A TYPICAL TUESDAY SURPRISE

The doorbell in my shared apartment rang three times, struggling to be heard over the mix of low growls and a squeaking bed, making me groan in frustration. Who, in their right mind, thought it was a good idea to drop by on a typical Tuesday afternoon in May?

I was deep into a novel, 298 pages in, when my roommate's boyfriend arrived an hour ago. I should've shut the door the moment Jungkook's silhouette appeared, but no—my brain short-circuited in the presence of his charm. Jimin, of course, caught the vibe immediately and practically materialized from nowhere to greet his "bunny."

Jimin was a lost cause by now, sinking deeper every time Jungkook smiled—crinkling his eyes, scrunching his nose, and flashing that heart-melting grin. Just like he did then, standing in the doorway, triumphantly holding two boxes of pizza. "Let's hang out!" he declared, like this wasn't a trap.

I figured it out 28 minutes later when Jungkook excused himself to use the restroom and didn't come back. Jimin followed soon after, claiming he was just checking if his boyfriend had gotten lost in our modest two-bedroom apartment. Neither of them reappeared.

I remained skeptical until a loud whack followed by a lewd moan and a breathless "Harder, baby!" echoed through the walls, making me choke on the crusty dough I was munching. After several fits of coughing and a jug of water later, I returned to my book, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.

My back cracked as I straightened up, and it hit me mid-stretch, as I tried to wake up my dead feet—I looked like a zombie from Army of the Dead, the one who was about to kill the human who couldn't stop hitting the doorbell. Jungkook was to blame for that mental image; he'd made us watch it during Movie Night last week. Jimin had spilled his guts afterward, swearing zombies were now off-limits on our watchlist.

But alas, they'd departed, leaving me spiritually scarred for life.

"Shit," I muttered as I knocked over an empty Coke can. If it had still held any liquid and left a stain on the expensive rug my grandmother gifted me, I would've officially declared war on the bunny boy. He'd be lucky to escape with just a lecture today.

Fortunately, the doorbell ringing had stopped as I tossed the can into the trash like a pro. Unfortunately, the person outside had no chill, switching to loud bams on the Hickory wood. I cursed again.

"Anybody home!" they yelled.

"Yeah, coming!" I yelled back.

I cautiously peeked through the peephole—a habit I'd picked up from all the crime thrillers Jungkook insisted we watch. And for once, I was grateful for it, because the second I saw who was out there, my first thought was: Oh, fuck.

My body went into autopilot, sprinting back to the living room. I grabbed my phone off the coffee table, frantically typing out a text.

Meanwhile, a storm of muffled words pierced through the door.

Contrary to what you might expect, I didn't dwell on it. I went back and swung the door open, and to my dismay, I was greeted by two stunned faces, jaws slack mid-air. Whatever curse had been aimed at me for taking so long died on the first one's lips, replaced by a twitchy, forced smile.

"There's my handsome brother-in-law!" Seokjin exclaimed, arms outstretched wide.

"Seokjin!" I mirrored, throwing my hands up awkwardly.

I tried to match his energy, though hugging Seokjin felt more like a challenge than a reunion. But, being Seokjin, he simply patted my shoulder and breezed past me straight into the apartment, leaving me staring after him. Was he serious?

A second pat on my shoulder snapped me back to reality, reminding me I'd left the other guest hanging.

"Good to see you, cousin," Namjoon greeted with a nod.

I returned the nod. "You too, Namjoon."

He made up for the missed hug with a warm one of his own, and we exchanged pleasantries as we followed Seokjin into the living room, where my voracious brother-in-law was already lounging on the couch, devouring food.

Considering the size of his mouth, I wasn't surprised by how much he could eat, especially given his career. Anyone in his line of work would lunge at the sight of junk food after months of surviving on boiled vegetables and protein shakes.

Maybe that's why Jungkook could eat enough for six people and still have the appetite of a whale.

Ignoring Seokjin's feasting, Namjoon and I made ourselves comfortable on the adjacent couch, settling in with the coffee table between us.

"The garlic stinks. How people manage to swallow it, I'll never understand," Seokjin said, his face twisted between disgust and disbelief.

"It's garlic-free. Jimin's allergic," I explained, watching a flicker of confusion cross his face.

"Must be the cheese then," Seokjin persisted, reaching for a third slice of pizza. "Aren't they basically rotten during the process?"

