[20:11] “Come on, don’t burn, don’t burn,” you whispered, flipping the grilled cheese sandwich onto the other side with the satisfying sound of a sizzle trailing behind you. Placing the spatula down for a second, you rushed to shove the butter and the Cheddar cheese back into the refridgerator before you returned to your task, although haphazardly and with a sudden lack of orientation. As if abruptly shifted into Sims mode, you blinked and stared at the nothingness that lay before your eyes, trying to figure out what was going on; the imaginary diamond that hovered above your head glowed dark orange, signaling exhaustion, and your brain required an unnecessarily long time to process the situation before it hit you.
“OH NO, MY CHEESE SANDWICH,” you exclaimed in horrifying revelation, feet stumbling towards the stove as you armed yourself with your trusted spatula. Switching off the heat, you grabbed the pan and ran with it towards the table, where the plate waited hungrily for the evening snack. You shuffled the flat surface of the utensil under the crunchy exterior of the bread, allowing the sandwich to slide nicely onto the plate.
Only that your tired brain didn't calculate the trajectory of the grilled cheese express, and now you had about half a second to react and catch your meal before it fell onto the floor. Throwing the pan onto the table, your whole body jerked as you managed to save your sandwich from ultimate destruction. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips, but only to be replaced by a shriek of terror.
In your heroic manner of saving your meal from going to waste, you've totally forgotten that, under no god damn circumstance, should you place a hot pan on the table. Your whole body froze as panic injected itself into your veins. The instantaneous fear that washed over you jerked you awake from your state of shock, and you dashed to remove the kitchen utensil from the table.
Upon prying it away, your pupils contracted at the sight of the dip that the heated bottom of your pan created into the vinyl table cloth. “No...” you gulped, breath hitching in the capsule of your lungs. “No, no, no, no.”
Bolting towards the sink to throw the pan under a rush of cold water, you darted back to the table just as fast to inspect the damage. You swallowed even more thickly after you noticed how bent under the overwhelming warmth was the vinyl, and you looked around frantically for something that could help straighten it back to its original form.
In your rush to save what you yourself had damaged, you checked the clock on the wall, only to realise that your boyfriend was soon to come home. A newfound terror spread over your whole being, and you felt your heart thump heavily against your chest as despair boiled in your throbbing head. You burnt his table cloth, one that he picked out himself from an assortment displayed at the supermarket. You ruined it. It was bent, and burnt, and it surely had at least one hole in it. What was he going to say?
“Oh my god,” you gasped for the millionth time, although there was now an undeniable crack in your voice. “He’s going to be furious.”
Feeling the stinging of tears pierce at the back of your eyes, you took hold of the table to stabilise yourself, as a hurricane of guilt swirled in your chest with the heaving consequences of your negligence. The salty droplets of water clouded your vision, and you had to bite your trembling lip to restrain a string of cries that wanted to escape your throat. Although you tried to calm your agitation by intaking long, sharp breaths, you found yourself helpless against the intrusive thoughts that spinned inside your head. You could already imagine the disappointment on his face at the displeasing discovery, his wrathful gaze piercing through your weak being, his tired voice reverberating with rage against the walls of the kitchen. He was going to be so mad, and you didn't know if you could handle it.
Crying with exhaustion and overwhelming feelings, you let your body slide to the floor, back resting against the leg of the table as you sobbed uncontrollably. You felt stupid, so god damn idiotic and irresponsible. How come you haven't noticed what you were doing? Why haven't you realised it sooner? You couldn't find an answer to any of these questions. Your brain was too tired to compute. You've spent your whole day studying for some extremely important exams that you soon had to take, and you've definitely disregarded most of the bodily functions that kept you going. You haven't eaten anything, and you've barely had any water to drink. Hence, your mind was in such a daze while you were trying to cook something for yourself that it became utterly exposed to disasters.
And there you were now, living one big calamity.
Your whole body jerked when you heard the key turn into the lock of the front door, but you were too spent to shift from your current spot on the floor. Your heart throbbed faster against your ribcage as you heard Minho discard of his shoes and approach the kitchen door, announcing his arrival.
“Hey, princess, I'm ho–,” he stopped dead in his tracks when the first sight after he swung the door open was you crouched on the floor, staring back at him with tears still trailing down your cheeks as the echos of your sobs burned within your throat.
Dropping his duffel bag to the floor, he rushed over to where you were sat, kneeling in front of you so he could mantain an equal eye level. His warm hands placed themselves onto your arms, gently pulling you away from the table.
“God, Y/N, what happened?” he asked, his voice thick with panic. “Why are you crying?”
Biting your lip, you stared at your boyfriend through a film of tears, brows furrowing at how distressed he looked. His own thick eyebrows sported a deep frown, his forehead creasing to accentuate his worry as rather quick breaths left his parted mouth. And with that, you couldn't help but feel even guiltier, a new wave of hurt glossing your eyes as quiet whimpers escaped your lips.
Your shoulders began to shake as another round of sobs took over your being, and this time you sought refuge in your boyfriend, arms holding onto his back as you muffled your hiccups into his chest.
Quick to accept your embrace, Minho's hands carressed your back soothingly as he whispered words of appeasement into your hair, sighing occasionally at the hurt he himself was feeling deep in his chest. What kind of atrocity could have bestowed upon you that made you cry so hard? And how could he fix it as fast as humanly possible?
Pulling away just slightly, Minho tilted your chin upwards with the pad of his forefinger, making you look at him. He bit his lip at how wounded you looked, and he wished to wipe all the pain away. “Could you please tell me what happened, princess?” he spoke calmly, making sure not to cause you any more distress.
Blinking away part of your tears, you exhaled shakingly before explaining everything that happened in great detail. You were sure not to let out the actions that led you to lack your usual attentiveness, and your heart sank when he sighed in what you deduced was frustration.
He noticed your panic and was quick to shake his head. “No, no, no. Don’t mistake my feelings, princess,” he added, cupping your tear-stained face into his hands. “I’m not mad about the table cloth, I’m just upset that you disregarded your own health for the sake of some stupid exams.”
“T-They’re not stupid,” you muttered, voice weak and shaky.
“I know. I know they’re not,” he responded with a nod. “But you know what I mean.”
You merely shrugged, gaze setting on any object or shape that wasn’t him. You still felt pretty bad and clumsy, and it was hard to face your boyfriend at the very moment.
“Look at me, princess,” he inquired gingerly, thumbs wiping the remnants of your tears. Doing as told, you locked gazes with Minho, and you instantly felt a rush of tranquil wash over you. Your shoulders relaxed under his touch, and there was no fear left in your eyes. Your breath slowed down, and your hands lost their tremble. You couldn’t understand how he had done it, but he managed to soothe your alarm with a simple, loving look.
“Don’t you ever think I'd get mad at you for something so unimportant, Y/N,” he implied, brushing off a few strands of hair that stuck to your face due to the dampness of your cheeks. “I don’t care about a stupid table cloth, I can always buy another one.”
Listening to his words, your hands fumbled with the sleeves of your blouse. Noticing it, Minho took hold of them, interwining your fingers with his before he placed a chaste kiss atop the back of your palm.
“But I can never get a girlfriend as amazing as you,” he stated with a tone so honest that it made your heart flutter. “So that’s why I’d prefer if you took care of yourself, princess. Not for my sake, but for your own.”
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