[Year 23]

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She shook her head, several loose strands of hair that slipped out from her messy bun following the motion.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

I groaned when her earnest eyes met with mine and the truth swirling within was all that I saw. She’s not kidding; Jen isn’t joking. Dammit.

“Fine… Let’s go.”

And a dazzling smile splashed onto her face, instantly brightening her countenance and I couldn’t help but crack a miniscule smile when she latched onto me and dragged me to the porch.

“Do you think Yixing would like this?”

I glanced up from my phone, eyes reluctantly tearing themselves away from my (failing) level of Candy Crush. Those damned candies won’t be destroyed no matter what I did; I should probably uninstall this bloody game (said that one too many times but I never did). Her doubtful expression greeted me and I dropped my gaze to the blue checked shirt she had held up in one hand.

I nodded. “He would.” And I went back to the game. The five-candy destroyer of candies just couldn’t be formed; is this game rigged or what ugh.

“Oi, you are not here to play Candy Crush! You’re here to offer your opinion on what present I could get for Yixing’s birthday next month!” I heard her huffy whine, my eyes catching a blurred image of her folding of her arms in my peripheral vision. Again, the formation of the destroyer eluded me and I would have thrown my phone onto the white tiled floors of the men’s section of some clothing store she had dragged me into at the mall in utter frustration if not for a hand that appeared and snatched it away from me.

“Hey!” My head snapped up, eyes narrowing as I made grabby hands at my phone. She promptly lifted it out of my reach and dammit why am I shorter (a few centimetres only actually) than she is!? “Give it back!”

She stuck out her tongue and shoved my phone into one of her jeans’ back pockets. There we go. How was I supposed to retrieve the gadget without looking like someone who goes round groping girls’ butts. Great. Just. Great.

“You’re horrible.” I sulked, arms folding across my chest and I slumped back against a pillar as she went back to sifting through the rack of checked shirts. I probably should tell her that Yixing-hyung would very much prefer a simple home-cooked birthday dinner instead shirts that make one look like a farmer. (No offense to farmers worldwide, and to checked shirt lovers.) “Yixing-hyung would chide you for treating me like this.”

“He wouldn’t,” She replied, as her hands emerge with a red checked shirt this time and I mentally cringed. The image of Farmer Yixing-hyung surfaced in my mind and I barely managed to stifle a snigger before her judging eyes darted to me. “Something funny you’d like to share, Kim Jongdae?”

“Nope.” I mouthed, fingers reaching upwards to do a zipping action and for safety precautions, I threw the imaginary key away. Her satisfied (and smug) visage sent relief coursing through my body and I relaxed.

Leaning my head against the pillar, I watched as she diligently continued to ransack the same rack. Her brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as she would sometimes pull out two pieces of clothing to compare, pupils flitting between the two as her mind (probably) listed out the pros and cons of the shirts.

All this thinking just to buy a single shirt. I do not understand females (or Jen specifically).

“Which one would you like?” Her voice cut my thoughts short and I found the previous blue checked shirt as well as the red super-farmerish checked shirt shoved in my face. I must have made a look, for she pulled both shirts away seconds later and a slight frown had formed. “Well?”

I pursed my lips and lazily dragged my eyes between the two. Her eyes were on me, that I could feel but moments later, the searching gaze heated up into a fierce glare. “I do not have all day to stand here and wait for you to decide! Just tell me which one you would like!”

“I don’t like both.” My monotonous answer slipped out of my lips before I could register, but the annoyance laced in those words travelled to my ears loud and clear. Her round eyes told me that she had heard it too and she replied with a subdued oh I see.

She hung the two shirts back onto the rack and walked away. For a few seconds, my eyes trailed after her as she made her way to another rack but her mood had drastically dropped. The enthusiasm of picking out Yixing-hyung’s present had waned and I mentally slapped my forehead when I belatedly realised that I was the one who caused her to be like that. Sighs, you’re the horrible one, Jongdae-ah.

Pushing myself off the pillar, I carded a hand through my hair and traipsed after her. If she knew that I had approached her, she didn’t acknowledge my presence. I was fine with that, somehow. So I sifted through the rack and a white shirt with the words Just keep trying, trying, trying printed on the front stood out to me. I threw it at her and a soft, surprised shriek broke the silence between us.

“Yixing-hyung would like that.”

She pulled the shirt off her head and immediately straightened it out, eyes flitting left and right as she read the words. The corners of her lips began to tug upwards, millimetre by millimetre, and when she lifted her head up, a grateful smile had formed. It was just a smile, yet it dispelled my sulky mood in an instance. Twenty-three years and I still can’t seem to