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“Excuse me.”
Minho looks up, surprised.
People rarely need help finding something in their local convenience store. Sure, Minho was hired to man the register and restock the shelves, but he spends most of his time with his nose in a book and he can count on one hand the number of times he’s been bothered while doing it.
“Sorry, yeah,” he apologizes, quickly stuffing a bookmark into his novel and slamming it closed. “Did you need something? Sorry.”
“Um, no, I’m sorry,” the customer, a man around Minho’s age wearing jeans and a t-shirt repping the nearby college, echoes Minho’s apology. “I just saw you reading and you looked so…” He pauses to find the word he wants, then says, “Enthralled?” He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces.
“Sorry, is that weird? I didn’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to know what you were reading.”
Minho has had ruder customers and worse interactions than this, even if the man did pull him away from his book. He shakes his head. “It’s not weird,” he says slowly. “Just sort of unexpected. Usually people just pay and get out.”
The man scrunches his nose. “People should pay more attention.”
Minho shrugs. “If I spent all day having conversations with customers, I wouldn’t have time to read.”
“Touché,” the man agrees with a huff of laughter. It’s only the barest hint of amusement but the smile he gives Minho softens the intensity of his features into something warmer.
“Are you going to buy anything?” Minho asks after a beat.
“If I do, will you finally tell me what you’re reading?”
“I’m not gatekeeping,” Minho retorts. “The title is clearly visible on the cover.”
The man doesn’t quite pout but it’s a near thing. “Humor me,” he says, pausing to squint at Minho’s name tag. “Minho. Please?”
Minho ignores the pleasant shiver he feels when the man says his name, and waves him away with a “yeah, fine, whatever” of agreement.
When he comes back to the register a little while later, the man is holding two bottles of peach-flavored Ramune soda. Once he pays, he hands one to Minho.
“You look like you could use a pick-me-up,” he says simply.
“We’re not really supposed to take things from customers,” Minho tells the man. “But thank you anyway.”
The man considers this. “What if I happen to ‘forget’ my purchase?”
“I suppose it would be a shame to let it go to waste,” Minho plays along and receives a wink for his trouble. He refuses to blush about it.
Minho moves to grab his book so he can uphold his end of the bargain and finally show the man what he’s reading. But then the door chime goes off and a large group of high school girls comes barreling into the store. At the same time, the man’s phone starts to ring and he steps outside to answer it with an apologetic eyebrow furrow in Minho’s direction.
Minho waits, but his mystery customer doesn’t come back. Once the teenagers leave, Minho steps outside to look, but the man is nowhere to be found. All that’s left of his visit is a bottle of peach-flavored soda, sweating onto the counter.
One year later…
“I wonder if Bang Chan is going to help out with orientation again this year,” Chaemin, a dominant girl in Minho’s freshman cohort, wonders. “He’s so hot.”
Minho is very out of the loop. “Bang Chan?”
“I forgot you don’t know anything,” Chaemin says flippantly. She probably doesn’t mean to come across as unkind as she sounds, but Minho still finds himself breathing deeply to fight off tears. He’s been like that lately—off-kilter and easily triggered.
“He’s like the faculty god. He’s super good-looking and he’s really smart,” she explains, oblivious to Minho’s minor breakdown. “And he’s a dom, obviously.”
As someone who was a so-called “neutral” for approximately six years before only recently testing as a sub, Minho doesn’t really think that Bang Chan’s designation is that important. Of course, on a societal level, it matters what you present as when you’re tested, first at 16 and then again yearly on your birthday if, like Minho, your results are inconclusive. But in university, when everyone is a student who is just trying to graduate, does designation really matter?
Yes, Minho discovers, it really does.
He doesn’t hear anything else about Bang Chan that day, and the question of the dom’s participation in orientation activities remains unanswered. At the very least, Minho doesn’t meet him at any of the mandatory orientation activities he and all the other freshmen are required to attend during their first week.
Minho does, however, make two new friends: Jisung and Hyunjin.
Han Jisung is 21 years old—two years younger than Minho—but since he’s in his third year and Minho is just starting, he’s technically Minho’s senior. Jisung takes his role as the “older” student very seriously even though he and Minho are both Grade Four Submissives and, at least on paper, require the same level of care.
