radiant | jung hoseok | ✓

chapter eighteen | hot white russian

"I... I like watching comedies."

"He likes rom-coms," Yoongi chimes helpfully.

"Same here," I brighten and give Hobi a smile. "Have you seen You've Got Mail? It's one of my favorites."

Hoseok's demeanor begins to relax at my encouragement, almost as if he were relieved. "I haven't but I've heard of it."

"It's a great movie, a true classic. I've got a whole list of them. Leap Year, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Sabrina which has Harrison Ford, While You Were Sleeping..." I trail off when I realize Hoseok is staring at me. The fondness in his gaze isn't easily missed but it's distractingly cute. I smile shyly under his attention, "Just to name a few..."

"That sounds amazing, I'd love to."

Yoongi glances between us with a soft look. "I'll leave you to it then," he comments and stands from the couch.

I blink in surprise as I watch him leave. "Oh..." I didn't mean to make him feel uncomfortable. If Yoongi wants to watch movies, he can too. I don't want to force him out of his own living room...

Yoongi smirks over his shoulder before he enters the hall. "Keep the volume up, 'kay?" With that, he leaves the room.

I blink in confusion before turning back to a very embarrassed Hoseok. His lips quirk as he fights his emotions before he snapping himself out of it. "He's just messing with us," he says.

"He's sweet," I comment.

"He is, but I wish he didn't have to be so blunt about it," Hoseok laments but finds himself smiling. "Yoongi hyung tends to state the obvious when nobody else will. I just wish he didn't..."

I nod in understanding. "Don't worry about it. Besides, embarrassing family members are the best ones, when they have good intentions."

"That's true."

"So... what should we watch first?"

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

"Hot white Russians usually make me think of Christmas, but I think the weather outside is dreary enough to whip some up, don't you think?"

I lean back against the kitchen wall as I watch Hoseok work his magic. He stands with his back to me and his attention trained on the hot stovetop. His hands are swift and purposeful; he knows what he's doing and it's extremely hot.

His gray sweatpants cling to his waist, sagging on the right side, and his baggy t-shirt coming over his torso like a blanket. His chestnut brown hair is fluffy with soft curls at the ends, and his forehead is slightly exposed. His heart-shaped lips form a straight line as he concentrates on our drinks.

He grabs the black bottle of Kahlúa off the counter and pours it into the pot. He adds vodka to the drink, using a plastic bottle with a squirter on the end of it. The coffee and heavy cream has already been added. He stirs it at moderate heat and waits patiently for the liquid to heat up.

I take a moment to soak in the sight of him, knowing I am not being watched. My gaze slowly moves up and down his body as if to memorize the shape of him. There is a quiet voice in the back of my head wishing we were closer, close enough to allow one to explore each other. I wonder what it would be like. I wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms.

What type of relationship will we fall into? Neither of us has done this before. How fast do we move? Are we going too slow or taking large leaps?

I know love isn't something quantified or studied, but the logical side of me is struggling to regain her bearings. It wants to know all the answers when the questions haven't even been asked.