“Jihun, I swear, if you try and–” Before you can even finish your sentence, a glob of chocolate is messily smeared onto your face, followed by a high pitched giggle.

You narrow your eyes and clench your fist. “Prepare,” you say, darkly. “To die.”

Jihun matches your gaze provokingly, unfazed. He holds up his chocolate-frosting covered fingers as if to taunt you. Looking at his face, the knowing smirk, the glimmer in his eye–inside, you feel something snap.

The look on his face is priceless as you suddenly, unexpectedly, hurl yourself at him.

It takes a good hour and a half to finally wash out all the sugar, chocolate and other assorted baking ingredients from your skin and hair, but frankly, you think it was all definitely worth it.

Definitely worth it because you came out on top of the fight, and got to see a disgruntled Jihun standing in the middle of the kitchen completely covered in white flour (among other things).

“I hate you, you know that?” He says, rubbing himself dry with a towel. He pouts at you and pushes his wet locks off of his forehead.

You smirk at him and cross your arms. “But I know you love me, too. Plus, you started it.”

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