Sophomore Year, Eight Years Ago

"You are NOT putting cut-up hot dogs and kimchi in yours," I exclaim, wrinkling my nose.

"Oh right, you can have that panda in yours, but I can't have a hot dog and kimchi in mine?" Yoongi says this, as he stirs his bizarre mug cake batter.

"Pandan is a legit cake flavour, you caveperson. What type of mug cake has both a hot dog and kimchi?"

"The finest kind," Yoongi replies without hesitation. "You know mine is going to taste far better than yours, and then you're going to devour the whole thing."

"Not. Possible."

When my spoon touches the bottom of his mug ten minutes later, I let out a frustrated cry. "Is that all there is?"

Yoongi laughs. "Told you. Although I must admit, panda is delicious."

"It's pan-DAN. We're not eating the animals. It's a plant."

"OH! This whole time, I thought we were eating, like, a secretion from pandas' glands or something."

Now it's my turn to laugh.

Seriously, this guy.

"You're such a knucklehead. Oh my gosh, I can't believe what I'm hearing—which gland?"

"Obviously, anal."

"Gross."

He gives that gummy smile, the one that makes his eyes almost fully close. The one that makes me feel nauseous.

To be clear, it makes me want to puke because it's so cute that it makes my stomach do strange things, not because it disgusts me.

"Well, you either have stomach flu or you're in love," Emma remarked when I told her about the sickening smile. "In any case, keep a safe distance from me. I can't afford to be sick."

In love.

I watch as Yoongi gets up and goes to the fridge to make another hot dog and kimchi mug cake for me, and I know, of course, that I'm stupidly, annoyingly in love with him since I check my phone every half-minute.

Yoongi and I have become good friends ever since we got to know each other during freshers' week.

It's as if it was meant to be.

We hang out practically every day and do lots of random stuff. We've discovered the perfect places to nap in the library, the best ice cream sandwich combo at Diddy Riese (white chocolate macadamia nut cookie with butter pecan), and he came over to my dorm's common room today to bake mug cakes.

It's similar to my friendship with Emma, with the exception that I'm experiencing stomach-turning infatuation. In his own words—

Well, I don't know.

I'm not sure if he's attracted to me or not.

I occasionally catch him staring at me with his eyes all soft, which makes my stomach turn (thank you, stomach). But then he'll do things like resting his elbow on the top of my head when we're waiting for a red light to turn green, and I'm quite sure he simply views me as a friend.

Which I'm perfectly fine with. I'm down for platonic friendship, yeah.

I'm chill.

Totes chillax.

Yoongi puts his hand on my shoulder, and I almost tumble out of my chair. "Are you all right?"

I snort. "Duh. Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

It's not as if I was interrupted mid-daydream about his abs, which I swear are visible through his UCLA hoodie.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"What?"

"About the party at Phi Kappa?"

"A frat party? What about it?" A grimace takes over my face.

"Do you want to go? My friend is a member, and he raves about their gatherings. I'm not sure, but it might be fun."

"Are you aware that a frat party is where everything horrible happens?  Alcohol poisoning, date rape, hazing..."

"Okay, okay, all right." Yoongi chuckles. "I understand; you don't have to go."

Argh, why do I have to be such a mood killer?

I do want to go.

I just—I don't know. I guess I'm deathly afraid that Yoongi might realize I'm into him, and that would be massively embarrassing.

Thankfully, the microwave beeps at that point.

Yoongi is occupied with removing the mug cake. He glides around the common kitchen with a liquid grace that reminds me of a feline creature.

Like a lion, or a lynx.

He tops the mug cake with freshly chopped chives and hands it to me. Even though I've lost my appetite, I thank him.

"Anyway, I gotta go. I promised Max I'd hit the gym with him."

"Thanks for the cake," I say in the most casual tone possible. I shout out at the last minute, "Have a wonderful workout," and then immediately regret it.

That sounded obnoxious.

He flashes me that gummy smile again and is gone. I return to my room with a sigh. When I collapse dramatically onto my bed, Emma hardly looks up from her mathematics textbook.

She scribbles in her notebook, "Blue balls?"

I sigh into my pillow, "The bluest balls."

"I believe the title of the book is The Bluest Eye."

I squint at her and turn my head. "You don't have a lot of empathy."

"Did he invite you to the Phi Kappa party?"

"How did you find out about that?"

Emma sighs and rolls her eyes. "Because I have a social life? And Yoongi was very casually asking if you were going."

