Golden Romance [1]

Chapter Four: Bunny Bodies and Wandering Hands

Chapter Four: Bunny Bodies and Wandering Hands

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ Iseul's POV *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Ms. Choi babbles on about getting to know your partner before knowing all of the project details, preferring that we make connections and can, in her words, "vibe" with our partner before starting our hopefully less stressful first project.

I know that I won't be able to vibe with Jungkook. At all.

We may have been able to exchange friendly words, teasing ones even that could make us easy friends. But Mina's words come back in full force.

What would she say when she learns about this?

Her words, albeit rude, have a point. Besides, she's my friend for a reason. Pushing her away for something as stupid as a crush on a boy—one that's taken, too—is childish. I can be better than that.

I have to be better than that. I don't want to be the one who breaks our friend group apart with petty drama. Good friends are hard to find and senior year is the year I want them the most. It might be my last time seeing them. So why should I create a mountain out of a mole hill?

I realize I'm staring blankly at the board as one of the boys' next to me, Minho, nudges me with a shoulder. "You good, Iseul? I've been saying your name for the past five minutes."

A smile finds its way to my lips. "We've barely even been in here for five minutes."

He shrugs his broad swimmer shoulders underneath the white button up of the uniform, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. "Heard of exaggerating, dew drop?"

I roll my eyes, forgetting about being partnered up with Jungkook easily. "How long will you continue to call me that?"

Minho's grin is blinding, infectious, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "Never made it seem like you hated your name."

I do my best to scowl at him before, inevitably, the corners of my lips turn up. "It's the meaning behind my name, not my actual name. And I don't hate it."

He waves a hand in the air, dismissing it, before mussing up his light hair. "Semantics."

"Semantics," I mimic, pitching my voice lower as a crude imitation of his own, and he shoves me with a huff. I steady myself on the stool, letting myself laugh at his actions.

"I do not sound like that."

"Do too."

Minho sticks his tongue out. "Are you five?" A pause and his eyes meet mine, the grin coming back in full force. "Do not."