Rewrite the Rules

Jukeboxes & Secrets: Part 3

A hush fell between us, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of our footsteps on the sun-baked pavement. Suddenly, he dipped his head, his breath warm against my ear.

"Guess what," he murmured, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't look now, but... we are being followed."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo in my chest. "We're being followed. My gaze darted nervously around, searching for any sign of unwelcome attention.

He nodded, a silent confirmation that sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. Swiftly, he reached back, his hand brushing against mine as he retrieved my phone from his back pocket. The innocent gesture sent a spark of electricity sizzling through my veins.

"Pretty sure if we turn right at the next street, we can lose them." He held the phone out to me, its familiar cool surface a grounding presence amidst the sudden chaos. "Input your passcode," he instructed, his voice laced with a hint of urgency.

My fingers trembled slightly as I punched in the numbers, the screen a welcome distraction from the churning worry in my stomach. "Is that your birthday?" 

"Yes, it is," I confirmed.

His gaze flickered to the screen for an instant before returning to me, a hint of surprise flitting across his features.

"You're only a few years younger than me."

"Why'd you think I was older?" I countered. The truth was, a part of me secretly reveled in the idea of being mistaken for someone older, perhaps more sophisticated.

A sheepish grin spread across his face. "I don't know, but no, a lot younger. Maybe the confidence? You certainly don't seem like your age."

"Do lines like that work?" I teased, unable to resist a playful jab.

He threw his head back and laughed, the rich sound washing over me. "Lines?" he repeated, his voice laced with mock indignation. "What do you think, Emma? Did it work?"

"No, I'm afraid not," I replied, my voice dripping with mock seriousness. "You're going to have to try harder next time."

A playful smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "Thought so," he conceded, his gaze flicking back to the map app. As he made the sharp turn onto the side street, he muttered under his breath, "See, they're still on us."

Panic surged through me. "Crap, what do we do?" I blurted, the word tumbling out before I could stop it.

"Do you swear?" he inquired, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Do I swear? Sometimes. That's a weird question, though."

"Seems like you really don't," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Didn't I hear you say 'crap' and 'shoot' earlier?"

The situation was serious, and here we were, engaged in a bizarre conversation about my swearing habits.

As if sensing my frustration, he squeezed my arm reassuringly. "Relax," he murmured, his voice gentling. He scanned the street, his gaze settling on a yellow taxi idling at the curb a few meters ahead. It seemed a plan seemed to formulate in his mind.

We reached a crosswalk, and with the flow of traffic momentarily stopped, he grabbed my hand and pulled me across the street. His touch sent a jolt through me, momentarily erasing the worry from my mind. On the other side, a safe distance from our pursuers, he hailed the taxi with a wave.

The cab screeched to a halt, its door swinging open. Before I could protest, Namjoon gently pushed me inside. "We're losing our tail," he explained. He rattled off the name of the restaurant to the driver, a place just around the corner according to the map. We jumped out 3 minutes later with no one following us.