"At parties, I'm the worst. He'd know I'm the most unamazing person on the planet if he ever saw me at one."

"Is that why you haven't gone to any of the parties here?" Emma looks at me with astonishment. "Woah, you've got problems. Okay. It's been decided. This is the one you're going to."

"No."

"Yes."

"No, you can't make me. I won't. I won't!"

On Friday night, Emma and I stand outside Phi Kappa, a house that is quite literally vibrating with music.

I mean, I can actually see the windows rattling with each deep bass beat.

"This is a bad idea," I moan.

The only parties I like are the sit-around-playing-board-games kind.

Emma grabs my shoulders and whispers, "Focus. You look gorgeous as heck, so let's walk in there and you find your Yoongi, and I'll find some attractive lady or man, whatever comes first, and we'll both score tonight."

"Score?" I squeak.

"Do you know what I'm talking about, smash?" I look at her with my eyes narrowed. "Bone? Coitus? Do I really have to say, 'sexual intercourse'?"

My voice is several octaves above the range of most human voices. "I wasn't going to—I wasn't ready—"

Emma laughs heartily. "Your face, oh my goodness. I'm joking, of course. Tonight, no fucking, okay? You and Yoongi are far too cute to fall for the drunken one-night stand bullshit. We'll just track him down, and he'll take one look at you in this outfit and be done with it. It'll be the death of him."

"Not literally, I hope," I mutter under my breath, just in case the curse is listening in.

I take a deep breath and follow Emma as she struts confidently into the heaving frat house.

It's more terrible on the inside than I expected. The music is so loud that it makes my teeth rattle. Emma dives into the throng, slithering through the hot, pulsing bodies and dragging me behind her.

I'm not sure where we're going or how she knows where to go.

Someone spills an icy drink down the tight jeans Emma lent me for the night, and I squeal, and I shriek, releasing Emma's hand, but any sound I make is drowned out by the din. Emma is surrounded by bodies that heave and press in on her. I shout her name, but I couldn't even hear myself.

And now I'm alone.

I made the mistake of taking a deep breath. Frat homes certainly don't smell great at the best of times, and they smell radioactive an hour into a wild party. I gag, steel myself, and re-enter the mob, shouting Emma's name. Some drunk guy stumbles and collides with me, causing me to stumble because of his sudden momentum.

I'm about to be trampled.

This is not a good way to die—

"Whoa, hey," someone says, pulling me off the sticky floor.

"Yoongi," I breathe.

He blinks.

"Lily?" Then he seems to see me for the first time, and his eyes widen. "Wow."

I gnaw on my lip. Emma would be ecstatic with his response, but I feel stupid, as if I'm wearing someone else's clothes.

Which I am.

Emma has squeezed me into a pair of pants that are so tight on my legs that I'm quite sure they'll have to be cut off, as well as a shimmering, backless tank top that doesn't allow for a bra. She claims that it's acceptable because bras are just for women with boobs.

It's harsh, but it's true.

"Oh, hey," I say, as if I totally was not expecting to see him here, as if I didn't expressly come here half naked just to surprise him into loving me back.

"What?" he shouts.

"I said 'Hey!'" I shout back.

"Hey yourself," he shouts. At least, I think that's what he shouts.

"What?" I shout.

We both shake our heads and laugh, and whatever awkwardness there was between us melts away like a little piece of marshmallow. He takes my hand and squeezes it before leading me across the room.

My heart clenches painfully—argh, he'll see how sweaty my palms are and let go, and I'll lose him in the throng like I did Emma—but Yoongi retains a firm grasp on my fingers and gently weaves his way through the crowd, glancing back every few steps to make sure I'm alright. And then suddenly, we're out in the backyard, chilly night. The breeze stings my cheeks and my naked back, giving me goose bumps. The thumping music is cut off, thank goodness, as Yoongi closes the glass door behind us.

"You made it," Yoongi gives me a one-armed hug and says, "Where's Emma?"

"Somewhere inside." I check my phone and send Emma a quick text informing her that I'm in the backyard.

Yoongi greets the other people out here while I'm on my phone. There are a handful of them, each holding a red plastic cup or a bottle of IPA.

Okay, I can do this.

It's a lot more laid-back out here. I shove my hands in my pockets, or at least attempt to. It turns out that even a pinky can't fit into these ridiculous jeans. Yoongi introduces me to his buddies, whose names I forget right away, but when I tell them my name, a couple of them light up and look at Yoongi, who narrows his eyes in return. My heart thumps against the inside of my rib cage.

