Dad always says the best meal he’s ever had was a soggy tuna sandwich on a flight to Japan because he got to share it with the pretty woman who sat beside him. Three years later, he would marry that woman, and she would later pop me out of her belly.

Meals are best eaten with loved ones. It’s true. All my favorite meals tasted like , but they’re memorable because I had them while sitting across from Jaemin in the crowded school cafeteria, lost in our own little world. 

I’m greeted by a wafting potion of pungent smells when I step out of my bedroom in clean clothes. Jeno hums a tune as he leans into my fridge, stuffing cartons of fresh produce onto the shelves. 

“Where did this all come from?” I ask, picking up a packet of loose spinach and a carton of beetroot juice. Yucky.

“I went grocery shopping this morning. Unlike you, I was productive, a concept you probably never heard of,” Jeno quips, and I roll my eyes. I swear, one day my eyes will permanently get stuck in the back of my head because of him. 

“Okay, but what for?”

“These-.” Jeno steps aside to show me my newly stocked fridge. “Are iron-rich foods.”

“Dude, you’re treating my anemia as if it’s a deadly disease,” I comment, snagging an apple from one of the plastic bags. 

“Anemia is deadly if it’s not properly treated, Princess. Don’t take your body and health for granted.” Jeno hardens his gaze on my body and I nod aggressively to show him that I fully understand. 

Taking a bite out of the apple, I can’t help the giggle that escapes my throat. I poke Jeno’s bicep. “You’re still here,” I muse. 

“Huh?” 

I shake the apple in the air. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away, isn’t that what they always say?”

Jeno chuckles and steals the apple from my hand. “Don’t bite into apples, Jang-mi. It can stress and crack your front teeth.”

He swipes a paring knife from the drawer and in his palm, expertly cores and chops the apple into symmetrical pieces.

“Nice knifework,” I compliment, Jeno transferring the slices onto a plate and shoving it into my hands. “Do you cook?”

“Occasionally,” he responds, plugging the cord of a blender into the kitchen outlet. Guys, I don’t own a blender. “I’m no chef and I only cook clean food. Food is meant for sustenance, not for pleasure.”

“That’s just sad.” I blow a raspberry, and Jeno shoves spinach into the blender, along with an assortment of other colorful fruits and vegetables.

After a quick blend, he pours it into a glass, and I don’t realize he’s offering it to me because I’m too entranced by the bulging veins on his arms and the way his biceps flex as he moves. Yummy. 

“Hey, airhead,” Jeno knocks on my forehead, and I snap back to reality. “Drink this.”

I stare at the greenish vomit-colored concoction that he’s whipped up, and my first instinct is to gag. 

“No way,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m not putting this in my mouth!”

“Now, now, don’t be a brat. This is good for you, Princess. At least try a sip,” Jeno encourages, leaning against my kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. 

Glaring at him, I stick my tongue out and dip it into the solution, smacking my lips to assess the flavor. 

It’s tangy and citrusy. At the same time, it’s also potent and sweet. It’s…

“You like it,” Jeno smirks and I plaster on a frown. 

“No.” I deny him the satisfaction.

“Babe, let’s just agree that you’ll like everything I’m going to force in your mouth.” Jeno palms the back of my head, tilting the glass up and I’m forced to down the whole smoothie. 

I don’t mind. I’ll never admit it to him, but it actually does taste good. 

“That’s my good girl. Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Jeno tweaks my nose and my stomach does this weird flip, and it’s not because of the smoothie. 

I toddle over to the heap of grocery bags on my kitchen island and start to rifle through them. It’s mostly a bunch of greens and organic foods, but there’s some pasta and red meat in the mix. Much to my excitement, I find a carton of ice cream buried under a bunch of bananas. 

I lift it up triumphantly like it's a newfound treasure, but Jeno is quick to ruin the vibe. 

“No. That’s for later,” he grunts.

“But-.”

“Put it in the freezer,” he orders, and I stare longingly at the carton of caramel ice cream. 

“Boo, Jeno. You ,” I grumble, tossing it into the freezer and sliding to his side. 

Jeno is busy dicing up some veggies and I lean my head against his biceps. “Whatcha making?”

“Food,” he replies tersely, fixated on his work.

“No ,” I snap. “What food?”

Jeno’s lips twitch into a crooked smile. “Pasta.”

“I like pasta!” I nod excitedly, watching Jeno massacre an onion. A couple of slices fall off the chopping board and I return them to the pile, getting onion juice all over my fingers.

“I know you do. Jaemin told me it’s your favorite,” Jeno informs me, and my cheek is squished against his shoulder as I turn to cast a threatening look.

“You better not be thinking of stealing my best friend,” I warn.

