Mr. Oh—I mean Sehun and I arrive at a Japanese restaurant and I take it that it’s probably twenty minutes away from the office, most likely. He gets us a private dining area where the room is set Japanese style—the table is short, the floor is carpet and there are cushions of red and black to sit on. Sehun takes off his shoes, showing his black socks and I immediately flush, trying to remember if I wore any embarrassing cartoon socks today. What did I choose this morning? He slips in his feet in a pair of white house slippers and I internally scream for my oblivion of what socks I’m wearing.

“Is there a problem, miss?” The receptionist asks me and I shake my head with a polite bow. I cringe for a moment and take off my shoes. When I look down, I see piglet on my socks and I feel my face heat up. I swear the receptionist is probably hiding his laughter and out of embarrassment I just quickly inserted my feet on each slipper.

When I enter the area, the receptionist tells us a waiter will be coming to attend to us and he slides the door close behind me. Mr. Oh—I mean Sehun, is giving me a full-fledged ‘checking everything’ kind of look and it makes me feel conscious about what I’m wearing. Maybe today is a bad day to wear a dress—not that its length is as short as my boss’ patience. I try to pull its skirt down, hoping for it to be longer that it is but of course it can’t magically grow an inch long. How uncomfortable would it be to be sitting on a floor when I’m wearing this? I groan inwardly due to frustration. I knew it. I should’ve worn those ripped jeans the moment I picked them first out of my closet.

He takes off the black coat over his shirt and hands them over to me. I look at it and shift my gaze on him, “Put it over your lap when you sit down,” He tells me and I hesitantly take it. He settles himself on a black cushion and sits with his legs crossed. I carefully sit across him, occupying a red cushion, and put the coat over my lap to cover my legs.

Mr. Oh—Sehun. Sehun. Sehun. Sehun. I mentally remind myself to call him that in my head so I can voice it out later. I have no idea why we’re eating lunch together and why he ordered me to call him by his first name. I find it so delicate I can’t even verbalize it. I can keep mentioning his first name in my head and feel that fuzz in me but to say it in an audible manner would probably tie my stomach in such perfect knots a boy scout would be envious. I stare at him—though I’m trying not to—as he punches his thumbs on the screen of his phone. He’s got such beautiful features and they just never go unnoticeable, not just to me but pretty much every female species breathing inside the office. He clears his throat, enough to distract me almost about to go through the perfection of his every fiber and I look away. It suddenly dawns to me that I am about to have lunch—a private one—with my boss. I find it weird but at the same time, I know there’s a gleeful girl inside with an annoying grin on her face.

“Who are we expecting sir?” I try to break the silence by asking him a question I didn’t want to ask because his answer might be of a girl’s name and I would be…disappointed, I guess. He finishes a text and then settles his phone on the table before looking at me. When his gaze lands on me, I bite my lower lip and I feel somehow intimidated.

“Other than the waiter, no one,” He tells me nonchalantly. I give him a look, an inquisitive kind of look, and I can tell by the way he let out a breath that he gets I’m curious and he needs a little bit of explaining why he’s eating lunch with his intern. Sehun places both of his hands on the table and intertwine them together and it’s enough sight for me to adore the perfection of his hands, “It’s not a date-date, just lunch with your boss. And I told you, call me Sehun.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why am I about to have lunch with my boss and why are you asking me to call you by your first name?” I mentally slap myself for not even having enough courage to say his name and instead call it his first name just because I think Sehun is such a holy word I am never worthy of mouthing.

Just when he opened his mouth to answer, a waiter comes in and disturbs us. He gives us a light bow and attends to us immediately. I don’t do the ordering even though Sehun asked me what I wanted. When I told him to anything is fine, I think he just ordered the entire menu. It took them about a little less than ten minutes but more than five to complete the ordering process which is kind of weird to me. I never take that long to order food. One thing I noticed though, Sehun has quite a preference when it comes to food. He probably asked the waiter five times about whatever is in the food he’s about to order, anything that sounds unhealthy, he crosses off and find another.

