“How did it go?” Myungsoo enters the living room after calling that he arrived. He takes off his snow-covered jacket and places it on the stand near him. He shakes his disheveled hair to remove the flakes that fell on his head. The sound of footsteps are heavy as he drags himself to the table and sits on the floor, exhaustion clearly on his face.

    “It was alright. The fans were hyped about the comeback. I think this new mini album will be a hit. I have a feeling it will,” I laugh as soon as these words came out from his mouth. Infinite has a large fan base so I'm sure his hunch is correct. Ever since “Be Mine” era, their popularity grew even more that their international fan bases increased tremendously as well.  

    “Good work, Kim-ssi,” I said.

    Myungsoo reaches to his front for a can of cold beer I prepared earlier on the table. He easily pulls the tab and pops it open then toasts with mine. Myungsoo expresses his gratitude and clicks our beers together, consuming half of the beer (although, I think Myungsoo drank more), and sigh over the satisfying taste. It was a good way of relieving stress.

    We spend our time drinking and eating the chicken we ordered because of the strong desire to crave. Myungsoo and I talk about our upcoming group albums, discuss our troubles with jobs, complain about things that vexed us the past few weeks.

    None was left of the ordered chicken except for the bones and a considerable number of canned beers crumpled and thrown under the table which created a disorderly pile.

    We are overcome with silence later on after running out of stories to tell. The lack of sound and stillness of our bodies somehow felt unbearable, instead of our company being comfortable like the usual. I look at the ceiling, hoping one of us will break the ice. However, in the next few minutes, neither decides to speak to the other. He might be asleep, I thought. I turn my head to the side and Myungsoo’s eyes are closed, the back of his head resting on the sofa. His sleeping face was that of an angel's. I feel my neck gradually burning up to my ears and cheeks. Warm feelings overcome the cold surroundings. My eyes have become dazed. The alcohol is taking effect.

    On certain occasions I tend to think that our situation has become dull ever since I learned I've been harboring romantic feelings for this stupid fellow. It started like most people in love, admiration—good looks was another factor. And over time, emotions change and they develop to this dreadful thing called love. Now, I cause myself unbearable pain, emotionally.

    But then again, if you love the person, even if they are stupid or dense, you'll be able to tolerate the situation.

    However, our situation is different. I feel as though I can no longer sense the same connections we had when we started off as good friends—something was clearly missing.

    I glance at the clock on the wall. One o'clock A. M.; it's quite late. I turn to my side once again and shake the now snoring Myungsoo.

    “Hey, sleepyhead it's time to wake up.”

    He flinches when I come in contact.

    “If you leave any later than this, reporters will come sniffing here,” I joked. “We'll be on papers.” Myungsoo, wearing an annoyed expression, shifts from his position with his back facing