“Channie-ya, can you hold this for me?”

“Himchannie, does this dress make me look fat?”

“Chanchan, do you have $10 you can lend your noona?”

With every word, Himchan goes a little more insane, a vein throbbing in his temple and his arms aching from holding numerous shopping bags, all stuffed to the brim with clothes, shoes, jewelry, and what-have-you.

He loves his sister, really, but not when she’s like this.

“Yoo-hoo, Himchan! Come try this shirt on! We can match!”

Himchan takes one look at the polka-dotted shirt and runs for the hills.

Well, the escalator, but same difference, really.

He bursts into the first store he can find, running until he finally runs out of energy (which is actually fairly quickly—he’s never had the best endurance when it came to sprinting) and plops down underneath a rack of clothes, breathing heavily.

Once he has sufficiently calmed himself down, he takes a moment to survey his surroundings.

Right across from him is a rack of sports bras.

And he lets out a (completely involuntary and completely manly) shriek.

“Do you mind? You’re kind of sitting on my leg.”

Himchan very nearly screams again, slamming his palms down on either side of his . Sure enough, his hands hit something rounded and jeanish, rather than the hard floor he had been expecting.

He scrambles off, his eyes flicking up to meet the slightly pained (but not angry, Himchan’s glad to note) eyes if a young man wearing a snapback on his head and headphones around his neck, teeth biting into his full lower lip as he massages feeling back into his limb.

“Terribly sorry about that, really,” Himchan stammers, his hands waving awkwardly about, unsure if he should offer assistance or just leave the guy to do his thing. “It’s just that my sister dragged me out shopping again and I really don’t want to deal with it. I mean I don’t mind shopping, but have you ever had to go with a crazy lady? Let me tell you, not a fun experience at all. I mean—”

“You talk a lot,” Mysterious Guy muses, and Himchan notices for the first time the depth of his voice, which sounds far too amused than it should be (again, what is up with everyone being amused by Himchan? This is not okay.)

Himchan gives the other a dirty look. “So I’ve been told.”

“I'm hiding from my sister, too,” Mysterious Guy says.

“Your voice is really hot,” Himchan blurts, slapping a palm over his mouth soon after. He really needs to work on his brain-to-mouth filter.

To his credit, Mysterious Guy just smiles, although Himchan can see the hints of awkwardness in the curves of his eye-smile. “Thanks? I kind of get that a lot. Which is weird, but what can I do, ya nam sayin’?”

“I’m not sure if I should tell you to keep talking or if I should tell you to shut up for the rest of the century.”

Yep, there’s that fantastic brain-to-mouth filter.

Mysterious Guy shrugs.

Himchan frowns.

Mysterious Guy’s mouth turns up a bit at the corners.

Himchan’s frown deepens, his eyebrows lifting up and denting in the middle.

“You look like you're constipated.”

“I knew I should have told you to shut up.”

Mysterious Guy just grins again (he has a really nice smile, Himchan decides, even though it’s half gums.)

“You’re funny,” Mysterious Guy says. “You’re really weird, though.”<