The waiter repeats our order and it almost sounded like a report—okay, that’s a bit exaggerated. And when he’s done, he tells us it will be served immediately. Sehun and I are left alone again.

“Are you always like this?” I ask.

“Always like what?” He asks, confused, apparently.

“I mean do you always watch what you eat?”

“I guess so?” He shrugs and yeah, he sounds unsure, “Did I sound like I always watch what I eat?”

“Sort of? I just think you took the food ordering way too seriously, but maybe it’s just me because I usually never order for myself. My brother does it for me,” I tell him and I’m quite startled with the amount of information I just expelled more than I should have. There’s this look on Sehun’s face that makes me think he found it entertaining that I talked that much, “Sorry,” I mutter.

“No. It’s alright,” He says and gives me a look, “You can…um…talk as much as you want,” And this is the next weirdest statement I have heard from him after ‘call me Sehun’. I feel sort of skeptical about this. Why is he being so nice? Why is it okay to talk as much as I want?

I clear my throat, “You still haven’t answered my question sir,” And I see the disappointment in his face when I call him sir instead of his first name. He gives me a look, “About me eating lunch with you and calling you by your first name,” I add.

“Because I want you to eat lunch with me and for the last time, call me Sehun,” He says and I cross my arms over my chest, still giving him a full fledged inquisitive look, my eyes darting on his face. I’m giving him the impression that I’m not convinced with that reason and even though it could be as simple as that, I’m not buying his short sentences. He releases a sigh and gives it up, “Alright. Fine, I’ll tell you,”

I wait.

“I just noticed that all I ever get to see is this…professional side of you, sort of,” He tells me and my mouth hangs open after he said ‘sort of’ what does he mean by that? He hums like he’s looking for the right words to say and I find it so damn cute of him, “So I figured, since you’re back and you practically have involved yourself with me more than I let anyone do, maybe it’s time we…” He trails off and I am looking at him wide-eyed and my stomach full on fuzz mode and at the same time tying in a million knots. We. We…what?

“We…” I urge him to continue, “What?”

“It’s about time we get to know each other. At least let me know a thing or two that’s not on your resume,” I don’t think I heard him right. I don’t say anything and I just stare at him. That statement means ‘we should be friends’ if I compress it into a short phrase. Is that it? He wants to be friends with me? Us? Friends? Somehow it makes me feel weird with the thought of being friends with him because I don’t see myself having a professional friend. Heck, a CEO’s son to be my friend. That’s pretty far-fetched for someone like me.

“So this is…you being friendly?” I manage to say. He cracks into a relieved smile and I’m questioning why I’m still alive and breathing when this perfect man across me had just smiled at me.

“Yes, exactly.” He tells me like I’ve got the correct answer to a nonexistent question, “I’m not used to this though…”

“Used to what? Making friends?”

“Not really. Just the set up and all,” I can’t help but smile at the fact that he’s being honest and I’m hearing his voice more minus the yelling and the orders and office commands. He gives a sheepish look and scratches the back of his head. Is it so bad that I love how he looks when he’s awkward? This is entirely a new sight. I bet the bosses would pay big money to see him all timid and shy in front of an intern.

“Well…I’m not used to this either,” I tell him, ending his misery by turning his awkwardness into a conversation, “The only professional people I’ve dined with are my brother and his friends. And they aren’t even that professional at all, you should see them eat when we’re together,” I say, matter-of-factly and my honesty gives him a sense of relieve, based on the ease expression of his face.

“I don’t usually dine with…” He trails off like he doesn’t know what word to say next and I don’t say anything and just wait for him to go on, “…interns. I don’t dine with anyone in the office unless it’s a meeting,”

“So does this mean we can talk comfortably now?” I ask him and he’s a bit taken aback by my question, “Since this isn’t a meeting and I’m not one of your clients or your professional colleagues and we’re outside the office?” I add.

“Yes, please. I’d like that,” He flashes me a warm smile and I just can’t help but beg for the floor to swallow me whole while my heartbeat ticks inside my chest like a bomb that’s about to explode any second now. Never in my life—for the past weeks I’ve been around that office—would I have thought tha