. Minho internally curses his boyfriend. Not because it changes anything but because he would’ve preferred to be prepared.

Chan’s voice pulls him back to the present. “Oh, Minho!” He nods toward the couch, gesturing vaguely. “Minho, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet Minho.”

You glance up from your textbook and you offer a small wave, your lips curling into a polite, welcoming smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Minho blinks before he nods in acknowledgement, making sure not to let his gaze linger too long. “Likewise.”

“Yeah, Minho, meet our baby,” Jisung chimes in, wrapping his arms around you dramatically. “She’s mine, Binnie, and Channie’s love child.” He tilts his head, grinning. “Chan and Changbin are her appas, and I birthed her. I am her eomma.”

Chan snorts, shaking his head, while Changbin just sighs, flipping a page in his notes. “We need a DNA test.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “This is the dynamic?”

Jisung beams. “Damn right it is. Y/N, that man there? He’s the frat’s resident devil.”

“A devil?”

“Don’t let his face fool you,” Jisung says. “He’s basically a cat in human form. Moody, demanding, and thinks he’s above everyone else.”

You give Minho another smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you anyway.”

Minho doesn’t see it. Not the attitude Seungmin described. Not the rudeness, the bitchiness, the sharp-tongued cruelty that apparently only exists when you’re dealing with him. What Minho sees is warmth, patience, and something strikingly soft. It throws him.

Minho sets the bag of food down on the table, watching as Jisung immediately perks up. “You brought food? Oh my god, I knew you had a soul somewhere in there.”

Changbin is already reaching over to examine the containers. “Did you get extra sauce?”

Minho scoffs. “Of course.”

You shift slightly in Jisung’s lap, adjusting so that you’re sitting more upright, though you still lean against his side as he hands you a container of ramen. Minho notes the way you lean into Jisung, the way he lets you, the easy familiarity of it all. There’s something undeniably close about it, something that tells him this isn’t just a friendship that formed in passing, it’s a bond that runs deeper than that.

Which makes Minho think. If you’re this close to Jisung, Changbin, and Chan, and if you’re this genuinely warm to everyone else, then why does Seungmin hate you? Or, perhaps the better question: why does Seungmin act like he does?

Because now that Minho is seeing you up close, watching the way you interact with everyone, hearing you murmur something about the Rain Coat Killer case to Jisung, watching the way you absently twirl your chopsticks between your fingers as you explain something about legal precedent, it doesn’t add up.

Seungmin doesn’t react this way to people he actually hates. Seungmin doesn’t talk about people he actually hates with the kind of obsessive, aggravated energy he’s had about you.

Minho exhales quietly through his nose, leaning back against the table as he watches. He takes in the way you smile, the way you push your hair behind your ear as you speak, the way Jisung taps your knee every now and then to get your attention before asking another question.

And, slowly, Minho pieces something together. Seungmin doesn’t dislike you. Seungmin doesn’t know how to deal with you.

It’s not hatred, it’s frustration. The kind of frustration that comes with not knowing how to process something, not knowing how to react to something. Seungmin likes control. He likes certainty. He likes understanding his own emotions.

And you? You make him feel something he doesn’t understand. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

Minho steps into the library, the scent of old books and quiet desperation immediately washing over him. It’s late, but not late enough for the place to be empty. He isn’t planning to linger, just needs a veterinary science book for a paper he’s been putting off.

He weaves through the aisles, the sharp contrast of his outfit standing out in the sea of muted tones and tired college students. His oversized button-up is an explosion of chaotic colour, bold strokes of red, blue, black, and white forming a graffiti-inspired mess layered over a simple black inner shirt. The fabric shifts as he moves, his silver chain catching the low library light, multiple rings glinting against his fingers as he slides a book from the shelf.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees you.

You’re at a corner table near the back, a stack of thick textbooks surrounding you like a fortress. Your hair falls in soft, natural waves around your face, slightly dishevelled from hours of study. The olive green of your coat blends seamlessly with the high-waisted trousers, the fitted black turtleneck hugs your upper body and your black heels are kicked off beneath the table.

Without fully thinking about it, Minho moves toward your table. You don’t notice him at first, too focused on whatever dense passage you’re forcing yourself to absorb. It’s only when he pulls out the chair across from you and drops into it that you blink, looking up with mild surprise.

“Oh, hi,” you say, recognition flickers in your expression, and you offer him a small, warm smile. “It's Minho, right?”

Minho nods, mirroring your smile, albeit much smaller. “That’s me. Long night?”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Try long year and a half. Two majors are no joke.”

Minho leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, amusement flickering in his gaze. “And do your two appas and your eomma know you’re here?”

“No,” you admit. “They think I’m at my studio, rewatching Hometown Cha Cha Cha. I sent Jisung a picture of my TV before coming here.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Hometown Cha Cha Cha?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” you warn, pointing a finger at him. “It’s really good. It’s about a dentist who moves to a seaside village where she meets a handyman-”

“And then what?”

“I can’t spoil it for you! You have to watch it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, you beam at him, and for a split second, Minho forgets where he is. You’re pretty. He’s already noticed that much. But when you smile like that, genuine, unfiltered, it does something strange to his chest, something warm and unfamiliar.

He barely has time to process it before you yawn again, covering your mouth with your hand before rubbing at your eyes tiredly. “You look exhausted,” Minho comments, watching as you blink slowly, like you’re trying to force yourself to focus.

“Is it that obvious?”

Minho smirks, shaking his head. “No. You just pick up on it if you’re around people who exhaust themselves.” He leans back slightly, stretching out his legs beneath the table. “Like Chan. Maybe he really is your appa.”

You laugh, the sound softer than usual, but still carrying that warmth that seems to radiate from you naturally.

Minho rests his chin on his palm as he watches you flip through your textbook. “So,” he says after a moment, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve been killing yourself over this double major for almost two years now. What do you actually want to do with it?”

You exhale through your nose, shutting the thick book in front of you with a soft thud. “I want to be a prosecutor.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow. “And yet, you took civil law?”

“Criminal law is my main focus, but civil law gives me a foundation to push for systemic reform. I don’t just want to prosecute people, I want to change the system itself.”

Minho leans forward slightly, genuinely interested now. “Change it how?”

Your fingers drum against the book’s spine, the movement absentminded, like your brain is already shifting into argument mode. “South Korea’s judicial system has a lot of flaws, but one of the biggest issues is the lack of jury trials. Right now, everything is decided by a judge or a panel of judges, and while they’re legally bound to remain impartial, they’re still susceptible to bias, bribery, corruption, whatever you want to call it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you continue. “Juries help ensure fairness. They reflect community values and act as a safeguard against state oppression. You get a panel of people from different backgrounds instead of one singular figure making a life-altering decision for a defendant.”

Minho nods, considering. “Makes sense. What would that reform even look like?”

“Well,” you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Take the UK, for example. Their judicial system incorporates jury trials in a way that balances both efficiency and fairness. In serious criminal cases, they assemble a jury of twelve people who listen to the evidence and then deliberate on a verdict. The prosecution and defence present arguments to people who represent a broader scope of society, not just a single judge who’s spent decades in the legal field. It keeps the system in check, holds prosecutors to a higher standard, and ensures that laws are being applied in alignment with public standards.”

Minho hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “But wouldn’t that make trials take longer?”

“Maybe,” you admit. “But I’d argue that justice shouldn’t be rushed. If taking a little more time means we reduce wrongful convictions and prevent judicial overreach, then it’s worth it.”

Minho doesn’t argue. Not because he necessarily agrees with everything you’re saying, but because he likes listening to you talk. There’s something captivating about the way you explain things, animated but composed, passionate but measured. Your voice has a rhythm to it, steady and smooth, like you’re meant to be in a courtroom commanding attention.

It reminds him of the first time he started noticing Seungmin’s voice in a way different to just platonic friendship. That realization makes something shift in his chest, something he’s not ready to examine just yet. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re basically trying to take on the entire South Korean judicial system by yourself.”

You grin. “Pretty much.”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Ambitious.”

“What about you? What do you actually want to do with your degree?” you ask, resting your chin in your hand.

“I want to open a cat cafe slash veterinary clinic.”

“A cat cafe and a clinic? Like, in the same place?”

“Yeah.” Minho leans back slightly, shrugging. “A space where people can come and spend time with cats in a relaxed setting, but also a clinic in the back where they can bring their pets for treatment. A lot of people avoid taking their cats to the vet because it stresses them out, so I figured, why not make a place that’s comforting for both the animals and their owners?”

Your eyes soften, and Minho swears your smile shifts into something a little more genuine. “That’s really sweet.”

He shrugs, pretending the compliment doesn’t settle somewhere deep in his chest. “I have three cats back home in Gimpo, Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. I’ve always wanted to work with animals.”

Your entire expression lights up. “You have three cats?”

“That shocking?”

“No, that’s adorable.” You prop your chin in your palm, eyes bright with curiosity. “What are they like?”

Minho tilts his head slightly, amused by your enthusiasm. “Soonie is the oldest, he’s the most independent, kind of a diva. Doongie is playful, super attached to me, my shadow when I'm home. Dori is the troublemaker. Always getting into shit he’s not supposed to.”

You laugh, the sound warm and soft. “They sound like a handful.”

“They are,” Minho admits, “but they’re my babies.”

You nod in understanding. “I have a pet rabbit. His name is Dalkom, he lives at my appa’s house in Gangnam.”

Minho notices the way you say appa’s house, not my parents’ house. You don’t mention your mother and Minho, despite his natural curiosity, doesn’t ask. Instead, he hums. “Dalkom?”

You grin. “I picked it for a reason. He’s the sweetest little thing.”

Minho exhales, watching as you tilt your head, waiting for him to say something. But he’s distracted now, distracted by the way your lips part slightly when you take a breath, the way the soft sheen of gloss catches the light when your tongue flicks out to wet them.

And then, like a switch flipping in his brain, his thoughts go completely rogue. For a split second, an absolutely damning, unhinged split second, his mind conjures an image so vivid it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

Your lips, parted just like that, wrapped around Seungmin’s cock. Your eyes looking up, soft and pretty, as you take him deep. Seungmin’s fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements with a barely restrained groan. And Minho is right behind you, pressing you down, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts into you, fucking you slow and deep, making you take both of them at once.

Heat floods his body, sharp and visceral, and his stomach clenches, his fingers curling into his palms beneath the table as he fights the sudden, overwhelming need to shift in his seat.

He forces himself to blink, to breathe, to do something other than sink deeper into the sinful spiral his brain has just decided to hurl him into. But fuck, it’s impossible to ignore the way his pulse pounds in his ears, the way his skin feels too hot, the way his pants are suddenly far too fucking tight.

