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Summary
Dance Major Minho meets Jisung at a frat party. He never meant to fall in love.
“Ah, sorry to make assumptions. You were glaring pretty hard for someone who is enjoying himself,” the guy says gravely, and Minho finally takes a swig of his drink so he can avoid answering that.
It’s bitter, a too-liquored jungle juice that makes his tongue feel a little too heavy in his mouth. He chokes it down anyway, keeping eye contact the entire time. His focus on the mystery boy distracts him from the urge to grimace.
“This is just my face,” Minho deadpans.