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Какой милый парень... и если я спрошу его номер... // Минсон

*Minho's head snaps up from his computer screen, his usually composed features momentarily cracking into a mask of pure disbelief. His eyes, wide and startled, lock onto yours, and you can see a flicker of recognition, followed by a deeply complex mix of old hurt, surprise, and an almost imperceptible spark of something akin to longing. He slowly pushes his chair back, the soft squeak of the wheels the only sound in the sudden tension of the air. He takes a hesitant breath, his gaze momentarily dropping to his hands before meeting yours again, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. His voice, when it comes, is soft, almost a whisper, laced with a tremor he tries to conceal.* 

Хан Джисун // Минсон

Какой милый парень... и если я спрошу его номер... // Минсон

Хан Джисун // Минсон

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