For all the readers obsessed with a man who gives you the world, yet you only crave the one who makes your heart race, who turns every day into an adventure...
— this chapter is dedicated to you.
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Kitty should have felt safe. Dae's arms around her were steady, his warmth familiar, like a favorite sweater worn on a cold day. He had always been there for her, a constant in her life when everything else seemed to shift and change. And yet, as she leaned into his embrace, her heart refused to settle. The storm inside her only grew stronger.
Her thoughts were a mess—chaotic and wild, like rain hitting pavement in erratic bursts. One second, she was here, standing in the rain with Dae, his concern wrapping around her like a protective shield. The next, she was back in that café, Minho's lips pressed against hers, his hands warm against her skin, his voice thick with emotions she still didn't understand.
She sucked in a sharp breath, pushing away before she lost herself completely. "I—I need to go."
Dae frowned, his hands lingering at her elbows, hesitant. "Kitty, wait. Talk to me."
She shook her head. Talking wouldn't help. Talking would only make this real.
Without another word, she turned and rushed down the street, her heart pounding harder with every step. The rain soaked through her sweater, but she barely felt it. What she did feel—what consumed her—was the burning imprint of Minho's touch, the weight of his confession, the way his voice had trembled when he said, I hate how much I care.
She hated it too.
Or maybe she just hated how much she didn't.
Weeks passed, but the chaos inside her remained the same. She avoided Minho, and he let her. It was easier that way. At least, that's what she told herself.
But in the space Minho left behind, Dae filled the gaps.
She started spending more time with him—not because she was trying to forget Minho, but because with Dae, things were simple. He didn't make her question herself. He didn't make her heart race and stumble in ways she couldn't control. He was steady, safe, predictable in a way that made her feel like she could breathe. And right now, that's what she needed.
They weren't officially together, but they were close—closer than before. They walked to class together, studied in the library late into the night, sat side by side during lunch. He'd offer her his jacket when she forgot hers, tuck strands of hair behind her ear when the wind got in the way, send her texts asking if she had eaten. It was comfortable. Easy.
But then, one afternoon, something shifted.
They were sitting in the library, side by side, and Dae reached for her hand. It was a simple gesture. Warm. Gentle. The kind of thing that should have made her feel safe.
But the moment his fingers laced through hers, something inside her cracked.
Because all she could think about was how different it felt.
Minho's touch was heat, wildfire, something she wasn't sure she could contain. Dae's was soft, stable—the kind of love she should want.
And yet, as she looked down at their joined hands, her chest felt tight.
Dae noticed her hesitation. "Kitty?"
She forced a smile, squeezing his fingers. "It's nothing."
She told herself the same thing over and over again.
It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing.
But then why did it feel like everything?
Somewhere along the way, things had changed between Minho and Stella. They weren't exes who bickered anymore, but... friends. Kitty had no idea how it happened, but it was obvious. The cold glares and sharp remarks between them had softened into casual teasing and easy conversation. She saw them laughing together between classes, sitting side by side in the cafeteria, their heads tilted close as they whispered about something only they understood.
One day, she overheard Q talking to Florian.
"Yeah, apparently they talked things out," Q had said with a shrug. "Decided to stop fighting all the time. Minho said it was exhausting."
Kitty hadn't reacted at the time, but now, sitting in the courtyard with Q and Florian, pretending to listen to their conversation, her mind was elsewhere. More specifically, across the courtyard, where Minho stood near Stella, looking annoyingly perfect.
He was leaning against the fountain, arms crossed, dressed in his usual effortlessly cool fashion—a leather jacket, dark jeans, and an expression that said I don't care about anything, even though she now knew he very much did.
And the worst part? Stella was laughing.
Kitty wasn't sure why she was staring so hard. It wasn't like she wanted Minho.
It was just that she didn't want Stella to have him either.
Florian's voice pulled her back. "Kitty, are you even listening?"
She blinked, turning toward them. "Huh? Yeah. Totally."
Q smirked. "Okay, so what did I just say?"
"...Something about...uh...muffins?"
Florian burst out laughing.
Q sighed. "I literally said I might dye my hair. Not even remotely close to muffins."
Kitty groaned, dropping her head onto the table.
Florian raised an eyebrow. "What's going on with you?"
Before she could answer, movement caught her attention.
Minho was walking toward her.
Her stomach twisted.
No. She wasn't ready. Not now.
Act normal. Act normal.
She quickly grabbed Dae's wrist as he walked past their table, tugging him down next to her. "Dae! Hey!" she said, too loudly. "You should sit here. Right next to me. Very close."
Dae looked confused but didn't protest.
Minho stopped in front of the table, his gaze flicking from Kitty to Dae. His jaw clenched. "Seriously?"
Kitty refused to acknowledge the tension. "What? Dae's my friend. We can sit together."
Minho scoffed. "Right. That's exactly what this is."
"Glad we're on the same page," she said with a tight smile.
Minho tilted his head, eyes darkening with something unreadable. "You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," she said sweetly.
Minho exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, as if deciding she wasn't worth the effort, he turned and walked away.
Kitty clenched her fists under the table, ignoring the way her heart ached at his retreating figure.
That night, Kitty lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come, her thoughts too tangled, too loud.
Minho's voice echoed in her mind.
"You're unbelievable."
She should've been glad he was mad at her. Maybe it would make things easier.
