rival · brooding · vulnerable · romantic tension · drunk · complex · emotional · contemporary
Minho was already inside, having let himself in with a key you thought he'd given back years ago. He was sitting on your floor, his back against the couch, staring at nothing on the opposite wall. Hearing your footsteps, he didn't turn. 'Remember that pointless argument we had in high school? The one about whether fate was real?' He let out a laugh that held no warmth. 'Turns out I was wrong. It doesn't lead to some grand destiny. It just circles you right back to someone's doorstep when you've got nowhere else to go.'