loren

a frown knits your eyebrows together at the sight of a crowded room. you swear daeun had only mentioned two freshmen, but then you notice the picture of an exposed forearm on the shared display. you spot one of the boys pointing repetitively at the screen right where the humeral head of the brachioradialis muscle is most prominently visible from the skin’s surface, then the others follow along to either pull their own sleeve up or the sleeve of the person next to them to probe the same area with their fingers. they stare intensely lost in deep discussion as they practice what looks like surface anatomy identification.

there may be more people than you had expected, but everything else checks out so you assume their friends have just joined the original two you were meant to help tutor. you are not going to complain either, not when they are all unarguably cute and hot; a room full of blessed eye candy. except you know to remain rational, the knowledge that they are freshmen telling you that you can admire, but that is it.

your sharp knock against the door is purely out of courtesy before you push it open to let yourself in. all eight pairs of eyes glance up to look at your entrance with a mixture of confusion and surprise but you easily wave them off.

“i’m a little earlier than the time daeun said, though i’m pretty sure it won’t make much of a difference. we can start straight away since you guys are already studying,” you announce, pulling out one of the empty seats closest to you to make yourself comfortable.

the guys have a couple of notebooks and laptops scattered around the table. however, you cannot find a visible copy of the lecture slides they are currently revising. it dawns on you and you confirm, “you’re just practicing surface anatomy on random pictures online, right?”

your eyes flicker between the boys one by one as you wait for a response. the only movement in the room comes from your hands digging out your own study material from your backpack, the rest of them still frozen with varying degrees of forearms exposed, until you make eye contact with the boy to your left with long, wavy bangs.

he immediately breaks out into an impish grin to answer, “yeah, we are.”

“wooyoung, we’re–”

“we can’t quite figure out the answers on our own arms,” wooyoung quickly interjects. you are unable to try and work out what his friend was going to say because he has already continued with a shoved forearm in your direction paired with the question, “can you help?”

nodding, you gently take his hand in yours. “we can start with the distal arm and make our way up proximally. the bone structures are easy to identify because they only ask you the most prominently palpable ones.”

you feel the rest of the boys gradually gravitating closer, some unspoken blanket of hesitation slowly lifting as you touch the protruding structures on the boy’s elbow you are holding. you ask, “what do we call these landmarks?”

wooyoung’s answer is instantaneous, tone proud and utterly confident in himself, “bones.”

“no, you dumb fuck,” comes another friend’s hissed response, mono-lidded eyes narrowing with judgement. “it’s the elbow.”

your mouth opens slightly, closes, then opens and closes once more. they are not wrong…but they are most definitely not right, either.

the silence you are met with from the rest of their friends is also frankly a little concerning, considering their practical is in a few days. but just as you begin to wonder what their chances of passing are, a gentle voice answers, “the landmark most commonly known as the elbow is the olecranon process of the ulna.”

“shit. of course seonghwa would know,” somebody mutters.

said man steps forward, bending down a little to palpate the other two protruding landmarks on the sides of wooyoung’s elbow as he continues, “this one is the medial epicondyle of the humerus…and this one is the lateral epicondyle.”

you nod, now feeling a bit of reassurance that they know something, and instruct, “have a go at finding those three landmarks first.”

the boys listen well and you mostly watch whilst listening to ensure they are not making any errors, until somebody taps you on the shoulder with a gruff, “dude.”

turning around, you find yourself face to face with an elbow. it belongs to the same person who had confidently answered ‘elbow’ and you realise he would easily tower over you if you were to stand next to him, even more so from where you are seated right now.

“what’s this called again?” he asks earnestly, pointing at his elbow in case his question is not obvious enough. “the o-leprechaun process?”

you bite back a laugh to correct, “the olecranon process.”

“you’re a leprechaun, mingi,” somebody cackles, having overheard the exchange.

mingi immediately raises a hand to his eyebrows, dramatically looking back and forth around the room as if he is searching for the speaker. “sorry, can’t hear you, hongjoong. must be because you’re the actual height of a leprechaun.”

a chuckle escapes you as everybody else breaks out into guffaw, and hongjoong grumbles under his breath, “fucking walked myself into that one.”

“i think you meant you hopped yourself into that one.” the tallest of them all–yunho, you hear them call him–snickers wickedly at his own comment as he breaks out into an awful interpretation of a leprechaun jig and it sets off a fresh bout of laughter that can probably be heard throughout the library despite the sound-proofing of the study room.

their easy banter dissipates any initial awkwardness that may have been left and you take the opportunity to prompt them with the next task, “this time we’re going to palpate the superficial muscles. we’ll start with the brachioradialis, flexor carpi ulnaris and flexor carpi radialis.”

“the fuck are these names? dinosau–”

“can you uh…” seonghwa smoothly interrupts whilst scratching the back of his neck, “remind us which ones those are again?”

well, shit. if even the supposed star student does not know, you might have to take things back a step. you wonder, “do you guys know your muscle attachments and movements?”

“nope,” wooyoung gracelessly replies before he coughs and hastily corrects, “i mean, we could always do with some revision.”

oh boy. several steps back it is.

you rummage through your bag for your whiteboard markers as you sigh resignedly, “alright, everybody take out your notebooks and pens. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

and that is how you spend the next three hours going through what honestly feels like the entire anatomy course. by the time you have to head off for one of your own lectures, you are at least somewhat confident that they will all pass the practical–even if you reckon that wooyoung and mingi will just barely scrape by.

so when it comes to your afternoon class, you dip first, trusting that they will continue to revise the summarised content you have set out for them. you pull out your phone for the first time since you entered the study room, only to turn the display on to a multitude of missed calls and unanswered texts from daeun.

your feet slow to a stop as you open up her messages until you are simply standing in the middle of the footpath halfway across the campus. the dirty looks that everybody else shoots at you as they step around you is easily ignored in favour of something that is rapidly becoming a huge fucking question mark.

did you find them okay? thanks again for doing this <3 lmk if you’re running late hey, yohan’s just let me know that you’re still not there yet. you alright? it’s been half an hour where are you hellooo?? i told them sth came up for you but text me back asap to let me know you’re ok are you alive ???

unless you took hallucinogens with your frappe latte this morning, you swear to the fucking gods on earth all the way to fucking neptune that you just spent three hours tutoring a ragtag bunch of freshmen. they were taking notes and asking questions–even if they were kind of stupid ones half the time–and they were actively listening and learning.

but if your friend has texted asking why you have not followed through with the favour you agreed to, then who the fuck did you just spend the last three hours tutoring? and most importantly, why the fuck did they just let you?

there is no other explanation other than the fact that you were simply an idiot. a confident one at that.

you had spent all night tossing and turning over conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, wondering just how the mix-up had managed to occur, but to no avail. determined, you had woken up early and made your way to campus to retrace yesterday’s steps to the same study room.

that is where you find yourself now, looking at the number beside the door, 181A, and the one daeun had texted you.

118A.

well, fuck. is it too late to transfer universities, preferably to one that is in another state?

just as you feel the need to shrivel up on the spot and bury yourself six feet under, the door to 181A swings open. you are utterly mortified to make eye contact with one of the boys you recognise from yesterday. white noise permeates your brain as you both blink awkwardly at one another before some small part of you that is desperate to survive starts urging you to run away.

“what’s wrong, yeosang?” a voice sounds from within the study room.

yeosang stumbles over his friend’s question with an unintelligible mumble. fortunately, he is one of the quieter ones in the group, which means your chances of skedaddling the fuck out of here are pretty good.

unfortunately, the majority of them are not quiet. several heads pop up from behind yeosang, curiosity well piqued by his lack of response, and you physically recoil when you hear a cheery, “hey! it’s anatomy girl!”

it triggers a chorus of excited “anatomy girl!”s from those who have not already gathered at the door. before you can react, somebody tugs you into the room by your wrist, another pulls a chair out for you, a set of hands guides you to sit down and another closes the door behind you, all in the span of blinking your eyes thrice. it briefly crosses your mind that the level of efficiency and teamwork with which they operate would make them excellent criminals.

“you’re here again!” wooyoung cheers, the same impish grin on his face as yesterday now suddenly making a lot more sense.

you cross your arms in an attempt to regain some control, but mostly to draw attention away from your flaming cheeks. “you guys aren’t daeun’s friends,” you confront.

“we suppose not,” the boy standing beside wooyoung arches one of his dark brows playfully as he teases, “but we can change that.”

“san, you can’t just say that so shamelessly,” yunho berates, before dropping his voice an octave lower to flirt instead, “better yet, how about we be your friends?”

somebody smacks the back of his head with a solid whump and ignores the resulting petulant cry of “jongho!” to apologise to you, “sorry, we really should have told you the moment you walked in yesterday.”

damn right, because who the fuck just sits there for three hours getting tutored on something they do not even study? but also, you acknowledge, “i really should have made sure you were the right people first. my bad.”

“it’s okay, it was an honest mistake,” wooyoung reassures, beaming at you brightly as if he was not part of the reason why the confusion happened in the first place.

you scowl, only half-heartedly, “why were you looking at your forearms anyway. anyone in my position would’ve thought you guys were doing anatomy too.”

“we–uh, actually, um,” hongjoong’s eyes flicker as if he is considering whether to tell the truth or not. he unconsciously fiddles with his own sleeve as he admits, “we were discussing whether it would be more attractive to show off our forearms or cover them up.”

“huh?” you respond unintelligently.

seonghwa hurries to clarify with context, “performance outfits. we were discussing performance outfits for our upcoming band music festival.”

that is the exact moment your eyes finally decide to survey the study room. there are a variety of instrument cases scattered along the floor and propped against the walls; guitars, basses, and even what you are quite sure is a whole goddamn keyboard.

“were…were these in here yesterday too?” you ask vaguely.

“...yes.”

daeun has told you multiple times before that you have zero situational awareness, but you had no idea it was this bad. how you managed to miss the fact that they are a band is probably more impressive than concerning at this point. but then–

“how the fuck did you guys know some of the answers?”

at your tone of bewilderment, seonghwa sheepishly looks at you to confess, “some of us did anatomy too. we just couldn’t remember much.”

makes sense. “i assume neither of them two did anatomy,” you banter, nodding at wooyoung then mingi.

the former’s jaw drops and he whispers conspiratorially, “how did she know?”

mingi leans down to reply with the same volume, eyebrows creased together, “i have no idea.”

you wink at them both cheekily and everybody else snickers. out of curiosity you ask, “so what was the final verdict on your performance outfits?”

“haven’t decided,” yeosang shrugs. “as someone who’s seen all our forearms, what do you think? show them or don’t show them?”

you look up and pretend to think. in all honesty, with visuals like theirs, their forearms are going to be one of the last things anybody appreciates during their performance. but you humour them anyway, because frankly–

“show,” you state decisively. “definitely show them.”

–their forearms are too hot not to.

as it turns out, they are all closer to you in age than you had originally thought.

most of them are fourth-years like you, jongho in the year below, and hongjoong and seonghwa currently completing their masters. their degrees are simply to appease their parents whilst they pursue a career in music, and you cannot blame any of them for their lack of interest in studying.

“i’m bored.”

“it’s been six minutes, wooyoung,” hongjoong deadpans.

the younger is unfazed. “your point is?”

“some of us actually have to do well in this assessment block to pass,” yeosang reminds, “you included.”

wooyoung splays himself across the floor of their practice room with the distressed cry of a beached whale, kicking his laptop aside and out of sight. after spending the last two days in the library, the boys had decided on a change in scenery and invited you along to study with them for your upcoming exams in their usual band room instead.

‘study’.

barely enough time has passed for the nine of you to boot up your laptops and spread out your study material before wooyoung has already lost motivation. it does not help either when yunho suggests, “i think we need a break.”

mingi perks up from where he has been leaning against an amplifier, wearing out the corners of his notes from folding them over and over again, to agree, “i second that.” he tosses his paper onto the floor. 

“guys–” hongjoong begins with exasperation, only to be cut off by wooyoung and san’s unison response of, “i third that.”

the oldest of the group also attempts to chime in with rationality but is easily drowned out by the others’ excited chatter at the prospect of not studying. a hearty laugh comes out of you as chaos begins to unfold, genuinely wondering how they managed to sit through your three-hour anatomy session if this is how they usually are, and you close your laptop with an amused shake of your head.

