A/N: on a roll

I find myself in the elevator with Bobby the second time today. Of course, the first time I was a man.

Bobby turns to me as if to say something, then just frowns and blinks a few times.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No, just had a weird sense of deja vu,” he answers, putting his hand on his neck and staring at the ceiling.

I tilt my head and leave it at that. Better not venture down that path.

We stroll into the convenience store laughing and talking, albeit quietly this late at night. It’s only a few meters of pavement away from our building, and the shadows aren’t dark enough or deep enough to hide anyone.  

“...and that’s why I only saw the first few minutes of Phantom of the Opera.”

“I can’t believe you got scared by the chandelier,” I tease, glancing around the store. It’s just me, Bobby, and the cashier.

“I mean, it wasn’t really the chandelier,” he defends himself. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think the mask was creepy.”

“Oh come on!”

Bobby picks up a few drinks and assorted snacks and heads to the stoic cashier.

“You need anything?” he calls out to me.

I grab a banana milk and grin at him. “I’m a kid at heart.”

He takes it and pays for everything together.

“Gomapta, chingu-ya,” I say again, instead of arguing.

“Is that our catchphrase now?” he laughs. “Gomapta, chingu-ya?”

“Guess so, got a better one?” I shoot back.

He shakes his head and smiles.

Bobby and I get out of the elevator on his floor, still grinning.

He gestures me out first with a flourish and a bow.

I curtsy and say solemnly, “Gomapta, chingu-ya.” Flouncing out with invisible skirts, I ignore his snort of laughter behind me.

“This must be the politest friendship I’ve had,” he observes, deadpan, when I turn and look at him coming out of the elevator.

Straight-faced, we look at each other as he rings the doorbell.

The door opens with Chanwoo standing on the other side in a tank top and shorts.

“Oh! Annyeonghaseyo, noona,” he greets me, bowing automatically.

We glance at him, back at each other, then burst into full-blown peals of laughter.

“Annyeong, Chanwoo-ya,” I bob at him in a mini curtsy. Bobby’s laughter crescendos when he sees it.

“What’s going on?” Jinhwan says from inside. I hear footsteps heading towards the door, faint under the sound of our laughter, but there all the same.

“You’re letting the AC out,” Junhwae complains before seeing me. “Ah, annyeong, Minhee-ya.” He looks suddenly self-conscious, also in tank top and shorts.

“Annyeong, Minhee-ya~” everyone else greets me, then stares at their group member. Bobby has slid down the wall, still laughing his off.

“Um, are you coming in?” Yunhyeong asks hesitantly from somewhere behind Junhwae and B.I..

“Eung,” I confirm, flashing a smile in that direction.

“Let’s go put shirts on,” I hear Donghyuk suggest quietly.

“It’s not even that funny,” I point out, hiccupping, to my partner-in-vanilla-crime.

“Oh, it’s really not,” he agrees, gasping.

A few last giggles from me, then it’s all Bobby.

“Eomma-ya...” he finally wheezes, calming down. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”

“You mean that’s not how you got your abs?” I joke.

He blinks at me, then lifts his shirt and peeks. “Hm.” He eye-smiles up at me and I raise my brows at him, suppressing an answering smile.

A few of the boys in the doorway let out some exasperated noises.

Still trying not to smile, I offer Chingu a hand up. He grabs it and I pull, except he seems to expect me to put less strength in the action than I do, because he pushes up and off the wall at the same time and ends up being propelled towards me at an unnecessary speed. I have a split second to decide whether I want to end up on the floor in an awkwardly intimate situation, leave him to crash, or help him regain his feet and potentially blow my cover as a girl-girl.

 I know the practical answer, but chingu-ya shouldn’t be left to potentially injure himself if I can help it. Wincing internally, I put one foot back and brace as he stumbles forward. Turning slightly, I catch his chest on my shoulder and brake him gently.

“Ow,” I say insincerely, letting go of his hand to rub at my shoulder.

He frowns a little and pats my shoulder gently as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “Mian.”

I shrug and we head inside together.

It turns out the boys are watching TV and hanging out in their living room, so it’s natural for me to just take a seat next to Bobby on the couch, drinking my banana milk.

Bobby hands out his convenience store bounty and leans back on the couch, sighing. I poke him in the side.

“Tired?” I ask him.

He nods. “My abs hurt.”

I poke them and he flinches. “Yah,” he exclaims, and pokes me back. A strange look comes over his face.

“What?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer and just pokes me again in the same spot. “Hm.”

I scoot away from him and frown. “Yah.”

“What’s wrong?” Junhwae asks, looking over at us.

