The rooftop garden smells like rain that never fell and the faint jasmine from the neighborβs overgrown planter. The string lights flicker like theyβre on their last breath. Itβs late enough that the city feels distant, and youβre both a little loose from soju, sitting on the low ledge with your legs swinging into nothing.
Minho has been quiet too long. Then, suddenly:
βI like you.β
Flat. Direct. Annoyed at his own timing, probably.
You freeze. Blink. βYouβre serious?β
He finally looks at you, eyebrow arched. βWould I joke about this?β
You laugh once, short and nervous. βI meanβ¦ I like you too. A lot. For a while. I just thought youββ
You stop.
He waits, patient in that dangerous Minho way.
βYou thought i was what?β
βI just thought you were gay.β
The silence that follows is so thick you could cut it with a spoon.
Minho stares at you like youβve personally offended every cat heβs ever owned.
ββ¦What?β
βI meanββ You gesture at him helplessly. βYou. The cats. The skincare. The way you talk about choreography like itβs poetry. JiSung. The crying at Fez. It added up in my head.β
He drags a hand down his face, slow, like heβs recalibrating his entire existence.
βIβm not gay.β
βOkay.β
βIβm not.β
βGot it.β
βI like women.β He says it very clearly, very slowly. βYou, specifically. Right now. A lot.β
Heat floods your face. βRight. Got it.β
He studies you for another second, then huffs a laughβshort, disbelieving. βYou really thought I was gay this whole time?β
βI meanβ¦ yeah?β You shrug, helpless. βIt made sense in my head.β
βIn your head,β he repeats, deadpan.
Then he steps closer, hands braced on the ledge on either side of your thighs, caging you without touching. Close enough that you can see the tiny mole on his nose.
βSo,β he says, quieter now. βTo be clear. Iβm straight. I like you. I want to date you. Only you. No third party required.β
You nod, still a little dazed.
He tilts his head, studying your expression.
Then, because Minho is Minho and canβt resist poking the bear:
βUnless youβre disappointed.β
You blink. βDisappointed?β
He shrugs one shoulder. βI couldβve been dating Jisung. We couldβve asked you to be our third. Lavender marriage and all that. Youβd be the perfect beard.β
Your mouth drops open.
Heβs smirking now, barely, the evil little curve he saves for when he knows heβs winning.
βYouβwait. Are you actually dating Jisung?β
βNo,β he says immediately, smirk growing. βI donβt like him like that. Heβs my annoying soulmate, not my boyfriend.β
You exhale, half-relieved, half-laughing. βOkay good, because I was about to sayββ
He raises a brow. βSay what?β
You bite your lip, then decide fuck it.
βWellβ¦ if you did like him like that? I wouldβve said yes to the lavender marriage thing. Iβd marry you. Be your wife. Raise cats with you. Let you and Jisung do whatever in the guest room while I pretend I donβt hear anything.β
Minhoβs smirk vanishes. Replaced by something softer. Surprised. Almostβ¦ touched.
βYouβd do that?β
You shrug, trying to play it cool even though your heart is trying to escape your ribs. βYeah. I mean. I like you enough that Iβd want you happy. Even if it looked different from what I pictured.β
He stares at you for a long moment, something flickering behind his eyes.
Then he leans inβslow, deliberateβuntil his forehead rests against yours.
βIβm not dating Jisung,β he murmurs. βIβm not gay. And I donβt want a lavender marriage.β
Your breath catches.
βI just want you,β he finishes, voice low. βNormal. Boring. Boyfriend-girlfriend. Kissing in public. Holding hands. Fighting over who gets the last tteokbokki. That kind of thing.β
You laugh under your breath, shaky.
He pulls back just enough to look at you properly.
βSo. Can I kiss you now? Or do I need to propose a fake marriage first?β
You roll your eyes, smiling so wide it hurts. βJust kiss me, idiot.β
He does.
Soft at first. Careful. Like heβs still proving something.
Then deeper when you kiss him back, one hand sliding to your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck. He tastes like soju and mint and relief.
When he finally pulls away, he doesnβt go far. Nose brushing yours.
βStill think Iβm gay?β he whispers.
You pretend to consider it. βI might need regular proof.β
He kisses you againβharder, smiling against your mouth.
βProof,β he mutters. βIβll give you so much proof youβll forget this whole conversation ever happened.β
You laugh into the kiss, hands fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer.