“an attempt was made,” you suppose.

it catches the attention of wooyoung, who immediately yells with faux authority and dictation, “the council has spoken! ‘tis time for a break!”

there is an immediate flurry of movement as the boys begin to unzip their cases left and right and connect cables from god knows where they pulled them out in order to start tuning their instruments. amplifiers crackle to life and the practice room suddenly swells with a choir of different keys and pitches that somehow blend together into disorderly harmony.

the assorted sight of them holding their guitars or basses, behind their keyboards or seated at the drums is a stark contrast to the playful and mischievous nature of their boyish friendship, and an even further contrast to your original impression of them as studious freshmen. right now, their charm and attractiveness radiates from their confidence and freedom of expression, impromptu strings of notes and beats flowing seamlessly between the eight of them even though they are simply messing around and warming up individually.

you have said it before, but you are going to say it again with the knowledge that they are not freshmen: goddamn they are hot.

hongjoong catches you eyeing them and he smirks, “checking us out?”

your immediate reflex is to scoff and lie with confident coyness, “the others, yeah. you? definitely not.”

“i’ll have you know that i’m the most popular in the band,” he challenges, smugness only growing at your pretence, only to set off indignant and sarcastic responses from the other boys at his comment.

“do you know how to play?” jongho asks you through their squabble, absentmindedly plucking the strings of his own bass.

you shake your head, adding, “i’ve always wanted to learn, though.”

“if you want, we can teach you,” seonghwa offers with a sweet smile. he unplugs his guitar from the amplifier and settles down on the floor beside you, handing the instrument over to place it into your lap.

you support the neck of the guitar with your left hand and hover the fingers of your other hand over the sound hole, having seen more than enough media growing up to mimic holding the instrument properly. you begin to feel conscious under the numerous gazes that now fall upon you, but then seonghwa is scooting closer and drawing your attention once more.

“may i?” seonghwa gestures towards your fingers to ensure you are comfortable with him touching your hand. when you nod, he gingerly places the pads of your fingers along the strings as he teaches you the most common chords, explaining as he goes through, “this is C…G…D…”

a shiver runs down your spine, not from the feeling of seonghwa’s gentle touch, but from the feeling of somebody quite literally breathing down your fucking neck.

before you can turn to see who it is, wooyoung’s voice sounds right beside your ear to unhelpfully comment, “yeah, use those–uh, use those abductor digiti minimi and abductor pollicis brevis muscles.”

“bro, she has to flex her fingers,” yunho corrects. “that’s the–um, flexor pollicis brevis and flexor digiti minimi brevis.”

“or maybe the flexor digitorum superficialis,” san suggests, looking at his own fingers as he flexes them as if that will give him the correct answer.

“what the fuck?” you jerk backwards with a mixed laugh of disbelief and surprise to find the content you had taught them days ago being regurgitated, and somewhat correctly at that. “why do you guys remember this?”

they look extremely proud of themselves, like children who have received praise and an extra sticker on their behaviour chart for doing their work well. you are beginning to think that that might actually be an effective method to motivate them to study, when mingi leaps on the opportunity to exaggerate a wink and flirt, “cause we had a hot tutor.”

“give her a break,” seonghwa chuckles as he pretends to wave the boys off. then, leaning in closer so that only you can hear, he earnestly whispers, “he’s not wrong, though. they’ve never sat still for three hours before.”

you giggle, “i can tell.” even though you have only known the boys for a few days, you are unable to recall a moment without some sort of chaos occurring. “i can only imagine how much energy you guys have on stage.”

yunho’s ears perk up. “do you want to come see us perform?”

“yeah! you should come–” “–please, please, please–” “–the weekend as well.”

they pounce on you physically and verbally with uncontainable enthusiasm and you fight for air through your laughter. “which weekend is this?” you confirm, somehow having caught the information over the commotion.

“the saturday in two weeks.”

“we’re playing a half-hour set in the afternoon, so if you’re down, we can hang out afterwards too.”

“there’ll be food trucks and drinks. we’ll pay for you!”

“plus, we have free tickets to the actual festival.”

“and all our exams will be over by then.”

it was never going to be a hard decision to say yes–you only needed to make sure their performance did not clash with a prior engagement. however, it is utterly endearing and absolutely hilarious how quickly they back each other up in hopes of persuading you to attend.

nodding, you agree, “i’ll go.”

san instantly whips out a small piece of paper from the front compartment of hongjoong’s guitar bag, shoving it into your hands with a beam. “your ticket,” he explains.

“you just have these lying around?” you distractedly question, flipping it over to look at the details of the ticket. you assumed that any free tickets they received from the festival would have long been given away to friends and family, considering how popular they seem as a band.

“hongjoong bought this one specifically for–”

“–just in case we missed somebody,” hongjoong interjects, wrapping an arm heavily around yeosang’s shoulders to stop him from finishing his sentence.

you are too busy gaping at the type of ticket in your hands. “vip reserved seating? isn’t this the best type of ticket?”

“express entry, private bathrooms and front row seats amongst many other perks,” jongho confirms.

it does not matter that hongjoong and yeosang’s brief exchange just moments before had gone unnoticed, because you sure notice now. there is no way a festival would give out tickets like this one. “front row seats to admire you guys perform, huh,” you coquettishly comment.

the boys smirk knowingly in response and san cryptically rolls up his sleeves with a vague response of, “nope, there’s more to it than just the performance.”

because as much as you have figured them out, they have also figured you out.

“not just front row seats to admire our performance…they’re front row seats to admire our forearms too.”

taglist pt. one | apply for taglist

@thecarnivaloflies @ilovekimhongjoong @yuranimous @ppprimary @hwas-housewife

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a frown knits your eyebrows together at the sight of a crowded room. you swear daeun had only mentioned two freshmen, but then you notice the picture of an exposed forearm on the shared display. you spot one of the boys pointing repetitively at the screen right where the humeral head of the brachioradialis muscle is most prominently visible from the skin’s surface, then the others follow along to either pull their own sleeve up or the sleeve of the person next to them to probe the same area with their fingers. they stare intensely lost in deep discussion as they practice what looks like surface anatomy identification.

there may be more people than you had expected, but everything else checks out so you assume their friends have just joined the original two you were meant to help tutor. you are not going to complain either, not when they are all unarguably cute and hot; a room full of blessed eye candy. except you know to remain rational, the knowledge that they are freshmen telling you that you can admire, but that is it.

your sharp knock against the door is purely out of courtesy before you push it open to let yourself in. all eight pairs of eyes glance up to look at your entrance with a mixture of confusion and surprise but you easily wave them off.

“i’m a little earlier than the time daeun said, though i’m pretty sure it won’t make much of a difference. we can start straight away since you guys are already studying,” you announce, pulling out one of the empty seats closest to you to make yourself comfortable.

the guys have a couple of notebooks and laptops scattered around the table. however, you cannot find a visible copy of the lecture slides they are currently revising. it dawns on you and you confirm, “you’re just practicing surface anatomy on random pictures online, right?”

your eyes flicker between the boys one by one as you wait for a response. the only movement in the room comes from your hands digging out your own study material from your backpack, the rest of them still frozen with varying degrees of forearms exposed, until you make eye contact with the boy to your left with long, wavy bangs.

he immediately breaks out into an impish grin to answer, “yeah, we are.”

“wooyoung, we’re–”

“we can’t quite figure out the answers on our own arms,” wooyoung quickly interjects. you are unable to try and work out what his friend was going to say because he has already continued with a shoved forearm in your direction paired with the question, “can you help?”

nodding, you gently take his hand in yours. “we can start with the distal arm and make our way up proximally. the bone structures are easy to identify because they only ask you the most prominently palpable ones.”

you feel the rest of the boys gradually gravitating closer, some unspoken blanket of hesitation slowly lifting as you touch the protruding structures on the boy’s elbow you are holding. you ask, “what do we call these landmarks?”

wooyoung’s answer is instantaneous, tone proud and utterly confident in himself, “bones.”

“no, you dumb fuck,” comes another friend’s hissed response, mono-lidded eyes narrowing with judgement. “it’s the elbow.”

your mouth opens slightly, closes, then opens and closes once more. they are not wrong…but they are most definitely not right, either.

the silence you are met with from the rest of their friends is also frankly a little concerning, considering their practical is in a few days. but just as you begin to wonder what their chances of passing are, a gentle voice answers, “the landmark most commonly known as the elbow is the olecranon process of the ulna.”

“shit. of course seonghwa would know,” somebody mutters.

said man steps forward, bending down a little to palpate the other two protruding landmarks on the sides of wooyoung’s elbow as he continues, “this one is the medial epicondyle of the humerus…and this one is the lateral epicondyle.”

you nod, now feeling a bit of reassurance that they know something, and instruct, “have a go at finding those three landmarks first.”

the boys listen well and you mostly watch whilst listening to ensure they are not making any errors, until somebody taps you on the shoulder with a gruff, “dude.”

turning around, you find yourself face to face with an elbow. it belongs to the same person who had confidently answered ‘elbow’ and you realise he would easily tower over you if you were to stand next to him, even more so from where you are seated right now.

“what’s this called again?” he asks earnestly, pointing at his elbow in case his question is not obvious enough. “the o-leprechaun process?”

you bite back a laugh to correct, “the olecranon process.”

“you’re a leprechaun, mingi,” somebody cackles, having overheard the exchange.

mingi immediately raises a hand to his eyebrows, dramatically looking back and forth around the room as if he is searching for the speaker. “sorry, can’t hear you, hongjoong. must be because you’re the actual height of a leprechaun.”

a chuckle escapes you as everybody else breaks out into guffaw, and hongjoong grumbles under his breath, “fucking walked myself into that one.”

“i think you meant you hopped yourself into that one.” the tallest of them all–yunho, you hear them call him–snickers wickedly at his own comment as he breaks out into an awful interpretation of a leprechaun jig and it sets off a fresh bout of laughter that can probably be heard throughout the library despite the sound-proofing of the study room.

their easy banter dissipates any initial awkwardness that may have been left and you take the opportunity to prompt them with the next task, “this time we’re going to palpate the superficial muscles. we’ll start with the brachioradialis, flexor carpi ulnaris and flexor carpi radialis.”

“the fuck are these names? dinosau–”

“can you uh…” seonghwa smoothly interrupts whilst scratching the back of his neck, “remind us which ones those are again?”

well, shit. if even the supposed star student does not know, you might have to take things back a step. you wonder, “do you guys know your muscle attachments and movements?”

“nope,” wooyoung gracelessly replies before he coughs and hastily corrects, “i mean, we could always do with some revision.”

oh boy. several steps back it is.

you rummage through your bag for your whiteboard markers as you sigh resignedly, “alright, everybody take out your notebooks and pens. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

and that is how you spend the next three hours going through what honestly feels like the entire anatomy course. by the time you have to head off for one of your own lectures, you are at least somewhat confident that they will all pass the practical–even if you reckon that wooyoung and mingi will just barely scrape by.

so when it comes to your afternoon class, you dip first, trusting that they will continue to revise the summarised content you have set out for them. you pull out your phone for the first time since you entered the study room, only to turn the display on to a multitude of missed calls and unanswered texts from daeun.

your feet slow to a stop as you open up her messages until you are simply standing in the middle of the footpath halfway across the campus. the dirty looks that everybody else shoots at you as they step around you is easily ignored in favour of something that is rapidly becoming a huge fucking question mark.

did you find them okay? thanks again for doing this <3 lmk if you’re running late hey, yohan’s just let me know that you’re still not there yet. you alright? it’s been half an hour where are you hellooo?? i told them sth came up for you but text me back asap to let me know you’re ok are you alive ???

unless you took hallucinogens with your frappe latte this morning, you swear to the fucking gods on earth all the way to fucking neptune that you just spent three hours tutoring a ragtag bunch of freshmen. they were taking notes and asking questions–even if they were kind of stupid ones half the time–and they were actively listening and learning.

but if your friend has texted asking why you have not followed through with the favour you agreed to, then who the fuck did you just spend the last three hours tutoring? and most importantly, why the fuck did they just let you?

there is no other explanation other than the fact that you were simply an idiot. a confident one at that.

you had spent all night tossing and turning over conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, wondering just how the mix-up had managed to occur, but to no avail. determined, you had woken up early and made your way to campus to retrace yesterday’s steps to the same study room.

that is where you find yourself now, looking at the number beside the door, 181A, and the one daeun had texted you.

118A.

well, fuck. is it too late to transfer universities, preferably to one that is in another state?

just as you feel the need to shrivel up on the spot and bury yourself six feet under, the door to 181A swings open. you are utterly mortified to make eye contact with one of the boys you recognise from yesterday. white noise permeates your brain as you both blink awkwardly at one another before some small part of you that is desperate to survive starts urging you to run away.