“I can’t help it,” Jisung tells Minho. “It’s like something in me knows you need someone to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Minho grumbles. But secretly, he’s glad of it.
Hwang Hyunjin is a Grade Three Submissive. Like seemingly everyone else at their university, he’s younger than Minho, but even though he’s in the same year as Jisung, Hyunjin is slightly older, having just turned 22.
“I was a neutral for a bit,” Hyunjin admits casually. “And when I started showing signs, my family just paid the money to retest privately instead of waiting for my birthday. It saved me a lot of unnecessary panicking because at first I really had no idea what was happening to me.”
“The government one’s how I got here,” Minho shares. “Like five or six months after my last retest, I started having some really weird symptoms—I legitimately thought I might be dying. Everything was terrible for, like, half a year? And then this last birthday, when I turned 23, I finally ended up testing as a sub.”
“Wait,” Jisung turns to Minho with a frown. “You’re 23 now. You’re new new.”
“I mean, yeah,” Minho answers. “It’s March now and my birthday’s in October. I wasn’t able to afford to go to college then, but as a sub, it’s free for me, so…”
Hyunjin shoots Jisung a glare. “Don’t let him stress you out,” Hyunjin tells Minho reassuringly with a pat on the hand. “You’re not the first late-test sub, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Besides, lots of doms are very into the whole fresh meat thing you’ve got going on. It’ll be great!”
“So great,” Minho echoes sarcastically.
“Okay, but I have a follow-up question,” Jisung says. “Why didn’t you go to ST?”
“What, and spend two years with a bunch of teenagers in Submission Training while we all learn how to embroider kneeling cushions and practice answering “yes, daddy” whenever anyone asks us a question?” Minho snorts derisively. “No, thank you.”
To Minho’s dismay, Jisung bites his lip and his eyes well with tears.
“I learned a lot in ST,” he says quietly, “not just about being a sub, but about myself too.”
He pauses, then adds, “You know, hyung, being a submissive can be a beautiful thing, if you lean into it. But until you learn to love who you are—who you’ve arguably always been—you’re not going to be able to enjoy it like you’re meant to.”
His words hang between the three of them for a moment, then Minho sighs heavily and reaches out his hand for Jisung to take.
“I’m sorry,” Minho apologizes sincerely, once Jisung takes his hand. “I have a lot of complicated feelings about what my life has become. A lot of things changed for me in a really short amount of time, and it makes me feel really…powerless.”
Jisung makes a noise of distress and Minho squeezes his hand comfortingly. Hyunjin leans to the side and silently presses his shoulder against Jisung’s.
“I’ll be okay,” Minho promises his new friends. “And I really am sorry. Even if everything in my life was terrible—and it’s not!—that still isn’t an excuse for me to take it out on you or to be mean about something important.”
“You’ll be okay,” Jisung agrees, and Hyunjin nods. “We’ll help.”
“Helping,” to Minho’s new friends, means making him go to all the extracurricular orientation activities that he was originally going to avoid.
“I’m too old for this,” he tells them, half-petulant, half-nervous. “It’s bad enough that I already had to go to all the required stuff.”
“You’re hot,” Jisung tells him bluntly. “Make the most of it.”
“I thought orientation was supposed to be for getting to know the school and your fellow students,” Dongsoo, Minho’s roommate, sneers. He eyes Minho critically. “Not attempting to hook up.”
“Attempting, my ass,” Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Louder, he says, “Sub solidarity, Dongsoo. No need to be mean just because Minho-hyung’s gonna catch ‘em all.”
“Was that a Pokemon reference?” Minho asks Hyunjin skeptically.
Hyunjin flashes a peace sign. “Pika pika,” he says cutely.
“His boyfriend’s a loser,” Jisung adds, clarifying absolutely nothing.
“He’s not a loser!” Hyunjin denies vehemently. “And he’s not my boyfriend either.”
Dongsoo scoffs. “You’re all losers.”
He puts his headphones in, turning back to his laptop, while Minho and his friends loudly complain about unkind words and the scam that is the university’s random roommate pairing system.
Minho continues putting up half-hearted protests as his friends drag him arm-in-arm to the “Back-to-School Bash” that marks the end of orientation and the beginning of classes. He never thought he’d be able to attend university, so on the one hand he’s really looking forward to the cliche of the party, and simply hanging out with his friends at a special event.