Does that mean he's told his friends about me?

DOES THAT MEAN HE LOVES ME IN A MORE THAN FRIENDS WAY?

Okay, slow down, bunny boiler.

It doesn't mean anything.

"Just put it on that hook when you're done," a girl says as she offers me a bottle of IPA and a bottle opener. She points at a hook fixed to a tree in the middle of the yard.

I follow her instructions, and when I turn around from the tree, I run into Yoongi. "Oof."

"Are you all right? Sorry, I thought you knew I was right behind you."

I rub my nose. "Geez, are you wearing a breastplate under your shirt?"

He flexes his biceps dramatically. "What can I say? I'm just really cut."

"More like bony."

He isn't, however.

By a long shot, no.

My eager gaze is drawn away from his pecs. What is it about a man's pecs that appeals to me so much? It's as if I'm a boob guy, but the other way around. A pec girl, to be precise. My attention then falls on his hands, and I thought to myself, "Mmm, he has nice hands."

Perhaps I'm a hand girl.

Or maybe I'm simply a Yoongi everything girl.

I lean back against the tree trunk to look, well, effortless, but that turns out to be a massive mistake. Pro tip: don't lean against a tree trunk when wearing a backless top.

"Shit," I hiss, rubbing at my back. "What's on this stupid tree, razor blades?"

"Um, that would be tree bark. Let me see your back."

Yoongi's fingertips are on my bare skin before I know it.

A firm, warm hand on my cold back. My muscles are dissolved in water. My stomach has turned into a puddle. I take a deep breath and tell myself to breathe.

"It's only a scratch. You'll be fine." His hand, nevertheless, does not leave my back. Instead, he splays his fingers across it, tingling my entire body. "You cold?" As he removes his jacket and throws it over my shoulders, I could hardly speak.

This is it.

This is when I tell him I've been having filthy dreams about him—no, I've had a massive crush on him, and that I believe he's as perfect as humans come. His jacket is so large that it dangles from my shoulders.

"Has anybody ever told you how incredibly little you are?"

"Excuse you, I am five feet five—"

"On a good day, in heels," Yoongi murmurs, giving me that gummy smile. He pulls the jacket closed around me and gives a little tug, as if he doesn't want to let go.

I don't want him to let go.

"Hey," he says, his voice a soft velvet.

I look up and meet his eyes, "Hey."

There are no jokes, no snarky remarks, and no thick layer of camaraderie between us this time. It's just him and me, the chilly desert night, and a ring of string lights that sparkle like stars all around us.

"I'm glad you're here," Yoongi says.

And for once, I'm 100 percent honest with him. "I came to see you."

That smile again, and then he dips his head, stooping low as I raise mine, and our lips meet in a soft crush that obliterates whatever other thoughts I had.

Okay, okay.

Okay, I've kissed boys before. Okay, two boys. Okay, one of them was the back of my hand. The kiss with the other boy wasn't great; I mean, my hand was better, honestly. I've never liked the sight of those Hollywood open-mouthed kisses; I consume far too much fermented shrimp paste to doubt my ability to kiss. When it comes to kissing, I prefer to kiss with my mouth closed.

But this. Holy shit.

Min Yoongi is the perfect counter to my prudish mouth.

He doesn't just slide his tongue in like Christian Miller did in ninth grade, but his lips are soft and his breath is a heady combination of rum and mint. Yoongi takes his time, softly pressing his lips against mine until I'm a boneless, liquid mess.

I brace myself by wrapping my arms around his broad, strong shoulders, and he half-lifts me off my feet. And then, before I know it, my mouth parts, and I'm really kissing Min Yoongi, and it is hot as hell.

At this moment, I know this is it.

There is no one like Yoongi, not the way he's holding me so firmly, the length of my body pressed up against his. And the moment I realize it…

I know I'm pretty much screwed.

Present Day

I let out a sigh and set the phone down on the table. She'd urge me to quit being so pathetic if I told her the truth, that I'm still hung up on Yoongi.

"Hello, Atilia?"

A warm, low voice says.

I jolt up, shaking all the memories of Yoongi from my head. Do not start off this date being haunted by Yoongi's ghost. I look up, and—okay, Ma, you did well. Third Uncle was wrong.

Jackson is definitely not a troll.

The words in italics are in Korean, while the words in italics and bold are in Malay.

Pandan = <Fragrant leaves that is widely used for flavouring in Southeast Asian and South Asian cuisines.>

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