“what’s wrong, yeosang?” a voice sounds from within the study room.

yeosang stumbles over his friend’s question with an unintelligible mumble. fortunately, he is one of the quieter ones in the group, which means your chances of skedaddling the fuck out of here are pretty good.

unfortunately, the majority of them are not quiet. several heads pop up from behind yeosang, curiosity well piqued by his lack of response, and you physically recoil when you hear a cheery, “hey! it’s anatomy girl!”

it triggers a chorus of excited “anatomy girl!”s from those who have not already gathered at the door. before you can react, somebody tugs you into the room by your wrist, another pulls a chair out for you, a set of hands guides you to sit down and another closes the door behind you, all in the span of blinking your eyes thrice. it briefly crosses your mind that the level of efficiency and teamwork with which they operate would make them excellent criminals.

“you’re here again!” wooyoung cheers, the same impish grin on his face as yesterday now suddenly making a lot more sense.

you cross your arms in an attempt to regain some control, but mostly to draw attention away from your flaming cheeks. “you guys aren’t daeun’s friends,” you confront.

“we suppose not,” the boy standing beside wooyoung arches one of his dark brows playfully as he teases, “but we can change that.”

“san, you can’t just say that so shamelessly,” yunho berates, before dropping his voice an octave lower to flirt instead, “better yet, how about we be your friends?”

somebody smacks the back of his head with a solid whump and ignores the resulting petulant cry of “jongho!” to apologise to you, “sorry, we really should have told you the moment you walked in yesterday.”

damn right, because who the fuck just sits there for three hours getting tutored on something they do not even study? but also, you acknowledge, “i really should have made sure you were the right people first. my bad.”

“it’s okay, it was an honest mistake,” wooyoung reassures, beaming at you brightly as if he was not part of the reason why the confusion happened in the first place.

you scowl, only half-heartedly, “why were you looking at your forearms anyway. anyone in my position would’ve thought you guys were doing anatomy too.”

“we–uh, actually, um,” hongjoong’s eyes flicker as if he is considering whether to tell the truth or not. he unconsciously fiddles with his own sleeve as he admits, “we were discussing whether it would be more attractive to show off our forearms or cover them up.”

“huh?” you respond unintelligently.

seonghwa hurries to clarify with context, “performance outfits. we were discussing performance outfits for our upcoming band music festival.”

that is the exact moment your eyes finally decide to survey the study room. there are a variety of instrument cases scattered along the floor and propped against the walls; guitars, basses, and even what you are quite sure is a whole goddamn keyboard.

“were…were these in here yesterday too?” you ask vaguely.

“...yes.”

daeun has told you multiple times before that you have zero situational awareness, but you had no idea it was this bad. how you managed to miss the fact that they are a band is probably more impressive than concerning at this point. but then–

“how the fuck did you guys know some of the answers?”

at your tone of bewilderment, seonghwa sheepishly looks at you to confess, “some of us did anatomy too. we just couldn’t remember much.”

makes sense. “i assume neither of them two did anatomy,” you banter, nodding at wooyoung then mingi.

the former’s jaw drops and he whispers conspiratorially, “how did she know?”

mingi leans down to reply with the same volume, eyebrows creased together, “i have no idea.”

you wink at them both cheekily and everybody else snickers. out of curiosity you ask, “so what was the final verdict on your performance outfits?”

“haven’t decided,” yeosang shrugs. “as someone who’s seen all our forearms, what do you think? show them or don’t show them?”

you look up and pretend to think. in all honesty, with visuals like theirs, their forearms are going to be one of the last things anybody appreciates during their performance. but you humour them anyway, because frankly–

“show,” you state decisively. “definitely show them.”

–their forearms are too hot not to.

as it turns out, they are all closer to you in age than you had originally thought.

most of them are fourth-years like you, jongho in the year below, and hongjoong and seonghwa currently completing their masters. their degrees are simply to appease their parents whilst they pursue a career in music, and you cannot blame any of them for their lack of interest in studying.

“i’m bored.”

“it’s been six minutes, wooyoung,” hongjoong deadpans.

the younger is unfazed. “your point is?”

“some of us actually have to do well in this assessment block to pass,” yeosang reminds, “you included.”

wooyoung splays himself across the floor of their practice room with the distressed cry of a beached whale, kicking his laptop aside and out of sight. after spending the last two days in the library, the boys had decided on a change in scenery and invited you along to study with them for your upcoming exams in their usual band room instead.

‘study’.

barely enough time has passed for the nine of you to boot up your laptops and spread out your study material before wooyoung has already lost motivation. it does not help either when yunho suggests, “i think we need a break.”

mingi perks up from where he has been leaning against an amplifier, wearing out the corners of his notes from folding them over and over again, to agree, “i second that.” he tosses his paper onto the floor. 

“guys–” hongjoong begins with exasperation, only to be cut off by wooyoung and san’s unison response of, “i third that.”

the oldest of the group also attempts to chime in with rationality but is easily drowned out by the others’ excited chatter at the prospect of not studying. a hearty laugh comes out of you as chaos begins to unfold, genuinely wondering how they managed to sit through your three-hour anatomy session if this is how they usually are, and you close your laptop with an amused shake of your head.

“an attempt was made,” you suppose.

it catches the attention of wooyoung, who immediately yells with faux authority and dictation, “the council has spoken! ‘tis time for a break!”

there is an immediate flurry of movement as the boys begin to unzip their cases left and right and connect cables from god knows where they pulled them out in order to start tuning their instruments. amplifiers crackle to life and the practice room suddenly swells with a choir of different keys and pitches that somehow blend together into disorderly harmony.

the assorted sight of them holding their guitars or basses, behind their keyboards or seated at the drums is a stark contrast to the playful and mischievous nature of their boyish friendship, and an even further contrast to your original impression of them as studious freshmen. right now, their charm and attractiveness radiates from their confidence and freedom of expression, impromptu strings of notes and beats flowing seamlessly between the eight of them even though they are simply messing around and warming up individually.

you have said it before, but you are going to say it again with the knowledge that they are not freshmen: goddamn they are hot.

hongjoong catches you eyeing them and he smirks, “checking us out?”

your immediate reflex is to scoff and lie with confident coyness, “the others, yeah. you? definitely not.”

“i’ll have you know that i’m the most popular in the band,” he challenges, smugness only growing at your pretence, only to set off indignant and sarcastic responses from the other boys at his comment.

“do you know how to play?” jongho asks you through their squabble, absentmindedly plucking the strings of his own bass.

you shake your head, adding, “i’ve always wanted to learn, though.”

“if you want, we can teach you,” seonghwa offers with a sweet smile. he unplugs his guitar from the amplifier and settles down on the floor beside you, handing the instrument over to place it into your lap.

you support the neck of the guitar with your left hand and hover the fingers of your other hand over the sound hole, having seen more than enough media growing up to mimic holding the instrument properly. you begin to feel conscious under the numerous gazes that now fall upon you, but then seonghwa is scooting closer and drawing your attention once more.

“may i?” seonghwa gestures towards your fingers to ensure you are comfortable with him touching your hand. when you nod, he gingerly places the pads of your fingers along the strings as he teaches you the most common chords, explaining as he goes through, “this is C…G…D…”

a shiver runs down your spine, not from the feeling of seonghwa’s gentle touch, but from the feeling of somebody quite literally breathing down your fucking neck.

before you can turn to see who it is, wooyoung’s voice sounds right beside your ear to unhelpfully comment, “yeah, use those–uh, use those abductor digiti minimi and abductor pollicis brevis muscles.”

“bro, she has to flex her fingers,” yunho corrects. “that’s the–um, flexor pollicis brevis and flexor digiti minimi brevis.”

“or maybe the flexor digitorum superficialis,” san suggests, looking at his own fingers as he flexes them as if that will give him the correct answer.

“what the fuck?” you jerk backwards with a mixed laugh of disbelief and surprise to find the content you had taught them days ago being regurgitated, and somewhat correctly at that. “why do you guys remember this?”

they look extremely proud of themselves, like children who have received praise and an extra sticker on their behaviour chart for doing their work well. you are beginning to think that that might actually be an effective method to motivate them to study, when mingi leaps on the opportunity to exaggerate a wink and flirt, “cause we had a hot tutor.”

“give her a break,” seonghwa chuckles as he pretends to wave the boys off. then, leaning in closer so that only you can hear, he earnestly whispers, “he’s not wrong, though. they’ve never sat still for three hours before.”

you giggle, “i can tell.” even though you have only known the boys for a few days, you are unable to recall a moment without some sort of chaos occurring. “i can only imagine how much energy you guys have on stage.”

yunho’s ears perk up. “do you want to come see us perform?”

“yeah! you should come–” “–please, please, please–” “–the weekend as well.”

they pounce on you physically and verbally with uncontainable enthusiasm and you fight for air through your laughter. “which weekend is this?” you confirm, somehow having caught the information over the commotion.

“the saturday in two weeks.”

“we’re playing a half-hour set in the afternoon, so if you’re down, we can hang out afterwards too.”

“there’ll be food trucks and drinks. we’ll pay for you!”

“plus, we have free tickets to the actual festival.”

“and all our exams will be over by then.”

it was never going to be a hard decision to say yes–you only needed to make sure their performance did not clash with a prior engagement. however, it is utterly endearing and absolutely hilarious how quickly they back each other up in hopes of persuading you to attend.

nodding, you agree, “i’ll go.”

san instantly whips out a small piece of paper from the front compartment of hongjoong’s guitar bag, shoving it into your hands with a beam. “your ticket,” he explains.

“you just have these lying around?” you distractedly question, flipping it over to look at the details of the ticket. you assumed that any free tickets they received from the festival would have long been given away to friends and family, considering how popular they seem as a band.

“hongjoong bought this one specifically for–”

“–just in case we missed somebody,” hongjoong interjects, wrapping an arm heavily around yeosang’s shoulders to stop him from finishing his sentence.

you are too busy gaping at the type of ticket in your hands. “vip reserved seating? isn’t this the best type of ticket?”

“express entry, private bathrooms and front row seats amongst many other perks,” jongho confirms.

it does not matter that hongjoong and yeosang’s brief exchange just moments before had gone unnoticed, because you sure notice now. there is no way a festival would give out tickets like this one. “front row seats to admire you guys perform, huh,” you coquettishly comment.

the boys smirk knowingly in response and san cryptically rolls up his sleeves with a vague response of, “nope, there’s more to it than just the performance.”

because as much as you have figured them out, they have also figured you out.

“not just front row seats to admire our performance…they’re front row seats to admire our forearms too.”

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a frown knits your eyebrows together at the sight of a crowded room. you swear daeun had only mentioned two freshmen, but then you notice the picture of an exposed forearm on the shared display. you spot one of the boys pointing repetitively at the screen right where the humeral head of the brachioradialis muscle is most prominently visible from the skin’s surface, then the others follow along to either pull their own sleeve up or the sleeve of the person next to them to probe the same area with their fingers. they stare intensely lost in deep discussion as they practice what looks like surface anatomy identification.

there may be more people than you had expected, but everything else checks out so you assume their friends have just joined the original two you were meant to help tutor. you are not going to complain either, not when they are all unarguably cute and hot; a room full of blessed eye candy. except you know to remain rational, the knowledge that they are freshmen telling you that you can admire, but that is it.

your sharp knock against the door is purely out of courtesy before you push it open to let yourself in. all eight pairs of eyes glance up to look at your entrance with a mixture of confusion and surprise but you easily wave them off.

“i’m a little earlier than the time daeun said, though i’m pretty sure it won’t make much of a difference. we can start straight away since you guys are already studying,” you announce, pulling out one of the empty seats closest to you to make yourself comfortable.

the guys have a couple of notebooks and laptops scattered around the table. however, you cannot find a visible copy of the lecture slides they are currently revising. it dawns on you and you confirm, “you’re just practicing surface anatomy on random pictures online, right?”

your eyes flicker between the boys one by one as you wait for a response. the only movement in the room comes from your hands digging out your own study material from your backpack, the rest of them still frozen with varying degrees of forearms exposed, until you make eye contact with the boy to your left with long, wavy bangs.

he immediately breaks out into an impish grin to answer, “yeah, we are.”

“wooyoung, we’re–”

“we can’t quite figure out the answers on our own arms,” wooyoung quickly interjects. you are unable to try and work out what his friend was going to say because he has already continued with a shoved forearm in your direction paired with the question, “can you help?”

nodding, you gently take his hand in yours. “we can start with the distal arm and make our way up proximally. the bone structures are easy to identify because they only ask you the most prominently palpable ones.”

you feel the rest of the boys gradually gravitating closer, some unspoken blanket of hesitation slowly lifting as you touch the protruding structures on the boy’s elbow you are holding. you ask, “what do we call these landmarks?”

wooyoung’s answer is instantaneous, tone proud and utterly confident in himself, “bones.”

