“Trust me,” Chanyeol said as he slapped seven bars of soap into the microwave. The poor old thing was a 2006 edition, barely alive, and dearly loved in spite of its tendency to cook things unevenly. The crew had fondly named it Mimi, despite Baekhyun's protests and Kyungsoo's scowls.

Chanyeol gave it an affectionate pat with his hand. That disgusting grin of his was so broad it threatened to split his entire face.

Jongin stood at the opposite side of the kitchen, a deep frown was on his face. He crossed his arms and had a very hard time trusting anything Chanyeol deemed safe.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Zitao asked. He was propped up on their kitchen counter, feet dangling freely off the surface. The dark circles under his eyes were even deeper today, as he’d spent the entire night playing Assassin’s Creed in a dim room with Sehun. He scrutinized the microwave, eyes glazed with suspicious curiosity.

“Of course it’s okay," Chanyeol hummed. "I saw a show about this last week, it was a documentary," Chanyeol sniffed importantly. “They only used one bar, but it was a smashing success, and besides,” he sent the microwave an affectionate look. “Our Mimi here can handle anything. She even heats those awful stews of Junmyeon’s without spontaneously combusting. She's the right microwave for the job.”

Chanyeol crossed the room in two strides – Jongin made a face at those gross, long legs – and grabbed his phone off the kitchen table. The Samsung was barely three weeks old, but already had a giant crack in the center after connecting with the bathroom floor. Chanyeol kept saying it “flew off the sink,” but Jongin was 99 % sure Chanyeol had dropped it while ting and playing Bejeweled.

“Now,” Chanyeol said seriously as he held the phone out to Jongin. “I need you to record this.” He pointed offhandedly at the microwave, giving Jongin a very serious look. “Sehun's vine – the one of Kris exploding a watermelon - is all over the internet. It went viral after two days. We can’t let them win, we have to do better.”

Jongin had no time to protest, and soon found himself clutching Chanyeol’s cracked cellphone. He opened his mouth halfheartedly, watching dumbly as Chanyeol started the timer on Mimi the microwave. All three boys soon took cover behind the table, Zitao complaining loudly as he was shoved unecessarily hard against the refrigerator. Chanyeol shushed him, and forced Jongin to record their experiment’s progress.

Now, if the boys had used one bar of soap, like in that documentary Chanyeol was so proud of watching, things might have gone well.

If they had used a microwave that was not on the verge of bitter destruction, things might also have gone well.

“Woops,” Chanyeol said as the microwave exploded.

Bits of rusted metal sailed through the air, shards of glass rained down on them, and the soap expanded like a rapidly growing elephant. Zitao yelped helplessly as his outfit was ruined right before their wide eyes. Jongin gave a high pitched shriek, ducking desperately out of the angry force's way, and if it had been any other situation, Chanyeol would have guffawed himself to oblivion. As it were, Chanyeol had tucked himself under the kitchen table, crumpling into an awkward pose, long legs and arms wrapping protectively around his body.  The soap continued to grow in front of them, and a foul smell began to settle over the room like an uncomfortable mist. Jongin wrinkled his nose, feeling slightly sick.

“Are you still recording?” Chanyeol asked from underneath the table. It seemed the explosion had lowered the volume of his voice a bit, but maybe Jongin’s hearing had been harmed.

“You ,” Jongin hissed, not gracing him with a reply to his question. He stumbled out from behind his hiding spot, and was about to engage in a long tirade of insults, but every word died abruptly on his tongue. As his arms fell to his side, Jongin scanned the kitchen with stunned eyes.

“Oh my god,” Zitao whimpered from behind him. “Kyungsoo is going to murder us.”

There was no sign left of Mimi the microwave. Its spot on the counter was now empty save for an angry brown stain, and a ten foot cloud of bubbles that only seemed to grow. The seven bars of soap had expanded so much that all its contents were now spread across the kitchen. The counter, the cupboards, the sink – all of it was covered in white foam and a thick layer of bubbly goo.

Jongin’s grip on the cellphone weakened, and it clattered to the ground.

Chanyeol finally emerged from under the table. His hair was a wicked mess, and he took in the scenery with critical eyes. “This certainly could have gone worse,” he mused, before slipping in one of the puddles. His foot found no purchase in the polished tiles, and Jongin felt no sympathy for him when he collided with the floor.

As Chanyeol struggled to get back on his feet, Jongin found support by the refrigerator. He held on for dear life, desperately trying to find a way to undo this before…

“We’re home!”

Junmyeon’s voice echoed down the hallway, and Jongin whipped his head around. His eyes met Zitao’s, and the terror reflected in them made Jongin so sick he could have puked right there and then. He did a pathetic attempt at gathering himself as the sound of footsteps came closer, but to no avail. 

“We couldn’t find the ice cream, but we bought avocadoes, and that’s almost the same thi-“

Jongin had never seen Junmyeon’s face in that shade before. He had to be supported by Baekhyun as his face slowly went from pink to grey. 

Kyungsoo looked unshaken, except his nostrils were flared, and they all knew he was the most lethal of the group.

At least Chanyeol’s Vine ended up on the first page.