San sat cross-legged on the couch, hunched protectively over his burrito like a dragon guarding treasure. The foil was peeled back halfway, and the scent of warm meat, grilled veggies, and melted cheese filled the room. You glanced at him — then at the burrito — and leaned in just a little.

“Can I have a bite?”

He didn’t even look at you. Just pulled it closer to his chest with both hands, shielding it like it was fragile and priceless.

“Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Not even a small one?”

He took a slow, exaggerated bite right in front of you. “Mmm. Nope.”

You scoffed. “You’d give Jongho a bite.”

San wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Jongho lifts heavy things for me.”

You blinked. “So do I! I carried your laundry basket last week!”

“That was one time. This is burrito loyalty. It’s sacred.”

You slumped dramatically against the couch cushion beside him. “Wow. Okay. So this is what betrayal feels like.”

He kept eating.

You groaned. “Why do you hate me?”

That’s when it happened.

San choked on his next bite — just slightly — then immediately started laughing, burrito lowered to his lap. He leaned back against the cushions, trying and failing to get the words out through wheezing laughter.

“‘Why do you hate me?’” he repeated, covering his mouth with his hand. “You sound like a sad high school drama monologue.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m being emotionally vulnerable and you’re laughing at my pain.”

“That’s because your pain is over one single bite of my burrito!” he gasped, still laughing. “You’re so dramatic!”

He offered the burrito now — finally, mercifully.

You reached for it.

And he pulled it back at the last second.

“I’m considering it,” he teased, voice still light with laughter. “But you have to say, ‘Please, your Royal Burrito Majesty, I am but a humble fool.’”

You stared at him in silence.

San grinned. “No humiliation, no salsa.”