“no, you dumb fuck,” comes another friend’s hissed response, mono-lidded eyes narrowing with judgement. “it’s the elbow.”

your mouth opens slightly, closes, then opens and closes once more. they are not wrong…but they are most definitely not right, either.

the silence you are met with from the rest of their friends is also frankly a little concerning, considering their practical is in a few days. but just as you begin to wonder what their chances of passing are, a gentle voice answers, “the landmark most commonly known as the elbow is the olecranon process of the ulna.”

“shit. of course seonghwa would know,” somebody mutters.

said man steps forward, bending down a little to palpate the other two protruding landmarks on the sides of wooyoung’s elbow as he continues, “this one is the medial epicondyle of the humerus…and this one is the lateral epicondyle.”

you nod, now feeling a bit of reassurance that they know something, and instruct, “have a go at finding those three landmarks first.”

the boys listen well and you mostly watch whilst listening to ensure they are not making any errors, until somebody taps you on the shoulder with a gruff, “dude.”

turning around, you find yourself face to face with an elbow. it belongs to the same person who had confidently answered ‘elbow’ and you realise he would easily tower over you if you were to stand next to him, even more so from where you are seated right now.

“what’s this called again?” he asks earnestly, pointing at his elbow in case his question is not obvious enough. “the o-leprechaun process?”

you bite back a laugh to correct, “the olecranon process.”

“you’re a leprechaun, mingi,” somebody cackles, having overheard the exchange.

mingi immediately raises a hand to his eyebrows, dramatically looking back and forth around the room as if he is searching for the speaker. “sorry, can’t hear you, hongjoong. must be because you’re the actual height of a leprechaun.”

a chuckle escapes you as everybody else breaks out into guffaw, and hongjoong grumbles under his breath, “fucking walked myself into that one.”

“i think you meant you hopped yourself into that one.” the tallest of them all–yunho, you hear them call him–snickers wickedly at his own comment as he breaks out into an awful interpretation of a leprechaun jig and it sets off a fresh bout of laughter that can probably be heard throughout the library despite the sound-proofing of the study room.

their easy banter dissipates any initial awkwardness that may have been left and you take the opportunity to prompt them with the next task, “this time we’re going to palpate the superficial muscles. we’ll start with the brachioradialis, flexor carpi ulnaris and flexor carpi radialis.”

“the fuck are these names? dinosau–”

“can you uh…” seonghwa smoothly interrupts whilst scratching the back of his neck, “remind us which ones those are again?”

well, shit. if even the supposed star student does not know, you might have to take things back a step. you wonder, “do you guys know your muscle attachments and movements?”

“nope,” wooyoung gracelessly replies before he coughs and hastily corrects, “i mean, we could always do with some revision.”

oh boy. several steps back it is.

you rummage through your bag for your whiteboard markers as you sigh resignedly, “alright, everybody take out your notebooks and pens. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

and that is how you spend the next three hours going through what honestly feels like the entire anatomy course. by the time you have to head off for one of your own lectures, you are at least somewhat confident that they will all pass the practical–even if you reckon that wooyoung and mingi will just barely scrape by.

so when it comes to your afternoon class, you dip first, trusting that they will continue to revise the summarised content you have set out for them. you pull out your phone for the first time since you entered the study room, only to turn the display on to a multitude of missed calls and unanswered texts from daeun.

your feet slow to a stop as you open up her messages until you are simply standing in the middle of the footpath halfway across the campus. the dirty looks that everybody else shoots at you as they step around you is easily ignored in favour of something that is rapidly becoming a huge fucking question mark.

did you find them okay? thanks again for doing this <3 lmk if you’re running late hey, yohan’s just let me know that you’re still not there yet. you alright? it’s been half an hour where are you hellooo?? i told them sth came up for you but text me back asap to let me know you’re ok are you alive ???

unless you took hallucinogens with your frappe latte this morning, you swear to the fucking gods on earth all the way to fucking neptune that you just spent three hours tutoring a ragtag bunch of freshmen. they were taking notes and asking questions–even if they were kind of stupid ones half the time–and they were actively listening and learning.

but if your friend has texted asking why you have not followed through with the favour you agreed to, then who the fuck did you just spend the last three hours tutoring? and most importantly, why the fuck did they just let you?

there is no other explanation other than the fact that you were simply an idiot. a confident one at that.

you had spent all night tossing and turning over conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, wondering just how the mix-up had managed to occur, but to no avail. determined, you had woken up early and made your way to campus to retrace yesterday’s steps to the same study room.

that is where you find yourself now, looking at the number beside the door, 181A, and the one daeun had texted you.

118A.

well, fuck. is it too late to transfer universities, preferably to one that is in another state?

just as you feel the need to shrivel up on the spot and bury yourself six feet under, the door to 181A swings open. you are utterly mortified to make eye contact with one of the boys you recognise from yesterday. white noise permeates your brain as you both blink awkwardly at one another before some small part of you that is desperate to survive starts urging you to run away.

“what’s wrong, yeosang?” a voice sounds from within the study room.

yeosang stumbles over his friend’s question with an unintelligible mumble. fortunately, he is one of the quieter ones in the group, which means your chances of skedaddling the fuck out of here are pretty good.

unfortunately, the majority of them are not quiet. several heads pop up from behind yeosang, curiosity well piqued by his lack of response, and you physically recoil when you hear a cheery, “hey! it’s anatomy girl!”

it triggers a chorus of excited “anatomy girl!”s from those who have not already gathered at the door. before you can react, somebody tugs you into the room by your wrist, another pulls a chair out for you, a set of hands guides you to sit down and another closes the door behind you, all in the span of blinking your eyes thrice. it briefly crosses your mind that the level of efficiency and teamwork with which they operate would make them excellent criminals.

“you’re here again!” wooyoung cheers, the same impish grin on his face as yesterday now suddenly making a lot more sense.

you cross your arms in an attempt to regain some control, but mostly to draw attention away from your flaming cheeks. “you guys aren’t daeun’s friends,” you confront.

“we suppose not,” the boy standing beside wooyoung arches one of his dark brows playfully as he teases, “but we can change that.”

“san, you can’t just say that so shamelessly,” yunho berates, before dropping his voice an octave lower to flirt instead, “better yet, how about we be your friends?”

somebody smacks the back of his head with a solid whump and ignores the resulting petulant cry of “jongho!” to apologise to you, “sorry, we really should have told you the moment you walked in yesterday.”

damn right, because who the fuck just sits there for three hours getting tutored on something they do not even study? but also, you acknowledge, “i really should have made sure you were the right people first. my bad.”

“it’s okay, it was an honest mistake,” wooyoung reassures, beaming at you brightly as if he was not part of the reason why the confusion happened in the first place.

you scowl, only half-heartedly, “why were you looking at your forearms anyway. anyone in my position would’ve thought you guys were doing anatomy too.”

“we–uh, actually, um,” hongjoong’s eyes flicker as if he is considering whether to tell the truth or not. he unconsciously fiddles with his own sleeve as he admits, “we were discussing whether it would be more attractive to show off our forearms or cover them up.”

“huh?” you respond unintelligently.

seonghwa hurries to clarify with context, “performance outfits. we were discussing performance outfits for our upcoming band music festival.”

that is the exact moment your eyes finally decide to survey the study room. there are a variety of instrument cases scattered along the floor and propped against the walls; guitars, basses, and even what you are quite sure is a whole goddamn keyboard.

“were…were these in here yesterday too?” you ask vaguely.

“...yes.”

daeun has told you multiple times before that you have zero situational awareness, but you had no idea it was this bad. how you managed to miss the fact that they are a band is probably more impressive than concerning at this point. but then–

“how the fuck did you guys know some of the answers?”

at your tone of bewilderment, seonghwa sheepishly looks at you to confess, “some of us did anatomy too. we just couldn’t remember much.”

makes sense. “i assume neither of them two did anatomy,” you banter, nodding at wooyoung then mingi.

the former’s jaw drops and he whispers conspiratorially, “how did she know?”

mingi leans down to reply with the same volume, eyebrows creased together, “i have no idea.”

you wink at them both cheekily and everybody else snickers. out of curiosity you ask, “so what was the final verdict on your performance outfits?”

“haven’t decided,” yeosang shrugs. “as someone who’s seen all our forearms, what do you think? show them or don’t show them?”

you look up and pretend to think. in all honesty, with visuals like theirs, their forearms are going to be one of the last things anybody appreciates during their performance. but you humour them anyway, because frankly–

“show,” you state decisively. “definitely show them.”

–their forearms are too hot not to.

as it turns out, they are all closer to you in age than you had originally thought.

most of them are fourth-years like you, jongho in the year below, and hongjoong and seonghwa currently completing their masters. their degrees are simply to appease their parents whilst they pursue a career in music, and you cannot blame any of them for their lack of interest in studying.

“i’m bored.”

“it’s been six minutes, wooyoung,” hongjoong deadpans.

the younger is unfazed. “your point is?”

“some of us actually have to do well in this assessment block to pass,” yeosang reminds, “you included.”

wooyoung splays himself across the floor of their practice room with the distressed cry of a beached whale, kicking his laptop aside and out of sight. after spending the last two days in the library, the boys had decided on a change in scenery and invited you along to study with them for your upcoming exams in their usual band room instead.

‘study’.

barely enough time has passed for the nine of you to boot up your laptops and spread out your study material before wooyoung has already lost motivation. it does not help either when yunho suggests, “i think we need a break.”

mingi perks up from where he has been leaning against an amplifier, wearing out the corners of his notes from folding them over and over again, to agree, “i second that.” he tosses his paper onto the floor. 

“guys–” hongjoong begins with exasperation, only to be cut off by wooyoung and san’s unison response of, “i third that.”

the oldest of the group also attempts to chime in with rationality but is easily drowned out by the others’ excited chatter at the prospect of not studying. a hearty laugh comes out of you as chaos begins to unfold, genuinely wondering how they managed to sit through your three-hour anatomy session if this is how they usually are, and you close your laptop with an amused shake of your head.

“an attempt was made,” you suppose.

it catches the attention of wooyoung, who immediately yells with faux authority and dictation, “the council has spoken! ‘tis time for a break!”

there is an immediate flurry of movement as the boys begin to unzip their cases left and right and connect cables from god knows where they pulled them out in order to start tuning their instruments. amplifiers crackle to life and the practice room suddenly swells with a choir of different keys and pitches that somehow blend together into disorderly harmony.

the assorted sight of them holding their guitars or basses, behind their keyboards or seated at the drums is a stark contrast to the playful and mischievous nature of their boyish friendship, and an even further contrast to your original impression of them as studious freshmen. right now, their charm and attractiveness radiates from their confidence and freedom of expression, impromptu strings of notes and beats flowing seamlessly between the eight of them even though they are simply messing around and warming up individually.

you have said it before, but you are going to say it again with the knowledge that they are not freshmen: goddamn they are hot.

hongjoong catches you eyeing them and he smirks, “checking us out?”

your immediate reflex is to scoff and lie with confident coyness, “the others, yeah. you? definitely not.”

“i’ll have you know that i’m the most popular in the band,” he challenges, smugness only growing at your pretence, only to set off indignant and sarcastic responses from the other boys at his comment.

“do you know how to play?” jongho asks you through their squabble, absentmindedly plucking the strings of his own bass.

you shake your head, adding, “i’ve always wanted to learn, though.”

“if you want, we can teach you,” seonghwa offers with a sweet smile. he unplugs his guitar from the amplifier and settles down on the floor beside you, handing the instrument over to place it into your lap.

you support the neck of the guitar with your left hand and hover the fingers of your other hand over the sound hole, having seen more than enough media growing up to mimic holding the instrument properly. you begin to feel conscious under the numerous gazes that now fall upon you, but then seonghwa is scooting closer and drawing your attention once more.

“may i?” seonghwa gestures towards your fingers to ensure you are comfortable with him touching your hand. when you nod, he gingerly places the pads of your fingers along the strings as he teaches you the most common chords, explaining as he goes through, “this is C…G…D…”

a shiver runs down your spine, not from the feeling of seonghwa’s gentle touch, but from the feeling of somebody quite literally breathing down your fucking neck.

before you can turn to see who it is, wooyoung’s voice sounds right beside your ear to unhelpfully comment, “yeah, use those–uh, use those abductor digiti minimi and abductor pollicis brevis muscles.”

“bro, she has to flex her fingers,” yunho corrects. “that’s the–um, flexor pollicis brevis and flexor digiti minimi brevis.”

“or maybe the flexor digitorum superficialis,” san suggests, looking at his own fingers as he flexes them as if that will give him the correct answer.

