Stray Kids (SKZ) Imagines

Running Partner - Lee Minho

It was official, running easily took first place on your list of Things You Hate, followed by soggy toast and then mosquitoes. You come to this conclusion with sweat running down the back of your leg as you stop for the first time in the longest 20 minutes of your life, to look at the sight ahead of you; your boyfriend (about ten steps ahead of you) who lacked fatigue, already reaching the foot of a hill.

You couldn't believe you had the audacity to think you were being cute for wanting to join him on his run this time when you were now red as a tomato and gasping for air like a fish out of water (you were halfway there already, being drenched in sweat anyway).

You slightly tilt your head up when your eyes follow the curve of the hill, all the way to its top, finding that it looked much steeper than it ever did compared to when you drove up it a million times before. It seemed to grow, looming over you in a mockery that made you scowl at your decisions. You're about to collapse, your knees giving way, unable to support your arms when Minho turns around and chuckles at your state.

He wasn't cute when he did that anymore (well, he was, but it wasn't endearing like before). Some time ago it made your heart skip beats, following the first date when the butterflies were young and you felt all fluttery inside, giggling like the schoolgirl you were. But now he laughed at you anytime you were in a state of discomfort and it was getting on your nerves. Who would spend ten minutes cackling at the sight of you running out of the bathroom, hastily wrapped in a towel with shampoo still dripping from your hair, after finding a spider suddenly appear in the corner of the shower? And you still haven't heard the end of it.

Today was no exception but you didn't even have the energy to glare at him, so it only made you grumpier when he lightly jogs back towards you, face flushed from the heat but somehow still looking more attractive than ever. It was definitely frustrating to be running with someone who made sweaty matted hair look good.

"Tired?"

"No." He was annoying when he gave you that coy smile and he was more annoying when you knew he had every right to since he'd been questioning your sudden enthusiasm for deciding to exercise with him from the beginning. "Can you do something other than just watch me die here?"

He laughed again, not even the slightest out of breath and you're starting to think he was stealing all the oxygen from you. "You're so cute! Come on," he attempts to grab your palm but you pull away stubbornly.

"You can go first, I'll catch up."

He scoffed at that, hands on hips, looking around like he expected an invisible audience to burst into laughter with him. "Catch up? Okay then." He takes off, jogging up the hill slowly. "Guess you'll have to do my laundry for a whole week," he shouts back at you knowing you could never resist giving into his taunts. Somehow, this gave you a newfound a burst of energy and you sprinted after him, giving up every aching limb to beat Minho to the top of the hill.

Bad idea. A very bad idea. You kept telling yourself to stop falling into Minho's trap whenever he purposely pulled your strings like that but the man knew which buttons to push, because as much as you denied it or tried to hide it; you just really hated losing.

He found this about you that one time you wanted to go to an arcade with him (and you haven't been back since). And maybe you convinced yourself it was his fault for being so freakishly good at everything (the basketball hoops, racing, claw machine, and of course, Dance Revolution) but you never intended to be such a sore loser, storming out of the place when he beat you for the fourth time in a row dancing to a Big Bang song.

You hated this most about yourself too and you only ran out on him because you didn't want him to see you like this, all bratty and cranky because you couldn't win a game? It was dumb but you were almost on the verge of tears that day when he called after you with a voice laced with concern, afraid that it was he who had done something wrong. He didn't laugh at you then though. Instead he leaned into you, ear almost pressing against your cheek to hear you mumble about what a sore loser you were. In turn, his palm found a way to rub your back in comfort before pulling you into an embrace that melted away this unwanted anger.

Somehow, replaying that moment had a calming effect on you and, miraculously, without looking back, you find the ground slowly plateau onto a straight plain as you reach the top of the hill. You feel a sense of triumph wash over you like never before as you looked out onto your city. You've driven up and parked here all the time but for some reason it looked different, the view being a different type of breathtaking.

You're slightly startled when Minho grabs your shoulders from behind, praising you unrelentingly (maybe sarcastically too but you were too proud of yourself to let him ruin this moment) about how much quicker you were than him. But of course, you knew it was because he had only let you.

You spot the bench on the edge of what could be called the lookout point at the very edge of this hill. It brought back memories of your angsty teenage days when you would come here by yourself to scream into the air or cry alone and it takes you a second to realise that today you're here with someone that, although still made you want to scream into thin air, also made you feel like your heart might overflow with love.

As you took a seat on one edge of the bench, Minho took the opposite side, keeping a distance far enough to be able to watch you the way you watched the clouds. If he had told you that you looked really pretty right now, you were most probably going to punch him in the rib and then list down all the reasons why you weren't. So he doesn't say anything and instead thinks to himself, that your hair tied into a messy ponytail, stray hairs sticking to your forehead with sweat, cheeks a fluorescent red, and the heaving from catching your breath, was a sight that couldn't get anymore perfect.

"Reason number... 62?" he mumbles to himself.

"What?" You almost forget that he's there and you look over to find him blinking rapidly in your direction, like he was trying to snap himself out of a daydream (or maybe he was trying to get sweat out of his eyes). "Hey, I won. That means you're cooking dinner for an entire week!" Then you laugh, knowing that Minho would never let you sit on your ass as he busied himself in the kitchen, knowing that you always ended up cooking together anyway, and knowing that he puts in more effort than he ever admits when he makes something for you to eat.

He smiles at you in agreement (gently now), never getting enough of the fact that losing a bet still made him feel like a winner as long as it was with you. You heave a sigh of relief as you turn back to look at the clouds, making a mental note that you would never go running in your life ever again. But you don't realise that Minho could not take his eyes off of you for even a moment, and you didn't know that he was thinking he should probably write down all the reasons he loves you before he loses count again.