On the other hand, Minho has had a headache on-and-off all week, and it’s not getting any better. He’s not sure how much of the loud music, flashing lights, and crowded spaces he’ll be able to handle.
After Minho, Jisung, and Hyunjin queue to enter, they’re each given a blue wristband that says “Sub” on it in white lettering. Doms, they’re told by the dominant girl who checks their IDs for entrance, are wearing red wristbands with black lettering.
“No grades?” Minho asks the girl curiously.
She blinks at him. “That’s private information.”
“It’s on my student ID…” Minho trails off.
“Oh, that,” the girl smiles patronizingly. “We don’t have our grades on ours, but for you guys…well, what if something happened? How would a dom know how to take care of you?”
“I hate that,” Minho tells his friends as they push their way through the throngs of students toward the stage.
Jisung blinks at him. “Why? That’s just how things are. And it’s not like she’s wrong. Grading is important.”
“Yeah, but dom drop is a thing too,” Minho argues. “What if I’m on campus and I meet a dom who needs help? If I don’t know his grade, I won’t know how to help him.”
“You help him by getting another dom,” Hyunjin says, like it’s obvious. Minho squints at him and Hyunjin shrugs. “Drops can get really messy. Doms are trained to handle that sort of thing; we aren’t. You especially aren’t.”
“Guess you should have gone to ST after all,” Jisung teases.
Minho reaches over to flick Jisung’s forehead, and Jisung shrieks, dodging abruptly and accidentally slamming his shoulder into a nearby student.
The man, another sub according to his wristband, lets out a noise that’s a mix between a croak and an “oof,” two octaves lower than any sound Minho could produce, and doubles over in pain.
“Oh my god,” Jisung cries, “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” His hands tremble as they hover over the man’s bent back.
“I’m fine,” the man says with a husky cough. “Just surprised.”
“I’m really sorry,” Jisung says again, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise when the man stands upright again. He swallows, composing himself, then offers earnestly, “Can I get you anything? A water?”
“I’m fine, cutie,” the man reassures Jisung with a smile. He’s undeniably handsome, with slight features and freckles kissing his cheeks, but he looks a little too sweet to be Minho’s type. He’s clearly Jisung’s type though, if Jisung’s nervous smile and flushed face are anything to go by.
Feeling magnanimous, Minho says, “You hit him with your shoulder pretty hard, Jisungie.” He nudges Hyunjin in the side and nods his head in Jisung’s direction.
“Uh, yeah!” After a moment, Hyunjin agrees with an overabundance of enthusiasm that has all three friends wincing in embarrassment and the other sub blinking in surprise.
Minho nudges him again, harder this time. A bit more tamely, Hyunjin adds, “Jisung, I know he said he’s fine, but I’m sure he could really use that water.”
There’s an awkward pause.
Then, with an exaggerated cough, the man says, “Um, actually, yeah, your friends are right. Jisung, is it? I think I could probably do with some water. Will you come with me and help me find some?”
“Sure?” Jisung squeaks his agreement like it’s a question but takes the other man’s hand when it’s offered.
Minho watches with a smile as the two subs wander away hand-in-hand. “Well, that just happened,” he says to Hyunjin, shaking his head in fond disbelief. “I guess Jisung’s into subs, huh? Have you ever seen that guy before?”
“Who, Felix?” Hyunjin asks. “Yeah, he’s cool. I don’t really know him that well, but Jisung’s been panting after him since freshman year, so this is a long time coming.”
“Gross,” Minho jokes.
“Incredibly pathetic,” Hyunjin agrees with faux sincerity. Then, genuinely, he says, “I’m really happy for him.”
“I guess that means you’re next, huh?” Minho teases.
Hyunjin splutters in denial. “Me? We’re here for you!”
“That’s a shame,” a voice says from behind Minho. “I was hoping you’d be up for a little fun tonight.”
Minho whirls around in surprise but Hyunjin doesn’t even spare the speaker a glance.
“I don’t hook up with doms anymore, Changbin,” Hyunjin says sharply. “You know that.”
“A date then?” Changbin asks. He sounds sincere, but Minho doesn’t know him, and there’s clearly some history here.
“You don’t want to date me,” Hyunjin tells Changbin confidently. He still won’t turn around. “You just want sex.”
