"Pancakes." You snap a finger in the boy's face, who slightly resembles the apathy of a lounging sloth. "Do you want pancakes?" you state rather than question.

Instead of answering, the boy numbly slugs across the room to sit at the table without a single word. You roll your eyes and raise your spatula to slap the pancake mix on the kitchen counter with more force than you intended.

"Yes, Y/N," the handsomely proportionate boy says, smiling genuinely. "Pancakes would be wonderful. Thanks for offering."

You return a light smile; you have to make yourself useful by keeping your mind distracted anyhow. And what better way to do it than to make breakfast as a thank you to the boys who saved you from nearly being obliterated by numerous people?

Kneeling into the cabinets below the sink, you search for a bowl to put the cake mix into. Conveniently, a glass mixer bowl sits handily by the cookie pans. Yet oddly, they all looked brand new and hardly touched at all.

Oh. How surreally ironic.

You set the glass bowl on the counter. You pour in the ingredients, crack two eggs, and add a little powdered sugar. As you begin mixing the batter, a lean figure seems to saunter into the kitchen behind you, so you assume one of the boys were searching for some orange juice or low-fat milk.

Ignoring the distraction, you place the pan on the stove, turning the heat on high while melting butter into the sizzling pan to get things started.

You take a spoon to add a little cake batter in the center of the metal pan.

Then you wait. You wait. As you wait, you begin to think about how you really got here, why you accepted the fact that you should hang around a little while longer, and when did you start making breakfast for strangers you don't even know.

Well.

It was really the day when you realized life with your highly expectant mother was totally insane and completely unnecessary. The day you woke up not an only child with five other brothers and a distractingly handsome butthead. The time when you smacked someone so hard they reeled without scolding you for trying to have a little fun.

You flip the pancake to a perfectly golden brown crisp at the top facing you.

You consider as you sigh in thought. Maybe you were sticking around because you wanted to find out something about yourself you didn't already know, something your parents haven't already told you.

Honestly, all you wanted was to be truly satisfied. Maybe finding out what's destroying your life is the key to helping you find what makes you happy.

You glance down and shovel up the first pancake, placing it on a readied plate beside the stove. You smile in momentary satisfaction at your work.

The perfect pancake has been born.

When the Meme of Your Incredibly Unlucky Life appears from nowhere, number two: When someone contradicts the very thing you were just thinking.

"That's not how you make a pancake," says a blunt voice you recognize as Jungkook's from behind. His feet shuffle closer to the stove to see how you were making the soft breakfast paddies.

"What do you know about making pancakes?" you sass, pointing the spatula at him with a solid hand on your hip.

"Trust me, a lot more than you know about jumping people," he scoffs.

"We're still on that?" you say, tapping your foot. "Why do you care about how I make a pancake anyway?"

Jungkook walks around you and tilts the glass bowl of cake mix forward, smelling it carefully. Instantly, he repels and shakes his head. "Because I'm picky. Give me that." Jungkook grabs the spatula from your hands and pushes you out of the way.

Uh, rudee!?

"This is how you make a pancake." Jungkook adds more batter to the small circle pancake you started making, which takes up the entire shape of the pan.

"Jungkook, you dumb-witted imbecile!" you exclaim. "You ruined it!"

"Just like you ruined my life." Jungkook sticks a finger into the cake batter, his index sucking up all the batter he can get before shoving the yellow glop into his mouth. "Now, we're even, Princess."

Your blood boils. You are always criticized back at home by your obsessive mother. Even worse by your psycho father. And now by Jungkook who wants to tell you what's perfect?

You'll give him perfect. A perfectly punched eye with a perfectly reeling face. However, your brain synthesized a better idea. A much, much better idea.

Looping round Jungkook with the spatula, you hover atop the glass bowl, sticking fingers into yellow gooey mush. You stick your fingers into the cake mix and relish wiping freshly slopped slime across the side of Jungkook's face. You smirk. "Now, we're even."

Jungkook grits his teeth, blinking a few times, like he couldn't believe what you did just happened. He brings a hand to his face, only for his palm to soak up a mass population of yellow goo. He is slightly disgusted and flicks some of it from his fingers with the sassiest abruptness you have ever seen.

It was so rigid that you almost got hit with the yellowish mix, but you evade it by stepping aside like a frightened puppy.

Why were you so jumpy??

You two stare daggers, and Jungkook takes the spoon from the countertop. He scoops a good amount of pancake mix into the tiny basin. Then, without warning, he turns it upside down and flicks the slime on top of your head. It was cold sinking into your hair as Jungkook mushed the spoon onto your head.

You gape stupidly as the boy grabs your hand and places it on top of the spoon, which also becomes mildly encased in goo. You gasp when your hand touches it suddenly, because Jungkook had waited, then shoved it quickly into the thickened mixture so it would be freezing cold and unexpected.

