2

"Baekhyun!” I gasped and charged forward when I spotted him inching closer to the stewing pot, fingers in a tickling motion. He resembled a witch in the middle of brewing a potion, in a theatrical way. “Are you trying to poison yourself?”

Baekhyun looked at me with widened eyes and pursed lips that screamed “GUILTY” all over. I couldn’t find it in me to even pretend to be annoyed as I let a giggle slip. He followed with a grin and returned to a respectable distance from the dinner I now stood guard over.

“That was kind of the plan—poison myself and then frame you,” he explained, shifting a step or two closer to me once I found my spot. I jabbed behind at him with my left elbow, to which he belted out an exaggerated yelp.

“I learned a lot in college,” I huffed out. “I’m beyond only being able to make sandwiches and ramyeon now.” The last sentence was loaded with a discrete goad and he prodded at my sides upon detecting it.

“I make those two extraordinarily scrumptious to compensate for my few other shortcomings, alright?” he menaced, now standing closer behind me to get his tickling a more effective reach. I grabbed a ladle and spun around to somehow threaten him with it, but that backfired when my right elbow grazed the burning hot metal that was just a few inches from where we stood. I jerked it away the moment the contact was made but not before a colorful curse materialized from my imagination and out of my mouth. Baekhyun grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me away to the sink facing opposite the stove.

“Watch out for your surroundings,” he scolded while analyzing the affected area. Then he twisted the handle for cold water to wash over my skin. I quivered at the initially electrifying difference in temperature before blowing out in relief. The metal must have scorched me more than I felt.

“Normally when I cook, I don’t have someone attacking me with tickles,” I muttered as the pain numbed into a mere nip. He let out a hoarse chuckle, and my hairs stood up when it blew down my neck. I became aware of how very close he stood in front of me now, and, like a placebo effect, felt his physical presence feathering against my body just as his fingers were my arm.

“My bad,” he apologized not sincerely. I involuntarily dropped my head on his shoulder when he lingered a little too long on the sensitive skin.

“Baek,” I whispered. He hummed. “Stop doing that.” He obeyed, stopped, but didn’t move away. Neither did I.