You, completely oblivious, turn a page in your book, your fingers lightly trailing over the words as if committing them to memory. You have no idea what Minho is thinking. No idea that he is currently waging an internal war between logic and temptation, between rationality and the absolute filth that has just embedded itself into his mind like a parasite.

He shifts slightly, crossing one leg over the other, trying to relieve the ache that has settled deep in his core. He clenches his jaw, breathes through his nose but it doesn’t help. The image lingers, flickering at the edges of his mind like an ember refusing to die out.

And then, just to make matters worse, your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, quick and thoughtless, and Minho nearly groans out loud.

He drops his gaze to his book, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles go white. He needs to get a fucking grip. This is getting ridiculous. He’s Minho, for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t lose his composure over someone just sitting across from him, just breathing, just existing.

But something about you is different. Something about you is dangerous.

Something about you is very, very tempting.

Later that night, Minho sprawls across Seungmin, their legs tangled beneath the sheets as he scrolls through streaming options. He stops on Hometown Cha Cha Cha and presses play without hesitation.

Seungmin frowns immediately. “What the fuck is this?”

“Someone recommended it,” Minho says, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Seungmin eyes him. “Who do you know that watches rom-coms like this?”

Minho shrugs, avoiding the question and they fall into silence, the soft instrumental soundtrack filling the room. Minho finds himself drawn in by the seaside town’s charm, the effortless push-and-pull between the leads. It’s easy, comforting.

Seungmin, however, is unimpressed. “This handyman dude is such a know-it-all.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“I don’t mansplain everything under the fucking sun.”

“No, you just correct people until they want to strangle you.”

Seungmin scoffs but doesn’t argue and a beat passes before Minho speaks.

“I met Y/N today. Saw her at the library too.”

Seungmin immediately bristles. “You see what I mean, right?!”

Minho blinks. “Uh, no? She was nice. Wouldn’t be surprised if birds helped her get ready in the morning.”

Seungmin gapes. “No, she’s not! She is not nice to me!”

Minho coos, petting Seungmin’s hair. “Aigoo, my poor boyfriend.”

Seungmin huffs. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” Minho murmurs, amusement still tugging at his lips. “You need to relax.”

Seungmin smirks then, tilting his head slightly. “You can help me relax.”

Minho exhales a quiet chuckle, the hand on Seungmin’s hip tightening just slightly. “Are you top or bottom tonight?”

Seungmin hums, pretending to think before lazily dragging a hand down Minho’s stomach. “Bottom.”

Minho presses Seungmin into the mattress, their bodies moulding together like they were made to fit. The warmth between them is consuming, a slow-burning heat that spreads through every inch of Seungmin’s skin as Minho kisses him, deep and thorough, lips coaxing, tongue teasing.

Seungmin lets himself sink into it as his fingers grip at Minho’s shoulders, then slide down his back, pulling him in closer, chest to chest, breath mingling. The weight of Minho pressing against him makes Seungmin exhale in something close to relief. His head tips back against the pillows as Minho moves lower, dragging his lips down his jaw, his neck, leaving a trail of slow, burning kisses that make Seungmin’s pulse race.

Minho’s hands glide over him, fingers teasing over familiar dips and curves, learning him all over again, making him shiver under every slow, deliberate touch. The way Minho takes his time is agonizing in the best way possible, like he’s intent on unravelling him piece by piece.

Seungmin exhales sharply, barely able to think past the way Minho’s lips are making him feel, the way his body responds to every teasing brush of his fingers. He grips at Minho’s hair, tugging just slightly, his breath hitching. “Mouth,” he mutters.

Minho hums against his skin, his breath warm. “Where?”

Seungmin groans, his fingers tightening. “You know where.”

Minho smirks, pressing another lingering kiss just below his collarbone. “Come on, use your words.”

Seungmin exhales sharply, his voice dropping lower. “Suck me off.”

Minho’s gaze flicks up, dark eyes gleaming with amusement. He arches an eyebrow, deliberately pausing and Seungmin scowls, huffing out a breath before gritting out, “Please.”

Minho chuckles, the sound deep and smooth, and leans down, pressing a kiss right where Seungmin is desperate for attention. “That’s better.”

And then, Minho gives him exactly what he wants and Seungmin doesn’t stand a chance.

Minho takes his time, working him over with a methodical precision that makes Seungmin’s head tip back against the pillows, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The way Minho moves drives him to the edge faster than he wants to admit.

It’s overwhelming, the heat, the pressure, the way Minho expertly unravels him with nothing but his mouth and hands. Seungmin’s fingers tangle in Minho’s hair, his hips stuttering forward instinctively, chasing the high Minho is pulling from him effortlessly. He doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering until Minho makes a pleased sound in response, clearly enjoying the way Seungmin is falling apart for him.

Seungmin barely manages to breathe out Minho’s name before everything crashes over him. His body tenses, fingers gripping tight, his head tilting back as Minho keeps going, keeps pulling every last bit of pleasure from him. Seungmin rides out the high, his breath shuddering, his entire body pulsing with the force of it.

Minho doesn’t stop until Seungmin is completely undone. He barely has the energy to open his eyes, his head lolling slightly as Minho crawls back up to settle beside him.

Seungmin exhales heavily, his voice hoarse. “You’re too good at that.”

Minho grins, pressing a kiss to the corner of Seungmin’s mouth. “I know.”

Seungmin huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers twitching where they rest against Minho’s shoulder and Minho watches him for a moment before murmuring, “Feel better now?”

Seungmin lets out a soft sigh, turning his head slightly to meet Minho’s gaze. “Yeah, much better.”

Civil law class feels heavier than usual today, the air thick with the quiet buzz of pre-debate tension as students shuffle into their seats. The topic is an interesting one, whether South Korea should introduce plea bargains into its judicial system. But Seungmin isn’t paying attention to the anticipation around him. His eyes are on you.

You walk toward the front of the lecture hall with slow, dragging steps. The sharp click of your heels against the floor lacks its usual confidence, replaced instead with a sluggish, uneven rhythm and there’s something off about you. Seconds stretch uncomfortably, the silence thickening as the class shifts in their seats.

Seungmin frowns, the unease prickling at his skin growing stronger as you lean heavily against the podium, your fingers gripping at the edges like they’re the only thing keeping you upright. Then, in an instant, your body gives out.

Your knees buckle, and you slump forward without warning, your head colliding with the sharp edge of the podium before crumpling to the ground. The sound of the impact is sickening, a dull thud followed by a heavy silence, the entire class frozen in shock.

Seungmin's chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he pushes up to his feet and strides forward, his chest tight with something dangerously close to panic. By the time he reaches you, the professor has already jumped into action, barking orders for the students to clear the room, to stop staring, to put their fucking phones away.

Seungmin drops to his knees beside you, eyes scanning the deep gash on your forehead, crimson spilling down the side of your face and his stomach twists. He exhales sharply, shaking your shoulder gently. “Y/N. Hey.”

Nothing. He taps your cheek lightly, then a little firmer. “Come on, wake up.”

A low curse slips through his teeth, his free hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head, careful not to disturb the wound. He glances toward the professor, who is still ushering out the last of the gawking students, and forces himself to stay calm.

Seungmin tries again, his fingers brushing against your temple, his palm warm against your cheek. “Y/N. Open your eyes.”

A faint flicker of movement. Your lashes flutter, your breath hitching slightly as you groan softly and Seungmin exhales, relief creeping into his chest as he watches you stir. “That’s it. You're okay”

Seungmin watches as you blink sluggishly, your gaze unfocused, unfixed, like you’re struggling to piece together where you are. “Don’t touch your head,” Seungmin says immediately, noticing the way your fingers lift slightly. “You’re bleeding. You hit your head when you collapsed.”

You groan again, this time softer, more exhausted than pained. Your eyelids droop slightly, and Seungmin shakes your shoulder gently, forcing your attention back on him. “I need you to stay awake. You with me?”

A slow, tiny nod. Barely there. But it’s enough.

He glances toward the door, weighing options. “We can sit here until you feel stable, or you can hop on my back, and I’ll take you to the frat house. My boyfriend has a first-aid certification. Saves you hospital bills.”

“I’ll get blood on your suit,” you murmur.

Seungmin huffs a quiet laugh. “You think I give a shit about that right now?”

“Don’t want to move. Head’s spinning.”

“Okay,” Seungmin says, securing his hold, keeping you propped against him. “We’ll wait. Just breathe.”

And as he watches you, counting each breath, something settles heavily in his chest. He’s never seen you like this before, pushed too far, exhausted beyond reason. And for some reason, that thought lingers.

Minho is in the frat house kitchen, standing over the stove in nothing but a pair of loose sweats, lazily stirring a pot of noodles. He’s cooking for himself and Seungmin, just something simple for lunch, something to keep them going for the rest of the day.

The sound of the front door slamming open barely registers at first, too familiar to be alarming. The house is always loud, people coming and going, throwing shit around like they own the place. Minho doesn’t look up until the kitchen door is kicked open, and suddenly, there’s Seungmin carrying you on his back, blood dripping from a gash on your forehead.

“Min, grab the first aid kit.”

Minho grabs the kit, turning back just as Seungmin carefully lowers you onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, keeping his hands steady on your shoulders as your head lolls back slightly. He stays close, standing behind you, making sure you don’t tip over.

Minho steps in front of you, setting the first aid kit down on the counter and reaching for a pair of gloves. “Ouch,” he mutters, inspecting the wound. “That’s a nasty gash. Pretty deep, I’ll have to put some butterfly stitches on it, then some bandaids.”

You hum vaguely, your expression dazed, before your gaze suddenly focuses on him. “Oh, Minho! You’re here!”

Minho blinks. “Yeah. I live here.”

You tilt your head slightly, blinking slowly, as if trying to process that information. “I forgot you were part of Alpha Phi. Did you watch Hometown Cha Cha Cha like I recommended?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, reaching for a gauze patch. “Seungminnie and I did. We liked it.”

Your eyes drift to Seungmin, still sluggish. “You like Hometown Cha Cha Cha?”

Seungmin exhales, unimpressed. “If you recommended it, I’m obligated to hate it.”

You hum again and Minho rips open a packet of gauze before gently pressing it against your forehead to stop the bleeding. “So,” he says, voice light despite the situation, “what did you do to your head?”

“Seungmin threw the debate podium at me.”

“Yep. Threw it straight at her face.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Okay, and real answer?”

“She passed out and smacked her head off the podium. Lost consciousness for just under a minute.”

