You’re sitting across from me, phone in hand, that mischievous little glint in your eye as you type something into your story. I can already tell you’re up to something.

A few seconds later, I hear the faint ping of your post going live. “My dinner having a dinner.”

I pause mid-bite, chopsticks hovering over my noodles, then slowly look up at you.

“야…” I draw out, eyes narrowing but my lips curling into a grin. “나를 저녁이라고 부르는 거야?” (Ya… are you calling me your dinner?)

You just smirk and sip your drink, pretending innocence. My heart does this stupid flutter thing anyway.