The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Felix’s breath was heavy as he hovered over Minho, his best friend—the man he had known for years, shared countless memories with, laughed with, cried with. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, the only thing consuming Felix was the intoxicating warmth of Minho’s body beneath him, the way his lips were swollen from their desperate, heated kisses, the way his bare chest heaved with every ragged breath.

Felix didn’t even remember how they got here—how their teasing banter turned into lingering touches, how their playful shoves turned into needy grasps, how their lips had finally collided in an electric storm of passion. He could still taste Minho on his tongue, sweet like the honey tea he had earlier, but laced with something else, something addictive. Their bodies were tangled together, legs intertwining, hands exploring. Felix groaned against Minho’s mouth, his fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, needing to feel every inch of his skin.

"Lix..." Minho breathed against his lips, voice heavy with need.

Felix growled in response, pressing his hips down against Minho’s, swallowing the gasp that left his lips. He wanted to hear more of those sounds, wanted to drown in them. His hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Minho’s pants, tugging them down, wanting nothing between them. Minho mirrored his actions, fingers fumbling to rid Felix of his own clothing, the urgency between them mounting.

But just as Felix was about to push inside, he jolted awake. His heart was pounding so violently he thought it might burst. His body was hot, sweat clinging to his skin, and a very obvious wetness soaked into his pants and sheets. For a moment, he was frozen, blinking up at the dark ceiling, his mind trying to catch up with reality.

It had been a dream. A very vivid, explicit dream. About Minho. Felix swallowed hard, heat creeping up his neck as the realization fully hit him. He just had a wet dream about his best friend. His childhood friend. His roommate. When morning came, Felix couldn't avoid Minho forever, and as he stepped into the kitchen, he spotted Minho standing by the sink drinking some water, dressed in only a pair of loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt that barely clung to his shoulder. Without thinking, Felix moved forward, wrapping his arms around Minho's waist from behind and burying his face into the crook of his neck, desperate for contact yet terrified of being discovered.