"It's called fermentation, babe," Namjoon chimed in.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Seokjin chuckled, though I couldn't tell if he was amused or sarcastic-he was too good at playing both. "Anyway, we're not here for a cheese lecture."

"I was starting to wonder," Jungkook quipped from somewhere to my right.

I craned my neck and squinted, noticing his all-black outfit blending into the background. With his face out of the view, he almost looked like a headless figure.

My heart skipped a beat.

Holy Jesus.

The fact that Jungkook had the audacity to question Seokjin's presence-after he had basically invited himself over-was laughable. If anyone had the right to demand answers, it was me. I had been sitting here the whole time, silently wondering the same thing since Seokjin nearly broke the door down like a zombie hunting for fresh victims.

"Where the hell did you even come from?" Seokjin asked, genuinely startled, as if Jungkook's presence had just dawned on him.

"My mother's womb. Why?" Jungkook replied, deadpan.

"That's not what I meant, you idiot. Where were you?"

"I've been standing here the whole time." Jungkook shrugged.

"You were the black statue I thought looked out of place?" Seokjin tilted his head, a string of cheese still connecting his mouth to his slice.

"Wait, we have a black statue in the apartment?" Jimin asked, feigning surprise.

As if we didn't already have enough idiots in the room, Jimin joined the group, his clueless expression confirming we'd hit peak brainlessness. I refuse to associate with any of them.

"We're talking about Jungkook's Men in Black look," Namjoon answered for me, ever the reliable cousin.

"Oh, right." Jimin let out a shaky laugh. "I told him not to wear that color. People might mistake him for a kidnapper or, I don't know, a black statue."

I frowned internally.

It was strange hearing Jimin agree with that, considering how he never missed a chance to gush about how hot Jungkook looked in black during our arcade nights. The man could go on and on about it, biting my ears off with every detail.

When Jungkook found out, he made it his mission to match his wardrobe to a bat. And he took it seriously—his all-black outfit was so extreme that he was practically camouflaged, especially when he wore that black bucket hat and face mask combo. At our next arcade night, he showed up in a black tee and cargo pants, barely any skin visible, as if he was trying to disappear into the shadows.

I knew Jimin wanted to break all the rules and kiss him senseless right then and there. But the poor guy could barely make out where Jungkook's lips were, thanks to the dim lighting blending his outfit with the night.

Jimin, now seated beside Seokjin, huffed in frustration and ruffled his already messy hair, making it worse.

He always believed running a hand through his hair made him look sexy, but at that moment, I had my doubts. He was chewing on his bottom lip, and his foot was tapping impatiently on the floor. The constant fidgeting could only mean one thing—he was nervous. About what, though, I had no idea.

My eyes drifted over to the source of Jimin's anxiety—an equally moody Jungkook, currently deep in a heated argument with Seokjin about how jujubes and green olives were two different fruits.

Jungkook's wide eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets, his lips set in that stubborn pout he always wore when he was mad. It was a habit Jimin had confessed to me one night after accidentally drinking Jungkook's last bottle of banana milk. Jungkook had refused to talk to him for half an hour—until Jimin made it up to him in a way I'm sure kids should never hear about.

"You're tense, Jimin. Is everything okay?" I asked, eyeing him carefully.

He clicked his tongue and exhaled sharply.

"Not now. I'll explain later," he whispered.

I gave him a small nod to reassure him.

Before I could press further, Namjoon's voice cut through the room, his frustration palpable. "Alright, enough! Let's drop the nonsense, everyone."

He looked on the verge of ripping his hair out as the debate escalated into whether watermelons were the Messiah of melons or lemons. Namjoon rarely lost his cool, but when he did, it was enough to silence the room in an instant.

A heavy quiet settled over us, giving Namjoon the floor he clearly needed.

"Seokjin, babe? Can we get on with what we came here for? We've got other stops to make." His tone was firm, and Seokjin obediently nodded, signaling for Namjoon to continue.

Namjoon turned toward me, and I straightened up, ready for whatever was coming.

"First off, sorry for showing up unannounced, Taehyung. We were in a bit of a rush," Namjoon said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Don't sweat it. Think of it as payback for all the times I crashed at your place uninvited," I replied with a grin.

"Exactly!" Seokjin chimed in. "I told him to stop being shy and just barge in, instead of knocking like some creepy delivery guy."

Seokjin was on the verge of launching into another rant, but a single look from Namjoon shut him up. Only Namjoon had the power to silence his fiancé's never-ending commentary.

