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Summary
Jisung is so stumped that he’s not even touching him back, his hands lie uselessly at his sides as Minho drags his warm lips over his jawline. He’s startled back into the moment when Minho nips his chin. His hands grip the dancer’s legs instinctively.
Minho straightens so they’re eye-to-eye again. His features look sharper in the dim light, dark hair falls over his eyes, and he shakes his head to get it out of the way.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks, wide-eyed and concerned.
“No!” Jisung denies, spurred into action by the question and grabbing him by the waist. “No. You’re perfect, I’m just—I didn’t know this was... I had no idea you—”
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Minho is the sparkling diamond of the Moulin Rouge. Jisung might be a little bit obsessed with him.