6

A few ground rules were established after the bed matter:

Number 1: Do not tell anyone else about this without unanimous agreement.

I still do not know if Jongin would want to tell his girlfriend, though at this point it seems rather inevitable. At the very least, he’ll tell his friends. I’m preparing for that.

Number 2: Never leave the condo at the same time, except for when we have to meet our parents. (They’ll probably force us into a chauffeured car together.) Then, make sure no one we know is around before we exit. (The first rule may nullify this one.)

Number 3: If one of us brings someone else home (we shouldn't, but just in case), the other will either make themselves busy or leave the premises.

I truly hope I will not have to wash the bedsheets or burn the bed if Jongin brings his girlfriend here.

Number 4: As little interaction as possible. If by the end of this we appear to get along, our parents might dismiss our rejection of the engagement. Thus, we should live our own lives and come out cold at the end of these months.

“Well,” I ponder in bed (as per Jongin’s insistence) later at night. “I think this can work out.”

The next day starts off a hassle.

Though I set my alarm for twenty minutes earlier than usual, my roommate seems to have had the same idea. We collide with each other at the hallway before the kitchen.

“Sh–!” Jongin exclaims. “Why are you awake?!”

I rub my forehead, which had knocked right on his chest. 'Chocolate abs' is whispered somewhere in my conscience.

I mutter, “We probably should have appointed times to wake up.”

“I should have known you’d be awake this early.” His slippers shuffle on the floor as he pads to the fridge. I inform him that I am not usually, feeling like I should defend myself against the assumption for some reason. He hums, though whatever he was trying to convey misses me for once.

Unsurprisingly, the fridge is empty. Jongin says something about trusting our parents not to care for our welfare. Then he turns to me.

 “I saw a cafe on the way here. Let's go.”

I stare at him. He stares back. I remind him about rules two and four. Part of his face twitches, too fast and too subtle to point where exactly.

“You don't have a car, right? We came here with mine,” he states. Oh. I nod in agreement. He breaks out into a smile like he's just won a lawsuit. Victorious? It's dissatisfying.

We go to the living room—the blankets on the couch are still not made, I notice and wonder if we have housekeeping—and he grabs a bag that had been positioned flat on the coffee table. I scurry back to the bedroom where my own is lying atop a suitcase. When I return, he is already out the door… kind of. His head pokes out while the rest of his body remains inside. I can only imagine what it looks like from outside. After a few left-right head-turns, he glances back.

“Coast is clear. We can go now.”

At least we're still following part of number three.

The cafe is pleasant. It's overpriced, but that's to be expected given our location at the upper-class side of the city. Its neutral color scheme, with browns and tans and beiges resembling coffee (surprise), combined with the warm glow emitting from the cream hanging lamps above each booth makes its ambiance similar to that of the universe, hollow but reassuring. Jongin voices his approval of the interior decoration in sync with my observations. He ask