“what the fuck?” you jerk backwards with a mixed laugh of disbelief and surprise to find the content you had taught them days ago being regurgitated, and somewhat correctly at that. “why do you guys remember this?”

they look extremely proud of themselves, like children who have received praise and an extra sticker on their behaviour chart for doing their work well. you are beginning to think that that might actually be an effective method to motivate them to study, when mingi leaps on the opportunity to exaggerate a wink and flirt, “cause we had a hot tutor.”

“give her a break,” seonghwa chuckles as he pretends to wave the boys off. then, leaning in closer so that only you can hear, he earnestly whispers, “he’s not wrong, though. they’ve never sat still for three hours before.”

you giggle, “i can tell.” even though you have only known the boys for a few days, you are unable to recall a moment without some sort of chaos occurring. “i can only imagine how much energy you guys have on stage.”

yunho’s ears perk up. “do you want to come see us perform?”

“yeah! you should come–” “–please, please, please–” “–the weekend as well.”

they pounce on you physically and verbally with uncontainable enthusiasm and you fight for air through your laughter. “which weekend is this?” you confirm, somehow having caught the information over the commotion.

“the saturday in two weeks.”

“we’re playing a half-hour set in the afternoon, so if you’re down, we can hang out afterwards too.”

“there’ll be food trucks and drinks. we’ll pay for you!”

“plus, we have free tickets to the actual festival.”

“and all our exams will be over by then.”

it was never going to be a hard decision to say yes–you only needed to make sure their performance did not clash with a prior engagement. however, it is utterly endearing and absolutely hilarious how quickly they back each other up in hopes of persuading you to attend.

nodding, you agree, “i’ll go.”

san instantly whips out a small piece of paper from the front compartment of hongjoong’s guitar bag, shoving it into your hands with a beam. “your ticket,” he explains.

“you just have these lying around?” you distractedly question, flipping it over to look at the details of the ticket. you assumed that any free tickets they received from the festival would have long been given away to friends and family, considering how popular they seem as a band.

“hongjoong bought this one specifically for–”

“–just in case we missed somebody,” hongjoong interjects, wrapping an arm heavily around yeosang’s shoulders to stop him from finishing his sentence.

you are too busy gaping at the type of ticket in your hands. “vip reserved seating? isn’t this the best type of ticket?”

“express entry, private bathrooms and front row seats amongst many other perks,” jongho confirms.

it does not matter that hongjoong and yeosang’s brief exchange just moments before had gone unnoticed, because you sure notice now. there is no way a festival would give out tickets like this one. “front row seats to admire you guys perform, huh,” you coquettishly comment.

the boys smirk knowingly in response and san cryptically rolls up his sleeves with a vague response of, “nope, there’s more to it than just the performance.”

because as much as you have figured them out, they have also figured you out.

“not just front row seats to admire our performance…they’re front row seats to admire our forearms too.”

taglist pt. one | apply for taglist

@thecarnivaloflies @ilovekimhongjoong @yuranimous @ppprimary @hwas-housewife

@itza-meee @lavishloving @okshu @mizumigi @everythingboutkpop

@ayytease @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hongjoongsprincess @booyoungie @green-agent

@darkmentalitystarfish-blog @taytayy178 @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @sourkimchi

@mimilia1801 @kibs-and-bits @mlysalt @jjoongstar @aaa-sia

@nollamuumialaaksossa @skz1-4-3 @minkilicious @joongscheese @ddeonghwva

@delulu18 @teenyfinds @shakalakaboomboo @hxpelesscxven @fureastel

@seomisaho @levishun @lesyeuxdeanna @readerofallthingss @potatos-on-clouds

@apriecotte @hhoneylix @kyeos4ng @smally97 @savluvsmingi

a frown knits your eyebrows together at the sight of a crowded room. you swear daeun had only mentioned two freshmen, but then you notice the picture of an exposed forearm on the shared display. you spot one of the boys pointing repetitively at the screen right where the humeral head of the brachioradialis muscle is most prominently visible from the skin’s surface, then the others follow along to either pull their own sleeve up or the sleeve of the person next to them to probe the same area with their fingers. they stare intensely lost in deep discussion as they practice what looks like surface anatomy identification.

there may be more people than you had expected, but everything else checks out so you assume their friends have just joined the original two you were meant to help tutor. you are not going to complain either, not when they are all unarguably cute and hot; a room full of blessed eye candy. except you know to remain rational, the knowledge that they are freshmen telling you that you can admire, but that is it.

your sharp knock against the door is purely out of courtesy before you push it open to let yourself in. all eight pairs of eyes glance up to look at your entrance with a mixture of confusion and surprise but you easily wave them off.

“i’m a little earlier than the time daeun said, though i’m pretty sure it won’t make much of a difference. we can start straight away since you guys are already studying,” you announce, pulling out one of the empty seats closest to you to make yourself comfortable.

the guys have a couple of notebooks and laptops scattered around the table. however, you cannot find a visible copy of the lecture slides they are currently revising. it dawns on you and you confirm, “you’re just practicing surface anatomy on random pictures online, right?”

your eyes flicker between the boys one by one as you wait for a response. the only movement in the room comes from your hands digging out your own study material from your backpack, the rest of them still frozen with varying degrees of forearms exposed, until you make eye contact with the boy to your left with long, wavy bangs.

he immediately breaks out into an impish grin to answer, “yeah, we are.”

“wooyoung, we’re–”

“we can’t quite figure out the answers on our own arms,” wooyoung quickly interjects. you are unable to try and work out what his friend was going to say because he has already continued with a shoved forearm in your direction paired with the question, “can you help?”

nodding, you gently take his hand in yours. “we can start with the distal arm and make our way up proximally. the bone structures are easy to identify because they only ask you the most prominently palpable ones.”

you feel the rest of the boys gradually gravitating closer, some unspoken blanket of hesitation slowly lifting as you touch the protruding structures on the boy’s elbow you are holding. you ask, “what do we call these landmarks?”

wooyoung’s answer is instantaneous, tone proud and utterly confident in himself, “bones.”

“no, you dumb fuck,” comes another friend’s hissed response, mono-lidded eyes narrowing with judgement. “it’s the elbow.”

your mouth opens slightly, closes, then opens and closes once more. they are not wrong…but they are most definitely not right, either.

the silence you are met with from the rest of their friends is also frankly a little concerning, considering their practical is in a few days. but just as you begin to wonder what their chances of passing are, a gentle voice answers, “the landmark most commonly known as the elbow is the olecranon process of the ulna.”

“shit. of course seonghwa would know,” somebody mutters.

said man steps forward, bending down a little to palpate the other two protruding landmarks on the sides of wooyoung’s elbow as he continues, “this one is the medial epicondyle of the humerus…and this one is the lateral epicondyle.”

you nod, now feeling a bit of reassurance that they know something, and instruct, “have a go at finding those three landmarks first.”

the boys listen well and you mostly watch whilst listening to ensure they are not making any errors, until somebody taps you on the shoulder with a gruff, “dude.”

turning around, you find yourself face to face with an elbow. it belongs to the same person who had confidently answered ‘elbow’ and you realise he would easily tower over you if you were to stand next to him, even more so from where you are seated right now.

“what’s this called again?” he asks earnestly, pointing at his elbow in case his question is not obvious enough. “the o-leprechaun process?”

you bite back a laugh to correct, “the olecranon process.”

“you’re a leprechaun, mingi,” somebody cackles, having overheard the exchange.

mingi immediately raises a hand to his eyebrows, dramatically looking back and forth around the room as if he is searching for the speaker. “sorry, can’t hear you, hongjoong. must be because you’re the actual height of a leprechaun.”

a chuckle escapes you as everybody else breaks out into guffaw, and hongjoong grumbles under his breath, “fucking walked myself into that one.”

“i think you meant you hopped yourself into that one.” the tallest of them all–yunho, you hear them call him–snickers wickedly at his own comment as he breaks out into an awful interpretation of a leprechaun jig and it sets off a fresh bout of laughter that can probably be heard throughout the library despite the sound-proofing of the study room.

their easy banter dissipates any initial awkwardness that may have been left and you take the opportunity to prompt them with the next task, “this time we’re going to palpate the superficial muscles. we’ll start with the brachioradialis, flexor carpi ulnaris and flexor carpi radialis.”

“the fuck are these names? dinosau–”

“can you uh…” seonghwa smoothly interrupts whilst scratching the back of his neck, “remind us which ones those are again?”

well, shit. if even the supposed star student does not know, you might have to take things back a step. you wonder, “do you guys know your muscle attachments and movements?”

“nope,” wooyoung gracelessly replies before he coughs and hastily corrects, “i mean, we could always do with some revision.”

oh boy. several steps back it is.

you rummage through your bag for your whiteboard markers as you sigh resignedly, “alright, everybody take out your notebooks and pens. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

and that is how you spend the next three hours going through what honestly feels like the entire anatomy course. by the time you have to head off for one of your own lectures, you are at least somewhat confident that they will all pass the practical–even if you reckon that wooyoung and mingi will just barely scrape by.

so when it comes to your afternoon class, you dip first, trusting that they will continue to revise the summarised content you have set out for them. you pull out your phone for the first time since you entered the study room, only to turn the display on to a multitude of missed calls and unanswered texts from daeun.

your feet slow to a stop as you open up her messages until you are simply standing in the middle of the footpath halfway across the campus. the dirty looks that everybody else shoots at you as they step around you is easily ignored in favour of something that is rapidly becoming a huge fucking question mark.

did you find them okay? thanks again for doing this <3 lmk if you’re running late hey, yohan’s just let me know that you’re still not there yet. you alright? it’s been half an hour where are you hellooo?? i told them sth came up for you but text me back asap to let me know you’re ok are you alive ???

unless you took hallucinogens with your frappe latte this morning, you swear to the fucking gods on earth all the way to fucking neptune that you just spent three hours tutoring a ragtag bunch of freshmen. they were taking notes and asking questions–even if they were kind of stupid ones half the time–and they were actively listening and learning.

but if your friend has texted asking why you have not followed through with the favour you agreed to, then who the fuck did you just spend the last three hours tutoring? and most importantly, why the fuck did they just let you?

there is no other explanation other than the fact that you were simply an idiot. a confident one at that.

you had spent all night tossing and turning over conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, wondering just how the mix-up had managed to occur, but to no avail. determined, you had woken up early and made your way to campus to retrace yesterday’s steps to the same study room.

that is where you find yourself now, looking at the number beside the door, 181A, and the one daeun had texted you.

118A.

well, fuck. is it too late to transfer universities, preferably to one that is in another state?

just as you feel the need to shrivel up on the spot and bury yourself six feet under, the door to 181A swings open. you are utterly mortified to make eye contact with one of the boys you recognise from yesterday. white noise permeates your brain as you both blink awkwardly at one another before some small part of you that is desperate to survive starts urging you to run away.

“what’s wrong, yeosang?” a voice sounds from within the study room.

yeosang stumbles over his friend’s question with an unintelligible mumble. fortunately, he is one of the quieter ones in the group, which means your chances of skedaddling the fuck out of here are pretty good.

unfortunately, the majority of them are not quiet. several heads pop up from behind yeosang, curiosity well piqued by his lack of response, and you physically recoil when you hear a cheery, “hey! it’s anatomy girl!”

it triggers a chorus of excited “anatomy girl!”s from those who have not already gathered at the door. before you can react, somebody tugs you into the room by your wrist, another pulls a chair out for you, a set of hands guides you to sit down and another closes the door behind you, all in the span of blinking your eyes thrice. it briefly crosses your mind that the level of efficiency and teamwork with which they operate would make them excellent criminals.

“you’re here again!” wooyoung cheers, the same impish grin on his face as yesterday now suddenly making a lot more sense.

you cross your arms in an attempt to regain some control, but mostly to draw attention away from your flaming cheeks. “you guys aren’t daeun’s friends,” you confront.

“we suppose not,” the boy standing beside wooyoung arches one of his dark brows playfully as he teases, “but we can change that.”

“san, you can’t just say that so shamelessly,” yunho berates, before dropping his voice an octave lower to flirt instead, “better yet, how about we be your friends?”

somebody smacks the back of his head with a solid whump and ignores the resulting petulant cry of “jongho!” to apologise to you, “sorry, we really should have told you the moment you walked in yesterday.”

damn right, because who the fuck just sits there for three hours getting tutored on something they do not even study? but also, you acknowledge, “i really should have made sure you were the right people first. my bad.”

