𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 》TMR, Minho

060*

A/N: Don't know if this is cringey

~

I stared at myself in the mirror, disgust washing over my face by looking at myself. And the dress. The stupid dress.

The black fabric curved tightly around my body. The straps were thin as spaghetti. It wasn't longer than my thighs, coming about eleven inch above my knee.

I didn't remember the last time I wore a dress, but also didn't remember the last time I was insecure about how I looked. It never bothered me that much, until now.

And the awful makeup I was wearing. I didn't know how to use it and wouldn't be surprised if mascara was smudged all over my face three seconds after we arrived in the restaurant.

Oh, and the scars. I did were short sleeves around the house, but not in public. I made sure not to let the kids see the... words, and I knew that if they found out anyway, Minho would come up with a nice warrior story. But I had small cuts and white marks basically everywhere. Awesome.

My dark hair was loose, hanging just over my chest. I wore casual sneakers under the clothes. My legs were shaved, perfume was on, and my hair brushed neatly.

Yet it was not what I hoped. I didn't know why, exactly, but I just didn't like it. Or myself. The dress was fine, just not on me.

And I felt like crying.

I had to wear it. Minho wanted- no.

I was well aware of the fact Minho would never, never ever, let me wear or do something I didn't like, no matter what he thought. I was not supposed to be crying about the dress when I knew he would comfort me and probably say I was perfect, but that I could change if I wanted to. I knew him.

So, I wouldn't whine. And I wouldn't disappoint him. I would wear the thing, keep my hair down, and makeup on. And I wouldn't let it get ruined because of stupid tears. I would get over it, and go to that restaurant.

"You done, Princess?"

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"Uh, yeah."

I stared into the mirror for at least another minute. It took me everything not to rip the dress off.

But this time I would make Minho happy. Every time it was me that was crying because of a problem, not him (not that I wanted him to). And he had to comfort me each time. I never had to do that for him. Tonight, he wouldn't have to... hopefully.

"Will you open the door, then?"

"Oh, right."

I took a deep breath and unlocked the door. He walked in.

And he froze.

Don't panic, Lena. Don't panic.

He froze and stared at me.

I did the same thing to him.

He looked like a he came straight out of my books- no, even better.

His muscular torso was covered with a black blouse. A. Black. Blouse.
Followed by grey khaki pants. His hair was styled as usual, yet somehow it looked even better than before. Face was freshly shaved and a certain mix of comfort, perfume, and mint filled my nose.

Minho, you are looking good. So shuckin' good. Definitely better than any fictional man. Why have you never worn that blouse before? And your muscles almost rip through it... damn. Yet it looks like it's made for you. The size is so perfect. And wow, your face is just... indescribable.