"Aish. You. We need to finish that project," Minho sighed, rubbing his cheek softly. I threw my head back, a moan leaving my lips. Really, now? Of all times?

"We don't haveto do anything," I said, glaring at him. He stuck his tongue at me. I made a weird face.

"Yes, we do. Noona, we gotta finish soon. I don't want to have to stay up later," he said, twirling the pen in his fingers.

I stared at his paper, before looking up to meet his eyes and said, "You make me feel old."

"What?"

"Don't call me 'noona'. It makes me feel old."

"Noona,we're stalling."

"So?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him. I cringed when he looked up from his paper.

"We have to finish the script."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? Of course we do!"

"It's just a stupid script, Minho. Let it go."

"I don't care about the damn script. We just have to finish it."

"Writer's Block," I said, making a excuse. He looked at me for a bit.

After a while of silence, he sighed, "You're right."

"Eh?"

"You're right."

"Did you just say I'm right?" I asked, astonished. I've never won an argument against Minho. What is happening.

"Yes. Now, let's go take a stroll around the park across the street and see if we can come up with something because this damn thing is due tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Sunday."

"I know."

"It's not due tomorrow."

"We're not going to work on this tomororw, so we finish it today."

He stood up, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked down at me, "What?"

I sighed, looking away as I stood up next to him, "You make my life hard."

"And yet you can't live without me," he said sarcastically. He handed me a black sweatshirt of his, before taking a blue one of his own. I graciously accepted, before sticking my head in first. When I was done adjust my arms through the armholes, Minho looked at me curiously.

"What?"

"... You put on the sweater wrong."

I placed my hands on my hips, "So, how do you do it?"

He smirked, "Like this."

He slid his arms into the sweatshirt first, then proceeded to slide his head in. Holy crap, that was y.

Wait.

What.

Time slowed down. Minho was still sliding his arms into the sweater, his arm muscles accentuated. Why did he choose the blue sweatershirt with the sleeves cut off. It has a hood but no sleeves.

I couldn't stop looking at him.

"Yah. Alaska? Alive, yeah? We're going?" he asked, waving a hand in my face. I jumped.

"Y-yeah! Let's go," I said, shaking my head.

We stepped outside, onto the porch of my home. I took a deep breath, my thoughts clearing.

I did not just think Minho was y. Never happened, you didn't see, hear, know of anything regarding that, got it?

We both paused for a little, taking in the calm residential neighborhood. These were the calm parts, where the fangirls didn't attack him. Though if we had any contact whatsoever, I'd probably end up dead on the floor.

"Onward," he sighed, slipping his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. I looked away, cracking my knuckles.

"Let's do this."