We arrived at the Kim’s residence in mutual silence. I realized that their house hasn’t changed much at all. The gate is the same as the last time I saw it, probably two years ago, still painted in vivid red with full-grown flowers on the lawn.

I was lying when I told him I didn’t know where he lives. I’ve been here when I was a freshman. A friend of mine had this craziest (and creepiest) crush on him that’s why she decided to ‘know where he lives’ and ended up stalking him and tagging me along. That incident repeated for a couple of days until one day, a guy named Chanyeol caught this girl’s attention and thank the heavens she stopped stalking Kim Jongin and just talked to the friendly Chanyeol instead.

Inside the house, I realize that the atmosphere here isn’t much different from our home. It has the same welcoming, warm ambiance, like a steamed bun and a hot chocolate on a winter.

“Jongin?” a woman’s voice called out.

“Neh,” He paused, bending down to untie his shoelace.

“I, uh, brought a friend.” He announced, removing his shoes and putting it on a rack near the door. I did the same thing that he did.

After I secured my shoes on the rack, a woman, probably in her early thirties, came. Her hair is bundled up in a messy ponytail. Nevertheless, it didn’t lessen the fact that she is beautiful, nor the age did. She greeted me with a warm smile.

“Hello,” she said, her eyes scrutinizing me.

“Uhm, hello, Mrs. Kim. I’m So Kyung-Soon.” I jabbered nervously.

“Yes, I do know you. You’re the seniors’ top student, right?”

I blushed at her comment but otherwise, felt a pride in myself.

“We’ll be, uh, upstairs mom.” Kim Jongin announced silently. I never knew Kim Jongin could get so awkward around his mom, more than anything.

His mother’s eyes narrowed; looking between him and me. I suddenly got the message and heated up fervently.

“Studying, he means!” I exclaimed almost rudely.

“What I mean is we’re here to study, Mrs. Kim.” I amended flashing a polite smile on my face.

She smiled in relief. “Oh of course, honey.”

I thought she was about to let us go in peace when she asked, “Why are your uniforms all soiled and dirty?”

I looked anxiously over Kim Jongin, expecting his rigid, stiff, expression. Instead, I saw a calm, nonchalant, face. “Well, we helped out a bit in the garden. No sweat.”

He stormed off upstairs and I followed him immediately before his mom could flood me with questions.

“You really thought of that lie, don’t you?” I commented as I set my bag beside his side table.

“Nope. It’s true. Why would I even need to think about it?”

“Well helping out is one thing. But getting detention is another thing. You can’t possibly be confusing the two,”

“Whatever you say,” he shrugs positioning a writing desk opposite his bed.

I learned that tutoring Kim Jongin is just as hard as it seems to be. He can’t and won’t focus on the lesson.

“Kim Jongin, pay attention!” I snapped when I noticed he’s looking everywhere but the book I am holding.

“I can’t,” he said evenly.

“Well you have to!”

“I need to take a shower,” he stated looking down on his clothes for emphasis. “I stink.”

“Well even if you did, you still stink,”

He glowered at me and took his bathroom towel before getting out of the room. A minute ago, he’s back, peeking on the slightly ajar door, “I forgot to tell. Don’t touch anything.”

“As if.” I scoffed and then he slammed the door shut.

I really didn’t intended to, but I surveyed his room without curiosity itching on my body. Well maybe a bit.

On the wall beside his middle-sized bed, was a poster of Michael Jackson and his trademark ‘Thriller’ occupying ¼ of the space of the white painted wall. On the right side, near his bedside table are stacks of CDs and a mini cassette the color of the ocean. His floor was carpeted by a rich color of red, well-kept as if brand new.

There’s no denying it, I’m a bit impressed. Maybe I wasn’t just expecting a neat room from a teen ager so I guess I have to give him some credit here.

Thirty minutes after, I started to feel itchy and uncomfortable. I really wanted to take a shower too. Unfortunately, as of the moment, that’s not just possible.

Finally, after an estimated time of good forty minutes, Kim Jongin came back half , wearing only a khaki shorts to cover half of his body.

His abs are well defined, his muscles toned perfectly and his tan skin only added to that beauty. He is like the reincarnation of Adonis himself. The perfect curve and small waistline will make every model go on a water therapy to get that body.

