995 words

You walked into the dorm’s kitchen in search of some cold, refreshing, water, in order to soothe your dry throat and keep you awake a bit longer. Though it wasn't due for another two weeks, you really wanted to finish up your Economics project. And you didn't want coffee because at that late at night you got the jitters in your arm, and it was not pleasant.

You stood just inside of the entrance numbly for five seconds until you noticed the sizzle coming from where the stoves were, and the scraping of wooden spatula against pan.

When you looked up, a tall man was pouring a lot of sesame oil, even for you, into a pot and stir frying steak cutlets at the same time.

You walked past him, taking a glass from the cupboards above the granite counter. As you were filling it with the cold water from your pitcher in the fridge, you looked at him again. He seemed familiar, which wasn't strange. Your dorms were co-ed and students in your university were placed in the same dorms all four years for convenience. And you were already in the March of your second year. But wasn't 2:30 in the morning a bit late- or early- to be cooking?

You swallowed your water a bit too quickly when you recognized him, getting his attention when you choked.

His first expression was like a deer caught in headlights. Then it softened into a lazy one. “Hi!” he said, smiling, way too cheerily. “Who are you?”

He was slurring his words, you noticed, before answering.

“Huh. Nice name. I’m-”

“I know who you are,” you cut in. “You're Kim Seokjin-sunbaenim. We've been in the same Economics class for the last two years.”

He looked mildly surprised, before blinking hard. “Oh. I'm very oblivious when I drink.”

You nodded, placing your now empty cup in the sink. There were a few moments of wordlessness as you washed it and placed it upside down on the drying rack. He continued to make what you deduced to be seaweed soup, a strange late night snack.

You were about to leave the kitchen, when he suddenly said, “Wait, you're that girl who skipped the first year of Eco, aren't you?”

You looked back at him quizzically. “Yeah. Why?”

“Come eat this with me. I can't eat the entire thing by myself,” he responded, turning the stove off and ladling soup into two large bowls.

“I’ve got to work on the project though-” you began.

He waved his hand. “You probably haven't eaten.” He giggled. “That's bad. Bad bad. You're a bad girl.”

You sighed, figuring that he'd probably end up dropping something, because awkward people like sober him were very inclined to drop stuff, if your older sister and her friends were anything to go by.

Once you were in your seat, he pressed a pair of chopsticks and a spoon into your hand, his warm fingers grazing your palm before he withdrew his arm. “I-” He hiccuped. “I was supposed to do the pwo-project wid you,” he said. “But you were absent the day she assigned it, so I got clumped with Yoongi and Jongdae.” He waved his hands. “Don't get me wrong. They- hic- they're my friends. But I can't work with them, you know?”

You pointed to the food with your chopsticks. “Is this normal for you?” you asked.

“Try it,” he insisted. “Anyways, we all just got drunk today instead of working and I only drank because they kept insisting and said I wasn't a man if I couldn't drink well. I mean, just because I like pink and cute things it doesn't mean I'm not a man.”

A snort of laughter almost escaped you, but you quickly stifled it.

“You're cute too. I never told you that, you know? I thought I'd get to when we worked on the project but you weren't there.” He pouted, resting his head between his hands. “Am I cute?” he asked, blinking his eyelashes and doing bunny ears to himself.

This time a laugh did escape.

“Wow,” he said. “I've never heard you laugh. It's so twinkly. Like stars. Your eyes too.”

You took a spoonful of the broth, and he placed some rice and a piece of beef on top before you could put it in your mouth. And it was ridiculously good.

“I'm the best, right? But no one notices.” He looked down. “But I noticed you. You like to put those squishy stickers on your folder and laptop, and you make a decoden phonecase every two months. I hadn't known your name until the project because you're so quiet. But you're a lot cuter and friendlier than you let on, I think.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

“And you like to wear colored contacts behind those frames of yours too.” He turned red. “But don't behind your bangs. I can't observe you properly.”

“I-” you started.

“And you seem kind of lonely,” he finished. “It breaks my heart.” He reached out his hand. “I'll be your friend.”

You eyed it before asking, “Will you cook for me, because this is super good.”

He beamed. “Sure!”

You paused. “We can be partners for the project if you finish it up with me.” You wondered why you were doing this. Maybe you’d noticed him too, how he liked to wear t-shirts and jeans, how his lower lip was much fuller than his upper, and how he was kind of eating like an alpaca.

“Really?” He preened, before scrambling, patting his pockets. He pulled out his phone. “Here, give me your number.”

As you typed it in, he continued. “So, tomorrow? At three? Here?”

You nodded. That sounded fine.

“So it’s a date, then” he said happily. When he saw your startled expression, he laughed. “A work date, a work date.”

“Sure.”

He looked down again, and you could've sworn you heard him whisper to himself, “It’s a date.”