“it’s okay, it was an honest mistake,” wooyoung reassures, beaming at you brightly as if he was not part of the reason why the confusion happened in the first place.

you scowl, only half-heartedly, “why were you looking at your forearms anyway. anyone in my position would’ve thought you guys were doing anatomy too.”

“we–uh, actually, um,” hongjoong’s eyes flicker as if he is considering whether to tell the truth or not. he unconsciously fiddles with his own sleeve as he admits, “we were discussing whether it would be more attractive to show off our forearms or cover them up.”

“huh?” you respond unintelligently.

seonghwa hurries to clarify with context, “performance outfits. we were discussing performance outfits for our upcoming band music festival.”

that is the exact moment your eyes finally decide to survey the study room. there are a variety of instrument cases scattered along the floor and propped against the walls; guitars, basses, and even what you are quite sure is a whole goddamn keyboard.

“were…were these in here yesterday too?” you ask vaguely.

“...yes.”

daeun has told you multiple times before that you have zero situational awareness, but you had no idea it was this bad. how you managed to miss the fact that they are a band is probably more impressive than concerning at this point. but then–

“how the fuck did you guys know some of the answers?”

at your tone of bewilderment, seonghwa sheepishly looks at you to confess, “some of us did anatomy too. we just couldn’t remember much.”

makes sense. “i assume neither of them two did anatomy,” you banter, nodding at wooyoung then mingi.

the former’s jaw drops and he whispers conspiratorially, “how did she know?”

mingi leans down to reply with the same volume, eyebrows creased together, “i have no idea.”

you wink at them both cheekily and everybody else snickers. out of curiosity you ask, “so what was the final verdict on your performance outfits?”

“haven’t decided,” yeosang shrugs. “as someone who’s seen all our forearms, what do you think? show them or don’t show them?”

you look up and pretend to think. in all honesty, with visuals like theirs, their forearms are going to be one of the last things anybody appreciates during their performance. but you humour them anyway, because frankly–

“show,” you state decisively. “definitely show them.”

–their forearms are too hot not to.

as it turns out, they are all closer to you in age than you had originally thought.

most of them are fourth-years like you, jongho in the year below, and hongjoong and seonghwa currently completing their masters. their degrees are simply to appease their parents whilst they pursue a career in music, and you cannot blame any of them for their lack of interest in studying.

“i’m bored.”

“it’s been six minutes, wooyoung,” hongjoong deadpans.

the younger is unfazed. “your point is?”

“some of us actually have to do well in this assessment block to pass,” yeosang reminds, “you included.”

wooyoung splays himself across the floor of their practice room with the distressed cry of a beached whale, kicking his laptop aside and out of sight. after spending the last two days in the library, the boys had decided on a change in scenery and invited you along to study with them for your upcoming exams in their usual band room instead.

‘study’.

barely enough time has passed for the nine of you to boot up your laptops and spread out your study material before wooyoung has already lost motivation. it does not help either when yunho suggests, “i think we need a break.”

mingi perks up from where he has been leaning against an amplifier, wearing out the corners of his notes from folding them over and over again, to agree, “i second that.” he tosses his paper onto the floor. 

“guys–” hongjoong begins with exasperation, only to be cut off by wooyoung and san’s unison response of, “i third that.”

the oldest of the group also attempts to chime in with rationality but is easily drowned out by the others’ excited chatter at the prospect of not studying. a hearty laugh comes out of you as chaos begins to unfold, genuinely wondering how they managed to sit through your three-hour anatomy session if this is how they usually are, and you close your laptop with an amused shake of your head.

“an attempt was made,” you suppose.

it catches the attention of wooyoung, who immediately yells with faux authority and dictation, “the council has spoken! ‘tis time for a break!”

there is an immediate flurry of movement as the boys begin to unzip their cases left and right and connect cables from god knows where they pulled them out in order to start tuning their instruments. amplifiers crackle to life and the practice room suddenly swells with a choir of different keys and pitches that somehow blend together into disorderly harmony.

the assorted sight of them holding their guitars or basses, behind their keyboards or seated at the drums is a stark contrast to the playful and mischievous nature of their boyish friendship, and an even further contrast to your original impression of them as studious freshmen. right now, their charm and attractiveness radiates from their confidence and freedom of expression, impromptu strings of notes and beats flowing seamlessly between the eight of them even though they are simply messing around and warming up individually.

you have said it before, but you are going to say it again with the knowledge that they are not freshmen: goddamn they are hot.

hongjoong catches you eyeing them and he smirks, “checking us out?”

your immediate reflex is to scoff and lie with confident coyness, “the others, yeah. you? definitely not.”

“i’ll have you know that i’m the most popular in the band,” he challenges, smugness only growing at your pretence, only to set off indignant and sarcastic responses from the other boys at his comment.

“do you know how to play?” jongho asks you through their squabble, absentmindedly plucking the strings of his own bass.

you shake your head, adding, “i’ve always wanted to learn, though.”

“if you want, we can teach you,” seonghwa offers with a sweet smile. he unplugs his guitar from the amplifier and settles down on the floor beside you, handing the instrument over to place it into your lap.

you support the neck of the guitar with your left hand and hover the fingers of your other hand over the sound hole, having seen more than enough media growing up to mimic holding the instrument properly. you begin to feel conscious under the numerous gazes that now fall upon you, but then seonghwa is scooting closer and drawing your attention once more.

“may i?” seonghwa gestures towards your fingers to ensure you are comfortable with him touching your hand. when you nod, he gingerly places the pads of your fingers along the strings as he teaches you the most common chords, explaining as he goes through, “this is C…G…D…”

a shiver runs down your spine, not from the feeling of seonghwa’s gentle touch, but from the feeling of somebody quite literally breathing down your fucking neck.

before you can turn to see who it is, wooyoung’s voice sounds right beside your ear to unhelpfully comment, “yeah, use those–uh, use those abductor digiti minimi and abductor pollicis brevis muscles.”

“bro, she has to flex her fingers,” yunho corrects. “that’s the–um, flexor pollicis brevis and flexor digiti minimi brevis.”

“or maybe the flexor digitorum superficialis,” san suggests, looking at his own fingers as he flexes them as if that will give him the correct answer.

“what the fuck?” you jerk backwards with a mixed laugh of disbelief and surprise to find the content you had taught them days ago being regurgitated, and somewhat correctly at that. “why do you guys remember this?”

they look extremely proud of themselves, like children who have received praise and an extra sticker on their behaviour chart for doing their work well. you are beginning to think that that might actually be an effective method to motivate them to study, when mingi leaps on the opportunity to exaggerate a wink and flirt, “cause we had a hot tutor.”

“give her a break,” seonghwa chuckles as he pretends to wave the boys off. then, leaning in closer so that only you can hear, he earnestly whispers, “he’s not wrong, though. they’ve never sat still for three hours before.”

you giggle, “i can tell.” even though you have only known the boys for a few days, you are unable to recall a moment without some sort of chaos occurring. “i can only imagine how much energy you guys have on stage.”

yunho’s ears perk up. “do you want to come see us perform?”

“yeah! you should come–” “–please, please, please–” “–the weekend as well.”

they pounce on you physically and verbally with uncontainable enthusiasm and you fight for air through your laughter. “which weekend is this?” you confirm, somehow having caught the information over the commotion.

“the saturday in two weeks.”

“we’re playing a half-hour set in the afternoon, so if you’re down, we can hang out afterwards too.”

“there’ll be food trucks and drinks. we’ll pay for you!”

“plus, we have free tickets to the actual festival.”

“and all our exams will be over by then.”

it was never going to be a hard decision to say yes–you only needed to make sure their performance did not clash with a prior engagement. however, it is utterly endearing and absolutely hilarious how quickly they back each other up in hopes of persuading you to attend.

nodding, you agree, “i’ll go.”

san instantly whips out a small piece of paper from the front compartment of hongjoong’s guitar bag, shoving it into your hands with a beam. “your ticket,” he explains.

“you just have these lying around?” you distractedly question, flipping it over to look at the details of the ticket. you assumed that any free tickets they received from the festival would have long been given away to friends and family, considering how popular they seem as a band.

“hongjoong bought this one specifically for–”

“–just in case we missed somebody,” hongjoong interjects, wrapping an arm heavily around yeosang’s shoulders to stop him from finishing his sentence.

you are too busy gaping at the type of ticket in your hands. “vip reserved seating? isn’t this the best type of ticket?”

“express entry, private bathrooms and front row seats amongst many other perks,” jongho confirms.

it does not matter that hongjoong and yeosang’s brief exchange just moments before had gone unnoticed, because you sure notice now. there is no way a festival would give out tickets like this one. “front row seats to admire you guys perform, huh,” you coquettishly comment.

the boys smirk knowingly in response and san cryptically rolls up his sleeves with a vague response of, “nope, there’s more to it than just the performance.”

because as much as you have figured them out, they have also figured you out.

“not just front row seats to admire our performance…they’re front row seats to admire our forearms too.”

taglist pt. one | apply for taglist

@thecarnivaloflies @ilovekimhongjoong @yuranimous @ppprimary @hwas-housewife

@itza-meee @lavishloving @okshu @mizumigi @everythingboutkpop

@ayytease @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hongjoongsprincess @booyoungie @green-agent

@darkmentalitystarfish-blog @taytayy178 @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @sourkimchi

@mimilia1801 @kibs-and-bits @mlysalt @jjoongstar @aaa-sia

@nollamuumialaaksossa @skz1-4-3 @minkilicious @joongscheese @ddeonghwva

@delulu18 @teenyfinds @shakalakaboomboo @hxpelesscxven @fureastel

@seomisaho @levishun @lesyeuxdeanna @readerofallthingss @potatos-on-clouds

@apriecotte @hhoneylix @kyeos4ng @smally97 @savluvsmingi

only half of them are wearing their uniform, and even then they layer it unbuttoned over bold statement t-shirts like it is a mere accessory. the others wear black tracksuits and there is not a single pair of proper school shoes to be seen. your eyes cannot help but scan their pierced ears and obviously-styled hairstyles–you are pretty sure the shortest boy has dyed his hair a lighter shade of brown too.

it is hard to take your attention off of him as he takes one last drag of the cigarette in his hand, lazily blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before he flicks the butt onto the floor outside and steps in through the door along with the others. you idly wonder how he got his hands on a fake id to purchase cigarettes in the first place, but at least he is polite about not smoking inside your store.

the group saunters up and you startle slightly as the boy at the front slaps his hand against the counter with the matching confidence to his glorified 6 foot height to demand, “give me a double shot of espresso.” he pulls away his hand to reveal a mismatched assortment of sad coins and crumpled notes.

“we, uh–” you glance not so subtly at the wall-sized menu behind you and the LED lighting decor sprawled across the other three walls with the phrases, ‘you’re a cu-tea’, ‘you’re pearl-fect’, and ‘you’re my bo-bae’, and wonder what gave these boys the impression they could order coffee. “we don’t sell coffee,” you state.

he does not seem fazed by your words at all. “can’t you just, like, charge me for your most expensive drink and make me a coffee?” he asks his absurd question with practiced ease, which makes you think that this is not his first rodeo.

unfortunately for him though, you deadpan, “i physically can’t. we don’t have a coffee machine.”

the boy’s expression finally cracks a little and you can literally see the cogs slowing down to a stop inside his brain. “aw, fuck,” he swears, “this worked last time.”

one his friends shrugs callously and snickers, “what did i say, mingi. told you they wouldn’t have one.”

“shut up, jongho,” he gripes in response.

you gesture vaguely at the laminated menu on the counter beside the cash register. “would you like something else to drink?” you offer.

the tall boy–mingi–takes all but one look at the barrage of words before his eyes flicker back up towards you. “recommend something.”

“depends on what you’re feeling,” you hum your scripted question, pointing to the different sections of the menu. “do you want something fruity or milky?”

he looks constipated as he weighs the two options. “fruity?” he eventually settles, still sounding unsure. “what’s good?”

at the question, all of their eyes turn to look at you intently and you feel yourself wilting internally at the thought of explaining the drinks to a group of boys that look like outright delinquents, because if there is one downside to working here apart from the crippling health impacts, it is the loss of your dignity each time you have to say the stupid names of the drinks.

“well,” you clear your throat and steel yourself, “we’ve got the bubbly butterfly blues, a purple grape and blueberry fruit ade, or the mysterious mermaid magic, a mango and passionfruit green tea with rainbow pearls.” you forge on with your explanations despite the furrowed brows and open mouths of judgement on their faces, deciding to give them a recommendation for a milky drink too just in case. “the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles is also pretty popular. it’s a strawberry milk tea with whipped cream, sprinkles and marshm–”

“i’ll take that one,” mingi interrupts, unable to stand the onslaught of words that make the world around him explode into pink glitter. he drops an additional crinkled note onto the counter for good measure and then strides away to take a seat at the table in the furthest corner of the store to wait for his cutesy drink.

half a snort escapes the back of your throat at the sight. mingi may as well hold a megaphone to his mouth and shout “i am a manly man!” to make himself feel better. what an idiot.

you shift your attention to the rest of the group. “anything i can get for you guys?” you ask.

