I squirm as Jonghyun keeps drilling me.

"And remember, let Taemin talk first! You always go on and on about yourself. Don't act like I don't know these things! And pull out his chair for him! And pour his damn water! And-"

"Wipe his mouth for him?" I joke, smirking. Jonghyun glares at me before shifting his eyes up to look at the clock.

"MOTHER OF ING DOGS AND KITTENS, YOU'RE LATE!" Jonghyun shrieks. He pulls me up by the collar and dusts me off before shoving me out of the room.

"Wait, my wallet!" I shout. Jonghyun throws it and it hits my face and I fumble to catch it. I turn to go down the hall, but I'm struck by a bout of paranoia. I peel back and bust through the door. I skid to a stop in front of the mirror, smoothing out my hair and my suit. I take a deep breath and Jonghyun come up to me and stands beside me. He leans on my shoulder.

"You look fine," he says in a low, comforting voice. I look at him in the mirror and he smiles.

"I've never been this nervous before," I confess shakily. Jonghyun pats my back and grins.

"Because you've never felt this way about anyone before," he points out. I swallow and look away. He's right. I've never loved liked someone like this before.

"Jonghyun?" I whisper. I don't need to look to know that I have his attention. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he says. "Now get going." I nod and walk out of the room, eyes fixed ahead. I was going to do this if it kills me.

I arrive outside of Taemin's room and knock on the door before opening. I'm met by a loud shriek and a wild peal of giggles from Key. My eyes widen as I see the scene before me.

Key's in the process of ripping the clothes from Taemin's skin, and Taemin's trying to wriggle from the hole Key has with his legs around Taemin's waist. Taemin's letting out strangled cries as Key keeps tearing. The jacket is lying on the floor, and Key's hands are stuffed full of the white shirt. The collar is in between his teeth, his body leaning backwards. Taemin's trying desperately to crawl away.

"I DON'T WANT A TATTOO!" Taemin screeches.

"BUT THEY'RE HOT!" Key counters, his voice muffled by fabric. I find my voice somewhere in the midst of this.

"Um..." I say, unsure of how to react. They both freeze and look up. Key quickly unwraps himself from Taemin, darting away and leaving me and my "date" alone.

"Hi," Taemin whispers. My only greeting catches in my throat as I look him up and down. His shirt is hanging off of his shoulders, stretched beyond repair. His milky skin is exposed, one pale pink peeking out as he looks at me curiously. The lapel ends right at the stomach, exposing nothing but a stretch of pure, untainted white. My eyes go lower, and I see that his pants are relatively undisturbed.

"You're going to need a change of clothes," I say, stating the obvious. He frowns and looks at himself, gathering the ruined shirt and holding it to his flesh. I step forward and slide it from his shoulders. It collapses over itself on the bed. "Leave it."

"I don't have anything else to wear," he mutters, looking down at the wrinkled jacket. I keep my eyes fixed on the smooth expanse of his neck, my hands never leaving his pearly skin. It's warm and soft under my palms, and I find the very feel of it intoxicating before he jolts, as if just noticing the touch. He glares half-heartedly at me and I back off, disheartened.

"Sorry," I mutter. He sighs and stands, going to his closet. "There should be more things in there," I say even though he can probably already seen it. He fishes out a new suit and sighs again.

"Please let me dress," he whispers. I bow my head slightly in acknowledgement and dart from the room, my heart pounding erratically in my chest. I look at my hand.

He felt more heavenly than I had ever imagined.

I sigh as I button the last on the collar and throw on the jacket. I look up at the mirror to make sure the last hints of a blush were gone. I touch my own cheek with my cold hand. Why did I feel like that? That sudden rush of blood and heat throughout my body as his hands slid over my skin... Why?

"Can I come in?" that deep, smooth voice asks. I nod before remembering that he can't see me.

"Go ahead," I call out. The door opens and I see Minho appear behind me in the mirror.

"You look good," he says softly. He steps closer until we're almost touching, and then that feeling returns. I look down to hide my blush, and he chuckles.

"Let's go," I whisper. He hums in approval and moves to let me through. He joins me at my side in the hallway, and we head for the door.

"Bye bye appas!" Yoogeun shouts as we leave. I turn and smile, then look up at Minho to see his expression mirroring mine.

"Bye Yoogeun! Have fun!" Minho calls out. Then we both turn and leave. I look up at him again as we walk down the pathway to the car. He looks down at me and smiles, sending a shock through my body.

"Minho, you have a really nice smile," I murmur before I can stop myself. His eyes widen in surprise.

"Um... thank you," he says, a little shocked. I smile back and he pauses. Inexplicably, I stop with him. "You do too."

"Thank you," I return politely. We both stand there for a moment before I break our gazes and look down. "We should get going."

"We should," Minho agrees. We cross the rest of the distance to the car in silence. He opens the door for me and closes it before sliding into the driver's seat. He starts the car and drives with his jaw set and his eyes boring straight ahead. How do I know? I'm staring again.

