Mischief Managed (Stray Kids Oneshots)

Shadows and Soft Steps | Lee Minho

The studio was nearly empty, the soft thumping of bass seeping through the walls from some distant room. You found Minho alone in his usual spot, tucked away in a quiet corner, headphones on and completely lost in the beat of a song you couldn't quite hear. His eyes were closed, and his movements were fluid and natural as he rehearsed a dance sequence over and over, perfecting every detail.

You leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized by the way he moved, almost as if he were floating rather than dancing. It was a side of Minho not everyone got to see. He had a reputation for being witty and occasionally sarcastic, but here, alone, he was raw and focused, letting the music guide him.

After a few moments, he seemed to sense your presence. His eyes flickered open, and a slight smirk touched his lips. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked, pulling his headphones off and letting them rest around his neck.

"Not long," you replied, stepping inside. "Long enough to see you absolutely killing it, though."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't try to flatter me. I'm not that good."

"Yeah, okay," you said, raising an eyebrow. "And I'm secretly a pro dancer."

He let out a soft laugh, a real one that reached his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, which was tousled from hours of practice. "I needed the extra practice," he admitted. "There are a few parts that still feel... off."

"To me, it looked flawless," you said sincerely, taking a step closer. "You don't have to be so hard on yourself, Minho."

He shrugged, looking a bit shy under your praise. "Maybe. I just like making sure I don't mess up."

You reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder. "You won't mess up. I've seen how hard you work. If anyone deserves to succeed, it's you."

For a moment, he looked away, the lighthearted expression on his face replaced by something more vulnerable. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I guess I'm not used to hearing that."

Your heart softened at the rare glimpse of insecurity, a part of him he didn't show often. "Come on, Minho," you said softly. "You're amazing, and I hope you know that. I wish you could see yourself the way others see you."

He gave a slight smile, and for a second, his gaze lingered on yours, his eyes searching your face as if looking for something. Then, with a smirk that was so typically Minho, he stepped back, gesturing to the dance floor.

"If you're so convinced I'm good, why don't you try dancing with me?" he teased, holding out a hand. "Or are you scared?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Me? Scared? Never."

Taking his hand, you let him guide you to the middle of the floor. The moment you stepped in, his smirk softened, and he showed you a few simple steps. His hand was warm and steady in yours as he led you through a basic rhythm. At first, you stumbled over your feet, making him laugh softly as he corrected your movements.

"Just feel the beat," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "It's like you're letting it move through you."

You tried to follow his instructions, focusing on the warmth of his hand and the soft encouragement in his voice. Slowly, you found a rhythm, and when you finally got a few steps right, Minho gave you a rare, full smile, his eyes lighting up with genuine pride.

"See? Not so bad," he teased.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the grin spreading across your face. "Only because you're a good teacher."

For a few minutes, you danced together in silence, your laughter echoing softly through the empty studio. Eventually, he spun you around, pulling you close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. Your laughter faded, and suddenly, the air between you felt charged, every heartbeat thundering in your ears.

His hand lingered at your waist, his gaze dropping to your lips before darting back up to meet your eyes. You saw a flicker of something you couldn't quite place, a hint of hesitation, as if he was holding back.

"Minho..." you whispered, not entirely sure what you wanted to say.

His eyes softened, and he took a small step back, releasing your hand but not quite moving away. He seemed to battle with himself for a moment, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Sorry," he murmured, the playful mask slipping away, leaving behind an openness that he rarely let anyone see. "I guess... sometimes I don't know how to act around you."

"What do you mean?" you asked, feeling your heart skip a beat.

He took a slow breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I'm usually pretty confident. But with you, it's different. It's like I'm... more nervous, maybe? I can't explain it." His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You stepped forward, reaching out to gently place your hand over his. "Minho, you don't have to explain it. I get it."

He looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to relief. "You... get it?"

You nodded, your fingers intertwining with his. "You don't have to be anything other than yourself around me. I like you for who you are. All of it."

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, caught in the quiet intimacy of the studio. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin in a gentle, comforting touch.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut. "For seeing me."

And as you stood there, wrapped up in the warmth of his embrace, you realized that this—this quiet, beautiful moment—was everything you'd ever wanted.