Warning: Kissing Minho May Result in High Blood Pressure

Minho was not a loser.

He just didn't like people, that was all. He preferred being by himself. He wanted to be the weird gay kid who everyone was slightly terrified of and who the teachers referred to the school social worker once a week.

Yeah. He liked being the school loner, generically disliked and generally avoided.

Yeah.

Of course.

The locker room was empty when he opened the door; everyone who had an after school club was there already and everyone else had already left. He should be able to make this quick, in and out and home. Perfect.

He swung his way over to his locker in the corner (kicked in gray-green metal, dicksucker scrawled in permanent marker across the front) and punched in the combination mechanically. He had just dumped his books when he heard the door hinge creak open.

"Hey!" he heard someone call, and his stomach dropped. "Minnie mouse! Just the guy I wanted to see."

He turned to face the newcomer with the exact same amount of enthusiasm one might have when meeting a man-eating rabid monster chinchilla. "Hey."

Han Jisung, captain of the football team, holder of their highschool record for touchdowns, and all-around heart throb, stood there, all sweaty skin and dripping hair like some obscene greek god of hotness or something.

He was even wearing a tank top.

God, wasn't there a rule against that or something? There should be a rule. For the sake of all weak-kneed gays everywhere.

And now Jisung was pulling the tank off, tossing it onto a bench, and this was so much worse. "Mmmm," Jisung groaned as he stretched, abs rippling.

Jisung groaned. He was groani–Don't go there, Minho. Think of bats. Grandmas! Stinky toes! Bat Grandmas with stinky toes!

Jisung probably had really pretty toes.

Not helping, not helping, not helping— He forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand.

At hand was Jisung, shirtless and sighing, "This is so much better."

"...Yeah," Minho muttered. Yeah, my dick's agreeing wholeheartedly. "Nice seeing you I guess, I'm just gonna go now—"

"Wait!" Jisung stuck a hand out to stop him.

"What?"

The jock looked uncomfortable. "Do you have, like, somewhere you need to be right now? Because I wanted just ask you something real quick."

The smart thing to say would be no.

And then turn as fast as humanly possible and get out of there before Shirtless Sweaty God Jisung could see that his dick sorta kinda nodding yes in his pants.

"Yeah," he said aloud, because he was that kind of sucker. "I have a minute."

"Great! Um. Thanks. Okay. I don't know how to say this." He looked around nervously, like he was afraid one of the lockers was going to come to life and say boo. "Can we go somewhere more...private?"

"Would a bathroom stall be good enough?"

"Yeah, I.... Yeah. That's good. Okay. Lemme just put a shirt back on real quick. And thanks."

He looked so nervous, so painfully uptight, that Minho wanted to laugh. And also sort of kiss that nervous expression off his face and then make slow, deep love to him for an hour against the wall, and then hold his hand and go watch a movie with him and get married and adopt seven cats together.