Pretty Boy Hold Up! || Minchan

"Pretty boy hold up!"
Chan paused at the voice, almost falling flat on his face as his ankles crossed over each other in a helpless loop. He looked at Minho, who was majestic as ever, warm yellow shirt tucked in at the waist, sleeves rolled back to expose those unfair forearms.
Minho blew a ring of smoke past his lips, cigarette curled between his fingers, like an old soul trapped in the body of a nineteen year old.
Chan awkwardly leaned against the counter, huge frame shadowing Minho. Leaning his jaw lower to meet Minho's gaze head on. He adjusted the snapback on his head for the fourth time, arms crossing over his chest, then immediately thrusting back into the pockets of his board shorts, muscles flexing with each movement.
Minho seemed to catch onto Chan's fidgeting.
"Easy," Minho said gently, blowing out another ring of smoke. "I only wanted your name."
Chan paused.
"Why would you need my name when you always call me your pretty boy?"