Jeno snorts. “If anything, I’m the one stealing you from Jaemin.”

Good point. I haven’t seen Jaemin these past few days and I’ve been spending every waking moment with this prick, Jeno. 

My brows furrow and I reach up to rub my suddenly itchy eyes, gasping when Jeno grabs my wrist. 

“Did you just touch an onion and rub your eye?” He gripes, and I blink at him blankly until I feel it.

My vision blurs, a window of tears glossing my burning eyes. “Oh no!” I bat my lashes. “My eyes are spicy!”

“God damn it, Jang-mi,” Jeno grumbles, grabbing me by the chin and leading me to the sink. He splashes a handful of water to my face, but it doesn’t come in contact with my eyes because I cringe away. “You have to open your eyes for the water to touch your eyeballs!” He barks at me, and I let out a wail.

“I’m trying! I can’t open them, it’s spicy!” 

Jeno eventually pries open my eyes with one hand while the other douse them with water. This man smothers me with H2O until I’m gasping for a breath, then he smothers me again with a towel. 

“Be gentle!” I shriek as he aggressively rubs the towel against my delicate skin.

“Then stop squirming!” Jeno yells back, and we’re caught in a catfight, my arms swinging to push him away, and his fist tangled in my hair to keep me in place. 

Finally, the burn disappears from my eyes and after screaming my heart out that I’m fine now, we both simmer down and Jeno releases me. 

We’re both breathing heavily as if we ran a marathon, and I take a step back to jab a finger in his face. “You…almost killed me!”

“Killed you? I saved you from almost going blind!” Jeno exclaims and I throw my hands in the air. 

We take a moment of silence to compose ourselves and Jeno is visibly concerned. He breaks the halt by stepping closer and cupping my face, tilting my head back, and lowering his lips to my eye. Centimeters apart, I feel my lashes brush his lips, and Jeno blows gently.

I crinkle my nose as his scent overwhelms the air around us. Jeno notices and draws back, eyeing me up and down. He squishes my cheeks together until my lips protrude. 

He laughs a sweet melody, those darn gorgeous eyes of his turning into crescent moons. “You’re such a cutie, Jang-mi. Yet, such an idiot.”

I shove at his chest, but my indignance further amuses him. “I am not an idiot!” 

“You sure act like one,” Jeno retorts, and I ram my foot against his shin, shouting a “Hah!” as he yelps. Hopping on one leg, Jeno scowls at me and I stick my tongue out at him. 

“Jesus, where’d you learn to kick like that?” Jeno grumbles and I waddle over to the cutting board of half-sliced vegetables. 

 “I started taking krav maga classes when I was eight,” I explain, nibbling on a carrot slice. “My dad’s a policeman, I told you, remember?”

“Uniformed officer?” Jeno asks, taking the knife from my hands and shoving me to the side. I allow him to resume his vegetable genocide and get on my tippy toes to prop my chin on his shoulder. 

“Yuppers. Dad’s a police sergeant. He’s stationed in Busan at the moment.”

Jeno pauses, eyebrows knitting. “What the is a yuppers?”

“Yuppers is yup but with a second P and ER at the end,” I elaborate, and Jeno barks out a laugh. 

Shaking his head, he finishes up his chopping and transfers the sliced veggies to plastic containers. 

“This is for dinner. Now, we go out for lunch,” he tells me, and I flash him an okay sign. 

My uncle always told me that life’s just a game of Monopoly. Based half on luck, and half on skill, the best way to navigate life is to roll the dice and hold your breath. Loss can be easily gained back if you play your cards well, and if you end up in jail, at least make a new friend while you're there. 

My uncle was a peculiar man. He saw the world in technicolor, as an open basket with possibilities and opportunities for the taking. Take the risk, he always said. Gamble. Play. Forget about tomorrow. Live in the now. 

I’m all for living in the now, but life likes to remind me to look back over my shoulder, at the years that have shaped me into the person I am today. 

Jeno doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t know that this dimly lit place that smells like expired milk and carpet cleaner is more than just a room of arcade games. It probably is to him, but to me, it’s a page in my scrapbook, the main subject in many of my diary entries, and a memory of my first love. 

“Arcades are big date spots.” Jeno elbows me in the ribs, and I forcibly tear my eyes away from the bustling room of bright LED arcade games. My gaze falls to my knees, and I shift uncomfortably. Jeno stabs a finger at my cheek and I snap my head up to meet his curious eyes. “You okay? Or did the cheeseburger you inhaled earlier mess with your insides.”

“My insides have never been better,” I assure him with a sigh, banishing the thought of my ex-boyfriend and the fact that this arcade was where we shared our first kiss. 