Minho hums, keeping the gauze pressed against your forehead. He watches your face carefully, noting the slight tremble in your fingers, the way your head tilts slightly like you can’t quite keep it upright.

Minho glances at you. “When’s the last time you had a decent meal?”

You shrug, voice faint. “I don’t have time to cook.”

Minho sighs. “You’re exhausted and underfed. I’m surprised you didn’t drop before now.”

You don’t answer, your body slack against Seungmin and Minho exhales, deciding to test a theory. “Okay, Y/N. We’re gonna play a little game.”

You blink slowly at him. “What kind of game?”

Minho leans in slightly. “Standard concussion check. I ask, you answer. Got it?”

You nod, sluggish.

“What’s your full name?”

You stare at him for a long moment before finally answering and Minho’s lips press together. That took too long.

“What’s today’s date?”

You blink once, then twice, before mumbling out a date that’s a week off and Minho sighs. “Yeah, definitely a concussion.”

Seungmin clicks his tongue. “Not surprised. The crack of her head against the podium echoed.”

Minho finally pulls the gauze away now that the bleeding has slowed. He grabs an antiseptic wipe, carefully dabbing at the wound, making sure to be gentle and you wince slightly, your body leaning further into Seungmin.

Minho shakes his head. “Stay with me, sunshine. Don’t pass out on me.”

You hum, barely responsive and Minho works quickly, finishing the cleaning before grabbing butterfly stitches and carefully pressing them over the gash. Once they’re secure, he reaches into the first aid kit for bandaids and a smirk tugs at his lips as he pulls out the box of Spiderman bandaids and Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Minho shrugs. “We ran out of normal ones.”

He peels a few off and carefully places them over your wound, smoothing them down before finally leaning back. “There. All patched up.”

You blink at him, your expression still dazed as he moves to wash his hands before he begins dishing out food into three bowls and setting them down on the counter. He slides one in front of you.

“Don’t eat if you feel too sick, okay?” Minho says. “It’s normal with a concussion.”

You just hum in response, lifting your spoon sluggishly and Seungmin watches you for a long moment before shaking his head. “She’s out of it.”

Minho exhales, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, she’s got a concussion, so I’m not expecting much.”

Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down with exhaustion, and your body instinctively leans forward. But before you can even fully tip forward, Minho’s voice cuts through your haze, sharp and commanding. “No sleeping anytime soon, you gotta stay up for a few hours.”

You groan softly, barely processing the words before something jabs into your arm, quick and sudden, and your body jolts upright before your brain even catches up. Minho’s gaze immediately narrows as he turns toward Seungmin, who is still holding his chopstick like a weapon.

“Seungmin!”

Seungmin shrugs, completely unfazed as his eyes flick to you, scanning your expression carefully, checking to see if you’re at least able to keep yourself upright before his shoulders relax slightly.

“What the fuck?”

“You were gonna pass out. What was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything else,” Minho mutters.

You glance down at the food in front of you, picking up your chopsticks and poking at the noodles without much interest. You try to twirl a few strands around your chopsticks, bringing them to your mouth, but every bite feels like chewing through cotton.

After a few more slow, careful bites, Minho speaks up. “Have you texted Chan, Changbin, or Jisung about this yet?”

You pause, blinking sluggishly. “The rumour mill at the college will have them arriving here thinking I’m dead within twenty minutes, so no need.”

Seungmin shifts slightly beside you, watching as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “We can’t send her home, right?”

Minho shakes his head, standing up to clear his own bowl. “No way. Probably not for a few days either.”

Seungmin exhales through his nose, tilting his head toward you. “You hear that? You’re stuck with us.”

Twenty minutes later, the front door of the Alpha Phi frat house slams open with enough force to rattle the walls. “WHERE IS MY CHILD?!”

Jisung’s voice booms through the house as he bursts into the living room with Chan and Changbin right behind him. They find you sprawled on the couch, sunglasses perched on your nose, curtains drawn tightly shut, a cold compress pressed to your temple.

Across from you, Minho and Seungmin are curled up together on the loveseat, watching a slow-paced documentary about farm life, but neither of them is particularly paying attention. Every few minutes, one of them glances over at you, making sure you’re still conscious.

Jisung darts over first, flinging himself onto the couch beside you with wide, panicked eyes. “Oh my god, my Shayla!”

Changbin gives Jisung a flat look. “Are you quoting memes right now?”

Jisung whirls on him. “I am not good in a crisis!”

You groan softly, pressing the cold compress a little firmer against your temple. Chan, still standing, crosses his arms and finally demands, “Hey, what happened?”

Seungmin speaks without taking his eyes off the TV. “She passed out in class, smashed her head off the podium. I carried her here. Minho patched her up.”

Jisung lets out a distressed noise, as you place your head in his lap. “Why did you pass out? What the fuck were you doing?”

You sigh as your head is gently cushioned by Jisung’s thighs. His hands replace yours on the cold compress, holding it steady against your wound with a tenderness that contradicts his dramatic panic.

“I was, you know, functioning as a double major,” you mutter.

Changbin crouches next to the couch, brows furrowing. “Do you need anything?”

“Heavy drugs.”

Minho intervenes without missing a beat. “She’s got a concussion. Keep her awake. She’s not going to be the best conversationalist, and she might say some random shit.”

You blink up at Jisung. “Jisung.”

Jisung hums, still carefully holding the compress to your head. “Yes?”

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

Jisung doesn’t hesitate. “You are my child. Of course, I would. I’d turn into a worm too. Worm eomma and my worm baby. I’d get a worm sword too. Stop the birds from eating us.”

You giggle, shifting slightly against him, and Jisung grins like he’s just won something.

Minho finally clicks off the documentary, stretching as he stands. “We should keep her up for a few hours. I don’t think letting her sleep yet is a good idea.”

“I know what we need to do,” Jisung announces, deadly serious. “We have to keep her talking. We need to talk about important things.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Worm logistics. If we were worms, where would we live?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe a nice flower pot. Lots of shade, fresh dirt.”

Jisung nods. “Good choice. And what would we eat?”

“Fallen fruit,” you decide.

“Absolutely,” Jisung agrees. “And you know what? I’d build us a little worm house. Keep us safe from the elements.”

Your eyes flutter slightly, your exhaustion creeping in, but Jisung nudges you lightly. “No sleeping, worm baby. We need to discuss our worm chariot.”

“What would that even be?”

“A snail,” Jisung says confidently. “A big one. A strong one. Our mighty steed.”

You giggle again, clearly enjoying the absurdity. “And if we have enemies?”

“That’s where the worm sword comes in.”

Chan groans, rubbing his temples. “Are you two seriously planning an entire worm society right now?”

Minho shakes his head, amused. “As long as she’s awake, I don’t care what bullshit you two are talking about.”

Jisung grins, ruffling your hair. “You hear that? Our worm kingdom is officially endorsed.”

You sigh contentedly, letting your eyes close for a moment before Jisung nudges you again.

“No sleeping, Y/N.”

You groan, but you keep talking, letting the ridiculous conversation carry you through the exhaustion. And even as your head pounds and your body aches, you can’t help but feel safe.

Minho’s room is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from his laptop screen as he plugs it into his massive TV.

“Min, what are you doing?” Seungmin's voice is dry, unimpressed but intrigued despite himself.

“I have a MIN-Talk to give you.”

Seungmin’s eyes narrow. “A what?”

Minho gestures toward the TV, which suddenly flickers to life with the first slide of a PowerPoint presentation. The screen is white with bold, red letters across the top reading: Seungmin's Journey to Realisation With His Sex God Boyfriend.

Below the title, a photoshopped picture of Minho stands tall, dressed in what can only be described as a self-made god complex, a gold halo drawn above his head, and exaggerated lens flares making it look like he’s glowing.

“Oh, fuck no.”

“Oh, fuck yes,”

The screen changes to another ridiculous title: Why Seungmin Is an Absolute Idiot but Also the Love of My Life, and I Forgive Him for His Stupidity Because I Am Magnanimous.

Seungmin glares at him. “This is already insufferable.”

Minho ignores him, stepping forward like he’s about to deliver the world’s most important keynote speech. “Now, Seungminnie, I understand that you are very emotionally constipated. It’s part of your charm, really. But today, I have taken it upon myself, as your intelligent, incredibly sexy boyfriend, to guide you toward a very important discovery.”

He clicks to the next slide, which is simply a picture of Minho in a long brown wig, photoshopped into the picture like an AI-generated fever dream. Seungmin stares at the screen in dead silence.

Minho claps his hands together. “Here we have Exhibit A: Seungmin willingly carrying a damsel in distress across campus. This is fascinating because Seungmin does not go out of his way for people unless he likes them. And yet! When Y/N passed out, he went full hero mode, carried her all the way here, and personally made sure she was okay. What does this tell us, Seungmin?”

Seungmin blinks, then slowly turns his head toward Minho. “Did you throw this shitshow together just now?”

Minho nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Amazing, right? I am the brilliant one in this relationship. However, I did not have time to get any pictures of Y/N, so I just used my old wig and took some selfies. Me in a wig is representing Y/N.”

“Why is that turning me on?”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

Seungmin tilts his head slightly. “It’s the wig, I think.”

Minho gapes at him, momentarily speechless. Then he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “We are getting so off-topic right now.”

Seungmin smirks, looking far too pleased with himself. “Maybe you should wear it in bed.”

Minho huffs, clicking to the next slide aggressively. “Moving on.”

The next slide is titled Seungmin’s Repressed Feelings: A Case Study and features a series of candid screenshots Minho has compiled from text messages and security cam footage from the frat house, each one showing Seungmin scowling whenever your name comes up, or blatantly staring at you from across the room when he thinks no one is looking.

Minho smirks. “Here we have undeniable proof that Seungmin, despite his many many claims of hating Y/N, actually cannot stop looking at her. And not just any looking, the kind of looking that belongs in slow-burn enemies-to-lovers fanfiction.”

Seungmin scoffs. “That’s not longing.”

Minho clicks to the next slide, which is simply the word Denial in size 72 font and Seungmin sighs through his nose. Minho clicks to the next slide, which is titled Seungmin the Hero: Chapter Two and shows another extremely questionable photoshop of Minho in a brown wig, this time edited to be lying on a couch, while stick-figure Seungmin stands over him looking vaguely worried.

“This slide,” Minho announces, “is about how you have been checking on Y/N every ten minutes since she got here.This tells us what, Seungmin?”

Seungmin presses his lips together.

Minho leans in. “Seungmin. Say it.”

“I like her.”

Minho exhales, shaking his head as he places a hand over his chest like a disappointed professor. “Because your realization came a lot quicker than I expected, we have to tragically skip to the end slide.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Really, Seungmin, you’ve ruined my plans. I had seven more slides with graphs!”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Graphs?”