In this particular moment, I decided that Kim Jongin is not beautiful, he’s gorgeous.

Realizing that I took longer than necessary in looking at his body, I looked up to see him smirking, his eyes crinkling in a suggestive manner.

“You like what you see, huh?” he gave an insolent smile, his voice huskier than I last remembered. Maybe I am imagining things.

I tossed the nearest thing my hand could reach which is thankfully, a pillow into him and muttered, “Get dressed. You’ll catch a cold.”

I didn’t bother denying his remark simply because there’s no point at lying when my glued eyes on his bare chest and the slight tinge of pink that appeared on my face gives away all the things I’d rather keep private.

His shower didn’t made things any better. Well, for me. I keep on getting distracted by the close proximity we are in due to the need on explaining some things to him that requires physical contact with each other. And of course, there’s the self-consciousness too. While he here smells oddly divine (which I think is due to his scented body wash) and intoxicating and invigorating, I’m here feeling restless and squirmy and truly in need of a good bath.

“What’s your problem?” he demanded upon noticing my lack of attention on what we are doing.

“I need a bath,” I admitted, looking away to hide the embarrassment that again, my face threatens to give away.

“So what are you saying?” he asked cocking an eyebrow.

“What I’m saying is –“

“Kids, it’s time to eat. The food is ready.” His mom knocked on the door interrupting the further discussion we are engaged to.

“I think I better go home,” I said, getting up to fix my things scattered on the table.

“As if Umma would let you.” he said dryly as he grabbed my arms out of the room and I was left powerless under his tight grip and his hot skin touching mine.

***

Mrs. Kim’s cooking was awesome but I can’t deny the fact that I missed dinner.

Mom looked worriedly over my beaten state and from her expression, pitied the sight before her.

“Do you want to eat?” she offered.

“No, mom. I’ve already eaten.” I answered, heading for the stairs.

My mom frowned.

“You packed me extra food, remember?” I said thinking about the lie I formulated in my mind on my way home.

“Why are your clothes dirty?” she finally asks, noticing how my used to be well-ironed uniform crumpled and soiled all over.

“Had to help with the garden,” I said and finally went upstairs before I went out of lies. Kim Jongin wasn’t the only one who can formulate white lies.

After I went for a hot and refreshing bath, I took account of today’s events: first day of the deal and I’m all beaten up. I also learned that Kim Jongin doesn’t need much of a tutoring than what I had expected him too. I mean, he’s not exceptionally intelligent, but fair enough that he doesn’t need a cheat paper to pass exams. Also, I still haven’t finished with some of my assignments and all I wanted to do is to reunite with my bed now.

Even when I’ll be having a project for P.E. that’ll secure me in the spot of graduating as the top student, at this rate I really think my grades will drop gradually if this thing continues.

And when it does, Kim Jongin will never really get away with it.We arrived at the Kim’s residence in mutual silence. I realized that their house hasn’t changed much at all. The gate is the same as the last time I saw it, probably two years ago, still painted in vivid red with full-grown flowers on the lawn.

I was lying when I told him I didn’t know where he lives. I’ve been here when I was a freshman. A friend of mine had this craziest (and creepiest) crush on him that’s why she decided to ‘know where he lives’ and ended up stalking him and tagging me along. That incident repeated for a couple of days until one day, a guy named Chanyeol caught this girl’s attention and thank the heavens she stopped stalking Kim Jongin and just talked to the friendly Chanyeol instead.

Inside the house, I realize that the atmosphere here isn’t much different from our home. It has the same welcoming, warm ambiance, like a steamed bun and a hot chocolate on a winter.

“Jongin?” a woman’s voice called out.

“Neh,” He paused, bending down to untie his shoelace.

“I, uh, brought a friend.” He announced, removing his shoes and putting it on a rack near the door. I did the same thing that he did.

After I secured my shoes on the rack, a woman, probably in her early thirties, came. Her hair is bundled up in a messy ponytail. Nevertheless, it didn’t lessen the fact that she is beautiful, nor the age did. She greeted me with a warm smile.

“Hello,” she said, her eyes scrutinizing me.

“Uhm, hello, Mrs. Kim. I’m So Kyung-Soon.” I jabbered nervously.

“Yes, I do know you. You’re the seniors’ top student, right?”

I blushed at her comment but otherwise, felt a