Jeno scrolls through our Pinterest Board, stopping at a collage photo of couples getting mushy at arcades. 

“Consider this our first official date,” Jeno announces, grabbing my wrist and yanking me through the lanes.

“What about the aquarium?” I ask, bowing my head in respect to the people we plow through. 

“Mm, that was just us hanging out. Today, we’re on a date.”

Jeno comes to an abrupt stop by the arcade basketball hoops and I crash against his back. He swivels around to swiftly catch me, arms encircling my waist as he dips me low. Fighting gravity, I in a breath and Jeno drops a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. 

“What are you doing?” I hiss, and those dark eyes of his, despite being in a room full of flashing LED lights, shine the brightest.

“3 pm,” he murmurs, lowering his head to brush his full lips against mine. Inhaling his crisp cologne, the hairs on the back of my neck rise and I dig my nails into his forearm to keep myself steady. “They’re taking pictures,” Jeno tells me, pulling me upright and smoothing down my hair. 

I glance to my left, and sure enough, there’s a group of girls with their phones shamelessly raised to their faces. It’s such a small world. It seems we risk running into SMU students everywhere we go. 

The paparazzi girls eventually scurry away and I blow out a breath. Twenty minutes and those pictures will definitely be on the school forum.

Jeno’s unfazed, as usual, and he pinches my cheek before turning to insert coins into the basketball game. “Okay, so what’s the difference between us hanging out and going on a date?” I ask with my arms crossed over my chest as I watch him grab a basketball and shoot a clean shot. 

The ball swishes as it slides down the hoop, Jeno shooting at an impressively fast and steady rhythm. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Jeno says instead of giving me a proper answer and I scowl at him, making sure I look unpleasantly bored as I watch him play, just to spite him. But I’m far from bored. The sleeves of his long sleeve shirt are bunched up at his elbows, displaying his finger- good veiny arms. Did I just use the KFC motto to describe his arms? Yes, sue me. 

“Enjoying the view, princess?” Jeno’s lips tug into a smirk and I throw my gaze around the room, my cheeks heating up. How does he always catch me staring? 

Panting, Jeno shoots his final ball to earn him a total score of 220. I purse my lips. “Not too shabby. You’re decent,” I muse.

“Decent?” Jeno scoffs, lighting punching my shoulder. “As if you can do better.”

“Perhaps I can,” I challenge and Jeno raises a skeptical eyebrow at me. 

“Can you?”

“I said perhaps,” I mumble intelligently, and Jeno chuckles, reaching out to hook an arm around my waist.

He positions me in front of the machine, large hands cupping my hips, chest pressed against my back. Swiping my hair away from my face, Jeno rests his chin on my shoulders, speaking directly into my ear.

His voice is tender, calloused hands roam my body. “Grab a ball,” he instructs, and I gingerly pick up the orange sphere, tossing it around. “Okay, now feet at shoulder width.”

I feel his knee slide between my thighs, nudging them apart. The gasp that leaves my lips is unprecedented, and my fingers squeeze the basketball. Jeno must notice my awkward tenseness because he rubs his nose along the hollow of my neck.

Butterflies. 

My stomach flutters with an uncontrollable mob of butterflies, and I swallow thickly to reign them in. 

“Eyes on the target,” he says, fingers curling around my chin, his thumb swiping my bottom lip. 

A bolt of heat sizzles up my spine. . 

“Elbows in.” He guides my weak limbs up into position. “Shoot and follow through,” he adds, and the ball leaves my hands, traveling through air with shocking accuracy. The ball swishes through the hoop and I let out a surprised laugh of delight. 

Jeno smiles against my cheek as I tremble in excitement. “I did it!” 

“You sure did,” he grins, and I lean back into his solid chest, the butterflies leaving my stomach and traveling to my chest, making my heart clench in the best way possible. 

“You’re now fit to play in midget league basketball,” Jeno quips, and I smack his forearm around my waist. Butterflies are officially exterminated. 

“Watch me join the WNBA,” I playfully growl and Jeno scrunches up his face. 

“Mm babe, the players of the WNBA are trees, while you are…” He boops the tip of my nose. “A teeny tiny sprout. But keep on dreaming, baby.”

“Way to ruin my aspirations and dreams, Jeno,” I huff, sliding out of his arms. Taking a step back, my eyes narrow into slits. “I know what you’re doing,” I warn. 

“Oh?” Jeno runs a hand through his hair. 

“The skinship, calling me baby.” My smile is lopsided. “Are you flirting with me, Lee Jeno?”

Jeno’s trademark smirk appears. “Perhaps.”

“Definitely.”

“Guilty.” Jeno shows me his palms. “We’re dating, Jang-mi. You date me, you get sweet talk and naughty hands.”