Minho nods solemnly, clicking to the next slide just to show Seungmin what he’s missing out on. The screen fills with an absurd bar graph titled Seungmin’s Emotional Evolution Timeline which, based on the labels, appears to measure various milestones in Seungmin’s life, such as Denial Phase (Disgust) which is high, Denial Phase (Angry Yelling) which is even higher, Fake Indifference (Scowling While Staring) which is at the max, and then a final, tiny bar labelled Actual Realization which is barely peaking at the bottom.

Seungmin stares. “This is bullshit.”

Minho snickers but keeps clicking through, skipping over another set of slides, which appear to be unnecessary pie charts of random made up statistics and Seungmin sighs. “You really put this much effort in?”

“Of course,” Minho says. “I put more effort into this than my actual assignments.”

Seungmin is about to argue when the next slide comes up and he immediately freezes. The screen flashes with bright pink, bold font reading Eiffel Tower 4EVER in the most obnoxious text style Minho could find. Below it is an absolutely uncensored image of a spitroast, clearly ripped straight from a porn site.

Seungmin blinks. Then blinks again. His gaze slowly drags to Minho, who stands there, arms crossed as if this was a completely normal slide to include in a PowerPoint presentation.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

“A pitch for polyamory.”

Seungmin’s head snaps toward him. “What?!”

Minho clicks his tongue, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “We can live that polyamorous dream. I mean, I’ve spoken to her a few times now, and she’s definitely caught my attention, which, might I add, is near impossible for most people. The last person to catch my attention is now my boyfriend.”

“So part of the whole reason for this presentation,” Seungmin says slowly, “is because you want a throuple with us and her?”

“Yes!”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “So all of this was for selfish reasons?”

“Yes.”

Seungmin exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he leans back slightly. “You insufferable asshole, I hate you.”

“You love me,” Minho corrects, grin widening. “But think about it! Jisung already calls us the meanie tsunderes of the frat, right? Imagine us two and her. The two of us, terrifying and biting, and then her, all soft and warm and-”

“She hates me,” Seungmin interrupts, dryly. “Your entire idea is already flawed.”

“Yeah. We should probably figure out why that is.”

Seungmin stares at Minho like he’s lost his mind. “That’s your takeaway from this?”

Minho shrugs. “It’s an important detail.”

Seungmin sighs, shaking his head, but something flickers in his expression, something thoughtful, something uncertain. His fingers twitch slightly against his thigh, his eyes flicking back toward the TV screen where the ridiculous slide still glares back at them.

“Fuck.”

Minho smirks. “You’re in.”

Seungmin doesn’t answer immediately, jaw clenching slightly before he finally, finally nods once. “First, we figure out why she hates me.”

Minho grins and clicks to the final slide. A massive CONGRATULATIONS, SEUNGMIN, YOU’RE INTO POLYAMORY! in flashing rainbow text appears on the screen, followed by poorly photoshopped images of Seungmin, Minho, and a brown-wigged Minho all posing together like an unhinged family photo.

“I fucking hate you.”

The past two days have been a blur of forced rest and aggressive mothering. The moment you collapsed in class, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin made it their mission to keep you at the frat house, refusing to let you stay alone with a concussion.

Jisung had proudly packed you a suitcase, filled with an absurd amount of crop tops, a singular left sock, and a glow-in-the-dark rubber duck. It was so useless that Chan had to go to your studio and pack another one himself.

Now, you’re curled up in Chan’s ridiculously luxurious bed, sinking into a plush mattress with pillows that mould perfectly around your head. His Egyptian cotton sheets make it dangerously easy to stay put forever.

You attempt to focus on Civil Precedent in South Korea, but it’s pointless. Your brain feels wrung out, comprehension slipping away the longer you stare at the pages.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Minho pokes his head inside. “What did I tell you about studying with a concussion?”

You sigh dramatically. “That I should push through and expand my legal knowledeg?”

Minho snorts, stepping in. He’s in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, his blonde hair tousled like he’s been napping. “Wrong.” He plucks the book from your hands without hesitation. “I told you not to be a dumbass.”

You scowl, but don’t argue as he drops onto the bed beside you, flipping through the book before shutting it with a quiet thud. “No studying. Your brain’s already struggling.”

Huffing, you sink further into the pillows, accepting the excuse to procrastinate. Minho idly traces the book’s cover before speaking again. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

You hum, eyes half-lidded. “Ask away.”

Minho tilts his head back. “What’s the deal with you and Seungmin?”

You sigh, adjusting the cold compress on your forehead. “Honestly? Looking at it now, it’s kind of dumb.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“First day of freshman year, I introduced myself, and he was a dick. Scoffed at me. Like I was wasting his time.”

Minho blinks. “He scoffed?”

“Yes! So the next day, I ignored him. Then he got annoyed and started being mean, and now we just never stopped.”

Minho, amused, finally laughs. “Of course, it’s all Seungmin’s fault. My stupid-ass boyfriend being mean to the sunshine human.”

“I’m not a sunshine human.”

Minho pats your head condescendingly. “Sure you’re not, sweetheart.”

You huff, swatting his hand away, but a small smile tugs at your lips.

“So, he was an asshole, you matched his energy, and now two years later, you’re still at war?”

“Basically.”

Minho smirks. “That’s hilarious.”

You roll your eyes. “Glad my suffering entertains you.”

Minho watches you thoughtfully. “You know, he doesn’t actually hate you.”

You snort. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

Minho hesitates, lips pressing together like he’s debating saying something more, but then he just shakes his head. “Nothing.” He ruffles your hair with a grin. “You two are fucking ridiculous.”

You scowl, swatting at his hand again. “I hate you.”

Minho beams. “You adore me.”

Later in the afternoon, you find yourself once again under the intense supervision of your so-called family, except this time, the responsibility has shifted. Instead of being doted on by the overprotective Chan and Changbin, you are now in the questionable care of Jisung and Felix.

Jisung had insisted loudly that gay energy is best for healing, and since Felix is his boyfriend, that naturally made Felix your gay stepfather.

“You’re in the best hands,” Jisung says, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. “You have your gay eomma and your gay stepfather watching over you. Truly, there’s no better healing power than homosexual nurturing.”

Felix, curled up next to you, nods solemnly. “The gays have been responsible for the survival of civilization for centuries. Did you know that Florence Nightingale was actually a gay man named Fred?”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Are you questioning the healing power of the gays?!”

Felix clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “This is why you’re not recovering faster. The doubt is hindering your healing process.”

“You two are exhausting.”

“And yet,” Jisung sing-songs, “you love us.”

Felix hums in agreement. “She does.”

Seungmin steps into Minho’s room fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his waist, droplets still clinging to his skin. His damp hair sticks slightly to his forehead as he crosses the room, and Minho lets out a low whistle.

“Don’t objectify me.”

“You’re my boyfriend. I’m allowed.”

Seungmin flips him off, making a beeline for Minho’s dresser.

“You do have your own clothes,” Minho points out.

Seungmin yanks open a drawer. “Yeah, and you always steal mine. This is revenge.”

Minho watches as Seungmin pulls out an oversized shirt and sweatpants, starting to get dressed. “I know why Y/N is only a bitch to you. And it’s all your fault.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Minho lounges against the bed, grinning. “Apparently, first day of freshman year, Y/N introduced herself all sunshine and rainbows, and you scoffed at her.”

Seungmin frowns. “I scoffed?”

Minho nods. “Not just any scoff. A superior, condescending, fuck-you-and-your-existence scoff. Then when she ignored you the next day, you got mad and started being mean.”

Seungmin exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Seungmin pulls on his sweatpants, considering. “Well, I did carry her here. That has to score some points in this grand romance plan of yours.”

Minho grins. “Oh, absolutely. The noble knight rescuing the helpless maiden.”

Seungmin snorts. “She would hate that wording.”

Minho shrugs. “Yeah, but it fits my narrative.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes and Minho leans in, voice smug. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Seungmin tilts his head. “Well, if your polyamory paradise plan is gonna work, I should probably start damage control.”

Minho claps his hands. “Now that’s the attitude I like.”

Seungmin huffs a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Minho hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “you love me.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes but yeah, he does.

After a week of forced rest, overprotective mothering, and an embarrassing amount of fussing from Jisung, Chan, and Changbin, you finally return to campus for your first lecture back. The familiar weight of your brown faux leather handbag rests against your hip as you walk. Your white button-up blouse, crisp and neatly tucked into your high-waisted, wide-leg brown trousers, moves slightly with the breeze.

The scab on your forehead, evidence of your humiliating collapse in class, remains an ugly reminder, though thankfully, it no longer throbs. The bruising has faded, but you still catch a few curious glances from passing students as you make your way toward the lecture hall.

You’re adjusting the strap of your bag when a familiar figure falls into step beside you, his presence abrupt but oddly natural. Dressed sharply in a tailored navy suit, his polished shoes clicking in perfect rhythm with yours, he walks beside you with a confidence that is both effortless and calculated.

He says nothing at first, just matching your pace as if this is something you’ve always done, walking together like this, like you aren’t infamous for constantly being at each other’s throats in class.

Then, without looking at you, he extends a hand, holding out an iced matcha green tea latte and a flaky croissant wrapped in parchment paper. You glance down at the offerings before flicking your eyes up to him. “What’s this?”

Seungmin’s expression remains neutral, his free hand tucked into his pocket. “Minho doesn’t trust you to actually eat.”

You take the latte, sipping it carefully before narrowing your eyes at him. “Minho didn’t have to get me this,” you murmur, voice softer than you intend. “He barely knows me.”

Seungmin makes a vague noise in response, somewhere between a scoff and a hum. “Well, he got it for you because, you know, you knocked out and cracked your head open like a dumbass. Because you didn’t eat well and pushed yourself too hard. I had to convince him not to buy you melatonin tablets and teas.”

Your lips twitch slightly as you take another sip of the latte, letting the earthy sweetness settle on your tongue. “Melatonin tablets?”

Seungmin nods, finally looking at you with a raised brow. “He was very close to treating you like an elderly insomniac.”

As you both near the law building, something shifts. You don’t notice at first but you feel it. The sharp turn of heads, the barely concealed gawking, the wide eyes flicking from you to Seungmin and back again. The whispers are immediate, the low murmurs spreading across the room like wildfire, speculation sparking in hushed voices.

You realize, belatedly, that to anyone watching, this looks insane. You and Seungmin. Walking together. Talking. Looking almost friendly. Your rivalry is legendary in the law department. People have been betting on which one of you would snap and kill the other first.

