If he wasn't gripping me so tight I swear, he would already been on his knees by now.

I blinked and froze. “Uh, K-Kris?”

He didn’t answer, and it seemed like his grip was tightening even more, I was already choking.

Finally, he pulled back, yet his hands were still gripping mine. I saw relief mixed with panic in his eyes. And if I didn’t know any better, I swore I could hear the beating of his racing heart.

I opened my mouth, dazed to see him right in front of my apartment in the middle of the night, when he was supposed to be out on the date that I had worked my off to get.

“W-What—”

He looked confused. “You’re alright?” he asked.

“I’m…better than ever,” I said nervously. “W-Why—”

He it in, his lips turning thin as rage filled his disappointment, and he turned to whack my head. I stumbled back a bit.

“The heck was that for?!” I yelled, but then I hoped that none of the neighbours heard me.

“I thought something happened to you!” he said, angry and frustrated. “I literally thought something happened to you!”

I pursed my lips, trying to let his words sink into my brain. “What—” I paused, not knowing what else to say or ask. “Did you— Did you walk all the way?” I noticed that from head to toe he was a complete mess, his jacket hanging off one shoulder, his pushed-back hair already falling down his eyes. Come to think of it, I preferred that style better. And he was wearing jeans. Jeans.

“You cut off, just like that!” he said.

“Where’s your tux?” I asked instead. He was practically out of breath, and I pulled him in, grabbed a glass of water, and had him seated on the sofa. After chugging down three glasses he finally spoke.

 “I tripped and fell, moron.”

“Couldn’t you have called me back at least?” he growled.

I shrugged. “Didn’t want to bother you on your date,” I said. Then I remembered. “Hold up. You’re supposed to be on your date. With Sica. Why aren’t you on your date with Sica?”

“Well, forgive me if my heart almost burst when you hung up,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

I groaned, my brain whirling now.

“Dang it, Kris!” I cursed, and I started pulling him back up from the sofa, causing him to yelp. “Hurry and get back! Sica might already be there!”

“H-Hold up—”

I yanked him up to his feet. “And where are her flowers?! Did you even get them? GAH. Just go! Don’t let her wait! I told you! She hates waiting! If you make her wait and she knows it’s you, I— Oh gosh, don’t go!”

“W-What? Sheesh, first you told me to go and now you’re telling me not to?”

“Trust me on this, she will never forgive you,” I said, pulling him down to my level, our faces three inches apart. “Oho, you don’t know my sister, do you? Sheesh.”

He blinked, not saying anything for a couple of seconds. He tilted his head to the side. “You know in this light you don’t look half as bad.”

I frowned. Groaning, I tossed him away from my sight.

“Whatever,” I said. “You messed this date up yourself. I ain’t hooking you up with another.”

He crossed his arms. “Fine by me, then,” he said, not at all bothered.

I sighed, my angry fists slowly loosening. When I actually get my part of the deal down he goes and screws it up. Great.

“Oh, and don’t just go accusing me like that,” he whined. He reached into the pocket inside his jacket. “I did get it.”

I turned around, my frown still on—till I caught sight of a single rose in his hand.

He…actually got it.

It wasn’t a fancy bouquet, but it was pretty enough, with a silver ribbon wrapped into a bow around the stem.

“Hmph. See? I’m not that cold-hearted. I know the tricks,” he said smugly. I stared at the flower in his hand. He turned to stare at it as well, his expression colourless. He looked back up. “Here.”

I didn’t realize what he was doing, but when he lifted his hand he threw the flower towards me. I immediately caught it in one catch.

 “Well, since Jessica won’t be getting it.” He shrugged. “Besides, you’re a Jung, too. Take it.”

I looked up at him, then stared back at the flower.

A flower. Given by a gentleman. Mom had always told me stories of her and Dad, and she had always loved the part where Dad gave her a single rose during his proposal, right before they got married. They hadn’t been on a date in years, though me and Krystal had once tried to organize one for their anniversary with the help of Jessica. I’d wondered how Mom felt when Dad gave it to her. It wasn’t anything special to me. I’d already received two bouquets in my life, one during prom, and another during a school dance. Bouquets were much bigger, expensive.

But clutching onto the delicate flower in my hand, a feeling washed over me. I suddenly smiled. “Thank you,” I said.

He shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

I took a whiff. Kris was suddenly curious with the way I was acting.

“Well, you seem happy,” he said, and that’s when I realized it. I hadn’t had a genuine smile in a while, have I?

“Hey, I’m a cheerful person,” I told him.

“Yeah, but faking it doesn’t count.” His voice was grave. I knew what he meant by that, but judging from how I was acting with the flower he seemed to grow curious. “Are you that happy?” he asked with a little laugh, but not a mocking one, more like a soft, dainty chuckle.

“Yeah,” I said. “I like it. It reminds me of when Mom tells me bedtime stories—stories of her and Dad.”

He smiled. “Man, I should give you flowers more often, then, to see that face.”

“What face?”

“A pure smile,” he said.

I paused, the flower in my hands.

“One where you’re not faking it,” he added.

After pulling myself together, I shook my head. “Don’t,” I said. “The more you give, the lesser the sincerity.”

He cocked his head, confused, but then slowly nodded. “Okay, then,” he said. But I was sure that he wasn’t taking in my rubbish superstition.

I took another whiff.

“Smells like home,” I murmured, and without realizing Kris had stepped over to my side, shocking me in the process