When Jihoon opened his eyes, he had a pounding headache. The light streaming in through the window seemed almost blinding. He squinted and covered his eyes with an arm, then reached towards the nightstand for his phone, but his hand brushed against someone else. Feeling something warm startled him so much that he sat up in bed, eyes wide open. It was a terrible idea because the sudden movement made his head spin, forcing him to close his eyes again.

He felt on the verge of vomiting and couldn't decide which was worse: the intense nausea or the fact that he couldn't remember why he felt this way.

As the dizziness subsided, he squinted and focused on the figure next to him. For a moment, he froze in bed. There was no doubt about it; the guy next to him was Park Minho, the actor, his enemy, his nemesis. Minho's wheat-colored hair was tousled against the pillow, and his slightly parted lips breathed slowly, still held captive by sleep.

But how had they ended up sleeping together? Jihoon tried to concentrate and piece together his memories, but there were gaps. He remembered the bar where they had been drinking, and then he remembered dancing at the club… What happened after that?

Minho squinted, blinked a couple of times, and then turned his gaze to Jihoon. For a few moments, he was silent, stretching and yawning. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Jihoon was stunned. Why was he the only one surprised by the situation? Why did everything seem perfectly normal to Minho?

“What am I doing here?” he asked.

“You slept here, obviously,” Minho sighed, lying on his back and closing his eyes again, annoyed by the light.

“That’s obvious… but why?!”

“I don't know your address and you were too drunk to tell me.”

“And you couldn't let me sleep… on the couch?”

Minho opened one eye and looked at him askance. “I’m not that insensitive.”

“It wouldn’t have been insensitivity, just common decency!”

“Decency?” he repeated, almost chuckling at the word.

“Yes, I mean — are we dressed? Oh, God. Thank you. We’re dressed…” Jihoon said more to himself than to Minho.

“Why are you so agitated? It's not like you have some precious virginity to protect or anything.”

“How do you know?” Jihoon snapped, “And the problem is obviously that it’s you!”

“Is that so? Last night, it didn’t seem like much of a problem.”

Jihoon was struck by a sharp headache. A memory flashed in his mind. There was a very dark room full of naked people…

They had kissed. He was certain of that. It had been the kind of kiss that makes your head spin, that takes your breath away. And then...

Minho had said something.

“Drive me crazy,” or something like that…

And Jihoon had dropped to his knees.

He blushed so hard he felt his ears burning.

He jumped out of bed as if Minho might shock him just by touching him.

“I need to go home right now.”

"In such a hurry," Minho grumbled, rolling toward the now-empty side of the bed and grabbing Jihoon by the wrist. He pulled him close and slowly licked his skin before biting it.

“Ah! What are you doing?! Are you crazy?”

“Stay at least for breakfast.”

“Is that your way of asking?”

“I wasn’t asking,” Minho corrected him, kissing the spot he had just licked and bitten. “Don’t get so worked up, Jihoon. We were both tipsy, but we wanted it, right? I definitely did.”

Jihoon didn't respond. He felt embarrassed, but he couldn't deny that Minho was right. Now that the memories were coming back, he remembered very well how it had felt. It had been exhilarating, like he had finally reached a goal he didn't even know he had until that moment. Besides, Minho was starting to be less repulsive to him than he would admit out loud. Sure, there were times when he was still a total jerk, but there were also moments like this one when he managed to reassure him with just a few words.

“Fine. I'll stay for breakfast,” he said.

“Great, let me call room service then,” Minho said, turning towards the bedside table and pressing the number 1 on the phone's keypad.

“We’re in a hotel?” Jihoon asked, surprised. He had assumed they were at Minho’s place, but now that he looked around, the standard, impersonal furnishings made it obvious.

“I didn’t want you vomiting on my carpet,” Minho said, then with a small tug, he pulled Jihoon back onto the bed. “Damn, I just had an idea, but it might be too late…”

The tone in which he said those words didn’t bode well.

“What idea?” Jihoon asked suspiciously.

“If I hadn’t called room service, I could’ve just skipped the food and eaten you instead…”

Jihoon instinctively gave him a light smack on the head.

“Don’t ever say things like that! We had fun, but… it was a one-time thing. Got it?”

Minho’s expression turned stubborn, like a child being denied a toy.

“I don’t think so.”

Before Jihoon could say anything else, there was a knock at the door, and Minho got up to greet the waiter, who arrived with a cart laden with sweet and savory breakfast foods.

They both decided to drop the subject, at least for the moment, and focus instead on the food. Jihoon was surprisingly hungry—perhaps because of all the alcohol and the late night out. Neither of them seemed to care about the time. Jihoon checked his phone and realized it was almost noon.

"I can't stay much longer," he said. "I have to start early today. There's a birthday party at the restaurant, and there are extra things to set up," he explained, eating the last piece of kimchi.

"Why don't you find another job? You're wasted as a waiter."

"Because I don't have the money to be without one. Who's going to pay the rent? Kindness? It's not that easy to find a job without a degree..."

Minho decided to avoid asking any more questions about that, since Jihoon had gotten quite irritated when he tried the day before.

"But before you leave, you need to give me your number."

"Why? So you can send me romantic texts saying how much you miss me?" Jihoon teased. Minho gave him such a sharp look that he immediately fell silent.

"Write it down," Jihoon grumbled, starting to dictate his phone number while Minho saved it in his contacts.

Hours later, when he was back home, Jihoon lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling, feeling dazed. He needed silence and solitude to fully process how much his life had changed in just one night—firstly, Minho was no longer the villain in his story, which was incredible since he had filled that role for ten years. Now they were almost friends, or something very close to tolerating each other. But most importantly, he had had his first sexual experience ever with him... He blushed at the thought of Minho’s taste on his tongue.