Prompt: “We were both unwillingly coerced into going to a wedding and we bet on who could drink the most glasses of free wine. Three hours later there is no clear winner, we just cry a lot and talk about how no one will love us. But we wind saying all the wonderful things we secretly like about each other.”

“Tone it down a notch will you?”

Minho motions his chin to the glass of wine that grazed your lower lip as he walks up to you, hands in his pockets. He occupies the space next to you and you catch him sigh as he rests his back to wall.

“That’s like what– your third glass?” He throws you a subtle smirk but you sense the tinge of worry in his voice. You’ve known him for years and Minho knows how messy you can get with alcohol seeing how it’s always him that has to deal with it.

“Creep. Have you been staring from a corner and counting?” You scoff as you eye him from the side, the two of you had the same circle of friends so it wasn’t strange to bump into him, three weddings in a row.

“Yes.” He breathes out a deep laugh, always so shameless sometimes you wonder if he was joking or not.

“It’s free– might as well.” You shrug lightly, “And it’s just wine, you’ll probably start crying before I do.”

“Oh, really now?”  He turns to lean on his side as he faces you, a mischievous grin on his face. Minho puts an arm out coolly, reaching for a glass and gulps the entire thing in one go. “You wanna play? Let’s play.”

You were kidding with yourself, the boy handles it pretty well compared to you. But you know, how loose he can get when it gets to him. With his guard down and all jokes aside, the rapper can really cry when he’s drunk.

The two of you spent the next hour huddled in a corner chugging down free wine mercilessly. Your friends were aware how much the two of you never wanted to attend the event in the first place, so they’d left you to it not wanting to get another earful from either of you.

The conversation started off fairly normal, with the two of you going on and on about things a typical hurt wedding guest would.

“I mean we’re only in out twenties, what’s the rush right?” You make a face at him and he looks at you, thick brows raised in amusement.

“Mhmm. I can barely take care of myself let alone someone else.” He chuckles in agreement, rolling his eyes as he settles down an empty glass.  

“Exactly,” You pause as you take a sip too many, starting to feel your feelings bubble and everything you see hilarious. The two of you were a giggling mess, “Why do people get married anyway? Being with the same person for the rest of your life, ugh.”

For a brief second, Minho looks at you in a way that makes you wonder if he was still sober or not. He snorts out a laugh not long after, the back of his hand over his mouth as he fights it back.

It didn’t last long though.

It wasn’t so giddy and bright and bubbly after heaven knows how many glasses, the two of you lost count and were snivelling about the same hurt things, only on a slightly more depressing note this time.

“Who am I kidding, Minho-ah. I’ll end up alone at this rate.” You weren’t even sure if you were laughing or crying at this point, flopping your head on his shoulder as the two of you slumped down on the floor. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”

“I looked and you look pretty hot with that dress.” He murmurs as he stares off to an empty space, and you feel his head soft, resting against yours. It would usually catch you off guard, Minho adores the blush of your cheeks when he compliments you but you weren’t thinking straight and let it pass casually this time.

“And how you always look so tough around me but blush at the slightest things.” He continues, “It’s so cute.”

 You figured it was probably the alcohol talking and your tongue itched to return the favour, to which you did.

“That suit and tie on you makes me feel fuzzy.” You tap a finger onto his palm, and he closes in his fingers together around yours, “The good kind of fuzzy.”

“And– and how you drop by at ungodly hours with food whenever I have a bad day, like how do you know?” He feels you chuckle next to him, convinced that the sudden race of his pulse was more than just the wine in his system.

“Or how you insist that you’re not sleepy whenever I call to vent and find out that I’ve been talking to a wall for the last thirty minutes when I hear you snore?” He says, taking your hand close to his mouth and you feel his smile on the back of your palm, “Thank you for that.”

You couldn’t quite wrap your head around how fast things were going, and you didn’t wish the ground to swallow you whole as it usually would whenever you try to come clean with your feelings.

And to hear these things from him, you pray that you’d still remember this tomorrow morning.

“You’re kidding, right? You won’t be alone– you have me.” He places soft kisses on your palm once more, “Always have, always will.”