“Nothing,” Bobby replies, but gives me a considering look.

“Is it rude to ask if you have abs?” he asks.

“Is it rude to ask if it’s rude?” I counter, then relent. “Not really.”

“Do you have abs?” he asks, and it’s at a lull in the noise from the TV, enough that everyone else looks at me.

I’m confident enough in my abs that the attention doesn’t bother me so much, but Minhee probably wouldn’t be. I tug my ear as if I’m nervous, then shrug noncommittally and give him a sly smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He frowns at me. “Damn it, now I’ll be curious.”

“You look like you could have abs,” Chanwoo observes.

I shrug again and pull on my banana milk, tucking my sweatpanted legs up so they’re hiding my torso. They make noises of discontent but turn back to what they were doing, except for Jinhwan.

“Do you do martial arts like your brothers?” he asks curiously, turned the opposite way from the TV.

“I prefer performance arts,” I reply naturally, but he’s too quick on the uptake.

“That’s not an answer.”

His eyes are a little too piercing, and I feel almost angry to have to hide myself in this persona. But I have a choice. I can live Shin Minhee as she was created, or I can decide now to add a little spice to the mix. It crosses my mind that I’ve just told Zodiac I should make myself look weak, but in in the grip of my uncommon frustration, I decide to go against my own suggestion.

I finish drinking my banana milk and ask Bobby, “Where’s the recycling?”

He points behind us, at the open kitchen.

I get up and walk the few meters to the kitchen, where I rinse out the carton and toss it in the bin. When I turn around, Jinhwan is starting to look a little defensive, a little awkward.

He opens his mouth and begins, “I didn’t mean–”

Sighing at my own folly, I bounce a little on the balls of my feet, then slowly bring my right leg up to my chest, unfolding it to full extension. Everything is nice and limber. Walking a little out into the open area, I make eye contact with the now silent Jinhwan and eager Bobby. Huffing out an amused breath, I do a roundhouse kick, sweatpants loud as my leg whips through the air.

Everyone else turns back to look at the commotion, but there’s nothing to look at. I’m already walking back to the couch, surreptitiously pushing the switchblade deeper into my pocket. I’m not used to its mobility– I’ll have to arm myself with one of my more familiar weapons next time.

“I’m not as good as oppa-deul,” I answer their unspoken question. “But I’m decent, I guess.”

They nod, satisfied with my answer. “You’d be wasted as a stunt double anyway,” Jinhwan states, into another lull in the TV audio.

A few of the others nod vigorously.

“Too pretty,” B.I. volunteers from the other couch.

“Much too pretty,” Bobby agrees.

I can’t help but chuckle. “Gomapta, chingu-ya,” I say, but there’s not much laughter left in either of us; Bobby is exhausted, and I’m not sure what I am. All I know is that it’s getting harder and harder to hide who I am. Consciously, I know it’s not hard at all, but subconsciously, I think I want these people to be my real friends, and people seem to take being lied to badly, even if it is for their own good.

Jinhwan goes off to shower, and soon, the rest of the boys start falling asleep. Bobby’s one of the last– he slides to the side and his head lands on my shoulder, hair slightly stiff with dried sweat.

“Aigoo-ya.” I move him gently off my shoulder and get up, laying him down on the couch. Slowly, trying not to wake him, I pick his legs up and stretch them out onto the couch.

“You’re strong, noona,” Chanwoo remarks quietly from somewhere behind me. I startle slightly and my hand goes towards the blade, but I manage to calm myself and turn around.

“I didn’t realize you were still up.”

“I’m going to shower next and start waking hyung-deul up to shower after me,” he explains.

 “You’re a good maknae, Chanwoo-ya.”

He blushes, but looks a little lost. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in with the rest of them, since they all trained together for so long before I joined them,” he confides in me.

I hesitate. I’m not qualified for therapy. “I think it’s natural to feel that way, but a lot of it is probably imaginary,” I reassure him. “Just because you joined later doesn’t mean you’re not eventually going to be a part of them. It takes time, that’s all.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

I shrug again, instead of trying to explain. It’s not like I can tell him about being kidnapped and then living with the gang that did it, or have him somehow understand it wasn’t some sort of weird case of Stockholm Syndrome. “Something like that.”

He nods acceptingly.

“I’m going to head back home, then. Tell the others I said bye.”

Rabbit and Rat are still on video call with the base when I get back.

“Your favorite person is back!” I announce as I enter the penthouse.

“Get in here.” Rabbit opens the cave door. He looks serious.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking at everyone.

“Come home, Qilin.”