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Summary
"I bet he cries when he comes," Minho can't help but murmur, scowling across the room at the smiling boy everyone just seemed to be in love with.
"No way," Hyunjin immediately protests with a scoff. "Where did you even get that idea?"
"Minho's just moody 'cause he knows Chan wouldn't wanna fuck him," Seungmin states with way too much assuredness.
"Oh great." Jisung has finally torn his reverent stare away from Chan to cast Minho some wary side-eye, watching how his best friend has gone dangerously quiet, eyes thinned into a suddenly competitive glare. "Now Minho is gonna have to get Chan to fuck him just to prove a point."
"And I will make him cry," Minho promises.
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Minho and Chan were total opposites in every way: sharp frowns versus wide smiles, chocolate hair versus beach blonde waves, unforgiving cold against total sunshine. Chan was popular and loved by all, and Minho really couldn't give a fuck.
So why, why, why were they perfect for each other?