He’d been chasing after her for quite a bit and only paused to catch his breath; wow, with all that dancing for their recent comeback you would’ve thought that he’d been in great shape, but nope. He was tired and sleep-deprived like most of them were, yet he still had the energy to keep up with her, mostly due to his young age and, of course, his infatuation with her kind of helped too. Plus, he was going to kick her butt for going back on the conditions of their bet. It was supposed to be a bento, made by her, not by anyone else, and specially made just for him. For once, he wanted to get a taste of what Eunkwang didn’t appreciate.
So he hadn’t been paying attention to what was behind him, and now here they were, with her having gained the advantage over him, somewhat literally. Damn the Cube building and its intricate, maze-like halls (well okay, maybe it didn’t help that he was an idiot when it came to directions—that’s what GPS is for, right?!)
“Namjoo-ya, you’re… heavy… crushing… spine--” he choked out a fake gasp and fell to his knees slowly, his arms tucked securely under her legs to make sure that he wouldn’t drop her, mouth agape and eyes rolled back like he was on the verge of suffocation even though that had nothing to do with her weight being added onto his, even if she were actually heavy.
But his ears perked up at her last sentence, and a large grin started to spread on his lips. So she had made the bento herself. Sungjae clicked his tongue a few times, shaking his head; he should’ve expected this. It wasn’t like Namjoo to dishonor a promise, but it definitely was in her personality to troll him like that. With a renewed sense of energy, he suddenly jumped back up, newfound adrenaline coursing through his veins and jogged back to the practice room, leaning back and dropping her the rest of the few centimeters onto the chair, leaning down and poking her a few times in the forehead.
“The deal was for you to make me a lunchbox, little miss chef. Don’t you ever try to trick me like that again, or else I’ll get mad, eo?” Chuckling, he slid the lid off of the box again and carefully set it down onto the table, breaking apart a pair of chopsticks. “And what do you mean? Giraffe? Bear? Apple? Heh, if I’m the giraffe, then who’s the bear? And why does he get an apple?”
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