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Summary
Driven by a sudden, desperate impulse, Minho leaned in close, his shadow merging with Chan’s. The words tumbled out in a frantic, breathy rush: "I'mtiredoflisteningtotheirmoaneverynight."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then, a slow, effortless smile spread across Chan’s face—a smile so wide his eyes virtually disappeared into crescents of mischief. "And which room is currently hosting this... nightly performance?"
"302," Minho muttered, his face flushing a deep, involuntary crimson.
"Ah," Chan exhaled, a soft laugh escaping him. "You’re Jisung’s roommate."
Minho nodded fervently, his eyelashes fluttering in a rhythmic display of anxiety. "Please. Can I? Is there any way out?"
Chan’s expression shifted, his voice turning suddenly professional, almost cold. "Of course, you can’t change roommates."
or:
Minho is straight and trying to keep his straightness.