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Six kilos. Youngjae has gotten plenty of unrealistic demands in his four years as an idol but this is insane. Six kilos in a month? They were nuts.
“How much did they ask for this time?” Yugyeom plops down next to him, consuming another one of those vile granola bars that him and Jackson seemed to like so much.
“Six kilos. They want me to lose six kilos in one month. I might as well starve.”
“Chill out, dramaqueen.” Youngjae shoots him a glare, but either it’s weak or Yugyeom has gotten too used to being glared at. Or it could be both, you never know.
“How many calories are there in one kilo anyway?” Bambam jumps into their conversation, finally deigning to tear his attention away from his phone which he’d been glued to for the past hour.
“There is,” Jackson comes out of the kitchen holding a tall glass of something that looks green and definitely tastes disgusting, “seven thousand and seven hundred calories in one kilo.” He takes a long, loud slurp of the vile looking drink, smacks his lips satisfyingly. “I think,” he adds as an afterthought.
Youngjae’s face has frozen in a horrifying mask at his obscene enjoyment but he also can’t look away from the way the toxic green sludge pulsates up the straw and disappears into Jackson’s mouth.
“Do I want to know what’s in that?”
Jackson takes a sip and smiles at him. “Spinach, banana, strawberries and a spoonful of honey.” Youngjae blanches.
“It’s actually really good, you can’t even taste the spinach. Try it.” Jackson offers him some, but Youngjae leans away from the offending object, pressing himself to the other end of the sofa as if his life depends on it. “I’ll pass.”
“Kissing burns ninety calories.” Bambam says.
There’s total silence in the room at this apparent non sequitur. And then -
“I’m sorry, what?” says Youngjae, dearly hoping he had misheard that.
“It says here that kissing burns ninety calories per hour.” Bambam waves his phone at Youngjae.
Yugyeom’s eyes light up. “So if you divide seven thousand seven hundred calories by ninety calories per hour…” he trails off, doing the math in his head. “I think the answer is eighty point something.”
“Eighty point five, to be exact.” Bambam has produced a piece of paper and pencil out of nowhere and is actually writing down the calculations, much to Youngjae’s alarm. “You’d have to make out at least three times everyday for an hour each to lose one kilo.”
Jackson stares at them both. “You two were never this quick when Mark tutored you for school.”
“Bam, if we go by that it will take Youngjae hyung six months to lose six kilos.” Yugyeom says, acting like he didn’t hear Jackson’s remark.
“It’s not totally impossible. If he made out every hour for three days straight then that will equal to…” Bambam scribbles something real quick. “Eighty five makeout sessions in three to four days.”
“We want him to lose weight, not his lips you dumbass.” Yugyeom kicks Bambam in the side. Bambam yelps in protest and drags Yugyeom down from the sofa, jostling Jackson in the process who just continues to drink his smoothie. A blob of green falls on Jackson's shirt. Youngjae expects the toxic looking liquid to eat through the thin material but Jackson just pulls up his neckline and serenely licks the blob, leaving a revolting green stain in its wake and continues to slurp his drink. A tiny bit of Youngjae's faith in humanity dies in that moment.
He turns his attention to Bambam and Yugyeom, watching them wrestle, actively pushing his mind to think of brutal workouts and tear-inducing diets but rapidly crash lands back on earth when he hears-
“Sex burns a hundred calories per session.”
“What?!” Youngjae sputters, hand clutching at arm rest wildly.
“Sex,” Jackson repeats nonchalantly. “It burns ten calories more than kissing. So it's more efficient.”
“Hmm.. so if Youngjae hyung were to have say, lengthy make out sessions and crazy monkey sex with Mark hyung for the rest of the month, he could reach his target pretty quickly.” Yugyeom says, seeming pretty comfortable despite being in a painful headlock.
“That would work if they have kinky sex, not the regular boring kind.”
Youngjae cannot believe this is a discussion that is happening right here in front of his own eyes.
Jackson suddenly stops scrolling, eyebrows shooting up at something on the phone screen. “Okay, this is interesting.”
Bambam and Yugyeom scramble to see what the other boy is looking at, and then both let out identical whistles.
“Wow.”
Youngjae’s face had been steadily heating up since they started talking about him in relation to sex but now he’s pretty sure he’s reached the point where nature prohibits it to get any redder. He clears his throat noisily and a little desperately, trying to divert their attention from whatever dirty tidbit they’ve happened across. “Here’s an idea: why don’t I just work out like a normal person?”
They stare at him.
“You hate working out,” Bambam says.
Right.
-
A week passes and Youngjae forgets that the conversation even happened. He goes on a diet (the paper cup one, at least this one had food), runs on the treadmill for an hour every morning, does cardio in the afternoons and jogs by the Han River every night before dinner. He hates every minute of it.
He drops into bed after washing off the sweat from a particularly grueling cardio session. He knows he should towel his hair dry because the air conditioner is on high and he might catch a cold but he can’t bring himself to move. Everything hurts, even breathing is a chore.
Lying there, dazed from exhaustion, his brain conjures up images of a big, fat juicy cheeseburger. Bambam and Yugyeom had gotten McDonald’s the other day and his stomach had growled so loudly that everyone in the room had heard it. Jinyoung had cursed them out and told them to eat it outside. They’d been ashamed and Youngjae had been embarrassed, going to sleep quickly after that to avoid further awkwardness.
“Hey.” He’d been so deep into his fantasy of the burger, now with long, golden salted fries, that he didn’t even hear Mark coming in.
“Hi,” he mumbles back, not moving from his position on his stomach.
He registers the sound of the door locking, but doesn’t react to it. The bed dips when Mark sits down next to him. He’s still dreaming about that burger and fries.
“What is sex math and why does it have our names in it?”
The dream shatters, the image of the burger and fries crumbling into itty bitty pieces. Youngjae sits up like a bolt of lightning, sore muscles and all aches forgotten, eyes widening in horror as he notices a very familiar piece of paper in Mark’s hand.
“Give me that.” Youngjae lunges for it, but Mark moves out of the way.
“Why?”
A slight scuffle ensues for the next few minutes ending with Mark pinning Youngjae to the bed, sitting on his stomach and grabbing his arms, restraining them above his head.
Youngjae lets out a sound between a shout and a groan, twisting side to side, trying to escape from Mark's viselike grip but fails to do so quite miserably.
They both focus on catching their breaths, the piece of paper lost in the rough-and-tumble.
“So.” Mark starts. Youngjae suppresses a groan. He loves his boyfriend but Mark is like a dog, latching onto a bone and not letting go until he got what he wanted.
Admitting defeat, Youngjae recounts what happened a week ago, not looking at Mark. His face is hot and red by the time he finishes.
“So let me get this straight; you guys did sex math to check how much weight it would help you lose?” Youngjae nods.
“Wow. They never put this much effort into their homework.” Youngjae laughs breathlessly. “That’s what Jackson said too.”
Mark looks at him then. His skin is flushed and there’s a red mark on his collarbone from where Youngjae scratched him during the tussle and his ass is resting directly on top of Youngjae’s crotch and something coils deep in his stomach and then suddenly Mark is leaning down, making Youngjae’s heart skip a beat. His breath hitches.
Mark’s hands tighten their grip and he whispers -
“Let’s do the math.”