let's go back to life.

Naturally, somewhere along the way, you ended up with his phone number. You don't remember how it happened. One minute you were talking, and the next Jisung was holding out his hand, asking for your phone so he could put his contact information in himself. Because friends have each other's phone numbers, obviously. 

You vaguely remember handing it over. But what you remember much more clearly is getting it back and discovering he had saved his name as [Sungie 🤓]. 

Sungie. 

Sungie!? 

Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding. 

Nicknames are already a known weakness of yours. This is not new information. But never – not once in your entire existence – have you suffered emotional damage from one. 

And yet, here is Han Jisung’s nickname staring up at you from your phone screen, laughing maniacally as each of your bodily systems start shutting down one by one. 

Sungie. Clearly, this was a personal attack, what other reason could he have had for doing this to you? 

Every time you think you've regained some sense of control, every time you think you've got a handle on your own feelings, Jisung somehow finds an entirely new way to make you struggle. 

The worst part is that he has absolutely no idea he's doing it. And all the while, you're expected to act like a normal friend. As if you aren't one affectionate nickname away from launching yourself directly into traffic. It's unbelievably unfair! 

You know for a fact that, given the opportunity, you could turn that nerd into a whimpering, sputtering puddle of a man. A beautiful, stammering mess of desire. 

But you CAN'T! Not with “Girlfriend” still in the picture. (And yes, you used quotes when talking about her because, let's be honest, she’s the human equivalent of a 3rd place participation trophy.) 

Look, you're trying very hard to respect their relationship, because you told Jisung you would. And you respect Jisung with everything you have regardless of his previous catastrophic error in judgment. 

It's just difficult when their relationship seems to consist primarily of Jisung being adorable and devoted while Girlfriend wanders around campus treating loyalty like an optional side quest. 

Regardless, the point remains, you are behaving. Against your will. Every single day. Mostly. 

Honestly, at this point, you're convinced the universe is running some kind of social experiment, and you're losing it to hidden cameras at every corner. 

Once you recovered enough from your crash out over his contact name, you started texting pretty regularly. This led to you discovering two very important things about Han Jisung: 

First, he treats memes like a legitimate form of communication. Some people say hi or at least explain why they're texting you. Jisung sends a blurry image of a raccoon falling off a trampoline and expects you to understand exactly what he means. 

Second, the man refuses to go anywhere alone. 

[Sungie 🤓] "Gotta make a coffee run. Come with me?” 

[Sungie 🤓] "Headed to the library. Walk with me?” 

[Sungie 🤓] "Grocery shopping today. I don't wanna go by myself again…the cashier lady is scary.” 

At first, you assumed he was being polite. It's always nice to include a new friend on errands. It gives time and space to get to know each other better, and it makes them feel like their company is appreciated. 

Then you realized he just doesn't like to be left alone. Ever. Han Jisung, for reasons known only to god and his anime dolls, believes every mundane errand is only doable if another human being accompanies him.  

[Y/N] “why can't Minji go with you?” 

[Sungie 🤓] “She doesn't like the grocery store. Plus she said she doesn't need anything.” 

Doesn't like the grocery store? Doesn't need anything? What kind of lame, stupid ass reason is that? Your boyfriend doesn't want to go alone, but you're still going to make him simply because you prefer not to make grocery runs when you don't have to? Wow.

[Y/N] “alright I need pads anyway” 

[Sungie 🤓] “I'll pretend I don't see them.” 

The unfortunate thing about being his go-to errand buddy is that you’re his go-to errand buddy with a crush on him.

And no matter how hard you try to keep it straight in your head, it doesn’t get any easier to remember he has a girlfriend when he looks at you like that. 

Like your excitement matters more than whatever you were actually saying. Like he’s studying your expressions instead of just hearing your words. Like he's memorizing the freckles on your nose and the scars on your cheeks. Like he's lost in the golden rims around your eyes. Like he's enchanted by the tone of your voice and encapsulated by the humor behind your jokes. 

It's just errands. Nothing special or meaningful. 

And yet, every so often, in the middle of everything, in the blink of an eye, for a split microsecond, you think you catch him looking at you like…like he could really be… 

[Sungie 🤓] “Do you know where the financial aid office is?” 

[y/n] “yeah it's on the fourth floor of the Main Hall building” 

[Sungie 🤓] “Great. Thanks! I have to turn in some paperwork for next semester.” 

[y/n] “no problem” 

[Sungie 🤓] “...come with me?” 

It has to be nothing. But, fuck, it doesn't feel that way all the time. 

For now, you're his friend. Errand buddy. Nothing more. 