You want to die right now. Because it is so freezing cold.

As you shakily bring down your hand with the spoon, you smack it disgustingly into the sink beside the stove. Now, both of your hands were covered in pancake slop, and there was nothing you can do to repay it.

Unless . . . Your brain conjures the most brilliant idea in the history of History when your eyes catch the most beautiful things to have ever existed on the face of this earth. Eggs.

The white eggshells glisten against the sun from the pouring window with brimming opportunity. Opportunity that ended in the only way you knew how . . . Where you dispose all waste when you're angry. Up someone's butt.

Luckily, Jungkook's a stupid butthead.

You take the biggest egg you can find, and without warning, you do exactly what Jungkook did to you. You wait, then smash the egg so well it seeps long and hard into Jungkook's beautiful red hair.

He flinches when it smacks his skull, and shivers when it drips down his face. He takes a finger and wipes it from his forehead, but shakes it on the floor. And he's definitely had it. You can tell.

He looks like he wants to kill you just like when you were interrogating him in that van, except with a look ten times more likely to kill than with his two bare hands. Jungkook grabs the bowl of cake mix.

Your confidence wavers as you begin trailing backwards. He won't stop walking towards you with the bowl. His body moving closer, closer, closer makes you withdraw as quickly as he looks to get even closer, backing you all the way into a corner where you can't escape.

You could, but then he pins your hands with above your head. Against the wall. With only one hand. So it's either you jam your nose into the refrigerator, or dive for it by the trashcan.

Before you can even consider, Jungkook releases, raising the spoon. And, with every dose of fulfillment in his devilishly gleaming eyes, rakes every little bit into the scalp of your hair. He shakes every, last bit off the silver spoon.

As you are now trembling at the coldness and heaviness of the mix, you watch Jungkook's mouth curve into an extremely wicked smirk full of spite.

"Two words," he breathes into your ear. "I. Win."

You scream to the top of your lungs.

And five worried boys rush into the small kitchen of disaster.

"Goodness gracious!" the one who looked older says. "What happened to my kitchen?"

"How is there pancake mix on the walls?" It's the first thing you've ever seen that lazy sloth utter since the time you got here.

Jimin pushes through everyone, tossing Jungkook aside to grab your shoulders, which were dripping in goo. "Y/N!" he exclaims, shaking you. "Are you okay? What happened to my beautifully luscious angel-PIE!?"

You flick off a handful of slime in Jungkook's direction. He dodges to avoid it as you glare dangerously. Your eyebrows go up as you emphasize, "Jungkook." You side-blow a messy strand of hair away from your face. Your eyes narrow. "That's what happened."

Jimin slowly turns around, beginning to stare murderously at Jungkook. "Hyung," Jungkook pleads, backing away with his hands up in surrender, "it was an accident."

But Jimin doesn't look too forgiving. In fact, he looks about ready to take on an entire army. "I AM GOING TO MURDER YOUR KOREAN BUNNY BUTTOCKS!" Jimin roars.

"Oh crap!" Jungkook runs for the narrow kitchen exit, but Jimin lunges with a head start, immediately pouncing on the younger's muscular back. "Ah, Hyung! That hurts!" The short brunette latches the younger like a collar forcefully attached to a wildly chaotic dog infected with rabies.

"Jimin! Jungkook . . .?" Hoseok steps around what you now realize to be horrific kitchen chaos. He hands you a towel from under the sink, disregarding whatever happened with two of the youngest boys, then says, "This place is more dangerous than I thought." He was glancing up at the stability of the kitchen interior. "I'm surprised he even came into the kitchen, quite frankly."

"And why is that?" you grit your teeth.

"Because Jungkook is afraid of microwaves," Hoseok replies impassively.

You can't help yourself, but you start to laugh ridiculously. You laugh so hard, doubling over that your stomach starts to hurt from laughing so much.

"Y/N," Hoseok chides. "I'm not kidding. Jungkook has a serious fear of microwaves. He hasn't stepped foot into a kitchen since he was five years old."

You scoff. "How would you know?" This is the dumbest thing you have ever heard.

"Because we raised him. At very young ages of course, but we did it. And ever since that day—"

"What day?" you inquire. The topic now has you on edge the more Hoseok informs you.

"Y/N," Hoseok says gravely. "The day you were almost murdered."

Author's Note: Sorry, this chapter's kinda short guys!

- I hope you are all doing well! Stay healthy!

- AND OKAY normally I don't like different off hair colors like green, purple, or blue (even red). But Yoongi was really rocking that blue hair during the Love Yourself photoshoot!💙 Does anyone agree?

Alright signing off as your devious cat,

MC ^^