〔 𝟎𝟗:𝟐𝟔𝐩𝐦 〕 “am i really your boyfriend, y/n?”
the question is so out-of-the-blue, you nearly drop the freshly carven watermelon from your hands and into the kitchen sink. “if your name is ‘mark lee’ and you were born on august 2nd, 1999 in toronto, then yes. you really are my boyfriend,” you say from over your shoulder. “why? do you not want to be?”
“that’s not it,” he sighs, propping himself on an elbow as he stretches across the couch. “it’s just kinda hard to remember that i’m your boyfriend when you have six other guys flirting with you all the time.”
you chuckle to yourself. “since when have the dreamies been flirting with me?”
he immediately sits up and points at you. “so you’re admitting that they do!”
“that’s not what i meant, baby.” you quickly gather the fruit into a container and bring it to the living room, offering a fork to your boyfriend before sitting down beside him. “what ‘six other guys’ would you be talking about, other than them?”
“true…” he murmurs, stabbing at an innocent cube of watermelon and shoveling it in his mouth. you half-expect him to squirm in satisfaction, but he doesn’t. instead, he exhales an exasperated sigh and tosses the fork onto the coffee table. “ahhhh, i don’t know, i don’t know, i don’t know.”
