You stare at the wall in front of you. White. Blank. You're not a big fan of memorabilia. You don't collect souvenirs from holidays you've spent somewhere else. So, essentially, there isn't anything interesting on that wall. Yet, you're still staring at it, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Why?

Because of a few words Bambam uttered, a question that left his mouth, spoken into his phone, traveling all the way to you. You, sitting on your bed and staring at the wall. You, who is suddenly nervous, because the decisions you make always come back to haunt you and the decisions you don't make, come back ten times harder.

“Have you already talked to your parents about it?” Bambam sounds so soft spoken and you can imagine the brightness of his eyes and his grin. The expectancy in his voice forces you down in every imaginable way. Makes you sink down onto your bed, your eyes downcast, your mood dropping.

“I- I haven't had the chance yet”, you confess. It's only a half-lie. You haven't had the chance yet because you didn't try. The thought didn't even enter your mind if you were to be honest, but you aren't honest and you feel really bad because of it.

Bambam is silent for a moment. You hear his breath on the other side of the line and it makes your heart constrict in your chest, painfully, making you want to apologize.

“But-”, you stumble over your words, trying to come up with something. To somehow make it better. “You can come over tonight and we can have dinner with my parents.”

It's not the best idea you've ever had, but it's better than nothing.

“Juyeon...” Bambam sounds surprised for a second before he finishes his sentence. “I would love to have dinner with you and your parents. It would be an honor.”

You smile at his response, his words that sound so proper and polite. It makes you feel better about yourself, about your half-lie, about you being dishonest.

“Ok, I will text you the time”, you mumble, closing your eyes for a second. You hesitate for a moment then you open your mouth again. “And can you wear something blue?”

Bambam lets out an embarrassed laugh at your words. Were you being too cheesy with your request? Too straight forward? You shake your head, staring at the white wall instead.

“I will”, Bambam then promises earnestly. Red starts to blossom on your cheeks like flowers in springs. “But only if you wear something blue, too.”

“I can do that”, you stutter, feeling the heat on your cheeks.

Bambam has to hang up after that, though he hangs up with the promise of calling you again and wearing something blue this evening, it is enough to make you feel giddy.

You text your mom after that. A friend of yours finally coming over is probably a dream come true for her and indeed, her response is positive. Still, you let out a sigh of relief at her 'yes'. The only thing that she reminds you of is to stock up the fridge, you don't have enough ingredients to make actual dinner. Salad would be nice, maybe some chicken.

Slipping into your coat, you hum a little melody and then skid down the stairs like a little kid. What you see then makes you halt, freeze up in your tracks. It's the sight of your sister and Mark sitting at the dinner table that is covered with books.

Are they studying? Together?

You pause for a second.

Mark must've felt your stare. Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes don't meet yours. It's like yesterday in the library didn't happen. He's giving you the cold shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Your sister's voice breaks you out of your thoughts, drags you back to reality. A situation that you're not willing to face…Yet.

“Grocery store”, you mumble, then, putting more strength into your voice, “Mom told me to buy some ingredients because...” You hesitate for a moment, the words not wanting to leave your mouth. “Because Bambam is coming over for dinner.”

You don't want to rub it in. You don't want to make Mark feel uncomfortable, but honesty is the best policy, isn't it?

You shoot Mark a quick glance. He's still focusing on the papers in front of him. When you look back at your sister though, you can tell that she's thinking about something. Then her face lights up and she breaks out into a smile.

“Mark can come, too.”

Her words knock the air out of your lungs.

Mark can come, too?

You grimace and then quickly stop yourself, putting on a polite smile that is directed at both your sister and Mark. You don't know why, but somehow you're reluctant. You don't really want Mark to be there. To be here. With you. Your family. And Bambam.

“We- We are going to be a lot of people then”, you voice out your objection lamely. An objection that isn't even entirely accurate. You're just two people more. Your mom would probably jump around in circles at the prospect of having people over, thinking that she could somehow get you to expand your circle of friends.

Your sister clicks her tongue. “If Bambam is allowed to come here, Mark being here shouldn't be a problem”, she argues. And she's right. It shouldn't, but it is. Well kind of for you, anyways.

You stifle a small sigh at that. “Ok, but make sure to text mom then.”

She rolls her eyes, waving her hand at you. “You know what? I'm gonna call her right now and ask her.” She looks at her watch and reads the time. “She's probably on her break anyways.”

