HIM // YoonMinMon

III

Hoseok is older than me. He has always been full of hope, all smile and cheerful, which is why people called him 'Hope'. It sounds cool but I like to make it sounds cute by changing it from Hope to Hopey to Hobi. He is the kind of person everyone needs to have around at least one in their life. We've been the best of friends since I met him at that playground adjacent to our hometown's town park the first time my dad brought me there to play. I don't have an older brother and I looked up at him like he is. That probably explains my interest in dance.

Though he is-knowing him for so long-sensitive, I think I might have just hurt him. What did I say? The gay for him part..... really? I was joking, he can't get mad at me. I'll just talk to him about it.

I walk straight to my classroom where students have gathered in for their lessons. The class is a huge dance hall with mirrors and bars placed on four sides of it. The ceiling is quite high and combined with the spacious floor, the squeaking sounds of shoes rubbing against the wooden surface echoes in the room. Most students are warming up on the bars or practicing and some groups of students are sitting, chattering with their friends. A group is form in a distinguished place on the corner, few guys sitting crossed-legged and one of them being Hoseok-hyung.

"Hey hyung," I place my sling bag and sits next to him. The group seems to senses hyung's sulky aura because I see the sitting circle they made disperse upon my arrival. Talk to him later are muttered and pats on his back are given. He's the only one not moving and I can see him avoiding my eye contact.

"Look hyung, I didn't mean it in a bad way, not in a grossed up way. You're my hyung, my bro for life, of course we don't go gay for each other. We're cool?" I put my bro fist in the air in front of his chest.

"Yeah, whatever, shortie," he replies lazily answering my fist by bumping it with his. He always calls me names when upset and of course I let it slide. It's his only way of venting his anger towards me. "Wish I could get mad at you so you'd have a disadvantage. I'm such a nice hyung," he mutters and I chuckle at his sighs.

Our afternoon class has just finished. The short hand on my watch pointing to that sharp-edged number four, the long hand points between one and two. Hoseok-hyung walks me to my part-time job which starts at five, already his usual self, loud and blabbering nonstop.

"I'll pick you up when you're done. Don't you dare leaving without me!" He says as he walks backwards slowly, furthering himself from the restaurant's entrance. His index finger pointing at me, adds with a sharp glare in his eyes which quickly replaced by a thin line matching his laugh. Living with him could be a handful, most of the times.

"I would think he's your boyfriend hence I don't know he's your 'best friend'," Youngji-my friend, also a coworker-who's leaning on the counter next to the entrance comments.

"He's not, only you would think that. More like we came from the same womb, for your information," she rolls her eyes at me.

"Still doesn't explain the way he looks at you," she snorts.

"What? Youngji you need to check your eyes. You want us to be together so much you become delusional,"

"I'm not, only people with some sense would understand, stupid. Now hurry up and go get changed, Kumamon. You're handing out the flyers again today," she pushes me to the staffs room next to the bathroom.

"Again? I can't protest huh,"

"Nope," the consonant words pops out as she speaks.

So here I am, handing out the flyers to people passing by in the crowded street on the side of the road not far from my workplace. Not many bother to kindly receives the papers stretched out from my hand. Well even if they do, it would ended up in the trashcan a few meters from where I'm standing. Not that I care whether they read it or not, but they could just take it so I can end my job soon. Then this one particular boy voluntarily asking for one, yet he's not leaving after I hands him. Instead he takes a few more steps closer to me.

"Park Jimin, hey, it's me. Don't you remember?" He tries to peek through my seeing hole-which is Kumamon's mouth-and I can see him more clearly, he's waving his hands. Of course I remember Min Yoongi, he's all I've been thinking about ever since I left his apartment.

"Maybe," I make a thinking pose.

"Remember my name?" he tilts his head. "Bet something if you're wrong," he adds.

"Why would I?"

"Because it's pretty rude not to remember mine when I remember yours. Plus, it hasn't been twenty-four hours since we met," he pretends to look hurt by placing a hand on his chest, slanted downwards eyebrows and a pout on his face. Damn, he's so cute.

"You can decide for me," I cross my hands on my chest. Voice monotonously to make me sounds uninterested.

"Well then, you surely don't mind if I suggest you to bet your free time this Sunday afternoon for some.... I don't know, coffee?" He puts his hands inside his ripped jeans' front pocket, shrugging his shoulders.

Not in the slightest bit would I mind that.

"What's my name?" He asks again.

"Wait, I know, Min Yoongay?" I play dumb. Funny how we keep throwing each other questions. And the gummy smile currently plastered on his face is very attractive.

"Meet me at one in that coffee shop around the corner," he smirks, head tilted back directing at my favorite place every time I need some caffeine for starters on weekends mornings. It is just right across this street.

"I hope you won't forget, though, since I can't call you nor text you for reminder," he grins, winking his right eye. Then he hands me back the flyer I gave him, before finally walking away to his previous direction as I stare at the numbers written messily on the paper smiling to myself.