the devil skates on thin ice ∙ myg ✓

2 ↝ the devil

"May I reiterate, we have the national competition," you mumble, reluctance creeping into your tone. "I can't afford to a) put on unnecessary weight, and b) have a pimple the size of Jupiter be birthed on my face. Turkey and puke it is until I place in the top three."

"I feel you, but when Aunt Flo from Red River visits, there's no stopping her needs," Minah shrugs, finishing off the last of her sandwich and dusting her hands. "Are you okay, though? You seem a bit off today."

An involuntary sigh escapes your lips and you cup your face in your palms, dragging them downward as the heaving suspire lowers into an interminable groan. The uncomfortable, prickling sensation that you can only associate with him crawls up your spine, like an ant colony using your bones as bridges.

"I had another run-in with the devil last night," you prompt. Minah nods knowingly; understanding precisely who the supreme spirit of evil is without you even having to utter his name.

"Huh, funny that. I overheard Nayeon from the gymnastics team talking about how she saw Yoongi screaming in the middle of the street, last night," she simpers, batting her lashes at you. "I wonder who on Earth could've caused him that kind of irritation?"

Complacently, you grin into your soup. "I can't begin to tell you how satisfied that makes me feel."

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face."

"Well, it's no hidden fact that I thrive on his suffering. My sole source of energy is his misery."

"Geez ___, you almost make me feel bad for the guy."

"Suddenly switching sides on me, now are we? And after all we've been through!"

"You can't deny that he's as hot as the surface of the sun," Minah clasps her hands atop the table, as if to say: I rest my case. Alternatively, she is praying for her life after making such a bold statement about the one person in this world that you loathe with every inch of your being. You leer at her, resting your chin on your hand and slanting your gaze towards the cafeteria windows. Autumn paints the outside world in the palette of a dying sunset.

"I can't believe you just said that."

"It's the truth! Min Yoongi could bend me over a table any day, any time. I wouldn't complain."

At that, your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with heat. "I should join Hoseok in his ceremonial bleach bath. You're making me sicker than lunch."

"Stop being so dramatic." Minah stares at her nails, picking them with an air of boredom. "You really must be PMS-ing."

"No, my best friend just happens to be calling my number one enemy attractive. Apologies if that pisses you off."

"Maybe if the aforementioned best friend knew why Min Yoongi, devil reincarnated, is the adversary, she would begin seeing him in a different light," Minah mutters, and the empty remark that brews on the tip of your tongue dies instantly, because she absolutely has a point.

Your attention is snagged from the conversation by the topic itself, embodying in a physical form through the windows. Yoongi strolls by with a handful of hockey players, consisting of half his fellow teammates—Jimin, Yugyeom, Wonwoo and Jooheon—still padded up in gear after practice. His lips move in muted sentences, and they all react in exaggerated roars of laughter that trickle through the wide open doors of the canteen. You wonder what murders you must have committed in your past life to have the misfortune of seeing him twice in the span of 24 hours.

"How many times did you say his name just now?" you accuse, and Minah frowns, gaze lifting to the ceiling as she backtracks her train of thought.

"I don't know, three times?"