“You !”

“I ? That is really the best insult you can give me right now?”

“Oh wait! I forgot to add how much of an absolute you are – was that what you bleeding wanted, Ji? To be called a ‘’? What the is this now – another one of your stupid ual fantasies?”

“Sam…you really don’t want me ing angry, ok?”

“Then what the flying have I been dealing with for the past ing hour?”

“Well, ing okay then – be a little about it!”

“Oh, I’m sorry – did you just do what I think you did?”

“…”

“No for a month.”

“What?!”

“You ing heard me, you bloody arse.”

If he wasn’t fuming then, he is totally fuming now. But he held it in. “Ok… ok…” he said, “are you…is it really that time of the month already? ing explains your attitude about such a petty little thing like this.”

“Don’t you ing dare use that card on me!” I leaned in close, giving him my deadliest look. “Don’t. You. Ever.”

“Well excuse me but –”

“No for the next two months then.”

He was looking at me with utter frustration. “Sam-Soon – oh god –”

“Did I ing stutter? Three months.”

That did it.

“OK, OK, I’m sorry!” he cried out (ing finally).

“ ‘Sorry’? To me?” I say incredulously. “No, Ji, say sorry to – not me – but the cake that you crushed with your bare hands,” I finish dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at the cake – well what was left of the cake anyways – on the floor. I added, “It had dreams, Ji. And hopes. Hopes and dreams. You had to be a right douche and ing crush it all.” I have to admit, I was too into the moment.

Jiyong looked at me pointedly. “Really, Sam? It’s flour and eggs and sugar and more flour.”

“It is a thing with feelings, too.”

He snorted at me. “Its inevitable end was to be murdered and feasted upon.”

“It is a thing with feelings, too.”

He’s rubbing his face now, seeming put up with me. “…You really are on your period, aren’t you?”

“YOU RIGHT DOUCHE BAG MOTHERER but yes I am on my period ING ER ER.”

Jiyong was just to slide in with another witty comment when I suddenly crumpled to the floor.

No, I didn’t get a spontaneous heart attack. I was bawling. “I j-j-just wanted tuh-tuh-tuh s-s-spend t-t-time with yo-yo-you and-d-d t-the ca-cake is c-c-c-c-c-c-c-CRUSHED!” I sniffled pathetically, burying my sodden cheeks into my too-long sleeves.

Blame my stupid hormones.

Jiyong was stupefied for a moment. One second I was screaming swears at him, and the next I’m curled up in a small ball on the floor crying about typical girl nonsense. He eventually butted in when I yelled at him, “when are you going to ing comfort me you asshat”.

“Hey, look,” he started off, crouching down to my level. “It’s, um, nothing, alright? We’ll get another cake – in fact, I’ll lop off and buy you one right now.”

I proceeded to cry even harder.

Oh my god. Does this guy not understand women? The whole concept of the boyfriend and girlfriend doing something together so that it would actually mean something? I’ve been living with the dense prick for practically years and, still, he doesn’t get it.

Even through the tears, I could tell that he is genuinely panicking now.

“I meant that, I’ll – I’ll…” he broke off for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then a ‘ of genius’ hit him. “I’ll buy you shoes.” ‘ of idiocy’ is what I call it.

I was raving. “Is that what you think of me? Some kind of superficial common girl who squeals at the mention of shoes? Is that what I am to you, Jiyong? IS THAT WHAT I ING AM TO YOU?!”

Jiyong was spluttering a bit, trying to take back his words. “No, no, of course not,” he said to me, laughing awkwardly, “you’re one in million, babe.”

There was silence for a bit. Then he had to make it worse by saying, “What about some…pizza?”

“DO YOU WANT TO SEE ME GET FAT, KWON ING JIYONG? HUH?! HUH?!?!?!”

He was close to yelling right now. I could see it in his eyes. But he forced it down. Smart of him. It’d only make things worse anyways. “Ok…ok…” he said, eerily calm. “I’m sorry.”

I stopped making waterfalls for a moment and looked up at him, nose slightly runny. “For what?”

He shook his head at me and said, “No, not sorry to you.” He then walked over to the pile of goopy cake on the floor…and patted it. “To this guy. This awesome dude right here.”

My sniffles came to a halt as I stared on at Jiyong’s conversation with Cake.

