“Hyung,” Bam-Bam called out as he entered the dorm. The last syllable climbed up into a soft whine as it left his mouth. He slid his shoes off by the front door, nudging them lazily with his foot until they were somewhat in line with those of the others. With each step he took down the small entrance way, he lost a layer of outerwear. First were his gloves, then his mittens. Last was his thick jacket, which he left draped haphazardly across the arm of the couch.

            As the young male went farther into the dorm, his sense of smell was overwhelmed with wafts of oregano and basil. Once into the kitchen, he found Jackson hunched over the stove, slowly stirring a pot. The smile that slipped across Bam-Bam’s face was quickly replaced as the tip of his tongue slid across his full lower lip in delight. Jackson was making spaghetti, his favorite.

            “Mmm,” he hummed, shifting his weight onto his palms as he heaved his way up onto the counter. He swung his legs happily. “What cha doing?” he asked, dragging out the -ng at the end.

            “Producing our new album,” Jackson replied with a slight smirk. The sarcastic reply earned him a pout from the younger, followed by yet another whine. Whining seemed to be the younger’s forte, especially when he wanted attention. The older male rolled his eyes. “I’m making dinner. You should go wash up. It’ll be done soon.”

            “I will later,” Bam-Bam said dismissively. The heels of his feet lightly hit the cabinet with each returning swing of his leg, filling the silence of the room with a soft bang. “So, hyung, there’s this guy I like.”

            Jackson couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Great, he thought to himself. It always started like this. Bam-Bam would have his mind set on something, or someone, and that would be all he would talk about for days, even weeks, on end. As hard as it was going to be to get him onto another subject, it was going to be harder to pry him out of his own little world long enough to wash his hands.

            “I don’t know if he likes me back.” The younger was still talking. “It’s just that he’s so friendly.” It was always that way. The guy was always just this and just that. It all ended the same way, though. The guy was just a jerk. “He’s taller than me, but not too tall. He’s like the perfect height for me. He’s a little on the weird side, though. Not like, weird-weird, but there’s just something off, ya know?”

            “Mhm…” Jackson hummed in response, adding the broken up beef into the pot and folding it into the sauce. He turned off the burner for the pasta and took it over to the sink to drain it, splashing it with cold water afterwards to stop the cooking process.

            “He’s just really dorky, which isn’t a bad thing. It’s just-” Bam-Bam puffed out his cheeks and exhaled, angrily, through his nose. “You’re not listening to me! You never listen to me.” He muttered the last part in Thai, crossing his arms across his chest.

            “Of course I listen to you,” Jackson rebutted. That phrase, “you never listen to me,” had been used on him so many times that he had finally taken the initiative to look it up. It was one of the handful of Thai sayings he had picked up from the latter male. “I listened to you talk about the guy before him and the guy before him and the guy before him. And now I’m listening to you talk about this one.”

            Jackson took the strainer filled with pasta and carried it over to the stove. Carefully, he poured the cooked noodles into the sauce. He grabbed the spoon he had used earlier and nudged the last few out and stirred them around the pot until they were generously coated with the warm, red sauce. He put the tools into the sink. He opened the drawer and pulled out a fork.

            “But hyung,” Bam-Bam whined. “This one is different. He’s-”

            Jackson cut him off. He took a piece of pasta between his fingers after using the fork to lift it out of the pot. “Here. Try this.” When Bam-Bam opened his mouth, closing his eyes out of habit, the elder slowly lowered half of the string of spaghetti into his mouth. Skillfully– though to a third party it mostly likely looked like some form of awkward dance– Jackson took the other half in his mouth. Their lips met, though the encounter was brief. He pulled back, breaking the pasta and swallowing his piece.

            “Now, how does it taste?”