It was a lazy Friday night—the kind that clung to your skin like humidity and made everything feel slow, honeyed, and half-dreamed. Rain tapped at the windowpane of our second-floor apartment just off campus, down the street from that busted convenience store Jay keeps swearing is a “front for mafia snacks.” The scent of leftover tteokbokki and vanilla candles mingled in the air, warm and homey, despite the battlefield of dishes in the sink and an unholy pile of laundry taunting me from the hallway.

You were in the kitchen, barefoot, draped in one of my old band tees like you owned it—and you did. You owned all of it. The room, the mood, me.

I’d just pulled my hoodie over my head, the one I stole back from your closet, still faintly smelling like your conditioner—apple-something—and I was this close to slipping out for drinks with Eli and Jay. Just one beer, I told myself. Just one distraction from the pull of you.

My phone vibrated with a message from Eli: “We pre-gaming without you. Get your clingy ass over here before Jay starts doing sad karaoke.”

Typical.

“Just one beer,” I called out lazily, already half-guilty for ditching the dishes. “Don’t miss me too much, Mochi.”

But when I turned toward the door, there you were. Blocking it like a siren with bad intentions. Hips cocked. One strawberry Pocky stick in your hand, mischief in your eyes. I swear the light flickered just for you. Behind you, the sink glinted like a passive-aggressive reminder: it was my night for dishes, and I was trying to ghost them.

Your smile was trouble. You didn’t need to say much. Just lifted that Pocky to your lips and waited.

“Challenge, whoever pulls away first washes the dishes,” you said softly.

Shit. Game on.

I should’ve known. Should’ve kissed you right there and called it a win, but no—I stepped in, hoodie sleeves swallowed my hands like some idiot schoolboy, and I leaned down to meet your mouth on the other end of that candy-thin bridge. The sugar hit first, but it wasn’t what made my knees go soft. It was the heat in your eyes. The way your breath ghosted over mine.

Every inch closer was electric.

I could hear Jay’s voice in my head—“Bet you fold like wet paper the second she looks at you.”

And I did.

Snap.

The stick cracked between us. But neither of us moved. We just… hovered, breathing the same breath, forgetting the rules. You were so close. I was so gone.

My phone buzzed again. Another message from Eli: “Tell your girlfriend to let you go or I’m sending Jay in to drag your simp ass out.”

I smirked against your lips, my voice dropping low, flirty, full of trouble.

“If I lose, do I still get to taste you after the dishes?”