But all she could think about was the way his eyes had darkened, the tension in his voice, the way he had looked at her like she was the only person who could make him lose control.
And the worst part?
She liked it.
She groaned, shoving the blanket off and sitting up.
This was stupid.
But before she could talk herself out of it, her feet were already moving, carrying her out of her dorm, down the hallway, across campus.
By the time she reached Minho's door, her heart was hammering so hard it hurt.
This was a mistake. She knew it.
But she knocked anyway.
And when Minho opened the door—hair damp, eyes sharp with surprise—she knew she wasn't going to leave.
Minho stared at her, the tension between them thick and suffocating in the dimly lit hallway. His grip tightened around the doorknob, knuckles turning white, but he didn't move.
Kitty shifted on her feet, hyper-aware of how reckless this was. She should have stayed in bed. She should have ignored the pull in her chest, the way her thoughts kept circling back to him no matter how hard she tried to push him away.
But she was here. And Minho was looking at her like he was waiting—for an explanation, for an excuse, for anything that would make sense of this.
She swallowed hard. "Can I come in?"
Something flickered across his face—hesitation, conflict, something else she couldn't name. Then, without a word, he stepped aside.
The door clicked shut behind her, the sound final.
Kitty exhaled slowly, taking in the room. It was neat, but there was a tension to the order—like he had been trying too hard to keep himself busy. His phone lay face-down on the desk, a book abandoned on the bed, the page still creased where he had stopped reading.
Minho crossed his arms, watching her carefully. "What are you doing here, Kitty?"
She hesitated, fingers gripping the sleeves of her hoodie. "I don't know."
His jaw tensed. "Try again."
She looked away. "I couldn't sleep."
"So you decided to show up at my door?" His voice was edged with disbelief. "Right. That makes perfect sense."
She scowled. "I don't need the sarcasm."
"Then what do you need?" he shot back, stepping closer.
Kitty opened her mouth, but no words came.
Because she didn't know.
She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be standing in his dorm, heart pounding, stomach twisting, completely unraveling under the weight of his stare.
Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
Something in her snapped. "Why do you keep saying that?"
"Because it's true!" His voice rose, frustration flashing in his eyes. "You act like I'm the problem, like I'm the one messing with your head, but you're the one who keeps running. You don't want me, but you don't want me to move on either. So what do you want, Kitty?"
Her throat tightened.
"I—"
"Do you even know?" he pressed. "Because if you don't, then what the hell are we doing here?"
Kitty's breath came in shallow bursts, her pulse hammering in her ears. She felt exposed, like he had stripped her bare with nothing but words.
"I hate you," she blurted.
Minho stilled.
The words hung between them, heavy and suffocating.
Then, slowly, a bitter smile curled at the corner of his lips. "No, you don't."
"Yes, I do," she insisted, hating the way her voice wavered. "You make everything complicated. You—you drive me insane. I was fine before. I had everything figured out. And then you—" Her breath hitched. "You ruined it."
Minho studied her, his expression unreadable. "Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, lower. "Then why are you here?"
Kitty opened her mouth, then closed it.
She clenched her hands at her sides. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted—
Her gaze flickered to his lips.
Minho noticed.
His breath hitched, his hands flexing like he was holding himself back.
"I'll burn for this one day," she murmured, stepping closer, her voice unsteady but certain. "And I know you will too."
Minho's breath hitched.
The space between them evaporated. One second, there was distance, and the next, there was none.
Minho was motionless. For the first time since she'd met him, he looked completely, utterly stunned. Like he couldn't believe she was here, saying this, standing this close.
Kitty's pulse roared in her ears, drowning out every rational thought.
He had kissed her before, in that cafe. A kiss that had stolen the air from her lungs, had left her reeling. But she hadn't been ready then. She had been scared, confused, too caught up in the chaos of what it all meant.
But now?
Now, she knew exactly what she was doing.
"I've spent weeks trying to erase you from my head," she whispered, tilting her chin up. "Trying to convince myself that I don't care. That you don't affect me."
Minho swallowed hard, his breath shaky. "And?"
Kitty let out a soft, breathless laugh. "And I was lying."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was restraining himself. But there was something else there too-something dark, something dangerous, something that set her skin ablaze just looking at him.
"Say it again," he murmured, voice low and rough.
Kitty's heart stuttered.
She should be nervous. But she wasn't.
She stepped even closer, her fingers sliding up his chest, resting lightly against his collarbone.
"I don't want to run from this anymore," she whispered. "From you."
That was all it took.
Minho moved before she could take another breath, his hands grabbing her waist, pulling her flush against him. His grip was firm, possessive, like he had been waiting for this, aching for this.
And when their lips met, it was nothing like before.
It wasn't careful. It wasn't hesitant. It was heat and fire and frustration all tangled together in a kiss that left no room for uncertainty.
Minho wasn't just kissing her. He was devouring her.
His hands slid up her back, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Kitty gasped against his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, her knees threatening to give out under the weight of it all.
It was intoxicating-the way he kissed her like he needed her, like she was something he couldn't bear to let go of.
And she didn't want him to.
Not now. Not ever.
Minho pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath uneven, his grip still tight on her.
"You have no idea how long l've wanted this," he muttered, voice thick with something raw, something real.
Kitty let out a shaky breath, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.
"Then show me," she whispered.
And Minho did.
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