nightfall || minsung

Chapter 18

"It's fine. I don't want any distractions."

"Distractions from what?"

"You."

My expression was half elated, half guilty — all panic. "Please don't starve yourself on my account. Please don't starve yourself at all."

"I'm not starving myself." He waved his granola bar around.

"I could make something for you. I used to watch Food Network. Do you have any English muffins?" He probably had eggs, ham or bacon, salt and pepper. I didn't see an apron — I guessed I'd have to manage without protection.

"We have Wonder Bread," he said.

Ew. "I can work with that."

"You don't have to. I'm not really hungry."

"I'd beg to diff—"

"Stop listening to my stomach!"

"I can't help it!"

He bit off a piece of his apple. "I'm eating, it's okay, breathe."

I breathed once.

Minho got up, moved his chair next to mine, and sat down again. I put my arm around his shoulder, braided a lock of his hair in one hand — a Finnish plait, nothing complicated. My brothers and I would braid each other's hair every now and again, bet on who could do it the fastest. Felix had the nimblest fingers but Haseong was the least concerned with yanking the hair out of our skulls.

Thinking about my family's weird traditions reminded me of last night. I had to at least attempt to ask — I'd never hear the end of it otherwise. I mulled over the right and wrong words to use before I spoke.

"Minho, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you wanna meet my family?"

That brought him up short. He swallowed and stared at the chipboard of the table.

"Minho?"

"Uh. I'm just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

He met my eyes. "I just — I don't really know what to expect."

"We would drive to my house. I'd introduce them to you. They'd utterly humiliate me. We'd stay for a little while, and then we'd come back, or go for actual, real food, or anything else you'd like."

"What about your brothers? Are they — I don't know — mad at me?"

He really had no idea, did he? He was so in for it.

"They are the opposite of mad. They practically bullied me into asking you."

"So you don't want me to meet them?"

I winced a little, wary. "I might sound territorial."

"Don't worry about it."

"I don't want to share you. I've longed for you — for months — and now I'm met with the prospect of wasting even an hour of our precious time together? No."

He smiled, bumped my shoulder. I was relieved.

"But," I went on, "they really want to get to know you. I thought I should at least ask. You're family to them... What are you thinking now?"

"I'm thinking I want to meet my family."

Good God, they were going to be ecstatic. I'd have to beat them away from him with a stick.