A/N: Hi, friends.

So, in case you don't follow me on Twitter, I'm not posting next week. Next week, I'm taking off. Why? Because I'm not ok. I've been not ok for a while. I think I need to take a minute away from the internet. So, there's what's going on. Alright. So, I'm going to go. K? Love you x

It's so good to be home. It's even better that I wasn't totally fried. I recommend a Saeran to everyone. He comes in handy and I wouldn't trade him for the world. Although, when we got home, I wasn't expecting to see my fiancé on the couch. Seven was sound asleep in front of the TV. If I didn't have Saeran with me, I'd think I got parent trapped again. It's not exactly an uncommon thing for them to do that to me. Given I currently have unlimited access to Jumin's penthouse, I wouldn't put it past Seven to abuse that for the sake of abusing Elizabeth, but here he was.

"Hi, MC," Vanderwood came out of the kitchen, "Everything's taken care of. And I'm going home."

"Vanderwood," I stopped him. Something seemed off. Vanderwood was too quick to want to leave. Normally, we'd at least stop for a little idle chitchat, but something seemed…off. Everything about this felt off, but I digress, "What did you do to Seven?"

"I put a little rum in his apple juice," he shrugged, "Worked like a charm."

"Are you serious?" I gasped, "Dammit, Vanderwood. I'm gone for the day to take care of Jumin's penthouse and this is what I come back to?"

"I'm screwing with you, MC," Vanderwood gave me a little pop to the shoulder, "You are wound awfully tight lately. No, I didn't spike his apple juice. I brought up a load of laundry from the basement about fifteen, twenty minutes ago and I found him like this. But good luck getting the remote away from him. I have things on the DVR, too."

"No, you don't," Saeran jumped onto the chair and slowly, but surely popped the remote out of his brother's hand, "Wow. I'm so lucky."

"Listen, you little shit…"

"Alright," I settled it before it could escalate, "So, Seven's all tuckered out on his own?"

"I'm guessing it's a massive caffeine crash," Vanderwood assumed, "He was pretty jacked earlier and I checked the cans in his trash. Three hundred milligrams of caffeine, MC."

"That seems pretty…"

"Per can," he cut me off, "There were two or three of them in there, MC."

"That could've been…"

"I emptied it this morning."

"Oh, Seven…" I sat next to him, "No wonder you're all tuckered out."

"I'm just impressed the kid didn't give himself a heart attack," Vanderwood brushed him off, "Good for you, Seven."

"You're supposed to be the one watching him, Vanderwood," I held my face in my hands, "I leave him with a sitter for a reason. Because he has no impulse control. And apparently, no concept of how much caffeine things have in them. And how much someone could have in one day."

"A thousand is usually the top of top limit," Vanderwood thought, "After that, it can lead to seizure territory. And we don't want that for our little spazz."

"Saeran," I took the remote from him.

"What the hell, MC?" Saeran whined, "I have new episodes of Real Housewives on the DVR!"

"You also have a commission project to work on," I reminded him, "If you want, you can use my office."

"Fine," Saeran got up from his chair, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I sent him on his merry way. Even though I knew he was pissed at me. I'm sorry, but no matter my client, I have a reputation to uphold. And as much as I love Saeran and understand the creative process, there's no way in hell he's going to ruin said reputation.

"Well," Vanderwood kept on his way, "I'm off."

"Hold on," I chirped, "You're in too high of spirits to be going directly home. Where are you off to this evening, Vanderwood?"

"I…" a little smile made its way onto his face, "You caught me, MC. Bridget's, if you really need to know. I'm making her dinner tonight and she gets off in a few minutes. She told me to just meet her there."

"Things sound like they're getting serious with you two," I awed.

"I wouldn't say serious," Vanderwood thought, "I mean, I know she'd be cool with us just being something casual. From what I understand, I need to deck her manager, but other than that, things are pretty ok with us."

"You deserve better than just something casual, Vanderwood," I groaned, "How can you just be ok with something casual?"

"That's where you and I differ, kiddo," Vanderwood cradled my cheek in the palm of his hand, "What I deserve and what I want are two totally different monsters. I'd be alright with something casual. Just a little something, something to do when there's nothing on TV. And I know Bridget's line of thinking isn't much different. That's why we click as well as what we do. You don't get to see what goes on behind closed doors."

