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Summary
"Did I ever tell you that pasta’s my favorite?"
"You know I don't listen when you talk about food," Minho murmured, concentrating on the task at hand. Finished chopping the garlic, he quickly added it to the large pan that was already filled to bursting with little neck clams. He topped it off with some white wine and then turned to Changbin. The pasta was already simmering away in its own pot on the stove. “All we gotta do now is wait,” he said, crossing his arms over himself.
And then he looked over at Changbin and did the weirdest thing yet: he smiled. It was awkward and fleeting, but Changbin had seen it. Changbin could probably count on one hand how many times Minho had smiled at him that didn’t involve a camera in their faces or a joke being cracked, and he couldn’t deny the effect it had on him, that it had him smiling back.
Minho's smile dropped immediately into a scowl. “Ew, what is your face doing? Stop it or it’s gonna get stuck that way.”