“False,” Changbin counters. At this point, Minho thinks they’re probably flirting. “I want to have sex with you and I want to date you. Can’t a man have layers?”
Okay, they’re definitely flirting.
In the background, the crowd cheers as the lights dim and the band finally comes out onto the stage to begin their set.
“I don’t think this is really the place for this conversation,” Minho says hesitantly. “Maybe we relocate?”
“No, it’s fine,” Hyunjin disagrees stubbornly. But he’s facing Changbin now, so his words don’t carry a lot of weight when he adds, “I have nothing to say to him.”
“Well I have lots of things to say to you,” Changbin says. “Dinner? I’ll feed you and you can yell at me.”
“I don’t yell,” Hyunjin argues at a volume most would consider yelling. “Besides, I can’t leave Minho-hyung alone. Sub solidarity.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Minho says, trying to convince his friend. “I can handle myself.”
Changbin frowns at that. “I’ll get hyung to come over,” he tells Hyunjin. “Then will you talk to me?”
When Hyunjin narrows his eyes at him, Changbin holds up his hand and presses three fingers together in a boy scout salute. “No sex, I promise.”
Hyunjin cracks a smile at that and Changbin beams up at him.
“Go, go,” Minho waves the couple away. “I’ll be fine.”
“Stay here,” Changbin commands. “I’ll send Chan-hyung to find you.”
Minho automatically stands a little taller in the face of a direct order. Even though Hyunjin’s dom isn’t one he wants to submit to, it is in Minho’s newfound nature to obey.
Hyunjin immediately notices the change in Minho’s demeanor and turns on Changbin. “Don’t tell him what to do!” Hyunjin chides the dom. “He’s sensitive.”
Changbin apologizes and tells Minho he didn’t mean it, but the damage, so to speak, is already done. After Hyunjin and Changbin leave, bickering all the while, Minho stands rooted in place staring down at the grass, warring internally between a contrived sense of independence and a personal desire to be good.
“Hi, are you Hyunjin’s friend? Sorry to keep you wai—Minho?”
Minho whips his head up in surprise.
“How do you know my name?” he asks warily.
“We met once,” the man, presumably Changbin’s Chan-hyung, tells Minho. He does look vaguely familiar, but Minho can’t quite place his face.
The wristband he’s wearing is red.
“You were working at that 7/11, the one by campus, and I bought you a soda. Funnily enough, it turns out I’m allergic to peaches.”
“I remember,” Minho says slowly as the memory comes back to him. “You’re allergic to peaches?” Then, in disbelief: “Wait, you remembered my name? That was more than a year ago!”
Chan smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t know I was allergic to peaches when I met you. And yes, I remember your name. You made an impression,” he admits. “I came back to see you again, but it was like you disappeared or I made you up or something. I even asked around, but no one at school knew who you were.”
“I wasn’t a sub then, so I couldn’t go here,” Minho explains. “And my boss was a colossal dick who fired me for going outside to look for you after you left. I literally didn’t even leave the doorway, but whatever.”
Chan gapes at him. “You weren’t a sub?”
“I am one now, obviously,” Minho says defensively, shaking his arm to show off the blue-and-white wristband. He glares at Chan. “Is that a problem?”
“No, sorry, you misunderstand me,” Chan says, though he still sounds skeptical. “It’s just—I tried so hard to find you because I was convinced I’d found the perfect sub.”
“We barely interacted,” Minho objects. “And I wasn’t a sub.”
“Maybe not according to your paperwork, but I know what I felt,” Chan reiterates confidently. “Do you have a high grade? Maybe that’s why.”
“That’s private information,” Minho bites out, parroting the girl from earlier.
The music swells, exacerbating the pounding in Minho’s head, and he closes his eyes against the pain. “I’m going home,” he decides.
Chan’s shoulders slump. “Don’t leave,” he pleads. “Can we start again? I’m Bang Chan.”
That gets Minho’s attention. He opens one eye and squints at Chan with interest. “The Bang Chan?”
Chan smirks. “You’ve heard of me?”
At Minho’s unimpressed stare, Chan’s smile drops into a nervous grimace. “Sorry, sorry. Very lame of me, sorry.”
“You’re very silly for a dom,” Minho observes after letting Chan stew for a long moment.
“You’re very…assertive for a sub,” Chan counters.