"That's called manners, babe," Namjoon sighed. "Even burglars don't barge in unannounced."

Seokjin's eyes darted around the room, avoiding Namjoon's gaze, as he fidgeted under the weight of his fiancé's remark.

Jimin and I exchanged tight-lipped glances at the retort, but Jungkook, in all his glory, made the mistake of sneering.

"Holy moly," Jimin whispered. "He's about to die."

Seokjin's expression morphed into something close to an indignant angry bird as he locked eyes with Jungkook, who, of course, had to push his luck further.

"What's the matter, Kim Seokjin? Cat got your tongue?"

Namjoon cleared his throat pointedly.

"Jungkook," he said calmly, "leave my fiancé's tongue to me, alright? He's mine, and I can handle him. You, on the other hand, have my permission to go straddle your boyfriend—preferably elsewhere—and make room for us. We've got something important to share."

Namjoon stood, his patient expression unwavering, as Jungkook grumbled but eventually switched seats with him. It was a golden opportunity for Seokjin to poke fun at Jungkook's grumpiness, but the man was too flustered to capitalize. Whether it was Namjoon's declaration or the anticipation of the news, I couldn't tell.

Namjoon demonstrated his own PDA by intertwining his fingers with Seokjin's, his eyes practically turning into heart emojis. The lovesick grin they exchanged was so saccharine, it was enough to make anyone cringe from secondhand sweetness.

"So you're not here for Jungkook this time?" Jimin asked, raising an eyebrow.

My eyes widened at the reminder of their last visit.

Seokjin's smile, though polite, was anything but genuine.

"No, we have other business today," Seokjin began, his voice smooth. "Unlike last time, when we had to hunt him down after the whole company was scrambling to deny that he pole-danced for you in a local bar." He paused, relishing the embarrassment that washed over Jungkook and Jimin as they lowered their heads. Seokjin then dropped the final blow with deliberate emphasis. "Naked, I might add. You can thank me later for deleting the footage from all the cameras. You're welcome."

The room fell silent as Jimin and Jungkook sat in mortified stillness, clearly praying for the ground to swallow them whole.

Jungkook grumbled, his ears flushing crimson. "I've thanked you a hundred times already!"

"Well, there's still a lifetime left to thank me an infinite number of times!" Seokjin shot back.

"I'm not thanking you for a fucking lifetime!"

"Oh, you will thank me for a-wait, how dare you curse in front of your elders!"

"I can dare because I'm 21 and a half!"

"And I'm five years older than you!"

"But September comes before December!"

"And '92 comes before '97!"

And just like that, their endless bickering reignited.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples like he was deeply questioning his life choices. Just as it looked like the argument was about to spiral further, a loud roar cut through the room.

"FUCKING STOP, YOU TWO!" Jimin shouted, startling everyone into silence.

He shot a deadly glare at Jungkook. "No cuddles for a month if you say one more word, Koo. Got that? You better get that." Jungkook, visibly pouting, obeyed like a child being chastised, which, in fairness, was exactly the case.

He crossed his arms and vowed to stay silent for the rest of the conversation.

Jimin turned to Seokjin next. "And you," he said, a little softer, "we're thankful for what you did that day. Really. But you guys have something else to talk about, right? Let's focus on that."

Seokjin, visibly deflated, mumbled, "Yeah, okay."

An uncomfortable silence settled over us. This time, it felt heavier, more awkward.

Namjoon exhaled deeply. "Finally," he muttered. "Thanks, Jimin."

Jimin gave him a brief smile, but it never quite reached his eyes.

Namjoon intertwined his fingers with Seokjin's again, visibly relieved to finally share their news without further interruptions.

He began anew. "It's never been a secret that Seokjin and I fell head over heels in love the moment we met all those years ago. We've had our ups and downs, but we made it through, and now we—"

"We're getting married!" Seokjin squealed, leaping up from his seat.

In that instant, I realized Namjoon's composure had completely vanished. I could tell by the way he squeezed his eyes shut before responding a moment later.

"Yeah, we're getting married," he grumbled, looking utterly exasperated as he made the announcement.

I moved to his side, perching on the arm of the nearby couch to offer the moral support he had given me earlier. I gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Congratulations, bro."

"Thanks." He nodded in appreciation, and I returned his gratitude with my signature grin.

