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«No. Sung Joon doesn’t eat food that he doesn’t know anything about or gets it from someone he doesn’t trust. I mean, from no one,» he lowered his voice to me, «so you better stop trying to feed him. He and does not drink water if the bottle somehow looks suspicious.

«Don’t you two think it’s not very polite to talk about a person when they’re not here?» Father turned to us and looked at the clock located on the door of our refrigerator. And a moment later, the doorbell rang, «Min Hee, open the door,» the father ordered, arranging the food on plates.

I got up from my seat and walked into the hallway, wondering who it could be. But to my great dismay, it was Sung Joon who entered our apartment without a word, took off his flip flops and went to the kitchen. And from his behavior, I realized that this was far from the first time he visited our apartment.

«Song Joonie, come in. Cho Hee, pour him some wine. Min Hee, daughter, where are you?» My father called me. And I was able to get out of the stupor by closing the front door, after which I trudged to the kitchen and returned to my place. Now between me and Sung Joon was only his little brother, «ok guys, the food is ready,» my father announced in a solemn tone and put plates of fried rice and japchae in front of us, as well as spicy chicken legs that he had just finished cooking.