"Seven did and it rendered him catatonic for a good majority of the night."

"Not that kind of what goes on behind closed doors," he giggled to himself, "I still feel kind of bad about that. But when it's just Bridget and me and she finally puts the sourpuss attitude away for a bit, she's amazing. Although, she gets a little vein in her forehead when I bring up her sister. I'm pretty sure her sister is like her own Seven. I wonder what would happen if we got them together for a playdate…"

"No," I knew I'd have to put my foot down for that one, "No. Because I know damn well that would turn into you two getting matching tasers and Seven would end up drooling on himself on the way home."

"I wouldn't tase him," Vanderwood rolled his eyes, "Much…"

"Dammit, Vanderwood!"

"Shh…" he put a finger up to his lips, "You don't want to wake the baby. He gets cranky when he wakes up from naps, so tread lightly with that one."

"Go," I nudged him out the door, "Go cook for your maybe girlfriend, maybe not girlfriend, depends on what's on TV."

"See you tomorrow, MC," Vanderwood kissed the top of my head, "I knew you'd understand."

That man is an enigma. And my head hurts. It's a good thing I got you, Seven. I curled into his side, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek. Vanderwood got me thinking, though. I guess I am wound pretty tight these days. With Jumin's project being my every waking moment and still having a wedding to plan on the back burner and my fiancé drooling on himself on the couch (quite literally. Come on, Seven…Why do you have to be gross?) and my need to do it all myself, I guess I'm stretched a little thin.

And I knew I was going to hate myself for doing this, but I needed to be done. I gave Seven a little shake, "Seven…Wake up, baby. If you sleep any longer now, you won't sleep tonight."

"Mm…" his face scrunched up. He's adorable, "Can we go downstairs, MC?"

"Not tonight," I pulled him into my chest, "Saeran's working on a project for me downstairs and we need to leave him alone for a while, ok?"

"Aww…"

"I know," I ran my fingers down his back and watched as he absolutely ate this up. The commission and the wedding aren't the only things suffering here. I guess it's been a while since Seven and I had any time together either. Just the two of us. That wasn't mentally scarring, "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"What's tomorrow?" Seven groaned in my shoulder.

"It's Saturday, I think."

"I have tomorrow off for a change," he sat up a little better, "Why?"

"Because," I decided, "I'm calling Jumin later and I'm taking tomorrow off, too."

"But MC," Seven thought, "Don't you have that room you're doing for Jumin?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "But I also have a fiancé that needs my attention and the thing on my shoulders that needs a break. I think we could both stand the break."

"Hey…" he poked at me, "I like you. Do you think you could spend the night?"

"I live here, sweetheart," I reminded him, "I've lived here for the last couple months."

"That's pretty cool," Seven's delirious babble was my favorite. And Vanderwood said he'd be cranky. Clearly, Vanderwood doesn't quite understand the dynamic Seven and I have. Although, if I said I didn't have an ulterior motive for tomorrow, I'd be lying, "Hey, MC…?"

"Yeah, Seven?" I ran my fingers through his hair, "What is it?"

"I'm kind of hungry," he cuddled into my hand, "You think we could throw together some semblance of dinner?"

"That sounds like a good idea." Considering I haven't eaten anything since lunch and even though Jumin sending us lunch was usually too much, I didn't really eat much. Food sounded like an excellent idea, "You know what sounds really good?"

"Hmm?" Seven's head ended back on my shoulder, "Mmm…You smell nice, MC."

"Like paint and sweat?"

"It's a good combination on you."

"You're a strange little man, Seven."

"Not the first one to tell me that," Seven let out a little yawn, "And likely not the last. But what sounds good? What kind of sustenance does my precious queen require?"

"I want buffalo wings," I thought, "And not just buffalo wings, but buffalo wings in bed."

"Hold on," he stopped me, "Not that I'm not on board with your idea, MC. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I'd be totally down for wings in bed, but Vanderwood says I can't do that anymore. I got sauce on the sheets once and he spent two hours wondering what the stain was."

