"Come onnnnnnnnnn," he urges, tugging insistently on your wrist.
"Come out just this once!"

"No."

"___."

"No."

"___!"

"NO."

Kibum may be your best friend, but he's a total pain in the . His grip
on your arm tightens, and while pain sears through your fingtertips,
you won't give him any satisfaction.

He sneers, knowing full well of your discomfort and begins poking at your
sides.

"YOU."

Jab.

"Are."

Jab.

"Coming."

Jab.

"No excuses."

Jab, jab, jab.

You scowl, retracting your wrist, and return to editing an article
for your high school newspaper. How high school students still cannot
understand the difference between 'there,' 'their' and 'they're' is
beyond you, especially considering they're supposed to be journalism
staff.

"I can't. I've got work to do."

"But you've always got work to do," Kibum exhales, rolling his eyes
dramatically and flicking his perfectly styled fringe in a way that
could totally be classed as diva-esque. He certainly puts those y
girls in your class to shame.

He pokes out his tongue. "You're no fun."

Eyes blazing, you pick up the nearest object, a 900 page biology textbook,
and chuck it directly towards him. Kibum squeals and ducks, the flying
book just barely missing the side of his head. He remains crouched on
the floor, eyes flashing dangerously as a mischievious smirk starts
tugging on his lips.

"Oh you did not just do that."

"And so what if I did?" You retort playfully, knowing full well that this
is going to end badly for the both of you.

"You are SO going to get it."

In two measured steps he's at your sides, attacking your waist with tickles.
His forceful grasp pins your arms against your chest, leaving you unable
to defend yourself. You squirm and squeal, desperately trying to wriggle out of
his hold but it's no use. Ever since he started working out at the gym
with Minho to rid himself of what he called 'stick limbs,' you're no
match for his strength. Using this to his advantage, he doesn't stop.
Kibum tickles and tickles and tickles until you're both red from lack
of breath, voices hoarse from both laughter and screaming.

"Time... out," he puffs, resting his head on your shoulder.

His breath is warm against your cheek, and it feels nice. You've been
intimate with Kibum before, he's your best friend, but something's off.

You look up to find Kibum gazing down at you, his face surprisingly
tense. You're about to ask what's wrong when he ever so carefully leans
in, gently brushing the hair out of your eyes with his fingertips. They're soft
and warm and you can't help but close your eyes.

"Mianhe,' he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

Opening your eyes to meet his gaze, you look at him questioningly.

"For what?"

"For calling you no fun," he teases, pulling you closer. "You can be fun. Sometimes."

You grin, reaching up to ruffle his perfect locks. "Good boy."

He cringes at your touch and grimaces, quickly reaching up to rearrange it.

"And for this."

Kibum looks down, adams apple bobbing nervously in his throat.

It's silent and you're about to question what for, when he leans in
and gently presses his lips against yours. They're soft, and warm, and tender,
making you forget about everything else. The kind where your heart
feels like exploding inside your chest and your legs become dizzy and weak.
The kiss is gentle and sweet, not what you'd expect from someone as brash or
obnoxious as Kibum.

He breaks first, resting his forehead against yours.

You both just sit there, when reality comes crashing down.

"What the hell Kibum?" You shout, balling your hands into fists.
"What the hell are you playing at?"

A second passes of stunned silence.

He stands up and starts to pace frantically, looking as though he's about to cry.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He pleads. "I didn't mean to--, but I wanted--, I should
have thought--"

"Kibum."

"I shouldn't have--"

"Kibum."

"What if you never talk to me again--"

"Kibum!"

He stops.

"Look at me."

His eyes are wide, scared and helpless, b with tears.

Your heart tugs inside your chest. "Just tell me."

He crosses the room in four easily measured steps and pulls you into
the tightest of embraces. Normally you'd nag or fight with him to let you
go, but this was different.

Very different.

Fresh tears dampen your shirt and you realise Kibum is crying. Kibum, the man
who you've only ever seen cry once after the death of his grandfather, is actually
crying. And it's heartbreaking.

You cling onto him, soothingly rubbing his back and wiping his tears with your sleeve.

He avoids your gaze, and you know to not rush him. He pulls you in tighter, relishing
in your embrace before whispering over your shoulder.

"Saranghae."