Next, Jimin offered his congratulations, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Jungkook sitting as still as a statue—an impressive feat considering his usual energy. He complied with Jimin's earlier command until Jimin finally released him, prompting Jungkook to leap up and crush Seokjin in a bear hug.

"Are you sure you can handle him for the rest of your life?" Jungkook teased Namjoon.

"Jungkook," Jimin warned, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Just kidding!" Jungkook scrunched his nose playfully, then enveloped the couple in a joint bone-crushing embrace. "Congratulations, you two!"

"Thank you!"

"Wait, does that mean Seokjin's going to get pregnant like he did in his K-drama?"

"JUNGKOOK!"

Chaos erupted in the aftermath as we popped open a bottle of Château Margaux to celebrate the years Namjoon and Seokjin had spent together. Their stories—how they met, the moment they first confessed their love—unraveled like a tapestry of cherished memories.

As I listened, it was hard to ignore the way they gazed at each other, as if they were each other's universe. To say they complemented each other like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle would be an understatement.

With their differing tastes, opinions, and career paths, Namjoon and Seokjin were living proof of the "opposites attract" theory. Namjoon would often describe their relationship this way whenever someone asked about it. For me, however, it felt like nothing more than a myth—a mere theory that existed only in words and was celebrated primarily in fiction.

I still remember the day I stopped by my favorite café for my usual morning boost, thinking of bringing coffee to Namjoon since his workplace was nearby. His caffeine addiction was well-known among family and friends. I was a familiar face at his company, so they readily pointed me to his whereabouts at Rkive, his studio.

Namjoon was the kind of person who valued high morals and logical reasoning, often spending his free time watching documentaries and National Geographic. So, to find him engrossed in a genre he once deemed ridiculous was both shocking and intriguing.

The Americano I held slipped from my fingers and splattered on the floor when I noticed the prominent bulge in his pants—his zipper wide open—as he hastily closed the window on his computer and turned to face me, horror written all over his face.

Sweat glistened on Namjoon's handsome forehead as he fumbled to cover himself with trembling hands. After a moment of stunned silence, he finally blurted out, "I'll get you a crème brûlée from your favorite delivery app for a week—"

"A month, and I'll forget I saw you masturbating while watching your love interest's K-drama," I interjected, unable to suppress my grin.

"Two weeks—"

"A month."

"Alright, a month," he conceded. "But how do you know I have a crush on Seokjin?"

I smiled as I tossed the empty cup into the nearby trash bin.

"You're too obvious, cousin. Seokjin knows it too, and he likes you back."

"Wait, for real? How do you know that?"

"Crème brûlée for three months?"

"Crème brûlée for three fucking months!"

That day, I realized that falling in love can make you appreciate things you once dismissed. It felt absurd. I found myself reflecting on the madmen who claimed, "Love is stupid," for they truly understood the folly of loving someone who might be just as foolish.

Namjoon quoted this to me later, and I couldn't quite believe him.

"The Fault in Our Stars? Is this the copy you borrowed from my house last week?" he asked, holding up the book I hadn't finished reading.

"Yeah, that's it," I replied.

He laughed.

"So, it took getting drunk for you to finally admit you're a softie after all those times you dismissed the movie adaptation."

I rolled my eyes.

Had I been sober that ridiculous night, I would have never let myself slip.

"You said it yourself, Namjoon, back when we watched the movie. 'Reading the novel behind the adaptation helps you appreciate the masterpiece it is and makes you admire the little details the next time you see the film,'" I mimicked, air quoting for effect. "Maybe the inebriated me just got curious and brought it home. There's nothing sappy about it."

"And nothing to get so defensive about either," Namjoon countered.

I scoffed. "I'm not being defensive."

He sighed again, exasperated.

"Tae, we've had this conversation a million times, but for you, let me say it again," he pleaded, and I instinctively leaned away.

I hated where this discussion was headed, so I inhaled deeply, bracing myself.

"It's okay to love, to be loved, and to show love to the person you fall for. Just because of how your parents ended doesn't mean you'll meet the same fate."

And there it was, laid bare-the crack in the deep crevices of my heart.

Even after a decade, hearing that sentiment still felt like a punch to the gut. It revived the ache in my lungs, making every inhale and exhale a struggle.

Maybe Namjoon sensed that, which is why he gently caressed my arm, trying to pull me back to reality and quiet the internal storm. But it was hard. It had always been hard. And I hated suffering through it.

A soft whisper of my name and Namjoon's warm hand enveloping mine pulled me back into the room. I released my clenched fist and glanced at my cousin, my blurry vision gradually coming into focus. What had he just said?

