ℙ𝕃𝔸𝕐 𝔽𝕆ℝ 𝕃𝔸𝕌𝔾ℍ𝕊 ✔ ¨°ʰʸᵘⁿʰᵒ°¨

¨°twenty-two°¨

On one of the many floors of the building, at one on the dot, is Minho sitting in the lounge. He and Felix are slumped in a chair, waiting for the green light that they can enter the office from one of the hotshots that keep the company going. The only reason he's here is because he promised Felix he would come along on Wednesday, because the youngest firmly believes that this will boost his career. But Minho prefers to be anything but here and therefore easily lets his mind wander off to something that has nothing to do with dance or work.

A corner of his mouth curls up as the blonde cutie invades his head. They are images from when he last saw him; Tuesday morning at Chan's music studio. The red blush on Hyunjin's face warms his blood again. And the whispering words against his bare chest makes him boil over.

Hyunjin's wet dream haunts him. Minho isn't much of a dreamer himself, has trouble remembering them when he wakes up, so he has to make do with fantasizing. And the artist's creative brain helps a lot.

The bouts of the dream that Hyunjin has remembered were of the two of them in his art studio. Images of hot kisses and paint on intimate places tease his mind. Hyunjin explained his dream vividly, and Minho is more than happy that he did.

The dancer shifts a little uncomfortably in his chair. His dick stirring as he envisions Hyunjin's perfect round and very bare ass with a blue painted handprint the size of his own. Minho wants nothing more than to turn the dream into reality—when the artist is ready for this, of course. But for now he lets his mind wander to a pallet of colors covering their skin. Streaks of red paint trailing down his abs towards his pelvis, showing where Hyunjin's curious and cheeky fingers went. . .

"Hyung?" Minho takes a shaky breath of air when he gets abruptly sucked out of his pleasant daydream. Unfocused eyes dart to Felix who is sitting next to him and had just pushed a finger into his thigh to get his attention. "We can go in."

Wordlessly, the dancer stands up, feeling caught by his parents as he peeps through adult magazines in his bedroom. He hasn't had these hungry teenage hormones since, well, his teenage years. The blonde handsome face does things to him that he can't put into words yet.

The office is a typical showcase of success and power. A large desk stands in the center of the room in front of a wall of glass. The cityscape is breathtaking from up here. In front of the desk are two black leather sofas facing each other with a coffee table in the middle where a tray with crystal glasses and a bottle of water are already waiting. To the left is a display cabinet with diplomas, framed photographs of people shaking hands and books. To the right a kitchenette.

"Boys, please take a seat." The man with the receding hairline points to the couch. Behind them, the secretary closes the office door. Minho walks towards the designated seat and sits down—with a little bit of a heavy weight clinging on his legs, and Felix following him suit. The man takes a seat across from them with a slight furrow between his bushy brows. "You're Lee Minho, I presume?" Beady eyes focus on Minho.

"Yes sir, that's me." Minho automatically sits up straighter when he feels he is being evaluated. He knows that he does not have to be self-conscious, that he looks presentable, yet the piercing eyes lined with wrinkles make him doubt whether his shirt is ironed well enough.

"Ah, I've heard so much of you. Relative to Felix?"

"No, friends."

There is a silence. The man, who still hasn't introduced himself, looks through the papers in his hand, which Minho presume is his background information.

"I'm Shin Ji-ho. The manager of the singer who is under contract with us told me that you helped Felix a lot with mastering the choreography. You even made small adjustments to make it better for Felix. Is that right?"