She then turns to Mark with a sweet smile. “You're fine with staying over for dinner, right?” Before he can answer she beams at him. “Just give me a second.”

And with that she stands up to leave the room.

With your sister hastily leaving to make a call, it's only Mark and you. As always, he doesn't care whether it's silent or not, whether someone is saying something or not. He just sits there, quietly and for a second you wonder what your sister, who is more on the talkative side, sees in him. Does she even see below the superficial surface? Does she seek out what is buried behind his good looks? And, more importantly, did you?

Not wanting to think about it, you open your mouth, blurting out a few words.

“What- What do you like to eat?”

It's not the most intelligent thing you've ever asked, not a profound, deep question, but you hope that it can break the ice at least somewhat. For your own sake and for Mark's.

However, said person doesn't react at first. Doesn't even shrug lazily, doesn't look at you.

“Nothing in particular.”

You gulp. Apparently, the ice breaker didn't really work, but when you want to give up, ready to turn around and go, your sister returns.

“Guess what?” she asks, looking at you with raised eyebrows. Then, without waiting for your answer, she continues in an 'I-told-you-so'-voice, “Mom said yes.”

You force a smile at her words. “That's... great. The more the merrier, isn't it?”

You don't want to admit it, you don't want to stay it out loud, but Mark being here would increase the awkwardness tenfold, make everything more uncomfortable and you had somehow hoped that your mom would say no. She could've. She should've. It would have been nice if she had.

Your sister plops down onto her seat again and smiles at Mark. Then, as if thinking of something, she lifts her head again and looks at you.

“Let's eat pasta tonight, okay?”

You don't even bother arguing.

**

When you arrive at the store, the first thing you think of is Youngjae. You can't help it. The memories of his honey-blond hair, of standing next to him in the sweets aisle sneak into your mind and you can't help but stifle a small smile as you walk down where the pasta sauce is.

It's not really sophisticated, but a simple cheese sauce can never go wrong. You grab two jars and put them into the shopping cart, then you push it to the next aisle. When you get around the corner, you halt in your tracks.

Standing just a few meters away from you, is not Youngjae, but Yugyeom, weighing two sachets in his hands. You don't dare let out a breath, tempted to just make a U-turn and pretend that you didn't see him. Then he turns slightly, his cold eyes meet yours. Yet again, they make you shiver, render you immobile. You bite your lip, every chance of pretending now seeming silly.

Your mind flashes back to the last time you were in the studio together. His fierce expression and harsh words. Does he even remember what he accused you of? He probably doesn't.

You quickly utter a quiet 'hello'. His gaze is still fixated on you, but no words leave his mouth. You nod and then awkwardly try to maneuver the shopping cart around, away from him.

When you've made it two aisles further, you get your response. Yugyeom's loud yell echoes through the store.

“Come to class tomorrow.”

You freeze, just as he pauses. “K wants you to come back.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest at the mention of the friendly girl, the mentor, the instructor whom you've only talked to briefly but had managed to charm you with her laid back attitude and cute grin. At the same time, though, you want to roll your eyes.

Is that everything Yugyeom has to say? Come to class tomorrow. It's not an apology, not even a question, just another one of his rude commands that you're supposed to obey. Obey without questioning it. And it's not like he's saying he wants you back. No, he just doesn't want to be on bad terms with his senior.

How nice.

You shake your head a little, looking at the floor. Do his words even deserve an answer?

Yet... You miss dancing. Sweating. Practicing. Feeling the music in your body. The rhythmic vibration in the spacious studio.

But do you miss it enough to just brush over Yugyeom's words and ignore the hurt he caused you?

**

You're still in the kitchen, standing in front of the hob, when the doorbell rings. You quickly take the pot of the stove and hurry to the front door. Opening it, you stare right at a colorful bouquet. Flowers that you can't even name arranged in a beautiful selection. A small gasp escapes you at the sight.

“Hey.” Bambam peers at you from behind the flowers. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Your eyes crinkle in amusement and you wipe your hands against your apron. “Thank you for coming.”

You step aside to let him in, registering with a smile that he is indeed wearing blue. Blue, just like you.

“I bought some flowers for you and some chocolate for your parents. I don't know if they like chocolate, but if you want to you can also have the chocolate and I'll just give your parents the flowers...”

You giggle at Bambam's awkward rambling as you show him where to put his shoes and his coat.