“Are you calling me bossy?” Minho asks drily.
Chan visibly gulps. “I would never.”
“That’s what I thought.” Minho turns away from Chan toward the stage and tries to ignore Chan while the dom shamelessly looks at him.
They stand side-by-side for half the music set—fifteen minutes maybe—before Minho decides that his head really does hurt too much to stay, so he’s going home, for real this time.
“I’m going home,” he tells Chan. “For real this time.”
“No, you can’t walk me back,” he adds, when Chan perks up and opens his mouth to ask something.
“Then can I at least get your number, so you can let me know when you’ve returned safely?”
Minho raises an eyebrow consideringly. “Okay, that was smooth,” he concedes, amusedly ignoring Chan’s poorly concealed fist pump at the praise. “I’ll take your number. No promises I’ll use it though.”
“That feels fair,” Chan agrees mildly. “But still, I hope you do.”
Minho lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug and tilts his head to the side with a cheeky smile. “We’ll see.”
By the time Minho makes it home, he basically collapses into his bed and immediately falls asleep. Their university’s campus isn’t huge, but he lives on the opposite side from where the event was, and the adrenaline crash of the quiet walk home after being around so many people —and simply from meeting Chan—has his head swimming and his vision blurring at the edges.
There’s no way Minho can look at the bright lights of his phone long enough to send a text, even if he wants to.
He feels badly about it the next morning, but he also feels like he might have missed the moment. Instead of texting Chan anyway and hoping for the best, he calls an emergency meeting with his friends.
Jisung arrives slightly disheveled and wearing at least one visible hickey, to no one’s surprise.
Hyunjin arrives with Changbin.
“We’re dating now,” Hyunjin announces without preamble.
Jisung and Minho look at him in surprise and Hyunjin smiles slyly. “I was a fox,” he says, as though that explains everything.
Changbin blows Hyunjin an over-dramatic kiss, and Jisung coos.
“I want what they have,” he whines to Minho. “When’s it my turn?”
“What happened to Felix?” Minho asks teasingly. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like things went pretty well for you last night.”
Jisung flushes bright red. “He has a dom. We had fun. The three of us.”
Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Okay, Jisungie. Get it!”
Jisung groans and hides his face in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it. Too embarrassing. Minho-hyung, this meet-up was your idea. Say something.”
“Something,” Minho deadpans. Changbin is the only one who laughs.
“Wow, tough crowd,” he jokes, deflecting.
When Hyunjin threatens to leave, going so far as to grab Changbin’s hand and haul him out of his chair, Minho blurts out, “Chan gave me his number but I didn’t text him and now I don’t know if I should.”
“Oh my god,” Jisung complains. “That’s it?” He and Hyunjin exchange an exasperated glance. “This hyung is hopeless.”
“Just text him now,” Changbin says, like it’s obvious. “He gave you his number; he wants to hear from you.”
Hyunjin nods. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“I don’t owe him anything just because he offered me his number and I accepted,” Minho argues.
“No,” Hyunjin agrees, “but he’s a nice guy, and a good dom. He took the first step. Now it’s your turn.”
So Minho goes home, and texts Chan.
Minho to Chan (dom): I made it home
Chan (dom) to Minho: Just now?
Minho to Chan (dom): Har har so funny
Minho to Chan (dom): I had a migraine. I’m better now.
Chan (dom) to Minho: This is Minho, I assume?
Minho to Chan (dom): No.
Chan (dom) to Minho: lol
Chan (dom) to Minho: You’re like a cat. Selectively affectionate.
Chan (dom) to Minho: pspspsps
Minho to Chan (dom): Hiss
Chan (dom) to Minho: Cute
Chan (dom) to Minho: Can I take you on a date?
Minho to Chan (dom): No? You don’t even know me
Chan (dom) to Minho: That’s what the date is for
When Minho doesn’t reply immediately, Chan calls him.
Minho picks up on the fourth ring. “Needy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.
“I know what I want,” Chan says. “And I know what you want.”
Minho hums. “Oh really?”
“Yes,” Chan answers confidently. “You want to get to know me better. I intrigue you.”
“I see,” Minho says noncommittally. “And what do you want, exactly?”
“In general? Or right now?”
“How about both?” Minho offers. “Since you seem so sure about it.”