"Well…" I stole a quick kiss from him, "Last I checked, Vanderwood's not here, is he?"

"You rebel," Seven wrapped his arms around me.

"I'll go make some wings," I got up from the couch with Seven's arms still around my waist, "Flats, drums, or both?"

"I love you, MC." If I didn't know any better, I'd think a single tear just fell from Seven's eye.

"I love you, too, Seven," I giggled, "But I need to make a quick trip to the grocery store. I'll be right back. Promise."

"Wait," Seven thought, "We have everything here already."

"I'll be right back," I promised, peeling him off me.

We didn't have everything. When I moved in here, I would've thought Saeran would've had a better stocked kitchen. Especially in the spice department. But when I made wings, I had a very specific way of doing things. And God forbid if my vibes get screwed up. That's when bitches get their asses kicked. I just hoped to all things holy that the grocery store was still open. If not, I may cry. I think it closes at ten. We should be fine.

When I got there, the sign said they closed at nine. And I had half an hour to go through and get what I needed. It wasn't much. Just a few things. And because I was a masochist when it came to spicy food, this needed to leave me with burns in my mouth I may never be able to recover from. Let's see…Red peppers…Fresh ones. Just a couple. Their produce was always so pretty. Granted, I wouldn't have much time to let them cook down as much as I'd like, but that's why we have a high powered blender. That should make up for it, consistency wise. At least I sure as hell hope so. Because if this sauce doesn't turn out, I'll be pissed.

Let's see…What else? I know I had red peppers already, but it can't hurt to have some red pepper flakes on the side, too. And I knew we didn't have any honey either. Saeran used the last of it the last time he baked, so we were out. Which had me thinking. Do I get the big ass jar or do I get the little bear because I'm adorable? Bear. Definitely bear. Because again, I'm adorable. And because the little bear was cheaper. I needed sweet with my heat or I get cranky. I thought about grabbing some orange marmalade, but I opted against it. Now…What's left?

Hot sauce. Because buffalo sauce is nothing but hot sauce, butter, and a little bit of vinegar. And maybe some Worcestershire sauce, if we're feeling spicy. And maybe a few seasonings, if we're feeling even spicier. But that's here nor there. I knew these wings were going to burn something fierce. But I thought a little harder on it on my way out. When I passed by the produce section again. Do I want to throw in some red poblano peppers, too? These are going to be wings that throw off the Scoville scale and it's not going to be pretty, but I knew I could handle it. I knew Seven could handle it. And these were the best wings in existence, so what the hell? Maybe one poblano won't kill us. If I would've known earlier in the day that I was making buffalo wings tonight, I would've had this sauce started at six o'clock this morning like it should've been, but I could throw together the quick version, too.

When I got home, I got a quick kiss from my fiancé on the couch and went straight into the kitchen. Although, I wasn't expecting Seven to follow closely. Granted, we haven't spent much for time together lately, but I'm just making wings. And sauce, but that sauce was a secret. I knew it was. And it was a secret I would take to my grave. But if Seven watches, it's not the end of the world. I knew that boy could keep a secret, too.

"You know, MC," Seven unpacked my bags for me. Isn't he a sweetheart? He's my favorite, "I didn't know you could cook."

"I can't actually," I giggled, grabbing the flour from the big jar Saeran insisted on us keeping from the pantry, "I got one thing in this world and that's my ability to make some damn good chicken wings."

"How is it you can't cook…" he thought, taking the poblano out of the bag.

"Go wash your hands," I demanded, "Trust me. I've made that mistake. Learn from me. Go wash your hands."

"Ok…?" Seven looked at me strange, "Is this, like…a superstition thing…or a kitchen cleanliness thing…or…?"

"It's a safety concern," I told him, getting my assorted spices from the cabinet, "If you touch your eyes after holding onto that poblano pepper, they'll burn like hell and trust me. You don't want that."

"Good call, ref," he went straight to the sink. Good boy. It's so nice when he listens. And Vanderwood's so concerned about me not being able to handle the kids. It's sweet, but unnecessary. I think I got them taken care of, "So, when'd you learn to make wings?"

"You remember when we first met," I thought back, "And I was telling you about that think tank I used to work for before my blog got sustainable?"