“You shouldn't have gotten them anything. It's okay, really.”

He puts his coat on the wardrobe and then turns to you. “I'm a bit nervous to be honest”, he confesses, staring at you with an air of silent desperation. “I don't want to give them a bad impression.”

For the first time in forever, it seems, the situation is completely different. It's you who feels in her element, at home, cooking and it's Bambam who is anxious and nervous. The thought makes you smile a bit. You decide to make him feel at ease.

“My parents are really easy-going”, you say, looking at him. His bright eyes are wide and his blond hair is neatly combed to the side.

“The worst thing you can expect is... probably a lame joke?”

Bambam seems relieved. He lets out a small breath and then holds up the bouquet. “Ok, where should I put the flowers? Do you have a vase somewhere?”

You scan the flowers. You would probably need three vases for that. Still, you show Bambam to the kitchen where you search through the cupboards to finally produce a big glass vase. Surprisingly enough, he manages to fit the flowers into it. Putting the chocolate down on the cupboard, you notice the label. An expensive confectioner that sells candy at exorbitant prizes.

What else did you expect?

“We're having pasta”, you say, washing your hands under the tap. “Pasta with cheese sauce.” You turn around to look at him. “I hope that's ok?”

Bambam nods. “Yes, sure. If you made it, I would probably eat anything.” He grins. You shake your head and then go on to stir the sauce.

That's when your cell phone vibrates in your pocket. “Sorry”, you say, checking it quickly, still stirring. It's a text from your mother, saying that your parents are going to be a few minutes late.

You tell Bambam about it with an apologetic smile. It's typical of your parents, they bicker a lot which tends to prolong everything, whether it's going to the store or coming back from work.

“Well, we can already set the table”, you propose. “If you don't mind giving me a hand.”

Bambam smiles at that. “I don't mind getting my hands a bit dirty.”

You break out into an embarrassed grin after his words, hitting his shoulder ever so lightly. “The plates aren't dirty anyway”, you say, laughing.

You open a cupboard to reveal six plates, after that a drawer with cutlery in it. Bambam takes it from your hands and you show him the dining room.

Mark and your sister are still sitting there. At the sound of you entering, your sister looks up. A wicked smile on her face, she her eyebrow as she glances over at Bambam, clicking her tongue as she notices Bambam and you wearing matching colors.

“Hey Bambam”, she greets. Bambam greets her back politely and then looks at Mark.

“Good to see you”, Bambam says to Mark. Said boy looks up in time to see Bambam's wink directed at him. You cringe at the corny gesture while your sister chuckles.

“Give us a second”, she says, “We'll put the books away so you can set the table.”

“Ok.” You nod at her, quite surprised by how friendly she is today. Maybe it's Mark's presence that is making her calmer?

You put the cutlery down on the table as your sister and Mark get their books. When they go upstairs, you start putting the forks and spoons on the respective places.

When you're done, you get back into the kitchen. Bambam offers to grate the cheese and you accept it gratefully. “It should be done in a few minutes”, you say, looking at the noodles in the simmering water.

You feel Bambam's eyes on you and turn around. He catches your gaze and you bite your lip. You're not even in close proximity. He's at one side of the kitchen, you're on the other, yet you feel yourself warming up, a familiar blush spreading on your cheeks. A reaction caused by Bambam's mere smile, by his mere glance, a glance from his bright eyes that always manages to make your heart flutter.

“Stop staring or I'm gonna burn the sauce”, you threaten playfully, but making no move to return to the stove. Your apron is still tied around your waist, lightly wrapped around your body.

“You seem like such an expert cook”, Bambam finally says. “I...” He hesitates for a second, his face becoming red. Rubbing his neck, he shakes his head. “Ah, no, it's too embarrassing.”

Your eyes get wide, curiosity awakened by Bambam not completing his sentence. “What?” you ask.

He shuts his eyes close and shakes his head again, turning around. “I'm not gonna say it.”

“Say what?” you ask deliberately, trying to get the words out of him, trying to coax him. “Tell me.”

“You just look so cute standing there with your apron”, he finally blurts out, giving in, his cheeks fiery red. He puts his hands against them as you laugh a little, embarrassed by his comment, then you sheepishly stare at the floor. Time seems to stop for a moment.

It's only when you hear the sound of the key moving in the lock that you look up again.

A/N: Sorry, really haven't been in the mood lately... I'm not feeling very inspired these days, sorry.