A case in which a new born baby named Claire Han kicked the doctor first thing on the face before crying.
Taehyung and Claire both thought the only barrier keeping them from being happy were distances and misunderstandings. What would they do if a s...
❝In order to love who you are, you cannot HATE the experience that shaped you.❞
18.
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열여덟 | POLYGAMOUS MARRIAGE & TREASURE CHEST
── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──
Fast forward, the second day of the camp went quite well, apart from having to avoid stealing furtive glances at Taehyung. I wasn't quite sure about our relationship at the moment. We did kiss but he never asked me to be his girlfriend.
I was having an internal conflict whether to confront him or not as it would be awkward that he might act like nothing happened.
On the other hand, spilling the tea to Yoongi and Hoseok was clearly out of mind. They wouldn't stop taunting my existence had they knew about it.
I sat with Taehyung at the bus on the way home, of course, but his behaviour hadn't changed at all while I was trying to keep my cluttered self composed every time we would lock eyes.
Visualizing possibilities of us dating was threatening my tomboyish side to no good because every time he showed his killer box smile, I would feel like being sent straight into a trance. My usual confidence had suddenly turned into insecurities as I started being conscious with my ungirly behaviour.
Besides that matter, our teachers were actually quite generous to give the rest of the week off. And there was of course, no day without meeting my two crackbrained soulmates.
"What's a guy's ideal type?"
"Everything that's not in you, obviously," Yoongi said with a smirk. I darted my eyes towards him with a challenging 'Try beating me off in taekwondo' look.
"Expensive girls."
I gave Hoseok a peering look at his remark. "How would you describe those kinds of girls, then?"
"How would I know? They only exist in my imagination," he said, followed by a lunatic laugh. I shot daggers at him. This was why I rarely talk about personal stuffs apart from my family problems. They'd make a joke about everything until I was able to take it no more.
"To hell with your gag."
His laughter suddenly died down when I had realized the both of them were now already sitting on my bed, sending sceptical looks towards my direction.
"What?" I asked.
"Spill," they commanded simultaneously. "You know exactly what."
I was aware of what they wanted me to be frank about, but how'd I expect myself to retell the whole incident? The story surely shouldn't end with me saying that we were still not linked in a romantic relationship.
