You hadn’t been with Jackson long, you’d only been on a few proper dates, but you practically spend all your free time together and things are going well. He wants all of your attention 24/7 which is fine with you. Well, most of the time.

“Jackson Wang, if you don’t let me work, I swear to god you’ll regret it,” you say while he pokes you in the sides. He’d been in rare form all day. He wouldn’t stop touching you, which, at literally any other time, you would love, but you’d put off writing a paper for your World Religions class for 2 weeks and it’s due tomorrow. You told Jackson when he’d called earlier that if he came over, he’d have to behave and be quiet. This needs to get done.

He’d last all of 20 minutes before he started playing with your hair, “what? I’m stimulating brain cells, Y/N!”

Then he moved to your shoulders, kneading and massaging, “babe, you’re so tense! You can’t write if you’re tense.”

He kissed your neck, “Y/N, please play with me.”

And when you wouldn’t give in to his ministrations, “why are you being like this to me? Don’t you like me anymore?”

To be honest, you are about 2 seconds from punching him in the throat and then he began poking you. You issue your warning, but it’s too late, he’s committed to driving you insane. “You can take a break. You’ve been working on this ‘paper’ all day. You need to relax. Let me help you.” He gives you a look and, you can admit, it’s pretty hot, but you can’t. This paper is worth 30% of your grade and you are already kicking yourself for starting it so late.

You spin your chair to look at him. “Jackson, seriously, I can’t. I told you, I need to do this today. Why don’t you go hang out with the guys? I’m sure Mark or Jaebum would love to play with you.” His face goes carefully blank, like it does when he’s really hurt by something and you feel like , but you have to write this paper. “I can call you when I’m done and we can watch a movie or something.”

But you see it in his eyes, mischief. He moves slowly toward you. “Jackson,” you say warily, “stop.” He keeps coming. “Jackson, please. Do you want me to fail?”

“No, I just want you to pay as much attention to me as you are Buddhism.” And he pounces. He pulls you out of your chair and you’re on the ground before you can even scream. He starts tickling you; he’s relentless. You beg him to stop. You tell him you’re going to pee if he doesn’t stop, but he just says, “so pee,” and keeps going.

You know, he wants this tickle fight to end in fooling around, but you are so not in the mood. “Babe, please,” you say between gasps, “I can’t breathe. It hurts.” He stops. You take in big breaths and try to un-bunch your muscles and relax.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You reach up and cup his face, “I know you didn’t, but I have to get back to work now. I will gladly and enthusiastically play with you tonight.”

He nods, but as soon as you move to get up, he drops his head onto your stomach and you let out the loudest, longest fart you think you have ever farted in your life.

You want to die. You want to crawl in a hole and die. You are frozen. Like maybe if you don’t move he can’t see you. Admittedly, this might be difficult as you’d gone as red as a stoplight. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe he thinks he did it. It’s not that big of a deal right? Psh, what’s a fart? People fart all the time. It’s not a big deal. It’s not. Play it cool. Accept the fart.

He slowly lifts up his head and says, “babe…did you just fart?”

You panic, your 5 seconds of hurried mental preparation fly out the window, “nope. Did you?”

He gives you a look and then he does the greatest thing you think you have ever witnessed in your life: he nods his head and says, “yeah, maybe I did.” He knows he didn’t and you definitely know he didn’t. You want to kiss him, but you’re not sure if that’s the best idea. And suddenly, you’re laughing. Tears are rolling down the sides of your face.

“Woah, are you sure you want to do that, Y/N? You might have another one in there and I’m in the line of fire.”

You slap at him, but you’re lying down and all the strength seems to have left your body so you miss and laugh harder. He starts laughing too and collapses next to you.

When you finally calm down and start to breathe normally, you turn your head to look at him. He’s smiling and looking content. You smile at him and say, “you’re amazing. You know that?”

He brushes your hair out of your face, “yes. Yes, I do.”

This time you do hit him. Would it be weird to tell him that I love him after I farted on him? You decide that your ‘I love you’ is probably best saved for another time.

“You’re pretty amazing, too—“he gets close to you and moves in for a kiss, but he stops centimeters from your face—“I think you could win the Fart Olympics this year, babe. I’ll be your coach and someone will finally dethrone Jinyoung. It’s been his for too long. He needs to be taken down a peg.”

You push back from him, “excuse me?—“your voice rises questionably high—“Fart Olympics? You guys are so weird. I refuse to take part in the Fart Olympics.” You bury your face in your hands. “Why do I love you?” It slips out before you can catch it. Why is this happening? First the fart and now the ‘I love you’?? I don’t have time for this I have to write a paper! You press your hands hard on your face and will your body to sink through the floor.

He reaches over and takes your hands from your face—“Y/N, did you just say that you love me?”

He’s looking down at you, but you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, I guess I did. Don’t make it weird though.”

He puts his hands on either side of your face—“look at me, please. Do you really love me?” He searches your face, taking in every movement you make.

You lock your eyes on his—“duh—“he kisses you. It starts intense and thorough, but gradually fades into sweetness. He lightly the sides of your face and you rub your hands over his chest and play with the neck of his shirt.

He pulls back just a little—“tell me. Say it, Y/N. I want to hear it.”

His eyes are sparkling, his cheeks are pink and his lips are red and swollen. He’s beautiful. “I love you, Jackson.”

He smiles, “even when I’m driving you crazy?—“you nod—“even when I make you fart?—“another slap—“ow! Even when I’m keeping you from writing your paper?”

“Yah!” you scream and push him off of you. “How dare you distract me, Jackson Wang?” You bolt to your chair and immediately start writing.

Jackson lets out a sigh and gets off the floor. “I guess, I’m gonna go then—“you grunt in response—“call me when you’re done. We can watch that movie or whatever—“you wave one hand back at him, the other still typing—“oh, I almost forgot,” he says and you jump in your seat because his mouth is right by your ear, “I love you, too.” He pecks the top of your head.

You smile and say, “alright, go on, get out of here.”

He walks backwards toward the door. “I love you, Y/N. I love you. I love you.”

You haven’t stopped smiling and shake your head, “you’re dumb.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dumb.”

You let out a chuckle. “Jackson, really, I have to work now.”

“Tell me one more time.” You shoot him a look. “Just one more time and I promise I’ll leave.”

“I’m not going to stop loving you between now and tonight. Maybe I shouldn’t wear it out.”

“Don’t be like that—“he tilts his head to the side and opens his eyes wide—“please, Y/N.”

“Ugh, whoever said you couldn’t do cute clearly doesn’t know anything. Alright! I love you.”

“It doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

“Get out! Get out of my apartment!” You get up and start physically pushing him out the door.

“Is this any way to treat the love of your life? Why are you like this to me?”

You finally get him out and you lock the door. You go back to your seat and try to focus on the Buddha. You faintly hear, “she loves me,” outside your door.

You smile, “yeah, I really do.”