Saturday, 8:03 AM

I blinked awake, but unlike always, I wasn't blinded by the bright summer-morning sun.

Looking around my room, I noticed the curtains had been pulled closed – albeit not recalling having done so.

My throat felt dry and my eyeballs burnt slightly. Such realization, suddenly flooded my brain with the events of the previous night and the breakdown I had gone through.

I shot up, sitting straight.

'Suga.'

He wasn't there. The bean bag, though, was still beside the bed, as the sheer proof that he had indeed stayed overnight.

'Ok, not crazy yet. That's a good start.'

I spun sideways and my legs dangled off the edge of the bed, but my feet didn't reach the carpet. Too short of a person, for my own good. After rubbing my eyes with balled fists, I looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Life wasn't at it's peak for me right at that point.

I noticed a glass of water on the bedside table.

'Very thoughtful.'

I wouldn't allow myself to be tricked though, he could obviously be nice to a degree, but I still firmly believed he disliked me. He just felt he had no choice but to put up with me, given the circumstances.

'Yep, that's it. That and nothing else.'

Shrugging to myself, I held the glass and gulped down the water. I literally felt the walls of my throat slowly coming to a hydrated state.

I slid out of bed, dreading the moment I'd see the utter mess in the living room and walked downstairs.

Only to find everything spotless.

The sofas had been pushed into place, all the paperwork scattered on the floor had been neatly piled up on the coffee table, the dining table and chairs were back where they belonged.

A clinking sound in the kitchen called my sleepy attention. I walked in, furrowing my brows in disbelief.

"Excuse me, am I missing something here?" I deadpanned.

Suga turned around, wooden spoon in his hand, eyed me up and down and side-smirked.

"Clearly a hairbrush."

Feeling self conscious but not giving him the pleasure of seeing me run to fix my hair, I pulled it up in a messy bun using the elastic around my wrist.

"Funny." I said, emphasizing the 'not-at-all' stance in it.

I sat on the chair and watched him. He moved around, serving himself of the kitchen supplies, finding exactly where everything was, a pan in his hand. Shopping bags were on top of the counter, telling me he had woken up early.

For groceries. Not sure if I'll laugh or if... I'll laugh.'

He was still wearing the same clothes as the previous night – black, ripped skinny jeans, a black shirt and a worn out denim jacket full of patches and pins. His hair was fluffy and handsomely messy, as ever.

I snorted when I glanced at his socks.

"Seriously?"

He glared at me as though I was no more than a sad peasant.

"You know nothing. Kumamon is the epitome of brilliance."

"I'd expect skulls, dead babies maybe. But Kumamon?"

He chose to ignore me and proceeded with his kitchen work for another ten minutes of not uncomfortable, but lazy silence.

"How did you sleep?" I asked out of other things to talk about.

"Good. You?"

"Alright I guess."

"You were quite restless."

"How would you know if you slept?"

"I know things."

"I'd appreciate to know 'things' too, but someone isn't the talkative type."

"All in due time."

I rolled my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose out of annoyance.

"For now, eat."

He put a plate in front of me, two fluffy pancakes with Nutella.

I eyed him suspiciously.

"Eat. No poison."

"What's the hurry?"

"We have somewhere to be."

'We?'

"This 'we' thing again?"

"You and I. Me and you. Need a sketch?"

I shoved a fork full of pancake in my mouth and shrugged.

It was divine, but I'd never tell him that.

"Whatever. It's Saturday. Saturdays are stay-in-bed-all-day, days."

Suga bent over the table and ridiculously close to my face – so much I could feel his breath fan my skin.

"We have somewhere to be." He repeated in a low, raspy voice. "When you finish go up to your room and pack everything you need."

"What do you mean 'pack'?" I half screeched.

"I mean pack. Pretend you're going for an extended sleepover."

"What the heck are you on ab-?"

"You talk too much."

Glaring at him but accepting I had no chance for argument, or probably just out of sheer curiosity, I finished the food and walked back upstairs to shove whatever felt necessary in my backpack.

"For the hundredth time, will you tell me where we're going?"

"For the hundredth time, you'll see when we get there."

×  

I groaned, following suit behind him and out the metro train, squeezing past the many people around and struggling not to lose him.

As we started to climb up the stairs out to the Seoul streets, my little legs gave away to the pushing crowd and I saw no choice but to cling to his jacket's sleeve all the way up to the end of the staircase.

When we rose to the daylight, I was weirded out to find we were somewhere no further away from my house than a pretty much straight twenty minute walk.

Clearly, he wanted to be out and about as little as possible, so he decided we'd take the metro.

We walked around that very same block and up to a row of fifteen-story apartment buildings.

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. They all looked the same to me but, skilfully picking the right one out of all of them, he opened the metallic door. We walked in, leaving the summer morning behind, and instead of heading for the elevator as I expected, or even the main staircase, we walked past both and to a smaller flight of stairs that led downwards.

Big time confused, I followed him down the gloomy staircase and to the basement level of the building. There were doors after doors with numbers and letters engraved on them in old, peeling golden paint. Obviously, each led to a storage room assigned to each apartment of the building.

It was dark, nearly impossible to see, but Suga didn't make an effort to turn on the lights on the hall. He knew where the door he wanted to reach was, not mattering a bit that he couldn't see it, nor the lock he was now pushing another one of the keys into.

I felt his hand on my back, rushing me in.

The yellow lights inside were all on, causing me to blink the darkness away to adapt to the brightness.

"Is that her?"

The owner of the voice was, much to my amazement and disbelief, a younger looking version of the mint haired boy behind me.

'Swag aside.'

He was an inch shorter than Suga and a couple inches taller than me. His black hair was perfectly parted and styled. His facial features were as symmetrical as the other's, albeit in a much more juvenile way. He was wearing a white button up shirt and black jeans. He was undeniably attractive. A true heart-breaker, dare I say.

Good thing I wasn't like, sixteen and gullible anymore.

They resembled each other so much, but at the same time they were complete opposite sides of the same coin - while Suga screamed wild and rebel, the other one had good-boy, class president and boy-crush material written all across his flawless forehead.

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