"I remember it," Seven nodded, "What about it?"

"I had to work two jobs in those days," I got a knife out of the block and a cutting board from the wall, "There was a bar a few blocks away from my old apartment I worked on the weekends. One of the main cooks there was a sweetheart and knew how to make a damn good chicken wing. And he taught me everything. His wings were a staple. And they never lasted long. Apparently, the sauce recipe was his grandma's and that if I shared it with any other living soul, I'd be cursed by the ghosts of his entire family."

"Oh…" he backed off, "So, does that mean I should…?"

"You're fine, Seven," I rolled my eyes, "You live here. I'm not technically sharing this recipe with you. You're just here to watch. And I know you can keep a secret."

"I sure can! It's almost as if I base my entire living around it!"

"And you make us all proud," I started cutting peppers. This could be a disaster, but this is going to be amazing, "But this is my one thing. My domesticity is mostly shit, except for this one thing."

"And as long as we don't get anything on the sheets," Seven watched me carefully, "Vanderwood will be none the wiser. You want some help, MC?"

"No way," I stopped him, "Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the offer, baby. It's a sweet gesture, but you're too chaotic of a force. If you were to help me, our sheets would be the least of our worries."

"I can help and not be a mess!" Seven promised, "Please, MC? Let me help. Give me something to do."

"Fine." Because I knew Seven wasn't going to let up on it. Simple tasks. He can handle simple tasks, "Because I need to get these peppers cooking, can you get a pot and put a little bit of water in it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" I love him. He's a precious dork and I love him.

All I knew was that I needed to keep Seven away from the deep fryer. Seven and a deep fryer would not mix. I can already feel that. I love him, but I do not trust him around a deep fryer. That's when the oil boils over and the house catches fire. We do not need this house burning down. We had too many important things here. All of my portfolios were in the basement. Seven's work. Saeran's work. We can't have this house burning down. So, what do we do? That's right. We keep Seven away from the deep fryer.

As soon as I had the deep fryer going and my wings all breaded in a mix of cornstarch, flour, and potato starch with a few assorted seasonings I'm taking to my grave, that brought Saeran back upstairs. Not that I'm surprised. These wings could bring people into the bar from miles and miles away. And Saeran was just in the basement. It's not like he had to go far.

"What…" Saeran gasped, "The hell…Do you think you're doing…In my kitchen…?"

"I'm just borrowing it," I bit the inside of my cheek, dumping what would serve as the sauce in the blender, "We were hungry, so I thought I'd make some wings. It's alright, Saeran. It's not the end of the world."

"I thought I smelled oil downstairs," Saeran sat next to his brother, "For safety concerns, I came up to make sure Saeyoung wasn't using the deep fryer."

"Nope! Just me!"

"Hey!" Seven whined, "What the hell, Saeran? I can use my own deep fryer just fine!"

"How hot does the oil have to be in order to make French fries, Saeyoung?" Saeran stared Seven dead in the eyes.

"Um…Hot?"

"That's why you don't get to play with the deep fryer," Saeran took a quick survey of what I had going on, "Hey, MC…"

"Yes, Saeran?" I killed the blender and got my big mixing bowl. If I was going to do this, I might as well do it right.

"Do you mind if I sample that sauce?" Saeran asked, "I can smell it from here and it's making me drool."

"I got you," I took a spoon out of the drawer and dipped it into the sauce, "But be careful, Saeran. That sauce is hot."

"Please," Saeran rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty sure I can handle spicy food. And I have a cast iron stomach. How bad could it be?"

"If you say so." Did I mention the old cook used to call this funeral sauce? No? Oh, well. Saeran's going to find out the hard way.

As he stuck the spoon in his mouth, Saeran started coughing nearly on contact. He fumbled around the kitchen for the fridge and got the milk, "Jesus Christ, MC! Are you trying to kill me?!"

"No," I assured him, "I told you it was spicy, Saeran, but you wouldn't listen."

"And you're about to put that on wings?"

"Trust me," I took my first batch out of the deep fryer, "It evens out."

"I don't know," Saeran winced, finally recovering, "That's pretty deadly."