"It's your time to experiment with life. Don't hold back from pursuing what brings you happiness. Consider dating people instead of going for random hookups; those can't last forever, Tae."

He smiled, trying to illuminate the darkness clouding my mind, but the effort felt futile.

"Okay?" he asked gently.

"Okay," I whispered, nodding. He handed me the novel, but I had lost the desire to read it.

To distract myself, I tuned into the conversation around me.

Seokjin, Jimin, and Jungkook were engrossed in a discussion, with Seokjin boasting about the destination wedding he envisioned on some island in France. That caught my attention.

I turned to Namjoon to ask about it, but he anticipated my question, holding up his hands in defense.

"His idea, not mine. I'd be perfectly happy with a simple ceremony, but Seokjin is an idol who's hard to please."

We shared a knowing smile.

"Babe?" Seokjin called, and Namjoon's enthusiastic reply of "Yes, babe" made me cringe.

"I think we should head out now. It's getting late, and Hoseok must be waiting to chew me out for not putting him first on the invitation list," Seokjin chuckled.

"Yeah, sure," Namjoon replied. "We should leave then. He's the VVIP, after all. We can't upset your best man."

They exchanged grins and stood to leave.

"And listen, you clowns," Seokjin said, pausing to give us one last playful curse. I couldn't help but wonder if he had managed to go a day without swearing. "Just because I'm covering your stay doesn't mean I'm paying for every little thing on your trip. Bring money for the strip clubs you plan to hit in Corsica."

I could tell Jungkook was itching to respond, his scoff barely contained. Jimin wrapped an arm around him, preventing him from diving into yet another round of bickering with Seokjin.

"See you two at the wedding!" Jimin exclaimed, feigning excitement.

"He's taking this superficial star thing way too seriously," Jungkook flopped onto the couch. "I'm an idol too, with a good paycheck. I can take care of myself and my boyfriend, right, bun?"

"Yes, but don't let it get to your sugar daddy head, bunny. I'm over your roleplays and kinks. I don't need any additions to that list."

Jungkook pouted dramatically, a smirk creeping in. "But you didn't hate it that one time I played a sexy criminal and you handcuffed me."

Jimin blushed but shot back, "That was your fetish! You wanted me to blow you while I was in my work uniform!"

That was way too much information for my innocent ears, so I interrupted for some self-preservation. "Spare me the details, you horndogs! I'm right here!"

Jimin looked apologetic, but Jungkook seemed genuinely annoyed. He threw the empty pizza box at me, which I caught mid-air and flung back at him.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You're the one who texted about 'a clown in the house looking for a muse but no mouse!'" Jungkook fumed, referring to the hurried message I sent to Jimin.

(Apparently, Jungkook had read it while Jimin was preoccupied with something very R-rated. When he told Jimin, my friend left him hanging without any relief, which explained his grumpiness and Jimin's embarrassment.)

"I lost one of the best orgasms of my life because of you! Do you know that?"

"I'm not interested in hearing about your sex life!" I threw another empty pizza box at him, and he retaliated with one of his own. We kept tossing them back and forth.

"Well, neither am I dying to hear yours, but dude!"

"What, dude?"

"Dudes!"

Jimin dodged the pizza box and stepped in to play peacemaker. He turned to Jungkook first. "It's okay, Koo. He just wanted to help us out. Imagine if it was Seokjin bursting through the door and dragging us both away while you were still in my mouth to announce his marriage? He would totally do that. You know how Seokjin is."

Jimin chuckled as Jungkook's face went pale, probably imagining the horror of that scenario. But his amusement faded when he noticed my disgusted expression, and he muttered an apology to me.

"Then what about my nuts? I hate getting blue balls, you know that," Jungkook whined again.

"And I hate having to know that about you."

"Bro," Jimin interjected, "when was the last time you even got laid?"

I didn't bother to answer him; his question felt irrelevant at the moment. But with a judgmental gaze, he pierced through me, igniting the book I held in my hands, reading me like an open journal and striking his dart right at the B-I-N-G-O headboard.

"It's about time you got laid, Tae. Maybe then you wouldn't be so sour around us."

"Sour?" I puffed, irritated. "Fuck you."

Jimin hummed in disapproval. "It's you who needs to get laid, Taehyung. Come on, let's find you a nice hook-up at a good bar," he insisted, motioning for me to get up and head to my room.

