Weekends are made of video games and junk food – a lot of it. The coffee table is cluttered with scattered fragments of crushed potato chips, empty soda cans, and stacked pizza boxes.

Jongin’s parents are out for the night, and the two boys have the house to themselves.

Luhan dips his head back into the plush cushions on the sofa, sighing as the words YOU LOSE flash on his half of the television screen, jeering at his lousy game play. He wouldn’t consider himself bad at playing Halo, but Jongin was one hell of a sneaky sharpshooter. Luhan racks up a grand total of nine defeats and one measly win by the end of the night.

Jongin props his legs up on the coffee table, feet knocking over an empty plastic cup, brandishing a self-satisfied and unabashed toothy smile.

‘Wipe that cocky grin off your face, Kim Jongin,’ Luhan threatens. Jongin decides not to tell the older boy that he can’t take him seriously with his hair ruffled up like that, gravity-defying cowlicks sticking up at awkward angles. Luhan is sulking with his controller in his lap, sitting crosslegged amongst a dozen crumpled potato chip packages litering the sofa.

‘Why? Does it bother you?’ Jongin jests, chuckling brazenly. He lies back leisurely, putting his hands behind his head. Ah, to bask in the glory of defeating Luhan. No matter how many times Jongin manages to singlehandedly pulverize the older boy at Halo (or any video game, really – just name it), it never gets old.

His thoughts are interrupted when a cushion comes flying right into his face.

‘You won just because you got lucky,’ Luhan claims, arms folded.

‘Did I ‘get lucky’ the past… thirty-seven times too?’ Jongin asks, unable to fight back the laugh that comes tumbling deep from his gut. ‘Not that I’m keeping count or anything.’

Luhan brings his hands to his face, massaging his temples, because thirty-seven times? He’d pressumed that the younger boy would have lost count at fifteen.

‘It’s not your fault you keep losing, hyung. It’s me,’ Jongin confesses, sighing regretfully. ‘I’m just too good.’

Luhan sends another cushion airborne, aiming straight for Jongin’s patronizing smile. The thing is, although Jongin’s virtual shots rarely miss, Luhan has a hell of a throw.

‘Whatever, let’s go again,’ Luhan challenges, placing his feet on the carpet and resting his elbows on his knees, his controller fitted comfortably in his hands. ‘I’m so gonna win this time.’

Jongin has to choke back a laugh, but he picks up his controller again and easily finds the restart button onscreen, ‘Alright, you’re on.’

They battle like this, sharing the sofa, shouting at the screen occasionally whenever they narrowly manage to escape virtual death.

‘Hyung, you’re making this easy…’ Jongin warns, as his character creeps up from behind, shotgun loaded, barrel angled straight for the chest of Luhan’s character. He is a moment away from pulling the trigger with a push of a button, but then his controller is gone, swiped from his possession.

Jongin opens his mouth in protest, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an oof! as he has the wind knocked out of him, Luhan’s body weight crashing down on his chest. 

Luhan lets out a comically diabolical laugh having seized hold of Jongin’s controller, waving it in the air victoriously.

‘I told you I’d win!’ Luhan announces smugly, sending Jongin’s character toppling over the edge of a cliff. Nothing spells utter defeat better than a character suicide.

‘Hyung! You cheated!’ Jongin gasps from under Luhan in disbelief.

‘Uh, yeah, that’s the point,’ Luhan winks. ‘I know all your weaknesses!’