39: Swiss Cheese and Chocolate

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"First thing's first," says Jungkook, dropping his phone onto the bed beside him. "I'm about to gnaw my own arm off if I don't eat soon. I'm starving."

It always comes back to food.

You let your fingers rake through your hair, then stand up from the bed. The action stretches your body out fully for the first time, and your hips and spine pop as they shift back into alignment.

Sighing, you glance over at the sandwich you brought in here hours ago, sitting on the bedside table. It's a little limp, the cheese sweating in the room-temperature air, but it still looks fairly decent if a little wilted.

It's a sandwich. It should still be fine.

Jungkook follows your gaze. "Yeah, no. I'm not eating that."

Of course not.

That would be entirely too agreeable.

He lays back on the bed with his arms folded behind his head, grimacing only slightly when the move once again shifts his shoulder and tweaks his wound. You can't believe that he's actually hurting himself in order to recline into this cocky position.

That sweet, vulnerable guy from a couple of minutes ago?

Yeah, Jungkook must've shoved him off the cliff of reasonability and into the raging sea of his ego.

"You should make me something. I'm injured," the black-haired man simpers with a wicked smirk. "I could hurt my shoulder again."

Yeah, he could, but it probably wouldn't be him hurting himself. It would be you, stabbing him in his wound with the bluntest wooden spoon you can find in the kitchen.

"Oh, you poor thing." You smile sweetly, then immediately drop into a look of dry, unaffected removal. "If you freaking want food, you have hands. Go make it yourself."

You march out of the room, resisting the urge to flip him off as you go. You're done with making him food. You tried that. Now, you're only going to worry about your own stomach.

A break from his bipolar hot-then-cold mentality will also be a blessing.

In the kitchen, you start preparing yourself a sandwich, too lazy at this point to make anything that involves more effort. Just as you're pressing the meat onto the bread, footsteps patter into the kitchen.

"More sandwiches," sighs Jungkook. "Can't you make anything else, princess?"

Twitching, you have to physically force yourself not to send the slice of cheese in your hand flying toward his arrogant face.

What is this?

It's like he's overcompensating for being sweet those couple of minutes by being a total, complete idiot of unparalleled proportions.

"Sure I can," you force put through gritted teeth. "I make the best grilled lamb skewers in this hemisphere."

Glancing back, you sweat that there's actual drool dripping down Jungkook's chin. "I love lamb skewers. Make me some."

Yeah, because that beautifully polite and humble question will incline you to do anything for him. Not only do you not have the right ingredients, but even if you did, you'd skewer him before serving him food that you worked hard on.

"Screw off," you grumble as you finish your sandwich. Again, you pin one hand down with the other so you don't fling the load of bread at him.

It's a close call.

At your refusal to provide him with a meal, Jungkook sighs and trudges toward the refrigerator, dragging his feet like a child.

The action strikes you and unusually playful, as does his entire attitude.

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