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Summary
Minho’s smile is small, contemplative. His hair is half bleached and half dark, shaggier than Jeongin remembers; Minho had always kept it so meticulously neat when they were in school together, refused to give up any ground. He had done the whole being a boy thing perfectly, fastidiously. Only in hindsight does Jeongin understand how deliberate it must have been. He swallows again under the gentle weight of Minho’s stare, which Minho makes no attempt to avert or disguise; he lets Jeongin see that he is looking at him. Jeongin’s skin presses too tightly against his bones. As always, it shrinks away from being looked at.
“How do you feel,” Jeongin tries not to squeak, then wants to boil himself alive as his voice comes out pitchy anyway. Because that’s the other problem, of course. Minho from school showing up ten years later would be one thing — but Minho had never done anything by halves, even back when he was teenaged and violent with it. He had to show up, of course, bleeding from the shoulder and smelling like fresh-turned werewolf.
The ten-year aftermath of "do I want him or do I want to be him", as told by Yang Jeongin, werewolf.