[y/n] “give me five minutes” 

[Sungie 🤓] “🙌🥳” 

:: 

The biggest red flag in college isn’t some creep trying to sneak a feel up your skirt.  

It’s professors who spend an hour speed running through half a lecture, then casually drop a three hundred page reading list and assign a paper that’s worth a quarter of your final grade.  

Psychotic behavior. Uncalled for, disrespectful, and diabolical. 

Armed with a study guide and an unhealthy amount of resentment, you drop your backpack on one of the library tables and plop down with a dramatic sigh, hoping the sheer weight of academic achievement in the room might somehow seep into your brain through osmosis.  

The environment isn’t exactly familiar, but maybe that’s for the best. A fresh start. A clean slate. A quiet place free from distractions.  

No, this isn’t your first visit to the library. Come on, you're not that academically irresponsible. Last semester, you were behind those shelves over there, reading. 

Okay fine, you weren't reading. But your back was pressed against the wall! Granted, your now ex-boyfriend was shoving you against it with his tongue down your throat. But that’s beside the point!  

The point is, today’s different. Today, you have a plan. A purpose. Today, you’re going to sit down, focus, and actually write this damn paper. Your professor might have designed this assignment to crush morale and shorten lifespans, but honestly? That’s irrelevant.  

This is about your pride now, and you’re determined to get an A. 

If only your brain didn’t wander so much. Seeing those shelves doesn’t help when you’ve been starved for touch for almost a month. Every time your eyes drift that way, old memories start to follow. Not necessarily the memories themselves, but the feeling of them. 

You haven’t hooked up or even kissed anyone since you met Jisung. Which has started revealing some…interesting things about yourself.

First off, you never realized just how often you crave sex and physical affection until you didn’t have it anymore. Daydreams during class, zoning out during lectures, imagining scenarios while trying to write – your brain’s been running wild.  

Frustrated. You’re frustrated. In every sense of the word.  

Not just because this paper feels like it’s designed to destroy your will to live, but because your depraved brain refuses to stay focused for more than thirty seconds before wondering if anyone’s ever gotten caught doing it behind the receptionist’s desk.

Every time you manage to drag your attention back to the essay, it slips away again.  

A memory.  

A daydream.  

A hypothetical situation involving a bookmark, questionable intentions, and a certain nerd who’s somehow become the star of most of your fantasies.  

Your skin practically buzzes with restless energy. You tap your pen. Bounce your leg. Reread the same sentence six times.  

Nothing sticks. 

At this point, you’re fighting your own brain more than you’re actually writing.  

It's not your fault the library is practically begging for a steamy, rebellious make-out session. The idea of an innocent nerd like Jisung trying to focus on his studies while being subtly teased and edged gives you the shivers.

You can picture it now – Jisung sitting at the table across from you, occasionally sneaking glances, even with his girlfriend sitting right next to him. He can’t help but steal looks your way as you bite your lip and send him signals with your eyes. It's only a matter of time before you sneak away and meet up behind the archives, unable to keep your hands out of his hair when he drops to his knees, arching his back just to look up at you with those pleading, boba eyes.

Fuck. It feels so real in your head, like he’s actually sitting there, just a few tables away.  

Your phone vibrates on the table, breaking the spell of your maladaptive daydream. With a deep sigh, you unlock it and open the notification. 

[Sungie 🤓] “Why are you looking at me like that, silly?” 

Oh shit.

The world comes back into focus. When the daydream fades away, Jisung is there – the real Jisung – sitting exactly where you pictured him. 

You meet his gaze, and he offers a small smile, his eyebrows dancing up and down as if trying to communicate something just between the two of you. 

And honestly, this could be a cute little moment, one you wouldn't necessarily be embarrassed to have with your crush. If it weren't for his girlfriend sitting right next to him. Also looking your way. 

Oh boy, she is not amused. Clearly pissed to the max with a little snark curling her jaw and her tongue pressed against her teeth.

Yeah, she definitely saw the looks you were giving her boyfriend. And unlike your dear, sweet, naive Jisung, she knows exactly what your eyes meant. 

As if trying to prove she’s that bitch, Minji leans into Jisung, her finger trailing lightly along his arm, a teasing smile curling on her lips. And yes, she maintains eye contact with you the entire time because she is, as previously mentioned, that bitch.

When Jisung’s gaze shifts to her, she meets it instantly, her expression transforming into one of innocent affection, her hand landing softly on top of his, giving it a gentle, almost loving squeeze. 

Oh, you're about to slap a bitch. 

