But The Future Must Be Met

How Do Seventeen Eat So Much Food? HOW?

"Who the fuck are you?"

If you've never seen a grown woman jump a mile in the air, try to imagine it.

There's only four of them – Seungcheol, Jun, Chan and Jeonghan – and they're staring at me, alarm bells ringing in their eyes. Vernon wanders around the corner, head bobbing, before he spots me and takes out his earbuds.

It takes me a moment. "What do you mean, who am I?"

They look at me, and I'm suddenly keenly aware of what I look like, wearing a plain black apron, covered in flour, probably with some on my face and in my hair, still grappling with the soft dough in my hands, folding it in on itself gently.

I must look like a total idiot. A total, breathless, idiot.

They're taller than I imagined.

Another man rounds the corner, and I vaguely recognize him – a manager.

"Ah, you must be the new chef." He bows to me. "I'm Kim Jaehwan."

"Loxley." I return the bow. "I'll be cooking the meals here from now on." Nobody has said it, but it's pretty obvious that I'll be providing food for managers when they need it.

Vernon is literally frozen in stance. "They didn't tell us you were a girl," he says.

"They didn't tell me you were Seventeen, and yet here we are," I quip, slamming the dough back onto the board I'm using. "Oh shit, that wasn't floured." I do my best to pry it off again before dusting more flour. "You'd better go take off your coats and wash up, your pizza will be here in about five minutes."

"Wait – you're living here?" Seungcheol takes a hesitant step into the kitchen. "You're living here with us and cooking for us?"

"Yes."

He turns on his manager, who guides him out of the kitchen to talk about it, so I don't hear the protests to my existence.

"Wait – forreal?" Vernon unfreezes, freely coming closer. "You're going to live here?"

"That's how I understood it."

"With us?"

"Ahuh."

"In this dorm?"

"Yep."

He breaks out into a sweat. "There's only one shower," he says, as if that means it's impossible for me to live here. "There's only one toilet."

"Well, if you make sure to clean up after yourself, that shouldn't be a problem." I'm trying to keep cool. "Can you hand me that green bottle? Yeah, thanks." I give the dough another lashing of oil. "Go take your coat off, or you'll roast."

"You don't understand-"

"What the fuck?"

"Language, Joshua!" I point the bottle of oil at him. "I'm not hired to be your nanny and I'm not Mary Poppins, but you can at least try to be civil."

"She's our new chef," Vernon mutters.

Joshua stares. "But she's a girl."

"Very observant, sweetie. I do, in fact, own boobs. But if I pinky-promise that my food won't give you girlie cooties, would you all stop pointing it out?" I straighten to look at him, forsaking the dough for a moment. "You're making me very uncomfortable."

He has the decency to look guilty. "Uh, sorry."

"That's okay. Oh, can you get that?" The doorbell is too shrill and it makes me cringe. "That's dinner."