I leaned back on the stool, watching him like I had just booked front-row tickets to the greatest show on earth.
"Are you just going to sit there and stare?" he asked.
"Yep. If I don't stare, what else am I supposed to do?" I replied. Then I added, "And by the way, Minho… I'm sorry I called you by your name."
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Which do you prefer—sir? Your Highness? What about… Duke? Yes, Duke."
He finally raised his head and glared at me.
I burst out laughing. "Seriously, Duke sounds nice," I added between laughs.
"Please don't call me anything," he said.
I tilted my head. "So if I don't call you anything… should I just say 'a dude with a bandage'? Or—wait, I got it—Bandage Man."
I gasped dramatically. "Don't you think it has a superhero vibe? Bandage Man, here to save the world with his bandages!"
"Would you let me finish?" he said, clearly annoyed.
"Or very annoyed… hmm, who knows," I muttered. "Oh—sorry. Continue."
He sighed. "Can you just forget I'm a celebrity?"
"I can't," I said simply.
He glared at me.
I giggled. "Continue, continue."
Another sigh. "Just call me Minho… because I don't even remember—"
He stopped.
The room fell quiet.
Then he looked at me. "You can speak now."
"Oh, it's my line now?" I said. "Um… okay. Sure. I'll call you Minho."
"Minho."
He looked at me. "What?"
"What are you cooking?" I asked. "And the most important question… do you even know how to cook?"
The room went silent.
"I think I do," he said.
"You know what? Let's just order takeout. We'll put it on your tab. Too bad, though—I was really enjoying the show."
"With what will you order takeout?" he asked sarcastically. "Your dead phone?"
I froze.
"…That's not important."
"And by the way," he added, "cooking isn't that hard, is it?"
I slowly turned to him. "Those are the exact words people say right before a disaster happens."
The next second, smoke filled the kitchen.
"Minho, what are you doing?!" I coughed. "The kitchen is going to catch on fire!"
"It's not," he said. "It's just how they cook it."
"How they cook what?" I shot back, coughing again. "Turn it off! Turn it off!" I screamed.
"No, no—it's fine," he insisted.
"What's fine?!"
I quickly jumped off the stool. "My parents still love me," I muttered, rushing toward the stove.
Just as I got close, another thick puff of smoke rose—
And the pan literally caught on fire.
Oh. Great.
Now I'm actually going to jail.
Crap.