"Bro, it's not even Tiring Thursday. Isn't it a bit early to be wasted?"

"God, we don't need a Tiring Thursday to get drunk. Every day feels the same for exhausted workaholics, especially for a certain aromatic art intern who hasn't sniffed a coochie since his internship at the Soul Art Gallery."

I knew I could never win an argument with Jimin, yet I tried anyway. "You're exaggerating, Jimin. It's only been, what, three months since my last celebration? That's hardly long."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, buddy, but it is long. It's practically celibacy for someone like you," Jungkook chimed in while playing with Jimin's fingers. What was he, a toddler?

"Someone like me?" I pointed to myself in disbelief.

"Yeah," Jungkook replied, unfazed. "A womanizer like you."

Now what the actual fuck? A womanizer? Me?

I mocked his claim. "Humor me, Jungkook. How exactly am I a womanizer?"

"Bro, girls swoon when you walk by. Have you ever noticed?"

That made me laugh hard. I wiped away an imaginary tear from my eye and teased him. "Jeon Jungkook, do I smell jealousy from you?"

But the truth was, he was not.

It was I who envied the pure connection he shared with someone special. Though I would never admit it to anyone else, I conceded it to my own soul.

I could lie to others, but not to myself. Jimin understood that about me. He knew how I temporarily filled the void by fooling around, how I resisted love and its riches while secretly craving to be the center of someone's world.

This brought me back to my conversation with Namjoon.

He was right, no doubt. Casual flings couldn't last forever. Yet, the girls I slept with were drawn to me purely by physical attraction, and relationships born from sexual desire felt grotesque and foolish-a delusion. That was not how true love was supposed to be, at least not from what I understood.

True love was hard to find. In a world like this, it seemed that love was more likely to be discovered within the pages of fiction, much like the world John Green created in The Fault in Our Stars.

• • •

"Saw something funny, darling?"

I broke into a coughing fit as the female bartender across from me flashed a bright smile.

"Mind sharing it with me?" she asked.

"Oh," I faltered. "It's this poem about Romeo and Juliet on my feed." I tilted my phone to show her the post, the lit screen casting a warm glow on her skin. "I think it's quite funny."

She leaned over the table to read the poem, inadvertently pushing her breasts forward and revealing a mole peeking out from the low V-neck of her bodycon dress. I quickly turned my face away, trying to ignore the involuntary reaction I felt.

Her amused hum brought me back to the moment. She was grinning as much as I was.

"I think it's funny because you don't get it."

I raised an eyebrow. "And you do?"

She giggled. "No, I don't."

Her laughter was cute, and I found myself wondering how it would sound in a different context.

I shook the thought away.

Getting drunk on a typical Tuesday was one of Jimin's lesser bad decisions. His worst was definitely when he started dating Jungkook and began spouting those ridiculous pet names, babying around.

Speaking of which, I glanced over at the couple, who were dancing and grinding on the floor, utterly lost in each other, their heads buried in necks. They were a blushing mess.

I narrowed my eyes at them. They were adorable but also nauseating, making me want to lock them away for public indecency.

Moments later, I watched as Jungkook, over the rim of my brandy glass, pulled Jimin by the arms and headed toward a shady back door-the exit.

Those horndogs, I swear. But I knew I wasn't the only one who understood what they were up to.

"Looks like your friends are in for a wild night," the attractive bartender remarked.

I exhaled through my nose. "They always are. Nothing new."

"And what about you?"

"Huh?"

She leaned against the table, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, offering me an enticing view of her chest.

I fluttered my lashes at her, but she was already looking at me with a knowing smile that carved crescent moons into her cheeks.

"Nothing, probably. Just going home drunk," I told her.

If anything, her smile widened at that, her cheeks lifting and her green eyes sparkling with mischief, creating an alluring aura that was downright captivating.

With a flirtatious flick of her fingers, she popped the cufflinks on my shirt, brushing her skin against mine as she whispered, "How about I keep you company, little darling? Maybe we could unravel what that poet meant by 'Our graves will be like two lovers/Washing their clothes together in a laundromat/If you bring the soap, I'll bring the bleach.'"

I swallowed hard. I never expected the words I'd mocked earlier to suddenly sound so sultry.

"My shift ends in half an hour. Stick around, and I promise you won't be the only one getting lucky tonight." She winked before turning away to serve the remaining customers.

True to her word, we ended up at her place after midnight, and it was nothing short of divine.