A purple towel wrapped around my head, soaking in the beads of sweat that materialised from the extremely hard labour I was engaged in. I breathed out through my mouth, the cool air hitting my lips. The speakers boomed, the bass resonating deep within my chest as I moved round the room.

It was a Sunday, which automatically meant Chore Day.

I had my whites spinning in the washing machine, the dishes stacked back in the cupboards and all that was left was to vacuum and mop every surface of the apartment. (Thank god I had chosen to live an apartment, and not that ridiculously grandiose mansion my folks had offered me. I’d just be prepared to live in filth my entire life than clean every part of that). With a headband pulling my hair away from my face and my iPod docked to the speakers, I pushed the vacuum across the floor, all the while screeching along to Christina (Aguilera, Perri, Milan, and the likes).

Baekhyun had been here last night, too drunk off his to actually go home. We had gone bar-hopping, and he had spontaneously decided to drown his career-centred sorrows in endless shots of Whiskey. Getting drunk with Baek was always fun, probably because drunk Baekhyun was a ing slapstick schtick. He had a very low tolerance for alcohol, so it didn't take long for him to get completely wasted. Byun Baekhyun, the charismatic top dog of the industry, would morph into Byun Baekhyun, whiny koala who would cling onto whoever that was unfortunately seated beside him. He slobbered a little too, which had always had me convulsing in breathless chortles.

The ball of dust that made its home on the corner of the area had willingly decided to declare war on my vacuum, and so I saved the for last. I halted the nose of the vacuum just before that corner, the power button just beneath my thumb. As if the clock tower had just reached noon and the imaginary straw-hatted, pot-bellied cowboys with ludicrously curled mustaches turned with the guns ready in my mind, my thumb descended on the button.

Then suddenly, my finger froze and retracted when the muffled tune of Queen sounded, and something vibrated against my leg. I hurriedly dug the phone out from the pocket, swiping the screen and lifting it to my ear. I let out an exhausted sigh before greeting the caller.

“Who dis be? I’m busy.”

Laughter came through the speakers, somehow seeming a little familiar.

“Aw, you’re busy? I was just going to ask if you’d do me the honour of taking you out tonight.”

Hold up.

Oh.

My.

God.

“Chanyeol?” Apprehensiveness lingered in my voice. I swear, if this was one of Baekhyun’s sick jokes, he should start worrying about having any form of offspring in the future.

“Yes, that is my name.” He chuckled once again, and that fluttery feeling crept up. (Wow, these butterflies are the most infuriating things ever). “So, how about it, dear fair lady?”

The response flew out from my lips before I could even begin to think his question through, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. Great, just great. Now he’s going to think I’m some hopeless girl who spends her weekends with her two best friends— the TV and a tub of cookie dough flavoured ice cream.

But of course, like the poster face of chivalry and gallantry that seemed to convince me that there was hope in the world after all, he didn’t dwell on my eagerness and instead promised to text me the details. I nodded stupidly, my head towel in danger of plunging to the afterlife for all inanimates. After a few more minutes, I (unwillingly) hung up. Glancing up at the clock hanging on the wall, I began forming out my game plan. An hour to finish up, another hour to decide on an outfit and then two for primping up. Chanyeol hadn’t given any specific details about the place, just a street name and a note to ‘be casual because it’s just him and I shouldn’t have to dress up for the likes of him’ which threw me off because wasn’t that exactly why I had to step up my game?

This had to be some kind of reverse psychology play, and so to not fall prey to it, I chose to do exactly what he told me to.

Deciding on a casual outfit that didn’t seem overly casual but still casual enough so that he wouldn’t think I wanted to impress him, which I kind of intended to, proved to take way longer than the time I had allocated for it to. Different outfits lay on the bed, each having some sort of flaw that made my decision all that much harder to make.

I wore the carpeted floor out with my pacing, my fingers rubbing circles into my temples. I ing hate being a girl. This would’ve been so much easier if I just had to put on jeans and a shirt—

Oh it.

I threw my clothes off into a corner of the room, pulling the denim boyfriend jeans and grey sweater on. Settling in front of the full length mirror, I gathered my hair into a ponytail, leaving out the tendrils that framed around my face. Hobbling about for a good minute, I tried to force my feet into the booties before flying through the door, hoping that twenty minutes was enough to get to the place.

The neon lights streamed through the windows of the taxi, which painted my fidgety hands in shades of blue and red. My mind was flooded with the different scenarios that would (could) play out later on, and each and every one of them left me in silent giggles and a -eating grin. It wasn’t that I was new to dates, oh no. I had a few every now and then, but most of them were fun, meaningless escapades. A drink here and there, a little laugh, a little kiss; but that was pretty much it. I didn’t expect anything, didn’t go out of my way, didn’t put my love out on the line (damn you, Demi). I didn’t see a future with any of them, just like how they probably only saw me as an expensive painting— nice to look at, but far too much to buy. I learnt to be okay with their roaming eyes and lingering touch, because in the end they’d still end up on the other side of my apartment door with shattered hopes and a hard problem.

Somehow, I felt as if Chanyeol wouldn’t just be another addition to those memories.

It was like I could already feel his arms around my shoulders, as we watched the sun fall behind the horizon. It was like I could already hear the soft thumping of his heart against his ribcage under my ears as I lay my head across his chest.

Gosh, I rested a hand over my flaming cheeks, the things you do to me, Park Chanyeol.

Suddenly, Baekhyun’s (annoying) voice rang from the depths of my bag, and my hands dug through the contents to retrieve it.

From: Your Eternal Boyfriend <3333

guess what day it is?

I rolled my eyes at the contact name. Time to change the passcode again, I guess. I quickly typed out a “Sunday” and sent the reply, smirking at the immediate ‘typing’ status that appeared under his name.

From: Your Eternal Boyfriend <3333

you I know it’s a ing SUNDAY, as if the church bells ringing at noon weren’t enough of a reminder. IT’S MOVIE NIGHT YOU IDIOT.

I froze, the fortnightly occurrence totally slipping my mind. My fingers hovered over the screen, unmoving as I kicked myself for forgetting the one tradition Baekhyun and I had had ever since I moved into the apartment. My eyes lingered on the backrest of the passenger seat, too occupied with boring holes into the leather as I continued lowering my imaginary self into a cauldron of boiling water to notice the change in his status once more.

From: Your Eternal Boyfriend <3333

you forgot, didn’t you.

It wasn’t a question, was my first thought. Only Baekhyun could kill me with those simple words. I hung my head in shame, foregoing giving an excuse and opting instead for the truth about the date. I added in a “you should go ask her out too!” so he would, hopefully, let me off. Tapping the send button, I waited anxiously as he began typing his reply. Not more than fourty-six seconds later (he always knew how to keep me on the edge), a new bubble popped up on the screen.

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