"There's your sock."

Dariel holds it up in the air. I catch it with a jump, chuckling. "Thank Minho for me."

"I'm sure he'll be more than happy with a text." He hand wraps around my waist, pulling me into a kiss. "What's for dinner?"

"Pasta."

"What kind of pasta? There's a million kinds of pasta."

"Just pasta." Grinning widely, I give a reassuring pat on his shoulder. "With cheese."

"No sauce?"

"Tsk, you know I like pasta without sauce. And I'm not going to change that for you."

"Mhm." He hangs his long, black coat on the rack, then follows me further into the house. My parents aren't home—each Sunday is a reserved date night for them. I'm fine with it. Dariel and I get alone time.

"Still smells good," he compliments. Both of us sit down across from each other, multiple candles spread around the table. "And looks good. Thank you for making this."

I hold up my pinky. "When we go live together, I will cook and you will pay all the bills."

"Aw, aren't you afraid that's unfair? Your cooking skills do outweigh my salary," he mocks sarcastically, resulting a chuckle from me.

"Do they now?" I raise an eyebrow. "Well, deal?"

"Deal." He hooks his finger around mine before we start eating in silence. Soft music plays in the background—I hate eating without background noise.

Once we're done, I make us drinks while he puts everything in the dishwasher. "I'll put the sock in laundry real quick," I announce. "Will be back!"

Hurriedly, I run to my bedroom. The soft brown carpet of the stairs feels relaxing below my feet, but the smell of my room is even better. I bought one of those steamers yesterday, and it's awesome. I'm afraid my plants might die because of it, though.

I grab more laundry from my chair and dump it in the bathroom, rushing back down.

"You're going to fall one day." His voice is filled with amusement, yet laced with a hint of concern.

"Whoever walks up the stairs in a slow pace is a psycho." I puff away a few heavy breaths, straightening my clothes. "All this drama because of a sock. I always lose my socks, though. They just vanish—I swear, one time, I had it in my hands, looked away, and when I looked back, it was gone! Where did Minho find this?"

"Probably in the bathroom. Perhaps the living room." A short pause. "I swear if he entered my room—"

I laugh. "Hey, hey. It's cute that he offered to bring it back. I wish I had a little brother or sister."

"Cute? Him? Never." In disbelief, Dariel joins me on the couch. "You're too oblivious to his devilish acts."

"I'm such a joy that he doesn't perform those acts when I'm around," I tease.

Dariel rolls his eyes, stretching his arm over the back of the couch. "You're lucky, then. Or maybe he just knows you'd turn him into a puddle of guilt with that sweet little act of yours."

"What act?" I feign innocence, blinking at him with wide eyes. "I'm genuinely a joy to be around."

He huffs out a laugh. "If you say so."

"I do say so." I rest my head against his shoulder. The scent of his cologne is faint but familiar. "And you're lucky to have me, you grump."

"Don't I know it," he murmurs. His hand brushes my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. "Even if you drive me insane half the time."

"Half? Only half? I must be losing my touch." I smile, warmth spreading through me. The room is quiet except for the hum of the music in the background and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

"I'll never understand how you and Minho are related," I say after a moment. "You're so... different."

He hums thoughtfully. His fingers trace patterns on my arm. "He's young. He's got time to figure himself out."

"I think he's sweet," I reply, though my tone is teasing. "Under all the sarcasm and whatever 'devilish acts' you think he's up to."

Dariel snorts. "Sweet? That's not the word I'd use. Try irritating. Or reckless."

"Sounds familiar." I elbow him in the side. "Maybe you're quite alike, actually."

"Careful, Lucy," he warns, though there's no real bite to his words. "You might regret that."

"Please, like I could ever regret anything about you."

He shifts, pulling me closer and resting his chin on the top of my head after kissing it. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

"Of course." I hide the flutter in my chest. "I deserve an award, honestly."

"You do," he agrees. "And I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it."

Without hesitation, I reach inside his pocket, revealing a pack of cigarettes. "If you quit smoking, you will already make up for a lot."

"I'm trying," he sighs out. "But, trust me, it's relaxing. After a busy day, you just get to sit somewhere and tug at it now and then—"

"For all I care, I will give you a ten-hour massage if that's just as relaxing. No smoking. It's not healthy." I slam a hand against his chest, the muscles hard below my palm. "Alright?"

"Maybe."

When I was younger, my dream was to become a theatre star, but eventually I had to face reality and come up with something else. Theatre is now just a hobby as I study for becoming a trauma surgeon. Oncologists also interest me, so maybe I will do something with that in the future as well.

Dariel currently works as a data analyst while he studies business administration.

"You staying the night?" I look up at him.

"If you insist." 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Lillian

Hi Lucy,
Since Dariel and his father are often not home in the evening, I told Minho to ask you if he could join you whenever you eat dinner with Dariel, so he also gets healthy food. He was too shy to ask, so here I am. Don't tell him, just subtly invite him over. Thank you!
And if you don't agree, that's fine, too, of course.

Ohh, sure! I'll make sure to invite him every time. Thanks for asking me. See you soon x

"Minho's going to eat with us more often from now on," I tell Dariel, showing him the text, which he reads with a deep frown on his face.

"How the hell did he manage to do that?"

"Manage what?"

"To create this stereotype of himself. You and Mom both call him shy and sweet—how? Minho is anything but shy."

I shrug. "He is shy."

"It's a mask. He's not shy. You should see how he acts at school."

"The way he acts at school is the mask, not how he acts at home. Home is supposed to be a safe place. Be happy he can be himself at home."

"Okay, maybe he can be sweet now and then, but he's not shy!" Dariel groans.

I muffle my laughs in his chest. "Alright, I understand. Minho's not shy and I won't call him sweet again."

Back when I was in high school, I passed him in the hallways now and then. We never talked, but he was there. His eyes carried some kind of look with him, the kind of look you can't forget. The kind of look you feel, even if you can't see it.

I met Dariel in a cafe. We became friends, sort of. Last year on Valentine's Day, he asked me out on a date. It was our first date ever. I expected Minho to be aware of that, since he asked if I wanted a coffee, but that was a misunderstanding. We started dating a few weeks after Valentine's Day.

Obviously, we both hung out with each other's families. Not only during holidays, but also in weekends or evenings. For as long as I can remember, Minho has had a good amount of sass, but won't easily dare to ask for a favor, nor is he as blunt as Dariel describes him to be—maybe I'm seeing it wrong.

I've never talked to him without other people's presence. Maybe that's the different sides Dariel and I have seen. Either way, he's really caring, and I like him.

"Have to be up early tomorrow." Dariel stretches his muscles before he gets comfortable in my bed. "Good night."

The heat radiates off his bare torso. I scoot impossibly close. "Good night."