“From the bottom of heart to the top of my oesophagus, I say my sorrys to you, oh cake –”

“Mister Cake,” I correct him, a small smile emerging on my face.

“Mister Cake,” he echoed, “your hope and dreams and possible children – I say my sorrys.”

I was giggling by then.

Jiyong dipped his finger into some of the pastry and tasted it. “And you were chocolate-flavoured. A classic. We will remember you forever. Forever and more.”

I had my clapped over my mouth to cover the fit I had.

“Rest in peace, Mister Cake, 2013–2013,” he concluded his speech. And, to top it all off, he grabbed a random rag off the countertop and draped it over the cake. He placed his mouth close to the covered cake and whispered a last “rest in peace” before he smooched it.

I found myself clapping at the ridiculous scene. It just seemed appropriate you know. A whole able cake dying and all. “Bravo, Ji, bravo!” I laugh.

Jiyong gives me that crooked smile of his and easily picks me off the ground, eliciting a small “oh ” from me when I found myself suddenly floating in mid-air. I hastily grabbed at his shoulders, glowering from under my lashes a bit. Despite the daggers I throw at him, Jiyong’s full on grinning right now. “Finally,” he says, pulling me close and noses touching, “you’re smiling.”

I weakly push at his chest. “Oh stop,” I tell him, reluctantly looping my legs around his waist. “You’re oozing cheese.”

He pecks my chin and I punch him in the neck. Still, the idiot’s smiling loon-like. “You like cheese.”

Eventually, I stop my fussing about and settle with drawing circles on his shirt. “The food, not the other cheese where you’re constantly spouting stuff like –”

He’s interrupting me, a cheeky glint in his eyes. “You mean the world to me?”

“Yes, that,” I huff at him. I can’t fight off the blush creeping up my cheeks, though.

Jiyong’s laughing at me now. “Ha, you’re blushing. That’s a first.”

“Oh shut up. That ban still stands you know. Because you’re a .”

He pouts and my stomach flips. “Aw, wearing no pants when you’re baking should be considered a reasonable reason enough that I you after,” he quips blatantly, eyes trailing downwards to look at my bare legs.

I slapped him across the face. Our relationship can sometimes be considered one-third abusive. “Oh no, you ing don’t,” I say to him, index finger placed on his nose as a warning, “and, in my defence, I am wearing your huge sweater – it covers my bum up just fine – and you’re all the time anyways.”

“Yes, my clothes,” he mumbles, nudging closer.

I try backing away but then realize that I’m trapped in his arms. “No, stooooooooop, you killed Cake in the end so no smexy times for you.”

“Oh, please?”

“No,” I say firmly as I watch him suffer.

He doesn’t listen to me and starts to lean in close, puckering up his lips with heaps of exaggeration.

I place a hand over his mouth. He tries to bite my fingers off. “Ji! Stop!” I shout at him, wheezing puffs of laughter. “I’m going to fall.”

Jiyong stops and leans back against the counter, smirking. “I don’t care – I’m going to get that top off of you within the day anyways.”

I shrug. Maybe he’s right, maybe he’s wrong. I don’t know. Right about now, all I’m thinking of is that I’m craving for a slice of pie…and pizza. Now that cheese has been mentioned. “Carry me upstairs. I need to put on some pants if we’re going out.”

“Who says we’re going out?”

“Says my dying stomach and your hormonal girlfriend – now move, slave,” I instruct him, lightly hitting his head with the spoon I grabbed off the kitchen table.

Jiyong groans loudly but converts me to his back anyways. I snuggle comfortably on his back and wrap my arms around his neck, placing my face just by his. “I feel so loved,” he says as he’s piggy-backing me up the stairs.

“Oh hush,” I respond, brushing my lips against his neck. “This is your punishment.”

He pauses outside our bedroom door and turns his head to me, whispering into my ear, “I’ve got something else in mind.”

In the next five minutes, I am pushed against a wall and his tongue successfully invades my mouth. And in the following five hours, my constant food cravings are pushed aside and forgotten, I am dumped onto our bed and –

Oops, the next part’s secret.

And winky face.

---

A/N: This will just be a bunch of connected drabbles. And if you were expecting at the end, I am sorry that I fail as a -writer. I am sorry for the fake ual build-up/innuendos.