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Summary
The way he’d yell at him, the way his jaw would set just at the sight of Jongho, the way his hands would tense when they’d see each other across the room.
Jongho loved it; he never claimed he was justified in his hatred, no, he got off to this.
He guised his perverse obsession with hatred, and Mingi fell for it every time. Completely unaware of Jongho’s attraction to him.
It wasn’t the usual case of play fighting to pretend there weren’t any feelings. Jongho was more than aware he liked Mingi, and he was more than aware he was the one who made Mingi hate him; he wanted him to yell at him, he wanted Mingi to berate and spit vile words only Jongho knew he could manage.
He wanted to be special to him.