"Other than the obvious burn factor," I asked, "What'd you think of it?"

"Flavor wise," Saeran thought, "It's really good. If it didn't feel like it came directly from Satan's dick, it'd be perfect."

"Don't be a baby," I jabbed.

"And that's what we're having?" Seven wondered, sticking his pinky in the blender and then, promptly into his mouth. This is why the cabinets have child locks on them and we don't have any children. Seven took a second to peel apart my sauce, "Huh…That's not bad, MC. It's hot, yeah, but damn, that's good."

"How are you so calm?" Saeran gasped.

"I'm a masochist," Seven shrugged.

"And I'm not?" Saeran pointed out, "That's one of those weird things we have in common, Saeyoung. How do you do it?"

"It's good," Seven laughed, "That's all I can tell you. As for the rest of it, I'm a human anomaly."

"That's for damn sure," Saeran stole one of the wings from my paper towel and dipped it into my sauce. He did say he was a masochist, "You're right, MC. Those are good. You need to show me how you did that."

"I can't," I shot him down, "Sworn to secrecy. If I tell you, I have to kill you or risk a curse from a family I've never met. And I can't do that, Saeran. I can't handle having a curse on my head."

"Just tell me it's a secret, you weirdo." And just like that, Saeran got down from his barstool.

"Hey, Seven…" I finished mixing our wings in that beautiful sauce, "What do you say we take this to the bedroom?"

"MC," Seven gasped, clutching his nonexistent pearls, "I never thought you'd be so bold!"

"Can you two not be gross?" Saeran groaned, "Or at least wait until I'm back in the basement?"

"Sorry, Saeran," I grabbed the wing bowl and a couple drinks for Seven and me, "But it's true. That was our goal all along."

"Greek yogurt works best," Saeran suggested, "If that's what you two are getting yourselves into."

I wasn't quite sure what that was supposed to mean, but I knew this was going to be a mess. I knew what we were getting ourselves into. We had an Aston Martin bed to crawl into and a big ass bowl of buffalo wings that either we were going to destroy or they were going to destroy us. At this point, I didn't care. Food was food and my ass was starving. But if I were to tell Seven or Saeran that, they'd both take me over their respective knees. After they fed me, of course. They're not totally heartless.

As we got halfway through the bowl, Seven laid his sweaty head on the tops of my thighs, just as miserable as I was, "Hell of an idea you had, 606. Hell of an idea."

"You know, Seven," I thought back, "I still need to call Jumin and make sure it's cool if I take tomorrow off."

"No one's stopping you," he allowed, "You should probably do that now before his old man bedtime."

"From what I understand," I remembered what Jaehee told me, "He went for drinks with V tonight. He might still be up."

"Again, MC," Seven insisted, "No one's stopping you. GO ahead. Call Jumin."

"Fine," I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and scrolled through my contacts. Through a paper towel. I'm not some kind of an animal.

"MC!" Jumin sang on the other end. Good. Jumin's good and lit up. Good times, "It's so good to hear from you! Jihyun, say hi!"

"Hi, MC!" V was in no better shape. Oh, Jaehee, I hope you're the one taking these two home. Because that could definitely prove to be a disaster. Jumin can't drive when he's sober and V can't drive at all. Or at least he shouldn't.

"What's up?" Jumin asked, "What's going on? What's on your mind that you needed to call me about?"

"I'm not coming in tomorrow," I held back a laugh, "I know I'm almost done, but I need to take a day. Is that alright?"

"I don't give a shit," Jumin allowed, "Go ahead. You…You need to take…better care of yourself."

"Thank you, Jumin…" Oh, Jesus, take the wheel, "Be careful tonight, ok?"

"I will!"

Click.

"Well…" I wasn't sure who I just hung up with, but I'm scratching my head, "That was…Interesting."

"Hey, MC," Seven wondered, "What did you have planned for tomorrow? Since it's just the two of us?"

"Well…" I bit my lip, hoping my ulterior motives weren't too far a stretch, "I was thinking…Maybe some wedding planning? Since it will be just you and me."

"That's fine with me," he finished off the last wing, "If we can spend the first few minutes of tomorrow morning not throwing up."

"Deal."