[3]

warning: [PG] for mild language

“No no no no no,” Bobby shakes his head vigorously, “Not in a million years.”

“Nah ah ahhh,” you tease, “You promised me anything.”

“I know I said anything, but-” he uses the tip of a pencil to lift the offending strip of fabric up off the desk, “Isn’t this too much??”

“Nope.” Ruthless. “Now hurry up and get dressed. The pool closes at seven.”

Bobby gulps and looks back down at the electric blue speedo dangling from the end of his pencil. When he said anything, he’d never considered something like this. Less than an hour ago, he was jumping around the room, excited that you’d passed your final; however, that happiness didn’t last for long. Bobby is pretty sure you bought this pathetic excuse for swimwear in the far corners of hell, and, as he struggles to pull the skin-tight bottoms up his legs, he comes to the conclusion that he’d rather be set on fire than wear a speedo to the public pool.

“Baby pleaaaaaaaaase,” he whines from behind the closed bathroom door. He turns to the side to inspect himself in the mirror and hell no, that’s way too much . “Baby, this is so embarrassing!”

“You said anythiiiiing,” you singsong as you walk past the bathroom into the bedroom. Sunscreen, towels, sandals, and shampoo all get thrown into the large tote slung over your shoulder; it feels like it weights a million pounds, but you’d rather bring too much than not enough. The tan across the back of Bobby’s neck is still visible from the last time you forgot to bring sunscreen (no lie: it’s a good two shades darker than the rest of his face). You also manage pack a lunch box despite your barely average cooking skills - kimbap, gyeranmari, sigeumchi namul, and his favorite mumallaengi muchim are stuffed into a couple of cute containers and packed into the bag. The only thing you need to do now is get everything into the car, including the idiot hiding in the shower.

Knock knock. “Come on, y,” you sigh impatiently, “The pool is calling.”

“I’m not going,” he pouts (you can’t actually see him pout, but it’s so dramatic you can practically hear it), “And don’t call me y.”

“Fine,” you relent with an eye roll, “Now get out here. At this rate the pool will close before we even get there.”

“Good,” he huffs, “There’s no way in hell I’m wearing this out of the house.”

“I can’t believe I wore this out of the house.” Bobby groans, standing at the edge of the pool with a towel tightly wrapped around his waist. “Who’s bright idea was this??” He pokes a toe into the water and shrinks back from the cold. Oh hell no. “I’ll be waiting in the car if you need me.”

Down in the water, you float around happily. “Hurry up and jump in, chicken,” you call, “The water feels good.”

“Maybe if I was wearing clothes the water would feel nice,” he pulls the towel tighter around himself, scandalized, “I can already feel my balls shriveling.”

“Ya,” you splash water up at him, “Ditch the towel and get in.”

“Fine fine, chill.” He shrugs it off reluctantly, and as fast as humanly possible he cannonballs into the pool. The resulting wave rolls over your head and your makeup is probably washed away with it, but it’s totally worth it. Bobby surfaces and shakes his head like a dog, paddling over to latch onto your arm. “I’m . Oh my god I feel .” He looks around quickly, trying to count how many people saw him.

“No one was paying attention,” you shove at him, “It’s fine.”

“I saw me,” he whines, “I can’t believe you actually made me go through with this.”

“I got an 96% fair and square.”

“I’m 96% !”

And despite Bobby complaining on and off for the next three hours, the two of you have fun goofing around in the pool and low key trying to drown each other.

[BACK TO CHOICES]

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