HARD LAUNCH | minho drabble. established relationship.
“Do you guys have french fries?”
“Minho.” you hiss, nudging his shin beneath the table.
He cocks an eyebrow before turning back to the waitress. She smiles softly, laughing at the two of you.
“We do, yes.”
“Wonderful,” Minho grins, “We’ll have a side order of those too.”
“Perfect. I’ll put that in for you guys and check back soon.” The waitress says happily, collecting the menus and scurrying off to tend to another table.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, you groan, covering your face with your hands.
“Why would you do that?”
Minho chuckles, shakes his head probably. You wouldn’t know since you can’t see him.
“Do what?”
Still using one hand to cover your eyes, you pull the other away, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “I told you I’d be fine. Why’d you have to ask for french fries? That’s so embarrassing.”
Minho hums. Unbothered. “You know what’s worse?”
“Literally nothing.” you mumble, returning your other hand to your face. It only serves to muffle your voice more. “This is humiliating. We’re in a nice restaurant and you ordered french fries because of me. Oh God. I’m going to hide in the bathroom.”
A good choice, you think. Minho’s in god damn slacks for crying out loud. Every second that passes is another second that your pity order of french fries is probably spending in the deep fryer, right next to the lobster tail and shrimp tartar that everyone else has a mature enough palate to eat.
Before you can move to get up and make a beeline for the toilet, you feel Minho’s fingers wrap around your wrists, pulling until your hands give way to your face. You crack one eye open and then the other, his amused expression coming into view.
“What’s worse than ordering french fries is me knowing you’ll be hungry if there isn’t something familiar for you on the table.” he says pointedly, like your reason for feeling embarrassed is unnecessary. “Besides, who said I didn’t want any?”
“Min, look around,” you say, turning your head to glance at the room, “The napkins are cloth. Cloth! Nicer than my bed sheets. We can’t be seen eating french fries in a place like this. I told you I’d be—”
“—fine. Because as long as you’re here I can do anything.” Minho recites, word for word, cutting you off.
Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately, spreads like wildfire when Minho smiles and leans on to his forearms. His button up tightens over his shoulders, hugs his arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
“Just like how you’re doing this for me, let me do something for you.”
You and Minho have been seeing each other for four months now, but even at that, you’re still not used to his straightforwardness.
Seeing Minho has been nothing short of a dream. What started as just interacting at parties because of mutual friends eventually gave way to him asking for your number, and then hanging out separate from your friend group, until one day he plucked up the courage to ask you out. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable, always spending every free moment together. Laughing, talking, even sometimes just existing in the same space. It’s nice. So, so nice.
“Shouldn’t I be the one blushing right now?” Minho teases.
“Shut up.” you say, tearing your gaze away from him.
He laughs again before reaching out and placing a hand on top of yours. Soft. Minho is unbelievably soft.
It’s the thing you love the most about him. But more than that, more than the delicate skin of his fingers or the brush of his lips against yours, you love the softness of his eyes.
Minho is hard to crack, his emotions shrouded most of the time. Not that he wants to be, but because that’s just how he operates, or so you’ve learned.
But despite all of that, his eyes are a dead giveaway. When he’s looking at pictures of his cats, or staring at you from across the room, or right now as steaming plates of some of the finest cuisine Seoul has to offer are being placed in front of him.
“Holy shit.” he whispers, staring in awe as the waitress walks away from the table.
“Is it rude for me to take a picture? Like, would anyone get offended?”
Minho scoffs. “Babe, I would be offended if you didn’t document this right now.”
“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pulling out your phone.
“Do I get to be in it this time?”
You look up to find Minho pouting across the table. Another thing about your relationship— nobody knows yet.
You’ve been teasing about the possibility of a boyfriend for two months now, you and Minho only having made it official about a few weeks ago. The most anyone has been able to see are carefully positioned photos where only his hand or other inconspicuous parts of him are visible.
It’s not that you don’t want people to know. It’s just hard with his job and all. Privacy reasons.
"For someone who likes to claim that people won't give me a hard time because of your fame you sure do seem eager to test that theory."
Minho smiles mischievously. “Well, yes. But I’m also waiting because I want to show you off.”
You busy yourself with opening your camera app to stop the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. You big flirt.”
Minho laughs but obliges, scoots back to let you get a good few pictures of the food.
Photos aren’t enough to do it justice, though. So you opt for a video, scanning the table with your camera, only the bottom half of his torso visible across the table. A silk white button up only three-fourths of the way buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Minho watches silently, his face unreadable. And then, at the last second, he dips his head down so fast you don’t even realize what’s happening until his face is fully in the shot, a shit-eating grin pushing his eyes into crescent moons.
“Min!” you laugh, ending the recording.
He chuckles, straightening back out. “Post it.”
“Are you insane?”
“No, but I’m going to be if you don’t post it and then eat with me.” He nudges the plate of french fries towards you. “Come on.”
“You really want me to post it? You’re sure?”
Minho smiles. Soft. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.” he says, neither of you willing to address the weight of his words.
He grabs your hand, plants a kiss on the back of your knuckles. The resulting flip of your stomach is enough to give you the courage to hit post and tuck your phone away.
Whatever happens, you’ll deal with it later. Together.
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