And now, here you are, strolling into class together like you didn’t spend the past year and a half throwing verbal daggers at each other.

Before you can react, before you can even open your mouth to acknowledge the attention, Seungmin glares, a single, sharp look and just like that everyone scatters. Students instantly turn back to their conversations, heads whipping away so fast you think someone might pull a muscle.

You stare at Seungmin. “Oh my God.”

He quirks a brow. “What?”

“You have got to teach me how to do that.”

Seungmin scoffs, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket. “You can’t.”

You blink up at him, tilting your head. “Why not?”

He huffs a soft laugh, lifting a hand and circling a finger in the air, gesturing toward your face. “Because of these.”

“My face?”

Seungmin shakes his head. “It's your eyes. You have doe eyes.”

“What does that mean?”

He tilts his head, studying you for a beat before responding. “It means you look like a baby deer. Big, round, shiny eyes. No one’s going to be intimidated by that.”

You scoff, nudging him with your elbow. “I can be mean. I can be scary.”

“No, you really can’t.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why not?”

“Because it would be like a bunny trying to glare at you,” he says simply, as if this is an objective fact.

"A bunny?”

“Yes,” he deadpans. “Tiny. Adorable. Absolutely incapable of looking threatening no matter how hard it tries.”

“I hate you.”

Seungmin just smirks, taking a sip of his own coffee as he pushes open the door to the lecture hall. “Sure you do, sunshine.”

You make your way to your usual seat, the same table you’ve always occupied and Seungmin follows. And then, in front of the entire class, he sits down next to you. Someone gasps. The noise is sharp, high-pitched, and followed by the sudden hush of murmured whispers, the unmistakable sound of jaws dropping.

A girl sitting a few seats away leans forward, barely able to contain her curiosity. “Are you two friends now?”

Seungmin’s response is immediate, a sharp glare, cutting through the air like a blade. The girl instantly recoils, ducking her head and turning back to her desk, mumbling something under her breath that you don’t quite catch.

You tilt your head toward Seungmin. “I might keep you around just for that.”

His lips twitch slightly, but he says nothing, just takes a sip of his coffee like he hasn’t just sent someone into full retreat with a single look.

The students around you lean in toward each other, voices lowered but urgent, their gossip spilling into the air, weaving itself into the atmosphere of the room.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“They’re sitting together.”

“They have to have fucked.”

“No way. Seungmin has a boyfriend.”

“If they were going to pick a girl to share, they’d at least pick a pretty one.”

The words slip through the air like a quiet venom, a sickly sweet poison that seeps under your skin before you can stop it.

“She’s too ugly for them.”

The air in your lungs stills and a strange, hollow sensation spreads through your chest, a slow, creeping discomfort that makes your stomach twist. More whispers follow, more murmurs, some barely audible, but you hear enough.

“God, she looks like shit.”

“She collapsed in class. Fucking embarrassing.”

“Like, maybe if she took care of herself instead of running around like she has something to prove-”

You grip the edge of your desk, fingers curling around the polished wood, nails pressing into the surface hard enough to leave small crescents. It’s not the first time you’ve heard something like this. It’s not the first time people have torn you apart in whispers, in casual conversation, in offhanded comments meant to wound.

But this time, it’s different. This time, the weight of it is heavier than usual. Maybe it’s because of the week you’ve had, the exhaustion still clinging to your bones, the way your body still hasn’t fully recovered. Maybe it’s because, despite yourself, despite everything, you’d actually felt okay today, felt fine, until now.

You swallow, reaching for your bag and Seungmin’s head snaps toward you the moment you start moving. You grab your things, standing up swiftly, your chair scraping against the floor.

Seungmin watches you leave, not giving the gossiping masses the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. But he knows how words can cut deeper than any blade, how they can burrow under the skin and stay there, festering like an infection. And these pathetic, miserable, stupid people think they have the right to talk about you like that?

His head turns slowly, his sharp gaze cutting through the room like a knife. The whispers die instantly. The tension in the air thickens as the weight of his silence settles over them, suffocating, oppressive. Seungmin’s eyes scan the room, his expression unreadable, cold.

Pushing back his chair, Seungmin stands with an almost lazy slowness, his posture relaxed but his expression a dangerous contrast of cool indifference and simmering anger. “You know,” he starts, his voice almost conversational, too casual, “I always knew this class was full of idiots, but I didn’t realize how fucking stupid some of you sound until today.”

A ripple of tension sweeps through the room.

Seungmin smiles, sharp and humourless. “You must be so fucking miserable in your own existence to open your mouths and speak the absolute dogshit that just came out of them.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I mean, let’s be honest, none of you are in any position to comment on someone else’s looks. Every single one of you looks like your parents are cousins.”

A girl in the back gasps, but Seungmin doesn’t even blink.

“I know you all love to ride Minho’s dick and praise his unreal beauty like he’s some divine being,” Seungmin continues, his voice mocking, eyes narrowing. “And yeah, sure, my boyfriend is pretty, but he’s not the only one. Y/N? She’s pretty in a different way. In a way none of you could ever fucking understand because you’re all too busy being jealous, bitter, and ugly, inside and out.”

Seungmin looks around, his smirk growing when no one dares to meet his gaze.

“That’s what this is, right?” he continues. “Jealousy. That’s why you sit there whispering, trying to tear her down, because deep down, you wish you had even half of what she has. You wish you had her presence, her intelligence, her confidence. You wish you had even a fucking fraction of what makes her, her. But instead of admitting that, instead of just accepting your own mediocrity, you spew your cheap, pathetic insults and act like they mean something. Let me make this very fucking clear, they don’t.”

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Seungmin exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back. “And one more thing,” he adds, tilting his head. “If I ever hear any of you talk about Y/N like that again?”

He smiles, but there’s no warmth in it.

“You’re gonna wish you never fucking enrolled in this program.”

Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and walks out.

The gentle trickle of water from the campus fountain is the only sound filling the space around you. The soft afternoon light reflects off the rippling water, casting wavering patterns onto the stone as you sit on the edge of the fountain, your civil law textbook open in your lap.

Your eyes flick across the text, but the words don’t register and you don’t even realize you’re crying until you sniffle. You inhale sharply, dragging the sleeve of your blouse over your cheek, pressing your lips together as you will yourself to stop. You flinch slightly when someone sits down beside you.

“None of them know what they’re talking about. They’re all fucking idiots.”

“I didn’t want to sit there and listen to them point out all my flaws.”

Seungmin scoffs. “They weren’t pointing out flaws, they were just saying whatever bullshit would make them feel better about themselves. You shouldn’t care what people think.”

"But I do.”

Seungmin clicks his tongue. “Then maybe you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

Your head snaps toward him but he just meets your eyes evenly, unfazed.

“You’re better than them,” he continues. “Accept it. They’re insecure, they’re bitter, and their lives are so fucking boring that they need to talk shit about people who actually have something going for them.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “And you’re not fucking ugly. I don’t know where the fuck that came from.”

Something inside you falters, cracks slightly at the bluntness of it, at the way he says it with so much certainty, like there isn’t even a question about it. “Did you just compliment me?”

Seungmin’s lips twitch. “No, stating facts isn’t a compliment. You’re pretty. It’s a fact.”

You blink and he blinks back as the words settle between you, simple but somehow heavy. You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure of what to say, unsure of what this is.

“Don’t be weird about it.”

You huff out something that almost sounds like a laugh. “I wasn’t going to be.”

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes flicking toward you once more. “Good.”

Minho’s room is dimly lit, the only source of brightness coming from his laptop screen, which is currently connected to his massive TV. Seungmin, sprawled out on Minho’s bed with his arms crossed, watches the screen with a mixture of exhaustion and amusement.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Seungmin mutters, staring at the first slide.

Minho grins, clicking his wireless mouse to transition to the second slide. “Welcome,” he announces dramatically, “to How Seungmin and Minho Are Going to Romance and Seduce Y/N: A Master Plan by the Sexiest Men Alive.”

“I hate that I let you do this.”

“No, you love that I do this,” Minho corrects, smirking. He clicks the slide forward, revealing an image of the three of you, except instead of an actual picture, it’s another one of his Photoshop jobs. This time, he’s cropped his and Seungmin’s faces onto two dramatically posed male models, while you, once again, are represented by a picture of Minho in a brown wig.

“Why am I even here?”

“Because we need a strategy,” Minho says, clicking to the next slide. “Now that you and Y/N are best friends-”

“Not best friends,” Seungmin corrects.

“-we have successfully cleared step one,” Minho continues, ignoring him. “Which was to remove the animosity, build the bridge, and create a foundation for our soon-to-be throuple glory.” He gestures vaguely toward the screen. “Now, step two: We seduce.”

Seungmin gives him a flat look. “I hate the way you said that.”

“Okay, so first option,” Minho begins, clearing his throat. “We corner her in the library and overwhelm her with our combined presence until she realizes she can’t live without us.”

Seungmin stares at him. “That sounds like a hostage situation.”

Minho waves him off. “Details. Next option: We dramatically confess our feelings under the rain, K-drama style.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Fine. Next: We ‘accidentally’ keep showing up wherever she goes, subtly making her associate us with comfort and safety.”

Seungmin tilts his head. “That’s not terrible.”

Minho nods. “Right? Classic psychological conditioning.” He clicks forward. “Next: We make her jealous by pretending to flirt with other people so she realizes her hidden feelings for us.”

Seungmin snorts. “Yeah, no. That sounds like a terrible idea.”

Minho sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Too messy.” He clicks again. “Next: We bake her things. Romantic, homemade, completely irresistible.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “Can you bake?”

“Okay, so the next one is-” Minho pauses, squinting at the screen before sighing. “Okay, yeah, I’m just now realizing that fake a medical emergency so she has to take care of us is probably not a good idea.”

“You think?”

“Shut up.” Minho clicks again, and finally, he lands on something promising.

The screen now displays a much more reasonable, thought-out plan: Consistently join Y/N in the library. Establish ourselves as a presence in her life. Be there, subtly, constantly, in a way she finds comforting rather than overwhelming.

Seungmin nods slowly, considering. “This I can get behind.”

Minho grins. “Good, because this is our best bet. We know she’s always in the library. She spends more time there than in her own fucking apartment. If we just start showing up, she’ll get used to having us around. She’ll start expecting us to be there.”

Seungmin hums. “And if she expects us to be there, she’ll start missing us when we’re not.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright. I’m in.”

Minho smirks, clicking to the final slide, which is simply Mission Seduction: Initiated in bold, dramatic font. “This is the beginning of something beautiful,” Minho declares.

“Or something stupid.”