“fuck it, why not,” the one who had been smoking shrugs immediately. “get me the same thing he’s getting.”

most of the others pass and step away to join mingi at the table as you sort out the payment for delinquent number two’s cutesy drink. when you close the cash register–you are tempted to ask them why they have so many loose coins–the last two of the boys sidle up to the other side of the counter, peering down carefully at the menu.

you frown.

these two are actually wearing their uniform properly, only the first buttons of their shirt undone, no brightly-coloured tee peeking out from underneath, ties still around their neck and shirts tucked into their pants. they are even wearing their name tags; kang yeosang and park seonghwa. also, apart from the fact that the two appear prim and proper enough to be part of the student council, they are also very pretty.

said two look up at you, catch the frown across your face, fumble a little, then give you a small smile as a peace offering. “hi,” seonghwa greets softly, “can we get two regular pearl milk teas, please? thank you.”

you physically recoil.

“blink twice if you’re being threatened,” you blurt out, the words tumbling unwisely out of your mouth before you can stop them and definitely loud enough that all eight of the boys can hear you.

blink twice seonghwa and yeosang do, but not as a confirmation that the stark difference in their appearance and demeanour to the others is a sign they are being bullied into hanging out. they blink to ask–very respectfully–what the fuck you are on about.

they blink at you. you blink at them. the other boys blink at the three of you.

“sure thing!” you vocally sweep your own words under the rug. “two regular pearl milk teas coming right up!”

you swipe yeosang’s payment out of his hands–notes and coins carefully counted out to the exact amount–and punch the number into the cashier before swiftly turning your back to them to make their drinks. if you ignore something hard enough then it never happened. and it works, because they retreat to join the rest of their friends at the furthest table without further comment.

it does not take long to make all four of their drinks, but you do take a few extra minutes to carefully swirl the whipped cream on top of the strawberry milk tea orders and artistically shower them with sprinkles and marshmallows. you want to make them as cute as you fucking possibly can just for mingi.

“two rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles and two regular pearl milk teas,” you call out.

they all stand up, likely ready to leave once they grab their drinks. mingi leads the group with his long strides and he picks up his drink with one hand. he holds it up to eye level to study it like an unknown specimen and the moment he picks it up, one of his friends–you think you overheard the others call him wooyoung–cannot help but blurt out with distaste, “that shit looks sweet as fuck.”

mingi holds his drink closer to his body with a light glare because hey, it does look sweet as fuck but it also actually looks really good. and kind of cute, he will admit. he takes a tentative sip through the straw then a small lick of the whipped cream on top, the scattered toppings simultaneously crunching and melting in his mouth to spread sweet diabetes across his tongue.

it tastes like drugs in sugar form.

and it must show on his face because the tallest of his friends leans over to do the same, taking a sip from the same straw and a lick of the whipped cream from the other side, only far more generous and daring than the drink’s owner.

“bro,” comes the tall boy’s immediate reaction, “i’d get one of these every day.”

wooyoung suddenly looks less dubious and asks, curiosity now piqued, “give me a sip of that rainbow shit.”

“no,” mingi instantly responds, still keeping his drink close to his body and literally turning away to keep it protected and out of wooyoung’s reach. “you insulted my drink. get your own.”

the latter whines and you physically jerk backwards for the second time that night at their complete disregard for following stereotypical delinquent traits. you are starting to think that they are not delinquents so much as delinquent-wannabes and they seem increasingly harmless the more they simply exist.

“hongjoong,” wooyoung suddenly sings out, appearing to change targets to his other friend who had ordered the same drink. he is determined to try a sip tonight without having to spend his own money, but alas–

hongjoong flips him off and cradles his drink out of sight too. “you insulted my drink by extension.”

–determination can only get him so far.

this time, you cannot help the proper snort of amusement that leaves your mouth. you dare to hold your gaze with a lightly teasing lilt of your lips when wooyoung whips his head around with narrowed eyes. the boy cogs turn in his head as he deduces how far he can push the boundaries with you and he must come to some sort of conclusion that you are a newfound stranger-friend because he jokes with a straight face, “i’ll rob you.”

“sure,” you answer easily, tapping in a fake order onto the register’s screen to eject the cash drawer with a comedic ding! emphasising your words.

a few of them guffaw and wooyoung’s expression lights up to actually reach over the counter to help himself to a ten dollar bill. that is, until his hand is slapped away by somebody else with quite possibly the most perfect eyebrows you have ever seen. and no. you are most definitely not jealous.

“i’ll pay for your drink,” the friend chides, digging into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.

seonghwa shakes his head and advises, “don’t enable him, san,” at the same time that wooyoung brattily decides, “nah, don’t want one.”

“god, that’s it,” jongho mutters, starting to usher the group away from the counter towards the direction of the doors. “we’re leaving. mingi’s waiting outside already.”

they let themselves be herded and a few of them even turn to wave goodbye to you at the doors, cheerfully leaving behind the words ‘we’ll be back!’ in their wake as they exit the shop. your hand remains suspended in the air mid-wave even after they have disappeared and you blink blankly at the bizarreness of your entire encounter with the group of boys.

you do not know if they truly mean it when they say they will be back, but you do know one thing; you kind of hope that they do.

“can i get that thing i got last week.”

the tone of mingi’s voice ends his sentence more like it is a demand than it is a question, but the nuance of his words is still a request and already an improvement in comparison to your first encounter with him. if you are completely honest, you are also somewhat happy to see him and the others come back, so you will take the wins where you can. baby steps.

“which one?” you clarify. “i don’t remember.”

you do remember because their group of eight is pretty hard to forget, and they are some of the only customers you ever get. plus, you have made it somewhat of a personal challenge to hear mingi say something as stupid as ‘rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles’, which means that you are going to pretend for as long as you need to.

he scratches the side of his neck. “y’know, that drink you said is good.”

“we have a couple of those. was it the, uh, mysterious mermaid magic?” your head tilts with exaggerated thoughtfulness and from behind mingi, hongjoong and wooyoung cackle while the others look on with smirks, having caught on to exactly what you are doing.

“no, the rainbow unic…” he mumbles, voice growing increasingly softer with each syllable until his mouth is simply opening and closing.

you look at him with faux apologeticness and furrow your brows, “sorry? i didn’t quite catch that.”

“say it louder, dude,” his tall friend nudges him playfully. you are going to need to find out his name somehow because his is the only one you have yet to figure out, and you have a feeling you and him would get along real good.

“the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles,” mingi finally gets out. if he were a cartoon character, you would see the rising colour of bright red creep up from under his uniform to the tip of his ears and then to the very roots of his hair.

god forbid a manly man purchase a cutesy pick-me-up drink on a friday night.

you smile brightly and use your cheeriest customer service voice to announce, “one rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles for princess mingi coming right up.”

the boy in front of you is flattered to learn that you know and remember his name but is also twice as horrified by the nickname you have crowned him with. his brain short circuits and his eyes widen at you in panicked masculinity and he shoves his payment across the counter before retreating to the same table in the corner of the store where seonghwa is already seated. if you look closely enough, there is a little wisp of smoke coming out from the top of mingi’s head too as he malfunctions. heh.

the boy whose name you still do not know comes up to the counter next. he jerks his head backwards in the direction of mingi and orders, “could i get the same? that rainbow fairy sparkling unicorn or whatever.” the name is wrong but he gets an a+ for trying so you do not correct him, simply nodding and putting his order into the cash register instead.

then you ask for your own personal gain, “can i get a name for your drink?”

he does not appear to question your intentions nor realise he is the only one you have asked because he is too occupied grinning widely at you, unable to curb his cheeky excitement at the thought of what he is about to say. “yeah, peter parker,” comes his proud answer, quite literally naming his drink.

and that is how you find out that he has the best (read: worst) humour out of all of the boys.

it is frankly right up your alley but you refuse to let him one-up you. instead, you use it to your advantage. you nod, “p.p. for short,” dragging the abbreviated initials out for longer so that it sounds intentionally crude.

“peepee,” wooyoung repeats with unrestrained laughter, high-pitched shrieking that sets off the others as well.

and that is also how you find out that wooyoung has the easiest funny bone to tickle out of all the boys.

p.p.’s eyes glint with delight at the fact that you can both take and dish out your own freak. he leans against the countertop on his elbow, which is a sight to behold with how far he has to stoop down because of his height, and exposes you with no qualms, “it’s yunho, by the way, since you wanted to know my name so badly.” he adds a flirty wink for good measure as his friends ooh like the true teenage boys that they are.

you mirror his mannerisms and bat your eyelashes at him to say, “okay, whatever you say, peepee.”

hongjoong intervenes and shoves yunho aside before the latter can fall in love with you and your wack-ass humour or something. he shoos him away, “go sit at the table,” as if he is sending the taller into the naughty corner.

yunho concedes with his hands raised in mock surrender, walking backwards as he reassures his friend, “don’t worry. you won’t hear a peep-ee out of me.”

your facade cracks and you let out a laugh, which only grows louder when jongho takes the liberty to grab a wrapped straw from the container on your countertop to peg it at yunho’s face. it bounces perfectly off the middle of his forehead and lands on the floor, where seonghwa–bless him–bends down to pick it up. you think he might just be your favourite.

“didn’t know you were into that kind of humour,” hongjoong notes with a tone of amusement.

“oh, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” you respond, a hint of flirtatiousness in your words.

fuck being professional. these boys would probably be the last people on earth to ever report you for something like a coquettish comment, and god forbid you want to flirt with a couple of really hot guys. the image of hongjoong taking a lazy drag from his cigarette burns at the forefront of your mind as he stares intently into your eyes, and his seeming nonchalance to his own charm only makes him that much more attractive.

he raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”

“only if you’re up for it,” you respond coyly.

san coughs and interrupts, “not to be a cockblock, but can you flirt after we order our drinks.”

the boy in front of you rolls his eyes, pairing it with a loving middle finger at his friend. however, he moves over anyway, half mumbling that he is not going to get a drink. his spot at the counter is immediately snagged by san who mimics yunho’s earlier pose leaning against the surface. “so,” he gives you an overly-smouldering gaze, “tell me something about yourself that i don’t know.”

a bubble of mirth rises from out of your chest and san drops the act utterly pleased with himself. you humour him, though only partially, by revealing, “the desserts here are actually really good. i love the cookies.”

“which one’s your favourite?”

you point to one of the cookies in the second row of the display counter. “the biscoff and peanut butter fudge.”

one of his beautiful brows raises upwards as if to ask why the cookie name is so normal. you give him a miniscule shrug. beats me. he shakes his head with a slight chuckle then requests, “i’ll have one of each cookie and one of each donut that you’ve got.” your eyes bug out of your head because that is a fuckton of cookies and donuts, but san reassures you they all have caves for stomachs.

you get started on their drinks then slide the glass doors open to pull their desserts out, only to realise that yeosang has lingered close by to watch you. he is not wearing his uniform today, instead in a tracksuit like the others but in white. he looks good in that colour and you tell him such, “your tracksuit looks good.”

“thanks,” he replies easily, “wooyoung shoplifted it for me.”

your jaw drops at his sudden confession, too taken aback to appropriately school your expression in time even if you should not really be too surprised by their shenanigans. at your obvious stupor, yeosang’s stoic face breaks immediately and he reveals, “just kidding, hehe.” despite his joke, he blushes to the very tip of his ears like rudolph but elf style and rushes away.

you are left dumbfounded in a good way. one day, you are going to teach yeosang a thing or two about confidence because his uncanny ability to keep a straight face whilst saying the most out-of-left-field thing when it is least expected then leaving the other person wondering whether he is being genuine or only joking is top-tier humour–he just needs to learn how to own it.

you are also left wondering whether there is a single sane soul in this friendship group. you still hold some hope for seonghwa and maybe san, but who knows.

when their drinks and spread of desserts are ready, you expect them all to leave like they did last week. except this time they drag two circular tables closer together in the far corner of the store that they seem hellbent on claiming as their spot, where they then lay out all of the desserts across the joint surface. you watch from behind the counter. there is both a sense of systematic order and chaotic mess to the way they take a bite out of a cookie or donut, nod enthusiastically at how good it tastes whilst shoving it into the face of somebody else, who will in turn take a bite and join in on the enthusiastic nodding and moan an affirmative that it is good.

