《Interwoven ✔️》2~ Wiggle Wiggle

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"By the way, my name is Park Jimin." He held out his hand.

"Hwang Jiyeon," I muttered, looking everywhere but him as I reluctantly shook his hand.

Great. Just great. I was going to have to learn how to live with the extraterrestrial I'd practically assaulted at a club for the next six months. Of all the thing possible drunk me could've done it had to be that. Stupid stupid stupid Jiyeon.

"So." He withdrew his hand before holding it back out again, this time a manila envelope in his grasp. "Do you want to sit down and properly learn about each other? Or shall we hold onto the quite memorable introduction at the rave for a little while longer?"

I eyed the envelope like it was a ticking bomb. "What is that?"

"It's the official paperwork that the Infinity Council sends to each human-Outworlder pair upon the first day of living together. It has a packet of all the official government information about us."

I finally accepted the envelope and went to sit down at the kitchen counter. The Outworlder, Jimin, trailed me. I could practically feel waves of amusement and mischief radiating off of him.

I never did figure out what happened after I completely blacked out at the club. I'd woken up the next morning in my own bed with the nastiest hangover and my parents fretting around me. Apparently they'd found me dumped unceremoniously in front of the house.

How I even ended up there I had no clue.

"So, partner." Jimin shamelessly rested an elbow on my shoulder as if we were best buddies. "Let's unlock each other's secrets shall we?"

Unlike in the rave two weeks ago when he'd been practically covered up everywhere, today he wore ripped jeans and a loose bro-tank. I could easily see all the silvery glowing lines swirling down his well formed biceps, permanently marking him as different. They were mesmerizing.

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"Kindly remove your elbow from my shoulder."

He blinked innocently. "Why? We did more than just elbow touch that night two weeks ago."

My blood was on the verge of boiling point. "We didn't... I just kissed you—"

"You absolutely slobbered across my lips. Quite different from a kiss."

I shrugged off his elbow and he mercifully abided, choosing to lean on the counter instead. "But we didn't do anything else, did we?" I prompted.

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Are you hoping we did?"

A large packet smacked his face in answer.

I'd taken out the two different packets of both Jimin and I's information. For some reason my packet seemed to contain no less than a dozen pages while Jimin's info packet only held about three scarce pages.

"Let's see." The Outworlder immediately began flicking through the paper. "Name: Hwang Jiyeon. You're 18, of course. You have an alien face fetish—"

"It does not say that!" I cried out, snatching the packet from his hands to ensure it didn't.

Relief poured through me at the basic facts listed on the page. No 'face fetish' as he'd said. I shoved the packet back at the laughing extraterrestrial.

In fact he was laughing so hard he tipped over off the seat. Instead of falling to the ground though his body morphed into the silver parrot from the rave and quickly fluttered onto the counter where he transformed back into the human form, sitting on the edge.

It all happened so fast I might have missed it if I had blinked.

Alien.

He stretched out on the counter like a cat, head inches away from my hands. It was all quite distracting, especially how his lean, hard body was arched. His eyes were glued on me the entire time, a brazen smirk on those soft lips of his.

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I scowled. This kid knew exactly what he was doing.

I looked down at the packet in my hand. "Name: Park Jimin. You're 18 too. Oh look at that, it says that the strip club wants their alien back."

He continued arching his back on the counter shamelessly. "I'd be the top stripper in that club," he declared.

"You look like a two dollar rip off of a contortionist."

"I am quite flexible."

"Stop wiggling your eyebrows."

"No."

I exhaled and turned back to the packet. The moment I'd learned about Order #327, I'd looked forward to meeting my Outworlder partner. It was fascinating to learn about them and even with the knowledge taught in school they were quite mysterious all things given.

My parents told me over and over they didn't belong on Earth. That they should go right back to whatever freakish planet they originated from and leave the humans alone. I didn't want that though. I couldn't imagine a world without Outworlders. That world seemed so bland and boring.

Not to mention it sounded like a mess too. Before the New Order, nations were always fighting or tense between each other. However now, there was no war. There was still, of course, tension with some countries' relations, but there was not nearly as much bloodshed as was once before.

Jimin himself had mercifully fallen quiet and was idly flipping through my packet, though a look of distant disinterest governed his features. I wondered if he was even reading. Or maybe I was just that boring.

I slowly flipped through his packet. It was pretty basic really. Name, age, height, onwards.

Classification: Exclusive.

I paused. What did that mean? As far as I knew and had been taught in school, Outworlders were Outworlders. Alien. Extraterrestrial. There were no 'classifications' beyond that.

Perhaps it had something to do with the silver lines across his skin? I knew from school that the Marks covered the extraterrestrial's entire bodies. Apparently, every Mark was slightly different from the other. Just as no two human fingerprints were alike, no Marks were the same.

I glanced up at him, trying to subtly observe the Marks across his skin. They were definitely intricate, but I didn't see anything specifically special about his marks compared to other extraterrestrials. I wondered if I asked him about it he'd give me a straightforward answer. Did he even know what 'Classification: Exclusive' meant?

His own eyes flickered up, sensing my gaze. He grinned. "Hey sexy mama."

I pursed my lips and quickly looked back down. Nope. I wasn't going to ask him anything.

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