The library has become a second home to you. Not in a metaphorical, oh, I just love books kind of way, but in the actual way that you probably spend more time at your usual table, surrounded by stacks of case law, than you do in your own apartment. Which is why you don’t think twice when Minho and Seungmin start showing up.

At first, it’s sporadic. Seungmin has always studied here, so his presence isn’t that unusual. But Minho, who has no business in the law section, who doesn’t even pretend to be interested in legal texts? That raises a brow.

But you don’t question it. Because you don’t have time to question it. The weight of your workload presses against your shoulders every single day, an unrelenting mountain of readings, assignments, and analysis. Criminal law cases demand attention. Civil law precedent requires memorization. There is no space in your brain for anything else.

So, when Minho drops into the seat across from you, offering a lazy grin and a drink he claims is just an extra, you take it with a quiet “thank you” before returning to your notes.

When Seungmin slides into the chair beside you, casually pulling out his own books, you hum in acknowledgement but keep highlighting sections of your case summaries.

When they start appearing together, one on each side of you, occasionally talking in hushed voices but never loud enough to fully distract, you don’t even flinch. They blend into the background. Minho and Seungmin? They just exist now, a quiet, constant presence you’ve somehow grown used to without even realizing it.

And they seem content with that. For now.

Minho figures it out first. Two weeks into Operation Seduce Y/N, he realizes something critically important. You are completely fucking unaware. To everything. Too consumed by your work.

He figures it out when he leans over the table one day, chin resting on his palm, eyes scanning you as you write furiously in your notebook. You’re wearing a fitted black turtleneck tucked into beige high-waisted trousers, gold-rimmed glasses perched on your nose, hair pinned back neatly, looking every bit the picture of effortless academic elegance.

“You know,” Minho drawls, voice low and teasing, “if you get any hotter, I might have to start failing my classes just so you can tutor me.”

He expects a reaction, a flustered glance, a small smile, something. What he gets is a distracted hum and a muttered, “Just study properly.”

Minho blinks and Seungmin, sitting to your right, bites back a smirk. “Ouch.”

Minho’s gaze sharpens as he watches you flip through your case law textbook, seemingly unbothered and his lips press together.

Interesting.

Seungmin confirms Minho’s suspicion a few days later. You’re sitting in the same spot, wearing a deep green blouse tucked into wide-leg black trousers, and Seungmin, feeling particularly generous, decides to hand you an iced matcha green tea latte without comment.

You take it, sip absently, and say, “Thanks, Min.”

Minho, from across the table, immediately grins. “Oh?”

Seungmin frowns. “The fuck?”

You blink up at them, confused. “What?”

Minho leans forward, smirking. “You just called Seungmin ‘Min’.”

Your brows furrow. “I always do.”

Seungmin gapes. “No, you don’t.”

You shrug. “Okay, but thanks for the drink.”

Minho and Seungmin exchange glances, you don’t even realize what you did. They have been relentlessly flirting with you for weeks, dropping compliments, leaning in a little too close, making sure their presence is felt, and yet nothing. Not a single sign that you’ve noticed.

Seungmin exhales slowly, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think she has a fucking defence mechanism against being flirted with.”

Minho narrows his eyes at you. “Or she’s too deep in law brain to process it.”

You tilt your head slightly, taking another sip of your drink. “What are you two talking about?”

Minho and Seungmin don’t answer. Instead, they just watch you, watch as you go back to your book, underlining key cases, fully immersed, fully unaware.

Minho sighs dramatically. “She’s a lost cause.”

Seungmin shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Minho smirks. “You’re determined, huh?”

“We need a new strategy.”

Minho sits cross-legged on his bed, his laptop balanced on his thighs as he clicks through his latest masterpiece. Seungmin watches with an unimpressed expression, arms folded over his chest as Minho plugs the laptop into the TV.

MIN-Talk III: Upgrading Our Seduction Plan Before We Die of Old Age.

Minho grins, grabbing the remote and pointing dramatically at the screen. “Okay, welcome to the third MIN-Talk. Our current plan?” He sighs dramatically. “Not making much progress. So here’s some more ideas.”

Seungmin scoffs, leaning back against the pillows. “We’ve been doing this for weeks, and she’s still completely oblivious.”

Minho clicks to the next slide, where a Photoshop disaster of the three of you takes centre stage. Once again, Minho has used a picture of himself in a wig to represent you, while he and Seungmin are posing dramatically in the background. This time, the setting is what looks like a luxury yacht.

Seungmin points at the screen. “Are we seducing her or taking her hostage?”

Minho waves him off. “A minor detail. First idea: Increase Physical Contact.” He clicks to the next slide. “We start with the basics. Touch her arm when we talk. Guide her by the waist when we walk. Make our presence felt.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “You do realize we already sit right next to her every fucking day?”

Minho nods. “Exactly. Which is why we need to escalate.”

Seungmin considers. “Could work.”

Minho clicks to the next slide. "Dramatic Confession in a High-Stakes Situation."

Seungmin groans. “No. Fucking no.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “Picture it. One of us is in danger, maybe we get kidnapped, and she realizes she’s been in love with us all along.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You need to stop watching fucking K-dramas.”

Minho pouts. “Fine. Next one.”

The next slide appears. "Surprise Date. We just tell her ‘we’re going out’ and don’t let her question it."

Seungmin tilts his head. “That could actually work.”

“See? Genius.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Minho clicks to the next slide, where a photo of a bunny cafe is displayed. “Okay, this one is my favourite. Bunny cafe.”

Seungmin squints at the screen. “Why?”

Minho grins. “Because she has a rabbit. At her appa’s house in Gangnam. She told me way back before she even fainted"

Seungmin shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “So, if the rabbit’s at her appa’s house, where’s her eomma?”

Minho shrugs. “She didn’t mention her, so I didn’t pry.”

Seungmin hums, watching Minho carefully. “Interesting.”

Minho nods. “I know. So, what do you think? Bunny cafe, yes or no?”

Seungmin stretches his arms over his head, considering. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve had.”

Minho grins. “I’ll take it.”

The bell jingles softly as you step into the bunny café, the scent of hay, tea, and something sweet filling the air. Minho had insisted on a change of scenery, calling the library depressing before texting you the address with a be here in twenty minutes or I’m kidnapping you.

You arrive in a crisp white button-up, deep green high-waisted trousers, and white heels, polished and composed as always. At a corner table, Minho reclines, entirely covered in rabbits, one in his lap, two against his thighs, another sniffing at his wrist. Seungmin, sleeves rolled up, cradles a bunny while another perches on his shoulder. They both look absurdly at home.

Minho doesn’t greet you, just picks up a rabbit and places it in your lap. The tiny creature nestles against you, warm and soft, and just like that, everything else ceases to matter.

“Knew that’d work,” Minho smirks.

Seungmin snorts. “Like she wouldn’t show up for bunnies.”

You don’t respond, too mesmerized by the rabbit’s tiny twitching nose. Minho leans forward, voice smooth. “You look really good today.”

Nothing.

Seungmin smirks. “That green suits you. Perfect colour for you.”

You hum absently, still stroking the rabbit’s fur and Minho’s eye twitches before he tries again. “That top button being undone is dangerous,” he murmurs. “Anyone could get ideas.”

You nod, eyes still on the rabbit. “It was too stiff after class.”

Minho is losing his mind. He and Seungmin have been laying it on thick for weeks, compliments, proximity, every subtle trick in the book. Yet, you remain completely oblivious, too absorbed in the soft, twitching ball of fur in your lap to notice you’re being very clearly seduced.

Minho sighs dramatically, throwing his head back against the seat before looking at you, lips curling in amusement. “So, thoughts on threesomes?”

Your fingers, which were previously running through the soft fur of the rabbit in your lap, still mid-motion and your head lifts slowly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Wait.” You glance between them, brows furrowing, your lips slightly parted in confusion. “Are you two flirting with me?”

Minho throws his hands up, exasperated. “Finally!”

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head. “I told you she wouldn’t notice.”

Minho scoffs. “Yeah, well, my mistake was underestimating the sheer level of obliviousness we were up against.”

You blink again, looking between them like you’re trying to piece together an equation that doesn’t make sense. “But you two are together.”

Seungmin shrugs. “We are.”

Minho leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And now, we’d like to be together with you.”

You blink. Again.

Minho grins and pats your knee. “Buckle up, sweetheart. You’ve missed so much. You see, this has been a journey.”

“Min, don’t-”

“It all started with my brilliant idea of making Seungmin realize he was crushing on you. Which, by the way, was fucking painful because he’s dense as fuck and refused to admit it. So, I had to take drastic measures.” Minho gestures dramatically. “I made a presentation.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. “A presentation?”

Minho nods sagely. “Yes. A MIN-Talk.”

Seungmin covers his face with his hands. “He won’t shut up about them.”

“Because they’re brilliant,” Minho insists.

You stare and Minho smirks, delighted by your bewilderment. “So after Seungmin finally admitted that he also wanted to fuck around and find out, we devised a master plan to seduce you.”

You blink. “A plan?”

“Oh, several plans.” Minho waves a hand. “There was the Library Presence Establishment Strategy, which failed spectacularly because you were too busy studying to register us flirting. Then, of course, there was Physical Proximity Encouragement, which also didn’t work because, shocker, you were still too busy studying.”

Seungmin leans on his palm, watching you with quiet amusement.

Minho sighs. “So, after many fucking failures, we circled back, regrouped, and that’s when I had the brilliant idea of using your one true weakness against you.”

You tilt your head, slowly realizing where this is going.

“The bunny café,” Minho beams. “And here we are.”

You stare at him. Then at Seungmin. Then at the rabbit in your lap. Then back at Minho. And then, after several long moments of silence, you say, “Are you two serious?”

Minho grins. “Deadly.”

“I-” You look at Seungmin helplessly, hoping for a more grounded explanation.

Seungmin just watches you for a moment before nodding, voice steady, calm. “We want to date you.”

You inhale sharply and Minho nods immediately, smiling. “Yeah, what he said.”

“Both of you?”

Seungmin raises a brow. “That’s what we said.”

Minho smirks, tilting his head. “We are going to take you on a really cool date and then, you’ll be like, ‘wow, look at these cool sexy guys, they’re so cool and sexy, I want to date both of them in polyamorous paradise.’”

Seungmin sighs. “Obviously, we’re asking you on a date, not demanding.”

Minho scoffs. “Speak for yourself.”

Seungmin kicks him under the table and Minho winces but still manages to smirk as you exhale, rubbing your temple. “Jesus Christ.”

Seungmin watches you carefully. “So?”

“Sure.” You shrug. “Why not?”