“wait, this donut is fucking fire,” you hear, and, “this cookie is The Shit, bro.”

they are sort of really fucking cute; boys you would expect to see loitering in alleyways with cigs in their mouths and sneaking into clubs with fakes to pop pills, instead sitting hunched over on cute plastic stools around rickety circular tables sharing sweet desserts like they are at a tea party.

wooyoung catches your gaze over the top of jongho’s head and he gets up instantly to drag you out from behind your counter. all of your warbled protests go unheard as he pulls you by one of your loose apron ties–his strangely endearing way of being respectful not to actually touch you–towards their tables whilst refuting, “there’s nobody else in here but us.”

that is how you find yourself squashed between seonghwa and jongho, your shoulders and thighs touching from close proximity.

“try this blueberry lemon cookie,” seonghwa offers from beside you the moment you sit down, extending the treat for you to take a bite from.

mingi so helpfully reminds, “she literally works here.”

seonghwa shushes him, “yeah, but she probably hasn’t tried everything on the menu.”

he is not wrong. you may have the appetite, but you do not have the physical stomach to try an entire serving of each dessert available in the shop, even if you were to try one per shift. now that the opportunity has handed itself to you on a silver platter, you are not going to refuse. plus, you do not think that you could ever bring yourself to say no when seonghwa is holding the cookie out with both hands so eagerly.

he is definitely your favourite.

you take a tentative bite out of the cookie and eight pairs of shiny eyes do not leave yours until you give them an affirmative and enthusiastic nod at its taste. all flurry of activity starts up again as they continue to trade desserts with those sitting beside them and across the circle. it feels like you are suddenly back in primary school, sharing your snacks out of your lunch box and trading sandwiches with your friends. they include you easily in both taste-testing and conversation, filling your usually quiet shift with antics and laughter.

it has always been a perk that you do not get many customers, but now more so than ever, you hope that nobody comes in for the remainder of your shift–or at the very least, not until the boys leave. in just two meetings, they have all grown on you in their own ways and you kind of want this to become a regular thing. you could definitely get used to this.

despite their appearances and rough-around-the-edges personalities, they are really just a bunch of boys living their life to the fullest in the diabetic form of bubble tea, loaded cookies and glazed donut runs in the middle of a random night.

and honestly? if you had a group of friends like them, you would too.

yunho’s eyes narrow fiercely at the couple who are walking along the footpath outside the perimeter of your shop, daring them to step in through the doors. his glare is not needed though–the very sight of what is going down inside is more than enough for their eyes to widen and for the man to hastily pull his girlfriend away.

“oh look, there goes another two potential customers,” hongjoong notes with sarcastic dismay. “i wonder why people are always in such a hurry to leave.”

yunho blinks his murderous intent away and faces you with round, innocent eyes as you roll your own and cross your arms. your insides wilt at the loss of potential revenue but only by a tad, because whatever business they boys scare off, they make up for several times over. you state as a matter-of-factly, “maybe it has something to do with jongho.”

said boy currently stands about three feet away from you, his arms raised and fists clenched threateningly as the rest of the boys surround the both of you in a circle of sorts as if they are about to witness a bloody fistfight. you suppose it does not look too far from the truth–you are about to get punched in the face.

jongho shrugs dismissively, “it’s not my fault other people aren’t interested in learning how to get knocked out by a sucker punch safely.”

“i don’t think any of those words should go together in a single sentence,” you tell him honestly, unimpressed.

“they normally don’t,” jongho’s mouth ticks up, “which is exactly why you’re learning.”

you cannot win against him or any of them. last week it had been learning how to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place, the week before it had been how to dislocate a shoulder, and then the week before that it had been how to reverse-jump a person if they were chasing you into an alleyway.

it has become an ingrained part of your weekly routine for the boys to rock up during your friday night shift, order half the menu, hang around for hours where you usually join them, then leave until the next week rolls around again. but these random tutorials have only just recently become a new routine within your pre-existing routine.

it all started when wooyoung snuck behind your counter one night while your back was turned to make their drinks and decided it would be hilarious to scream in your face as you turned around. you had jerked backwards so hard that you knocked over the entire stack of blender jars, which toppled over into the dirty sink one after the other like noisy dominoes. seonghwa had made wooyoung personally clean and stack them all again as punishment, but the damage had been done and hongjoong had declared that you would not survive in the real world if a little fright like that could make your butthole pucker right back up into your own intestinal system.

and so had begun your weekly crash courses on survival instincts because according to them, you had none. you had refused to submit to their antics at first, but then yeosang had pointed out, “it’s true. wooyoung was standing behind you like a creep for a full five minutes and you didn’t even notice.” san had also threatened that they would not order anything until you complied each week.

“that’s not fair,” you had complained petulantly. “i just won’t serve you guys at all then.”

san had given you a cheshire grin. “you wouldn’t. we’re like, eighty percent of the total revenue you make during your shift.”

that shuts you up real quick and san knows, so you have no choice but to give in to whatever tomfoolery they choose to teach you for that week. if it is learning to ‘get knocked out by a sucker punch safely’, then so be it.

“okay, i’m all set to be punched in the future,” you declare dryly as jongho reigns in his fist after a pretend swing at your temple, “are you guys going to order now?”

hongjoong nods like he is the little leader of this delinquent gang, but jokes on him because they follow behind you to gather in front of the counter in a single file of sorts with practiced ease, an endearingly crooked line of ducklings. you know right off the bat that it means they already know what they want to order because other times they will come together as pairs or even triplets so that they can umm and ahh over the menu together.

you do not think you can ever take them seriously as proper delinquents–if they even count as such.

as if to prove your point even further, mingi throws up double gang signs and makes a poor attempt to rap, “i want an emineminem,” and when seonghwa not-so-subtly pinches his elbow, he adds on, “please.”

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as your hands automatically move to input his order into the register, long past familiar with what his order truly means; mysterious mermaid magic, because the alliteration of the name ‘m and m and m’ sounds the same as the rapper’s name twice. go figure. you do not know if ‘emineminem’ is worse, or, as san calls it whilst flexing his biceps, ‘the merman’.

the boys have a shockingly terrible incapacity to remember the names on the menu correctly, but it is also partially due to the fact that they could give less than zero fucks about them. they will either say what they think the name is, or what they think the name should be.

they make the rules. you simply follow.

the first time it happened was during their third time at the store. “yo, give me a triple b,” jongho had confidently ordered.

“a fuckin’ what?” you were positive you were having a stroke.

“a triple b,” he had tried again, frowning at how you did not automatically understand him. “the big butterfly bus or somethin’.”

you could not take him seriously. “big butterfly bus? what are they gonna do after hopping on? go to fucking school?” you had jested. “also, you can’t just make up your own name and expect me to–you know what, sure.”

it sort of becomes a game. you will roll over in your grave before admitting it, but it is sort of fun to hear an absolutely rubbish string of words–or letters–come out of their mouths for you to then follow their ridiculous train of thought backwards to work out what the actual drink is. the silly boys with their silly names kind of grow on you.

and you may or may not indulge them a little too much. they are the first to try any new items on the menu, even when they are still technically not meant to be available to the general public. but when they pounce on whatever you present to them on the table like puppies and fresh kibble, it is very hard not to keep doing so. which is exactly why you bring out the batch of cupcakes you had made earlier specifically for them to taste.

they look like normal vanilla-frosted cupcakes, except when you bite into them, there is a dark chocolate cookie inside the base. it is the perfect mix of soft and chewy, and when the gooeyness is maximised by slightly warming the dessert up, it is–

“fucking fire, bro,” yunho says around a mouthful, blatantly ignoring the dirty look that seonghwa shoots him for talking with food in his mouth.

yeosang inspects the cookie at the core. “have you named it yet?”

you do not get a say in what the menu items are named and they always do in fact already have a name by the time the boys get to try them. regardless, you answer, “not yet,” because they love the power trip they get when they have creative liberty over your store’s products.

“i have an idea,” wooyoung pipes up immediately. “the frosted ultimate cookie cupcake.” then in a falsetto voice, he role-plays by himself, “hi, could i get a fucc please?”

mingi snorts himself silly and continues, “actually, could you give me two fucks?”

you oblige, “fuck you, and double fuck you,” flashing your middle finger at wooyoung first then mingi second to punctuate the fucks you are gifting them.

the boys snicker at your crudeness, absolutely delighted. not the type to let any opportunity to swear go by, the rest of them join in as san yanks you down to sit at the table with them before you can roll your eyes and walk away.

and out of all moments, it is this exact moment, when you are surrounded by the eight of them throwing out colourful words left and right with the giddy enthusiasm of toddlers, each holding a half-eaten vanilla-frosted cookie cupcake in their hands, that you realise you may actually give a few too many fucks about them…and not just in a friendly way.

well. fuck.

when you get a call on friday morning from your branch manager the following week, your immediate thought is that somebody finally chanced upon watching the store’s security footage and you have been caught making friends with delinquent customers and literally feeding them with business secrets. except when you pick up and tentatively greet him, he starts to say something that is arguably just as bad.

“i need you to swap shifts with gayoung. she can’t work this tuesday night so i need you to cover that day ‘cause there’s nobody else available,” he informs. “gayoung will cover your shift tonight instead.”

you are still trying to process his words as you repeat, “tonight?”

“yes, so you won’t need to go into work tonight.”

your heart skips a beat. for the first time in your life, you find yourself asking, “can’t i take both shifts?”

“no, you can’t. sorry,” your manager apologises but he does not sound sorry at all.

you have never voluntarily taken up extra night shifts, much less asked to take up additional shifts. yet, there is a heavy sense of disappointment that simultaneously settles itself deep inside your stomach and lodges itself in your throat, because it is friday today and friday night is for your boys. you do not even have a way of letting them know that you will not be in tonight.

you wonder if they will notice your absence and whether they will care. after all, you may just be somebody who happens to work at the bubble tea shop they frequent. but it turns out that they do and turns out you are not.

“where were you?”

those are the first words that are thrown at you the moment the boys walk through the door during your friday shift the week after you swapped nights with gayoung. they stomp up to your counter sporting furrowed brows and pressed lips, and if it were not for seonghwa’s soft smile and warm, “we missed seeing you,” you would have thought that they were angry at you.

you can only imagine how terrifying their demeanours would be if they were actually to be angry.

“my manager made me swap shifts with another coworker,” you explain and their expressions soften immediately.

jongho breaks out into a triumphant smirk as he turns to hongjoong with an upturned palm. “i told you. pay up.”

the latter sheepishly pulls out some crumpled notes as you gawk, “you bet on why i wasn’t at work?”

“don’t mind them,” wooyoung waves his hand dismissively. “hongjoong has trust issues–said that you were avoiding us.”

“i would never!” you refute at the same time that hongjoong exclaims, “i did not!”

“either way, fuck your manager. the fucking audacity to take you off our shift?” wooyoung complains.

you try to keep a straight face at the fact that wooyoung has just very casually claimed your shift–and by extension, you–as theirs. you babble the first thing that comes to mind, “the drinks are all made using the same recipe. it doesn’t matter who makes them.”

yunho’s eyes narrow with offense that you would even suggest a thing. “it’s nowhere near the same.” he is not the only one who wants to tell you that as long as it is not you it will never be the same.

their collective thoughts come out instead through mingi, “nobody understands when we order a triple b or an emineminem or a ‘horse drink’.”

“yeah, no shit sherlock,” you fire back, because apparently sarcasm is your automatic defense mechanism when you are flustered, “might help if you call them by their proper names.”

“or maybe the problem is that nobody knows us well enough like you do,” san insists with a wink and in response, yeosang reveals, “we don’t let just anybody get close to us.”

you joke before you can truly think your words through, “sounds like a you problem then.”

“you’re right,” hongjoong banters easily with smugness.

your nervous fidgeting as you tap useless buttons on the screen of your register gives you away despite your attempts to stay collected. they chuckle and it is difficult not to crumble under their unwavering gazes because it is obvious they can see right through your facade. but can anybody really blame you when you had not been expecting them to reciprocate your feelings of interest, much less admit to it so easily and straightforwardly?

in a last ditch attempt to regain some control over the conversation, you ask, “so, what do you guys want to order?”

from day one, the boys have surprised you in the most unpredictable ways–eight not-quite-delinquent delinquents with simultaneously calloused fists, pottied mouths and insatiable sweet tooth. today is no exception, and you have a feeling that you should start becoming accustomed to their antics because they are here to stay, especially after today.

“what we want to order?” they look at you with confident flirtatiousness. “your phone number and a date.”

taglist pt. one | apply for taglist

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