It was right before Junhee and Junhong turned, respectively, fourteen and twelve when their mothers stopped allowing them to shower together. Of course, Junhong’s brother had tried to stop them earlier after the ever-so handsome Choi Jonghoon, returned for the holidays, walked right in on that girl next door in the shower with his younger brother. At the time, Jonghoon was already eighteen.

Upon seeing him through the glassed shower, Junhee had let out a surprised squeak and immediately hugged Junhong in order to use him as a body shield. The rain shower was warm against their skins and it filled Jonghoon with the musky scents of soap and shampoo. Junhong had wrapped his arms around her bare waist like it was nothing and questioned her worriedly. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered into Junhong’s ears. The side of her exposed back, hips and slender legs were outlined as the front of Junhong’s lean body curved against hers (“Huh? Oh, hi hyung! You’re back!”).

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t sleepover at Junhong’s house!” Junhee’s mother looked traumatised in place of her giggling daughter.

Junhee shrugged over her dinner, pushing Junhong back in his seat when he tried to lean over to steal her french fries.

Jonghoon sighed over his dinner and watched the two pre-teens mess around, not at all listening to the adults’ lectures.

“Auntie, that is not the point,” fumed Jonghoon, eyes hard and filled with the kind of authority that made even his father fidget uncomfortably. “The point is, they are too old to be doing any of that. Forget showering, not even sleepovers should be allowed. Way too old.”

Jonghoon was training to be a lawyer. His father was a police officer—the kind who would rather assist senior citizens or kindergarteners cross the streets with a happy smile on his face.

Junhong’s mother’s brows knitted, “Really? When do kids usually stop showering together?”

All the adults were too caught up in their happy bubble to know what was going on in the real world.

Jonghoon looked disgruntled. “Ten? Twelve, at most.”

“Oh?” said Junhee’s mother, before turning to her best friend, “Wasn’t Junhee already ten when Junhong—”

“Oh, that’s right!” His mother clapped her hands joyfully, trading the topic of the conversation for her fond memories in only a matter of seconds, “Junhong was almost nine when we moved here!”

Jonghoon put his chopsticks down and one elbow on the table like that of an intimidating figure, “There you go. A mistake from the start.”

“Jonghoon-ah,” his father voiced out worriedly, hand reaching out towards his