Minho claps his hands together. “We fucking did it.”

TWICE blares through the speakers, the upbeat melody bouncing off the walls as Felix dramatically twirls in the centre of your studio apartment. You stand before your open wardrobe, silk robe wrapped loosely around you, staring blankly at your collection of neatly pressed blouses, tailored trousers, and blazers.

Felix flops onto your bed with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, did they at least tell you where the fuck you’re going?"

"Nope."

Felix sits up, groaning. "Fucking typical of men." He stands again, striding toward you with all the energy of a man on a mission. "So, we need something casual, cute, sexy, and hot all at the same time. Goodness, I don’t know if I’m that much of a miracle worker."

You turn to him, eyes narrowing. "Felix, my entire wardrobe is just lawyer wear."

"Yes, you are classy, darling. Your wardrobe gives old money, very Audrey Hepburn goes to court to destroy men, and I love that for you. But fear not, for I shall be your fairy gayfather."

He dives into your closet, flipping through hangers with a determined hum before pulling out a fitted cream turtleneck and a pair of high-waisted, wide-leg white trousers. He holds them up against you, squinting, before nodding in approval.

"This. This is money. This is sophistication. This is I look like I should be drinking champagne in Paris."

He spins on his heel, heading to your shoe rack, muttering to himself before plucking out a pair of pointed nude heels and you raise a brow. "Not sure how practical those are if they take me somewhere casual."

Felix scoffs. "If they take you somewhere that doesn’t suit this outfit, I will personally march down there and end them. But I think you could make this work even in an arcade."

You purse your lips. "I’d look like a chaebol heiress trying to pretend to be normal."

"And? You own the old money look, darling." He moves to your dresser, pulling open the drawer where your jewellery box sits. "Can I look?"

You nod, and he opens it, only to immediately gape. "Oh. Oh, bitch, what the fuck?" He lifts a diamond-studded bracelet, his eyes wide. "Are you rich?"

"Technically, yes. They’re emotional compensation pieces from my absentee eomma." You press your lips together. "Only you know. Don’t mention it to Jisung, please."

Felix softens slightly, he hums, then carefully picks out a set of dangling pearl earrings and a matching pearl necklace. "These," he says decisively. "Elegant. Stunning. Just like you."

You smile, taking the jewellery from him before slipping your robe off, revealing the white lace bra and matching panties underneath and Felix hums in appreciation. "If I were a woman, I’d love tits, I think."

You snort as you pull the turtleneck over your head. "Felix, what the fuck?"

"I’m serious!" he insists, watching as you tug the fabric into place. "Do you ever just hold them?"

You chuckle, stepping into the trousers. "When I’m looking for something, I do this." You press your hands to your chest and turn your head from side to side like you’re scanning a room.

"A marvel, truly. But do they actually obstruct your view?"

You shake your head. "Nope. It’s a weird habit."

Felix watches as you fasten your trousers and drape a camel-toned wool coat over your shoulders. Then, he moves behind you, clasping the pearl necklace around your neck before securing the earrings in place. He steps back, eyes raking over you with something akin to pride.

"Perfection," he murmurs. "An actual vision."

You exhale, smoothing down the front of your turtleneck. Your fingers twitch slightly, and Felix notices.

"Oh no," he sing-songs, tilting his head. "Are we nervous?"

You huff, adjusting your coat. "I don’t date much, Felix."

"Okay. No time for nerves. We hype." He grips your shoulders and shakes you slightly. "You are hot. You are smart. You are untouchable."

You laugh. "Felix-"

"Say it with me, bitch!"

You roll your eyes but oblige. "I am hot. I am smart. I am untouchable."

"Damn right. Now go make those men suffer."

The night air is crisp as you step out of your apartment building, heels clicking softly against the pavement. At the bottom of the stairs, leaning against Minho’s sleek black car, stand the two men taking you on this date.

Minho and Seungmin look straight out of a high-fashion editorial.

Minho’s structured black blazer drapes effortlessly over his frame, the fitted vest beneath accentuating his torso. Subtle blue pinstripes add dimension to the deep V-neck left exposed, a delicate silver necklace resting against his collarbone. His fingers, adorned with silver rings, tap against the car, his tousled blonde hair making him look devastatingly effortless.

Seungmin is equally striking. His oversized blazer sits comfortably over broad shoulders, paired with matching wide-leg trousers. A silver chain glints at his neck, complementing the rings on his fingers. His hair, just messy enough to look intentional, adds to the sharp, calculated ease of his look.

And then, there’s the way they look at you.

Seungmin’s gaze flicks over you before his expression softens. “You look good,” he says simply, the honesty in his voice unmistakable.

Minho’s eyes rake over you, lips curling into a smirk. “Not saying I’d risk it all just to see what’s under those layers,” he drawls, “but I would risk most things.”

Seungmin sighs. “Jesus fuck, Minho.”

You shake your head, exhaling. “Thank Felix. He’s the artist.”

Minho hums. “I’d like to thank Felix and whatever higher power made you exist.”

Seungmin groans. “Let’s go before you start composing fucking poetry about her ass.”

Minho winks before slipping into the driver’s seat, while Seungmin opens the passenger door for you. As you slide in, the scent of leather and something distinctly Minho surrounds you. Seungmin settles into the back.

Minho catches your gaze in the rearview mirror, smirking. “So, tonight’s plan? Street market.”

“A street market?”

Seungmin stretches, voice deadpan. “Think of it as committing mild identity fraud.”

Minho snorts. “What he means is, we get to pretend we’re really fucking rich because look at us.”

Seungmin nods. “People will assume we’re heirs and an heiress.”

A grin tugs at your lips. “That actually sounds fun.”

Minho taps the wheel. “Exactly. And we’re getting so much free food. The universe bends to rich bitches.”

As the city lights blur past, you settle into something unfamiliar but undeniably exciting.

The streets of central Seoul are buzzing with energy as Minho pulls his car into a parking space, the neon glow of food stalls and vendor signs casting colourful reflections on the glossy pavement.

Minho kills the engine, then immediately turns in his seat with a gleeful expression. “Oh! Almost forgot. To fully sell the fantasy-” He reaches into the centre console and pulls out three pairs of sunglasses, holding them up like they’re the holy grail.

Seungmin frowns. “Uh-”

Minho tosses him a pair before he can finish his sentence. “Rich bitches wear sunglasses at all times. Like they physically cannot bear to look upon the lower class.”

Seungmin shrugs and slides them on. “Makes sense.”

Minho grins and turns to you, holding out the last pair expectantly and you sigh but take them anyway, perching them on your nose. “I feel ridiculous.”

"No, no, sunshine. You feel rich.”

With that, the three of you step out of the car, the late-night air crisp against your skin. Minho and Seungmin instinctively shift closer to you, subtly shielding you between them as the three of you weave through the thick crowd.

The market is packed, bodies pressing in from all sides, the lively energy buzzing between food stalls selling everything from tteokbokki to skewered meats, vendors calling out their best prices, and the occasional busker adding background music to the chaos.

Minho leans down slightly, voice just above the noise. “Alright, sunshine, we’re here to date you. What do you want first?”

“Hotteok.”

Seungmin lets out a soft chuckle. “Classic choice.”

Minho nods approvingly. “Solid. Can’t go wrong with fried dough.”

The three of you make your way toward a hotteok stall, the scent of cinnamon and brown sugar hitting instantly. You place your order, adding a chrysanthemum tea to go with it, and the vendor, an elderly woman with a warm smile, glances between the three of you.

“You three look expensive,” she comments, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she hands over the hotteok wrapped in parchment.

Minho doesn’t miss a beat. He tilts his chin slightly, lips curving. “We are.”

Seungmin reaches into his pocket, pulling out a neatly folded bill and handing it over before Minho can flash a single card. He levels a deadpan look at him. “We’re not that rich, dumbass.”

Minho sighs dramatically. “You’re ruining the illusion.”

The vendor laughs, handing you your tea, and you thank her before the three of you head toward a small standing table to settle in.

Minho and Seungmin naturally take the seats on either side of you, their warmth a steady presence as you carefully take a sip of your tea. Minho watches for a moment before snatching your cup and taking a sip himself.

Minho hums, licking his lips. “Huh. Didn’t think I’d like this, but it’s actually good.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, watching as Minho continues drinking from your tea like it’s his own. “Min, you have your own drink.”

Minho waves him off. “Shut up. This one tastes better.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “You know, to make this tea visually appealing, dried flowers are steeped in honey for months before being brewed with hot water. That’s why there are chrysanthemum blossoms floating in it, so it’s not just pretty, but slightly sweet, too.”

Minho smirks. “So that’s why it tastes fucking amazing.”

Seungmin hums, reaching for a piece of hotteok. “Makes sense. Expensive and extra as fuck, just like you.”

Minho grins, raising the cup in a mock toast. “To being rich bitches and stealing free food with our vibes.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “This is so stupid.”

Minho winks. “And yet, you love it.”

Thirty minutes later, the small table is cluttered with empty food wrappers and half-finished drinks, but you and Seungmin are too deep in debate to notice.

“I’m telling you,” you insist, “jury trials would completely change South Korea’s judicial system. It’s not just about fairness, it’s about limiting judicial overreach.”

Seungmin nods, brow furrowed. “Exactly. Public sentiment already influences cases through media coverage. If we had juries, that influence would be distributed instead of left to one judge.”

Minho, sipping from your stolen chrysanthemum tea, raises an eyebrow. “You do realize you argued against jury trials?”

“I had to. I drew the fucking lot for it.”

You tilt your head. “You sounded really convinced, though.”

Seungmin sighs. “Yeah, because I’m good at what I do. Doesn’t mean I believed any of it.”

Minho smirks. “So what’s your actual take, Counselor Kim?”

Seungmin exhales, tapping his fingers against the table. “South Korea is behind in judicial reform. Jury trials make verdicts reflect society’s values, not just one judge’s bias. Sentencing disparities are a massive issue, people get completely different sentences for the same crimes just because of judicial discretion.”

You nod. “Exactly. A jury system would create more accountability.”

Minho watches, amused by the way you lean into the conversation, eyes bright with enthusiasm, while Seungmin mirrors your energy, debating with sharp precision. It’s honestly adorable.

Minho exhales, setting his cup down with a clack. “Aww, look at you two. My cute little lawyers-to-be.”

Seungmin scowls. “Minho, we can’t just claim her.”

Minho grins. “Sure we can.”

Before you can respond, Minho stretches dramatically. “Anyway, I’m getting more of that tea since someone keeps stealing yours. And maybe something with kimchi. Sound good?”

You smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Perfect. Stay here and keep being disgustingly smart.”

With that, he vanishes into the crowd, leaving you and Seungmin alone under the market lights.

“That’s my dream, you know? Reforming the system. Making it so the people have the final say in what is guilt and what is innocence.”

Seungmin studies you. “If anyone can change the world, it’s you.”

You exhale, a small, genuine smile curving at your lips.

Seungmin shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers tapping against the tabletop before he exhales sharply. “I was wrong,”

“About what?”

He leans in just a fraction. “That day by the fountain. When I told you you were pretty.”

“You were wrong?”

His lips quirk, barely. “You’re not pretty, you are so very beautiful.”

Seungmin watches you for a moment longer before his fingers graze the edge of the table, hesitant, considering. And then, finally, he speaks again, voice softer, just for you.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Seungmin moves before you even fully register your own voice. His hand lifts, fingers grazing your jaw with the lightest touch before he leans in. The kiss is slow, deliberate like he’s learning the shape of your lips, mapping them with quiet reverence. His lips are soft against yours, careful, like he’s taking his time to get this right.

Your breath catches slightly, and his other hand comes to rest lightly on your hip, grounding. He tilts his head just enough to deepen it, just enough to steal another fraction of your breath.

“God, that’s so hot.”

Both of you turn your heads in unison, finding Minho standing at the edge of the table, a bemused smirk on his lips as he sets down three cups of tea and two trays overflowing with food.

“Seriously?”

Minho shrugs, sliding into the seat on your other side as he sets the food down. “What? You knew I’d say it. Besides, it’s my turn.”

And then, Minho is closing the space between you. Minho kisses like he owns it. Like he’s known you forever and he knows exactly how to kiss you. Where Seungmin’s kiss was slow and deliberate, Minho’s is confident, smooth. His lips move against yours with easy precision, tilting your head just the right way, his fingers brushing over the pulse at your throat. He kisses you like he knows you’ll kiss him back, like he knows you’re going to melt into it and you do.

It’s dizzying in a different way, where Seungmin had been all quiet admiration, Minho is controlled heat, teasing and indulgent all at once. When he finally pulls back, his lips curve into something obnoxiously satisfied, like he knew exactly what effect he had.

“Not bad, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it and Seungmin groans. “You’re so fucking smug.”

Seungmin grabs Minho’s collar and kisses him, firm and decisive. Minho makes a quiet sound before pulling back, lips slightly parted, eyes half-lidded.

Seungmin exhales. “You’re ridiculous.”

Minho grins. “And yet, you still love me.”

Seungmin mutters fuck you under his breath but doesn’t deny it.

Minho, looking pleased, claps his hands. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s eat.”

The three of you finally dig in, sharing food between bites. Minho hums at the kimchi pancake. “See? Excellent decision-making.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, focused on his skewer. You sip your tea, still feeling the ghost of their lips against yours.

Tonight feels different, uncharted but thrilling. And for once, you’re more than willing to see where it leads.

The soft glow of Minho’s bedside lamp casts golden hues across the room, the usual frat-house chaos faded into silence. The only sounds left are slow breathing, the rustle of sheets, and the faint hum of music from Minho’s speaker as the three of you lie in Minho's bed.

Seungmin’s warmth anchors you on one side, steady and grounding, while Minho, all soft touches and dark eyes, traces feather-light fingers down your arm.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Minho murmurs, his voice softer than usual.

Seungmin scoffs, but there’s no bite. “Understatement,”

Minho leans in first, kissing you slow and teasing, tilting your chin just right to control the pace, deepening it until you melt into him. Seungmin pulls you away, kissing you differently, just as intoxicating, his hand cupping your jaw, angling deeper, chasing more.

Minho watches, amused, before pressing his lips against your neck, a lazy drag of warmth over your skin. Seungmin mirrors him on the other side, their kisses working in tandem, tracing down your throat, down to the curve of your shoulder.

A horrified yelp shatters the intimate atmosphere, making all three of you jolt in place. You whip your head toward the doorway to see Chan, standing there with both hands clamped over his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Chan croaks, voice strained, shaking his head like that’ll somehow undo what he just saw. “Oh my god.”

Minho blinks, his lips still ghosting over your collarbone as he processes the scene before him. Seungmin simply groans, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead like he knew this was bound to happen eventually.

“Oh my fucking god!” Chan shrieks, stepping back as if he’s been physically struck. “I need bleach- No, gasoline- I need to set my fucking eyeballs on fire.”

You lift a hand to wiggle your fingers at him in a halfhearted wave. “Hey, Channie.”

Chan lets out a wail so full of betrayal you’d think you’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real and Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temples. “Here we go.”

Before Chan can start another round of theatrical lamenting, a second voice sounds from the hallway. “Why the fuck is Chan screaming?”

Changbin’s head pops into view a second later, his brows drawn together in concern. But the moment his gaze lands on the scene before him, his face crumbles.

“No,” Changbin whispers, eyes going impossibly wide. “No!” He turns to Chan in a panic. “Why didn’t you stop this?!”

Chan throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “Stop it?! How the fuck was I supposed to stop it?! I didn’t know I needed to! I thought we raised her better than this!”

“Oh my god,” Changbin breathes, slapping a hand over his chest like he’s about to have a heart attack. “Our baby- Our child! This is- We have failed as fathers.”

Chan rounds on you with a horrified look, pointing an accusatory finger. “Jisung cannot find out! He will not be able to handle this.”

You blink at him, unimpressed. “I wasn’t even a virgin when I met you three.”

Chan visibly recoils, pressing a hand to his chest as if you just stabbed him in the heart. “Oh my god- Ew- Yuck- Ew! Take my eyeballs!”

Changbin lets out a strangled noise, flailing his hands. “So are you three having-” He pauses, lowering his voice into a horrified whisper. “-you know?”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “No, Binnie. I don’t know. Please elaborate.”

Changbin looks at him like he’s just been personally victimized. He swallows thickly before mouthing the word. Sex.

Seungmin blinks, then tilts his head. “Did you just-”

Changbin mouths it again, as if saying it out loud will curse him and Minho’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Sex?” he practically shouts, just to be an asshole.

Changbin gasps, clapping his hands over his ears like a scandalized ahjumma. “Don’t say it out loud!”

Seungmin scoffs. “Changbin, you’ve had sex before.”

“Yes, but,” Changbin flails, “we liked to pretend Y/N didn’t even know what it was!”

Minho smirks, propping himself up on one elbow. “Oh, well. I hate to break it to you, Binnie, but she’s a master at it.” He clicks his tongue. “Flexible, too.”

Chan immediately dry heaves and Changbin claps a hand over his mouth, gagging. Seungmin, eyes full of malicious intent, leans in. “Actually, we were about to have sex before you two so rudely interrupted.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Chan and Changbin let out identical wails of agony and drop to their knees in horror.

“OH MY GOD-”

“I CAN’T HEAR THIS-”

“WHY, GOD?! WHY?!”

“TAKE ME OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE-”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Jisung’s head pokes into the room, drawn by the sheer volume of Chan and Changbin’s horrified wailing. His gaze lands on you, sprawled between Minho and Seungmin, champagne lace still clinging to your skin, Minho’s sheets half-draped over your legs. Then he sees Chan and Changbin collapsed on the floor in the throes of dramatic despair.

His fingers tighten on the doorframe. His mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.

“Oh, hey, Sungie,” Minho says. “You guys know Y/N? Yeah, well, she’s now our girlfriend. Has been for just over a month.”

Jisung whispers, “What.”

Minho and Seungmin exchange glances. And then, just to be the worst people alive, they both grin and simultaneously pull you in for a kiss. The moment your lips meet theirs, Jisung lets out a bloodcurdling scream and then Chan and Changbin join in.

Their horrified wailing is so violent that it draws Felix, as well as Hyunjin and Jeongin, who all rush to the doorway in alarm.

“What the fuck is happening in here?” Hyunjin demands.

Felix takes one look at the situation, the state of you, the way Chan and Changbin are on the floor looking like they’ve just witnessed an exorcism, the way Jisung is just staring into the abyss, mentally checked out of his body, and then immediately sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You three, get a fucking grip,” Felix scolds, kicking Chan’s leg.

“They were KISSING!”

Minho lifts the duvet to shield you from their eyes as if Jeongin and Hyunjin had already seen too much. Jeongin immediately spins around to face the wall and Hyunjin slaps a hand over his own eyes.

Seungmin, who has completely had it, sighs and leans against the headboard, utterly unimpressed. “Alright, listen up,” he says, his voice exasperated. “If you stay, you pay to watch.”

The effect is instantaneous. Jisung yelps like he’s just been burned, shoving Chan out of the doorway in his hurry to escape. Chan and Changbin scramble after him, still lamenting your loss of innocence.

Jeongin practically sprints out of the room, his entire soul in distress. Hyunjin mutters something about needing to bathe in bleach before disappearing into the hall. Felix, the only one entirely unbothered, simply waves before closing the door behind him, leaving the three of you alone.

It starts with Minho, his entire body shaking as he lets out a deep belly laugh, one hand gripping his stomach. Seungmin snorts so hard he startles himself, and you lose it, laughter bubbling out of you so uncontrollably that you collapse into Seungmin’s shoulder.

The three of you dissolve into laughter, tangled together in Minho’s bed, your giggles turning into wheezing gasps, into breathless snickers, into helpless amusement that won’t stop.

Minho wipes a tear from his eye. “That was fucking beautiful.”

Seungmin grins, shaking his head. “I think we actually killed Jisung, Chan and Changbin.”

Minho and Seungmin exchange a look above you, something knowing and fond, and then they both lean down at the same time.

Minho tilts your chin up first, capturing your lips in a kiss that is slow, lingering, and full of something that feels dangerously close to love. His fingers trace lightly along your jaw, a touch so gentle that it makes your breath hitch, grounding you in this moment, in them.

When he finally pulls away, his lips curve into that signature smirk, but his eyes are warm, softer than usual. “Took us long enough to get here, huh?” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your mouth.

Seungmin doesn’t even wait for you to respond before he’s turning your face towards him, pressing his lips to yours. His kiss is different, deeper, steadier, more sure. Like he’s making a promise without words. One hand slides along your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him.

When he finally pulls away, he exhales a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against yours. "You’re stuck with us now.”

“I think I can live with that.”

Minho chuckles, his fingers carding lazily through your hair, and Seungmin presses another kiss to your shoulder before pulling back.

And for the first time in a long time, everything just feels right. No expectations, no worries, just the three of you, in this moment, wrapped up in each other.

Based on the results of this poll

Taglist: @0haerireah0 @linowzzzz

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

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