“I am sure,” Chan reiterates. “Right now, though, that’s a tough one. Because there’s a number of things I want right now.”
“Pick one then,” Minho says testily, beginning to get irritated with Chan’s playful side-stepping of the question. Then, inspired, he adds sweetly, “Please.”
Minho hears what sounds like a choke on the other end of the line, and he smiles deviously to himself. Minho - 1, Chan - 0.
“Since you asked so nicely,” Chan says, clearing his throat a little. “Right now, one thing I want is you on your knees for me, with your head in my lap, and my hands in your hair. You’d be so good for me, I just know it.”
Okay, wow. Minho - 1, Chan - 1.
“In general, I want to be your boyfriend and your dom,” Chan continues, seemingly oblivious to the effect of his words on Minho’s mind, heart, and libido. He seems devious though, and Minho thinks Chan knows exactly what he's doing to Minho.
“That escalated quickly,” Minho says somewhat petulantly, after he’s taken a moment to catch his breath and compose himself.
Minho imagines Chan, wherever he is right now, shrugging casually. “You asked,” the dom says.
“I don’t like it when people play with my hair,” Minho lies, just to be annoying.
“Something tells me that’s untrue," Chan speculates. “But if it is true, I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding a different way to make you feel good. I’ve already got a mental list going. We just need to try them out in person to make sure they work. Quality control and all that.”
“Quality control,” Minho echoes faintly. “You really do have it all planned out, don’t you?”
“Come to dinner with me and we can figure it out together,” Chan invites again.
Why the hell not, Minho decides, and says as much.
“You know what, sure. You've convinced me. What's the worst that could happen?”
"Well, now you've jinxed us!" Chan teases. "But only good things, hopefully."
One year later…
“Very rude of you to graduate and leave me alone in this hellscape,” Minho whines to his dom.
Chan is sitting on the couch with his laptop next to him and his hand in Minho’s hair. Minho is on his knees at Chan’s feet, resting his cheek against Chan’s knee.
“I’m the worst,” Chan agrees easily, kneading at Minho’s nape and smiling softly when the firm touch has Minho going boneless.
“I’m glad you don’t get headaches anymore,” Chan says a few minutes later.
Minho is already tired of school and the new academic year has barely started. Also, Chan is very good with his hands.
“Hmm?” he asks wordlessly.
Chan elaborates. “When we first met—the second time—you were getting migraines constantly. Now you don’t.” He pauses thoughtfully. “I wonder why.”
Minho could easily float away like this—if the Minho of a year ago could see him now!—but Chan seems to genuinely be asking, and this is important. Minho lifts his head from Chan’s knee and meets Chan’s gaze.
“It’s you,” he says simply.
Chan’s eyes widen. “Me? What did I do?”
“Nothing. And everything.”
Minho sighs at Chan’s continued confusion, and pulls himself off the floor to instead sit on Chan’s lap, straddling Chan’s thighs.
“I’m pretty sure meeting you triggered my sub presentation,” Minho says. “Do you know how rare that is? Like 0.003 percent of the population are compatible enough with someone else for that sort of thing to happen.”
Chan’s perplexed expression shifts into something resembling reverence and he reaches out to hold Minho’s hands.
“And then,” Minho continues, “I come to school here, and there you are again. My mystery customer. Everyone’s perfect dom.” He swallows and looks down at their entwined fingers. “Meanwhile I was falling apart inside because I’d lived a specific truth for 23 years and suddenly everything was different. I had headaches all the time because I wasn’t sleeping; I was always dizzy because I kept forgetting to eat; and I was literally always crying.”
“I wasn’t living,” he concludes.
“You were a little…self-protective when I met you again,” Chan acknowledges. “But if you’re better now—and I think you are—that’s not because of me. That’s because of you. You’re amazing. The most perfect person, and perfect sub, I’ve ever met.”
“You’re biased,” Minho argues.
“And I’m also right,” Chan argues back. “It’s easy for me to be a good dom to you because you’re a good sub to me.” He leans forward to peck Minho’s lips. “And you’re a good person.” Peck. “And I love you.” Peck.
Minho buries his face in Chan’s neck. “Okay fine,” he mumbles shyly. “We’re both right.”
Chan turns his head and kisses the shell of Minho’s ear. “Good boy.”