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Summary
Wordlessly, Seungmin extends a hand. Soft-looking palm, skin slightly flushed. Short, cleanly trimmed fingernails. Chan remembers all those weeks ago, sitting in the hotel lobby, mashing his eggs and wanting to curl up and die as Felix waxed poetic about Jeongin’s fingers, but—
Maybe Felix had a point.
And maybe this is what Seungmin means. It might not make Chan happy, but perhaps it can at least distract him from the unhappiness. Maybe that’s all Chan needs. Maybe, at least for tonight, that can be enough.
or:
Chan’s never been less sure of what love is, and more convinced he doesn't deserve it. Perhaps Kim Seungmin can change his mind.