Page 42 of Signed, I'm Yours!
“I don’t think we can sleep in different bedrooms.”
“You think?” He scoffs. “Fine. Follow me.”
His bedroom is almost a carbon copy of the guestroom only it has a giant, pink, pillar-shaped cushion in the middle.
“What is that?” I point at it.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts. “Don’t even think about it, mister. You’re sleeping on the floor. That’s my bed.”
I look down at the cold, tiled floor. At least I won’t get any hot flashes.
“Or you can sleep on the chair.” His tone is less sharp this time, and I follow his gaze to the armchair at the end of the room, overlooking the Upper East Side.
“That’s fine by me, but I think it might be too far from you.”
“You’re not sleeping in my bed!” He wags a long finger to my face.
“Didn’t say—” I start when Seojun folds in two.
I double-check my body, but I don’t feel any pain.
“What? We’re standing next to each other,” I say.
He takes two deep breaths before he straightens.
“I know.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs, acting nonchalant, but a moment later, he hisses and folds in two.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I reach out for him, but he flicks my hands away before I can touch him.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“Clearly not,” I tell him, considering he’s practically shaking.
“I…I just need to get something from the bathroom, is all,” he says and starts walking out of the room, and we both collapse on the floor, pain pulsing through me.
I get closer to him, and only when the pain fades again do I realize what’s happening.
“You need to go to the toilet, don’t you?” I glance down at his thighs, clenching inwards.
I don’t know how I missed that the first time.
“Me? Please! I don’t do toilets, thank you very much.” He cries out and rushes to a closed door between the two rooms. “I just need…to take this makeup off. You can wait out here.”
He opens the door, and I look inside. It’s almost as big as my apartment, and the toilet, of course, is on the other side from the door while the sink is next to it.
“Okay.” I smirk and lean against the wall as he closes the door, bracing myself for the pain that’s bound to come.
Sure enough, it comes like wildfire.
The door flies open and a frowning Seojun emerges. I can’t help but laugh.
“Need any help?”
“I hate you,” he answers, and seconds later, I find myself curled up in the bathtub, looking out at the city with headphones around my ears blasting Heavy Metal while Seojun tries to “sing” as he put it. Because, apparently, the Sinister Seomyeong doesn’t do number twos. To say this is highly entertaining is an understatement. If it weren’t for my power, I’d probably find this moment extremely mortifying, but I think it’s justice for being mocked when we first met and proof that Seojun is human, like the rest of us.