It’s all you can do not to gag when she leans even closer, pressing her breasts against his arm, wrapping her own arm around his bicep, and whispering something into his ear. Whatever she said must have been cheeky (or downright disgusting), because in the next moment, you notice Jisung’s ears flush a familiar pink. 

But he’s not smiling like he did with you. Instead, he quickly averts his gaze back to his book, as if trying not to react. Minji giggles, the horrid sound unfortunately managing to reach your ears all the way over here. 

She shifts closer, her hand casually drifting downward until it rests on his thigh, her fingers curling subtly but unmistakably. Her eyes flick back to yours, sharp and knowing, as if she’s privy to your special inside joke with him. 

The logical part of your mind insists she can’t possibly know about how you two met. (It's not like Jisung would have told her that another girl was feeling him up, right?) But the other gut-wrenching part of you starts sinking at the sight of her hand creeping up his thigh, brazenly, as if she owns him, without a hint of shame.  

Jisung stiffens but doesn’t pull away, caught between her touch and his clear embarrassment as he checks the room. You can't read his lips, but you can read his body language, and he's clearly not okay with this right now. 

With zero regard for her man, the look she gives you is straight up icy. A clear warning: back the fuck off. 

Your stomach twists as her hand inches closer and closer, and Jisung becomes visibly more and more uncomfortable. Before you even realize it, you’re on your feet, abruptly seeking any excuse to escape the scene. Unless you get out of here, you'll end up giving a testimony that it was you in the library with a candlestick.

Without a destination in mind, you slip into the maze of books and shelves near the back of the library, as far from the study tables as possible. You come to a small dead-end among the autobiographies and lean your back against the shelf, head spinning violently and chest caving in on itself with each lackluster breath. 

It all crashes down on you in this moment. 

Your feelings for Jisung suddenly more intense than you’ve ever admitted. The reality of knowing he’s with Minji of all people. Your mind and body in withdrawal, overwhelmed with a strange nostalgia and also craving the comfort of something that’s not even real. 

Oh god, are you about to cry right now? What the hell, man!?

Panicking, you quickly cover your face with your hands, desperate to hide the sudden prickling behind your eyes and the way your face feels puffy. You blink rapidly, silently cursing yourself and trying to bully the tears back, determined not to break down in the middle of the campus library.

This isn’t supposed to be how it goes. Jisung was supposed to see that you’re better than Minji, even with your eerily similar backgrounds and reputations. Then, he was supposed to dump her, get with you, fall in love with you, and– 

Your breath catches.  

Why the hell are you wishing for Jisung to fall in love with you? Unless you're also… 

“___?”  

You jump, startled, and turn to see Jisung paused at the end of the aisle.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a soft whisper. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I just…you ran away so quickly, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, making his way closer. Because Han Jisung has never once minded his own business in his entire life.

He stops directly in front of you, standing only a few inches away, while behind him there's plenty of space. Your back is pressed tightly against the shelf, almost trapped by his body.

Any reasonable person would argue that Jisung does not need to be standing this close in order to ask if you're okay.

But those people would be forgetting one very important detail: Han Jisung cannot properly assess your emotional wellbeing from a socially acceptable distance. He needs to be occupying ninety percent of your personal space. Duh.

You don’t dare lift your gaze to him. If his lips come within reach, you might not be able to resist them. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, turning your back to him, facing the shelf. “Just came to get a book.”  

But you don’t actually reach for a book. Instead, you stand still, barely registering the titles in front of you. Because as soon as you turn around, you realize what god forsaken position you’ve just put yourself in.  

Almost flat against the bookshelf, trapped by Jisung’s body behind you, his presence closing in. His eyes burn into the back of your head, and you feel the heat of his chest nearly pressed against your back.  

If you were feeling touched starved before, it doesn't compare to the rush surging through you now. 

Suddenly, you’re transported back to the dance floor. To Jisung dancing behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist, your bodies moving in perfect sync, the sensation of him so close it’s almost tangible.  

He whispers your name, and you feel his warm breath on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your spine. And then the touch of his hand on your wrist, firm yet gentle as he tugs on it. 

“Please look at me?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I'm looking for a book.” 

He leans in closer, placing his lips beside your ear and low-key resting his body up against yours, hand still holding your wrist. 

“You're avoiding me. Why?” 

“Like I said, I need a book.” 

“Which one?” 

“This one,” you say, grabbing a random book off the shelf. 

Jisung reads the title over your shoulder. “Nalini Jameela: An Autobiography of A Sex Worker.” 

“She's an American hero.” 

“She's Indian.” 

“Okay, Mr. Know It All, I'm the one writing the paper.” 

