“Ugh,” you heard your boyfriend growling in the bedroom, “Why are these damn things so hard to figure out—grr—here, yeah this—no that’s not—.” A loud crash resonated through the apartment, followed by a low whine, “Baby?! A little help here!”
Following the usual morning routine, you knew as you appeared in the doorway that you would be faced with more than a few broken knickknacks, an injured Namjoon, and a tangled neck tie.
Sure enough, there was your boyfriend helplessly wrestling his necktie, one hand turned backward and caught in the untamed blue silk. Perfume bottles littered the ground like glittering, fragrant sea-glass—luckily, you found them all still intact, which was a relief as your supply was beginning to dwindle.
Namjoon gave you a dignified look, chin rising and bringing that disabled hand with him, “Don’t you dare laugh.”
You swallowed the bubbling laughter, and he cracked a slow, sheepish grin. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Stepping toward the knotted mess, you avoided stepping on the scattered perfume bottles and bent your head toward Namjoon, kissing his cheek, “The tie wins again, huh? That’s twelve-and-o for you, love.”
He scowled and yanked at the silk, but only succeeded in sending himself toppling from the chair into a heap of dress shirt and blonde hair on the floor. Dark eyes blinked up at you. You choked back a round of laughter, eyeing him playfully as you shook your head at the disheveled mess. “How did you survive before I came along?”
Kneeling down, you made quick work of untying his hand from the tangled silk. Namjoon flexed his fingers with relief, sighing, “Thank you—oh, I really didn’t. You think this is bad, you should have seen me trying to iron my dress shirts.”
Shuddering, you considered how dangerous your boyfriend coupled with an iron would be. You outstretched one hand to Namjoon, who continued to flex his fingers, muttering about ‘stupid neckties’. You giggled and flicked his nose playfully as you hoisted him to his feet. “You know, I think that these things—,” you grabbed the tie and began expertly knotting the bright blue material, “—might be child proof, maybe that’s why you can’t get them on.”
He flashed you a wicked, mischievous little grin as you finished with his tie. “You’ve got three seconds to run.”
Observing him quizzically, you watched three fingers loom up in your face, lowering with each count. “Wha—Namjoon, what’re you?”
He tackled you to the bed, collapsing atop the taut cover and sheet. His hands attacked your neck, your arms, your stomach with light, tickling brushes, making you laugh uncontrollably. You shrieked, near tears at the sensation. “Namjoon! Stop! P-p-please!”
“Take it back,” he murmured into your neck, blowing hot streams of breath over your ear inducing more frantic giggling.
Shoving at his shoulders, you tried to press your knees into his stomach, anything to stop the tickle fest. You could hardly talk through the wheeze of laughter. “O-o-ok!”
“Ok what?” Another hot breath licking down your spine.
You glared and bit back another chuckle. “They aren’t childproof.”
He smirked with triumph, releasing you from his clutches and standing. His broad chest expanding through his black dress shirt with labored breathing.
Good, you thought, he’s out of breath…now’s my chance.
A devilish little smile curved your mouth as you stood slowly, booking it toward the door and down the hall as you taunted, “But you’re still a child!”
Your little game ended the same as it always had: Namjoon was late, tie somehow undone and hanging loosely around his neck, and you’re cheeks were killing you for the rest of the day. Never had you smiled so much in your life. But, that was Namjoon, always harboring laughter and mischief.
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