Seventeen's debut was nearing; therefore, practices were prolonged at least 2-3 hours more. After many rigorous hours of seemingly endless practice, all seventeen boys, drenched in the perspiration of their labor, succumed to the studio floor without a moment's hesitation. Sprawled out or either sitting with their backs against the walls, they chugged down what little water remained in their bottles; then playfully attempted thievery of another one's less empty drink. Mingyu, being one of the few criminals, successfully swindled Hansol's without his knowledge—but he hadn't enough time to discreetly escape before Hansol became aware that his water was missing. Looking up from the floor, the latter caught sight of Mingyu hurriedly departing to the other side of the room. A brief turn of the head to check if Hansol had realized his pilfering, and there quickly plastered upon his face, a devious grin; Hansol had discovered the escpaing bottle in Mingyu's hand. 

"Yah! Mingyu!" The latter shouted; he almost wanted to laugh, because the obvious look of mischief on Mingyu's face was somewhat amusing. After all, the situation wasn't that dire; he could simply ask for another unopened bottle of water, but then—what fun would that be? "Give me back my water!" Hansol's effort to quickly jump to his feet and chase after the elder was depleted by a few delayed seconds, a repercussion, or "side effect" due to a long, grueling dance practice. Just by walking a little too quickly, he was exhausting what little energy he had left; the rest used to jump onto a mirthful Mingyu's back, who's laughter rang throughout the dance studio, earning the two an audience of more than just a few—that including staff. 

"Finders keepers, losers weepers!" Mingyu proclaimed, chuckling still as he attempted to bring the bottle to his lips, nevertheless minding the latter who hung to his back with little strength, but the defiancy to keep himself hoisted. "Hey, that's mine, stop!" Hansol finally cracked; a smile broke through his tightly knit lips, and small laughter betrayed his endeavor to fool Mingyu (if only by mere chance) into thinking he was half—if not more—serious about an inch or two deep amount of water in his second bottle. He tried grabbing the bottle; tried to yank it away from the dishonest hands of Kim Mingyu, but his efforts were futile. Mingyu was quick, culling the bottle away and shielding it from Hansol's barely desperate endeavors within the confines of his stomach; arms wrapped securely around himself to lessen the chance of Hansol's success (though highly unlikely; the latter had given up minutes ago). 

"Fine. If you won't give me back my water, I'll get another one." 

By the time Mingyu had felt safe enough to fully trust that the latter's intentions were no longer to take back his drink, Hansol was already across the room, helping himself to another bottle of water. Except, unlike the waters that were served before, this particular water was ice cold, personally handed over from a pair of red hands that were glistening from the condensation wrapped around the bottle. Those small hands belonged to one of the cordi-noona's, and by how closely to half-full it was, the drink was obviously her's. But out of kindness, (and probably empathy as well), she gladly gave Hansol her drink; and he didn't even have to ask. Mingyu was envious, but then emerged another idea; another scheme to deliberately play with the latter even more. Once Hansol had detached himself from close scrutiny of the cordi-noona, Mingyu made his move; swiftly stepping inside the little group to which Hansol invested himself within.

"What is that?" Mingyu asked, proding Hansol's arm as he stood slightly behind the latter.

"What is what?" He replied in question, then realizing Mingyu was going to attempt to steal his drink again (or so he thought), he partially shouted a 'no!' and attempted to make a break for it. He barely got a foot of distance between them before the elder latched his arms around the latter, tickling Hansol until he collapsed to the floor, struggling with all the might he could muster to free himself from the torturous, wandering fingers that danced harshly across his stomach in a fast, endless motion. With no aid of the other member's on Hansol's behalf, besides filling his ears with their greatly entertained laughter that indulged in the latter's misery, Mingyu had finally ceased his tickling.

"You , Mingyu." Hansol declared; laughter slowly dying as he rolled over, burying his flushed face beneath his palms. "I know. I'm sorry, Hansol." The elder plainly replied, simply to agree in jest, and lightly patted the younger's arm as if it would compensate him in his situation.

Despite all theories, it wasn't just some simple mood Mingyu was in that provoked him to banter with Hansol, no. This was, as odd as it may sound, the type of relationship the two naturally had. Mingyu would often tease Hansol, mess up his hair much too often, and sometimes jokingly take the latter's things for kicks, whether it deemed immature in other's eyes or not. In truth, although, this wasn't purely the acts of boredom, this was (as juvenile as it might sound) the elder's way of expressing his affection for the latter. But this wasn't the ordinary heteroual affection between two boys who considered one another as close friends and nothing more. This was the behavior of an adolescent teen who favored another boy in a way that was more intimate than close friends. Mingyu was in like with Choi Hansol.