I can’t fight the giggle. “The naughty hands, huh? I might have to chop them off if they get too comfortable.”

“Mm, either that or you beg me not to stop.” Jeno wiggles his fingers. “These naughty hands are also magicians.”

My eyes roll. “If only I was a magician, so I could stuff you into a box and make you disappear.”

Jeno chuckles, stepping closer to flick my forehead. “It’s just a little flirting, Jang-mi.” 

“Just a little.” I mock his deep voice. “I may not be entirely fond of you but I’m still a girl, and if you touch me like that, my body gets confused and hot and there’s a lot of fluttering that goes on around here!” I wave at my stomach and Jeno’s eyes light up.

“Spare me, Jeno,” I breathe out a dramatic sigh. “Don’t mess with my insides.”

“How about I get inside you first and you reconsider?” He quips and my foot connects with his shin. “Ow!” Jeno grimaces and I turn on my heel, marching away. “Keep your in your pants!” I growl as he bunny-hops after me. “And go to church to clean that dirty mind of yours!”

“I’m an atheist!” Jeno calls out and I step out the exit.

Help me God, this boy will be the death of me. 

Lee Jeno needs to be drowned in holy water. 

He stares at me as I bring the churro to my open mouth, and I have to delay my first bite. 

“What?” I snap, and he shrugs, a sly grin slithering up his face. 

“Nothing…just wondering.”

“Wondering what?” I ask and he gnaws on his bottom lip.

“I’m wondering what that mouth does,” he rasps and I avert my eyes from his heated gaze. “You have the prettiest lips, Jang-mi.”

in air through my teeth, I hiss. “My mouth will your fingers to flip through the pages of the bible, you prick.” 

Jeno’s shoulders tremble as he laughs. “Jeez, you’re terrible at flirting.”

I groan. “Cut it out, Jeno. I’ve only ever had to flirt with one person my entire life. I lack practice, okay?”

“Clearly,” he remarks, tearing himself a piece of my churro. Popping it into his mouth, he adds. “C’mon, give me what you got. You can only get better with practice.”

My eyes take a trip around the crowded food court, and when they land back on Jeno, he nods encouragingly. 

“Okay, how do I even start?” I ask and Jeno lays his head in his palms. 

“Start by describing me. Tell me what you think about me.”

“I think you ,” I snap, and Jeno hardens his gaze. I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Fine,” I sigh, my dry lips as I conjure up a description. 

I end up blurting the first thing that comes to mind. “I think…you’re hot.”

The corner of his lips curves into a small smile. “Mm, and?”

“I think…you’re spicy,” I say and Jeno blinks at me. “Hot and spicy. That makes you a buffalo chicken wing.”

Jeno whacks me across the head and I wail. “Dude, I’m trying!” 

“You called me a buffalo chicken wing, you twit!”

“I told you, I don’t know how to flirt with guys!” I sink my fingers into my hair and Jeno shakes his head disapprovingly. 

“To be fair, I really like buffalo chicken wings,” I mutter and Jeno bonks a fist to my forehead. 

“Do you plan to die alone, Jang-mi?” He scolds and I shove a churro in my mouth, chewing it the way farmers chew straw. 

“I might,” I whine. “I’m pretty sure I’ll end up dying of deprivation.” Seriously, my vajayay is starting to resemble the Sahara desert. It’s been almost a month since I broke up with Yeonjun, but we haven’t been intimate for almost three months before that. As a hormonal young adult, this dry spell might be my downfall. 

Jeno snorts. “I can help you with that,” he drawls and I toss a crumbled straw wrapper at him. 

“I don’t do hookups, Jeno. I’m a nester,” I grumble, and Jeno sighs, leaning back in his chair. 

“Shame. I was just getting excited.” The way he washes his eyes over my body as if I’m a churro he wants to devour makes me shift in my seat, and my mouth goes dry. “There are so many things we could do together,” he sighs longingly. “Naughty things.”

Scenes. Images. A whirlwind of lewd visions enters my mind and I give my head a slight shake. Deciding that I want to play his game too, I lean in closer, reaching out to rake my nails down his arm. Jeno’s eyes sparkle and I reply coyly. “I want to do naughty things too.” I pout, and he hums approvingly. 

“Yeah?”

I nod eagerly, batting my lashes at him. “Oh yes.”

“Like what?” Jeno eggs me on. He’s fully invested, leaning over the table, awaiting my response. 

Our eyes connect and cup the side of his face, caressing his cheek. “I want to break your neck and hospitalize you,” I say in my sweetest voice, and a growl rips from his throat. 

We both slump in our seats, the brief moment dissipating. “Way to ruin the mood, Jang-mi,” Jeno grunts.