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Summary
“Well,” Minho breathes, his eyes on the floor, fiddling with a loose thread springing from the towel. He pulls at the string, wrapping it around his finger, watching his knuckle glow red from the tension before slowly raising his gaze to meet Jisung’s. “How do I look?”
Jisung, Changbin and Minho had a bet, and whoever lost would have to dye their hair purple. Thanks to Changbin and Jisung's shared sense of competitiveness, Minho lost; 20 bucks and copious amounts of whining later, Minho was sporting purple hair, a standout from his usual brunette waves. It was supposed to be hilarious--he was supposed to look like an idiot; the latest and greatest target for Jisung and his entourage's enjoyment.
But, damn, did Minho look good.