He’s frantically wiping the counter, balling up the soaked paper towel, ripping more from the roll, then wiping some more. He’s only cleaned up less than half of the mess he’s made, and he’s beginning to sweat. Minseok will be back soon and he fears for his life. Not only because of the mess, but because he’s shattered Minseok’s favorite French press. The one from the fancy store he nearly drooled over every time they walked by the window.

Minseok brought it home and held the box in his arms like a newborn baby he’d personally given birth to, looking down at the bundle of joy in his arms with a love that only a mother could express.

He’s so dead. Minseok is going to stab him to death with the shards of his broken baby.

Jongdae peeks over at the clock on the microwave and whimpers, quickening his pace, trying to hold back fearful, panicked tears. He never thought this was how he’d go out.

The door opens and his heart stops. He hunches over, trying to protect most of his vital organs as he continues to soak up the coffee still pooled on the tile.

He hears Minseok’s footsteps approach and then stop somewhere close by. He closes his eyes at the sound of Minseok inhaling in annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

Jongdae turns his head slowly, offering Minseok a pained smile, hoping to soften the blow of the first stab with his charm. He doesn’t speak; he can’t bring himself to say what he’s done. He’d rather Minseok stare at him until he figures things out on his own.

But, Minseok doesn’t speak, just raises an eyebrow. Jongdae lifts a hand toward Minseok, showing him the ball of paper towel in his hand soaked in coffee. He can see the realization start to form in Minseok’s eyes.

“Is that coffee?”

Jongdae nods.

“What, did you spill a cup or something?”

Jongdae nods again and Minseok turns to exit the kitchen. “And I…broke yrfrnchprs,” he mumbles.

“What?” Minseok turns back toward him, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists.

Jongdae stands now and takes a step back. “I uh, broke your French press.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Jongdae instinctively raises his hands in front of himself in defense and apologizes over and over, taking a step back with each step toward him Minseok takes. “It was an accident! I was trying to wipe sandwich crumbs off the counter and the towel caught it and dragged it off.”

Minseok closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath that he holds for a moment before blowing it out quickly. He snatches the dripping paper towel from Jongdae and glares in silence.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“I’m contemplating it,” Minseok admits.

“I—” The paper towel hits Jongdae square in the face with a hideous squelch and sticks. He stands still, eyes closed, and just lets the coffee drip down his face. He deserves this. He’s honestly grateful Minseok only threw the paper towel at him; he expected much worse.

“Two hundred dollars, Jongdae,” Minseok says with a terrifying calmness. “I paid two hundred dollars for it.”

Jongdae the coffee from his lips and nods, eyes still closed. “I know.”

“I hate you, so much right now.”

“I know.”

“You owe me two hundred dollars.”

“I know,” Jongdae says, disappointed, but not surprised.

“You know you deserve that paper towel on your face, right?”

Jongdae sighs, but nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m gonna go to my room so I don’t hit you. You stay here and finish cleaning up.”

Jongdae pulls the paper towel from his face and sighs in relief, feeling lucky. That could have gone much worse.

“I lied.”

“Wha— Oooof.” Jongdae groans and doubles over, holding his stomach. Minseok is small, but that tiny little man packs a mean punch.

“I feel better now.”

“Glad to hear that,” Jongdae wheezes, dangerously close to dropping to his knees.