"Where are we going?" I ask finally. Minho smiles slightly.

"It's a really fancy place. French food," Minho adds, as if it makes a difference to me. All the while, my eyes are trained on him. When he's not being a total jerk, he's really kind of...

Handsome.

"Minho, why can't you be like this all the time?" I ask softly. He looks at me, surprised.

"Like what?" he asks, his eyes connecting with mine. The car seems to move on its own as I'm at a loss for words.

"Like... Like a gentleman," I mutter, looking away swiftly. Minho laughs.

"I'm a gentleman? Thank you," he chuckles. He turns and the scenery shifts to green trees and ivy-covered restaurants. Building after building zooms past, and the grass becomes trimmed and neat as we pass.

"You're acting like one," I admit, looking outside the window. We park in front of a huge restaurant, and for a moment I can't move, even when Minho opens the door and ushers me out. I just stare, my mouth gaping at the spindles of green around the flashing sign, "Le Goût d'un Baiser."

"It means 'the taste of a kiss,'" Minho explains. I get out, mouth still open. The chiseled bricks only serve to flicker in the torches that fling gentle orange onto cold, unfeeling stone.

"Fancy," I observe as I get out of the car. He beams.

"This way," he says. A man in a stiff penguin-colored suit greets us at the door. His shocking white hair looks unatural, and when he bows I feel as if he'll snap in half.

"Welcome, Mr. Choi and guest," the man says formally. He beckons us forward, leading us to a booth with Minho's name inscribed in gold on top of the door. He parts a curtain of beads and my lips part in a soft sigh of awe.

Velvet cloth swathes the table and the couch. The walls are made of shimmering bamboo and the floorboards gleam under my feet. A setting for two is laid out with shining silver and empty wine glasses. Water stands alone in crystaline cylinders, ice floating in it serenly.

"How much does this cost?" I ask, my throat running dry with shock. Minho chuckles.

"Don't worry about it," he says, waving me towards a chair. He sits across from me, sipping his water and accepting the menu placed before him. It's red leather with gold outlinings. I feel one placed in my lap, but the waiter is so stealthy I almost don't catch him in the act.

"Thank you," I say, but I don't get an answer. Just a bow and a hasty retreat. Would I have been so submissive if I'd kept serving food? Would I have become silent and voiceless if Minho hadn't taken me in?

"What do you want to eat?" Minho asks, yanking me from my thoughts. I look across the table and see him peering over his menu. I open mine hastily and my jaw nearly hits the table.

"That's some expensive food!" I observe loudly in shock. Minho bursts into deep laughter.

"This is an expensive place," he counters, still chuckling. "I think I'll have the coq au vin," he says with flawless pronunciation. He fixes his inviting eyes on me.

"Um... I'll have the... um... p-pot... jev... leesh..." I stammer.

"The potjevleesch?" Minho asks, raising an eyebrow. I blush and stutter out an agreement. As if from the shadows, a waiter collets our menus soundlessly and leaves. Before he can get out of the door, Minho beckons to him.

"Yes, monsieur?" the waiter asks, bending down next to Minho to hear his request.

"I'd like a bottle of your finest Gamay," Minho says with a smile. The waiter nods solemnly and exits. I decide not to ask what a gamay is, for fear of looking even more stupid.

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask as soon as we're alone. Minho looks at me thoughtfully and smiles.

"To apologize, I guess," he says softly, taking his water and sipping the full glass. I copy him, a little of the freezing liquid dribbling down my chin.

"For what?" I ask, holding a hand under my face to catch the water. I wipe it with the embroidered napkin next to me. He chuckles and I shoot him a playful glare. A salad arrives in front of me on a small plate, its contents being nothing more than spinach and tomatoes and a clear dressing. I watch as Minho takes a bite.

"For being such a jerk," he says after he's swallowed. I take my own bite and look at my food, picking at it.

"About time," I mutter under my breath, but I sigh. "I'm sorry too."

"For what?" Minho asks, taking another crunchy bite. I mimic him, the food sliding down my throat easily.

"For misjudging you," I say, looking up. His eyes are fixed on me again, and he's leaning on his arm as if observing something.

"I guess you had a right, considering everything I put you through," he says softly. I look down again, unable to keep up with his powerful gaze.

"Thank you for everything, Minho," I whisper. He laughs softly.

"You're welcome," he says. The wine arrives, and I suddenly know what a Gamay is. He picks up his glass and holds it in the air. "Let's let bygones be bygones."

"Let's," I agree. Our glasses clink together, and we both take a sip of the bitter liquid. Our eyes connect again, and this time I can meet his gaze. And I can see something behind it.

Something wonderful.

A/N - TAKE THAT, WRITER'S BLOCK! POW, RIGHT IN THE FACE!

More to come, comments are love~

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