He doesn't laugh. 

“___, something is obviously bothering you. Can we please talk about it?” 

You put the book back with a loud thud, spinning around so abruptly that he stumbles back a step in surprise.

“Why?” 

His brows pull together. “What do you mean, why?”

“It's not your job to make me feel better.”

"It is, as your friend.”  

The words hit your ear like a punch, sharp and unexpected, making your jaw tighten and your head throb with the sudden rush of pain.

“And what about your girlfriend? Shouldn't you be with her right now?” 

“Not when you're…” his unfinished sentence hangs between you, the delusional part of your brain filling in any and every possible ending. 

Not when you're upset.

Not when you're crying.

Not when you're in need. 

Not when you're the one I care about more. 

Whatever he was going to say, he's clearly unable to say it because it’ll imply that he's choosing you over his girlfriend. And that wouldn't match his loyal, good boy character. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other.

Fuck, there it is again. That damn look. The one that's been ruining your life lately. The one you’ve tried so hard to decode with all your skill and tricks honed over the years. But when he gives you that look, you’re immediately lost in his eyes, and all your defenses suddenly fall. 

“Did you tell her you came after me?” 

He's silent, eyelids fluttering with what you can only assume is guilt. 

“You didn't. Why not?” 

“Because–” 

“Because you know she doesn't like me,” you answer for him. “And she doesn't want you to like me either.” 

“That's not true. She said she's fine with us hanging out.” 

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Jisung, open your eyes. She's never meant half the things she says. She's not an honest person.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see something flicker across his face. Not anger, not defensiveness, not even annoyance. 

Recognition.

Like you've just stomped on a wound he was trying really hard not to touch. 

“I'm really sorry,” you say, voice strained. “I tried, honest, I did.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can't do it. I can't respect her. I can't respect your relationship.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because she's terrible!” 

He sighs and shakes his head, but it's not as convincing as it was before. “___, come on. We already talked about this.” 

“I’m serious, Jisung. She ditches you at parties. She cancels plans whenever something better comes along. She ignores your boundaries. She never goes with you places but still expects you to drop everything at her beck and call.” You gesture helplessly. “How am I supposed to respect someone who treats you like that?”

“Because she chose me. When no one else did,” he replies immediately. “And I'm lucky someone wants me. So, I don't have to be alone."

His response hits you hard. Not because of what he said, but because of how blatantly he said it. Like he's said it to himself before, over and over in the quiet solitude of his own mind. Like he's still in the process of convincing himself that he needs it to be true. 

But the uncertainty lurking behind his glasses, the way his tense shoulders have drawn inward, the quiet, frightened truth buried beneath his words.  

Suddenly, it hits you. This isn’t about Minji at all.  

It’s about him! 

It’s about desperately craving to be chosen, to be wanted, to be truly valued.  

Holy fuck, how did you not see it before!? It all makes so much sense now. No wonder you feel so empathetic and drawn to him. Jisung, with all his quiet struggles, is just like you. 

You’ve both used other people as armor, as a way to feel wanted, to feel like you matter. You’ve always needed that validation, that feeling of being desired. You've chased meaningless sex and shamelessness for years just to get a snapshot of what it feels like to be genuinely valued. 

And him? He’s holding onto a toxic relationship, not because he loves her, but because it convinces him that he’s worth something – that someone chose him. Even if she doesn’t treat him right, it doesn't matter because she wants him. Because he's valuable to her. 

Both of you are chasing that feeling of being desired, being wanted, being enough. But somewhere along the way, you’ve both confused the feeling of being chosen with the feeling of being used.  

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. When you look up at him this time, he looks different. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a whole different picture, an image of Jisung you’ve never seen before. 

He's not just the sweet nerd you've been hopelessly crushing on for weeks who's unfortunately stuck in a toxic relationship. 

He's just…a person. A lonely person. Someone who's spent so long feeling overlooked that the fact that someone picked him became more important than how they treated him afterward.

Oh god, your chest aches every time you breathe. 

You know exactly what that feels like. It causes any and all irritation you may have been harboring to drain out of you all at once.

Your eyes soften, filling with a new understanding. The edges of your mouth relax, no longer pulled tight with judgment. 

“You know what's funny?"

His eyebrows lift. "What?” 

"You say you're lucky. But I think you've got it backwards.” 

Jisung doesn't say anything, but you notice his breath catching at the feeling of your hand slipping into his hand, your fingers intertwining naturally. 

“She's the one who's lucky to have you.” 

He looks down at your hand, the way your thumb lightly brushes over his skin, unsure of when you got so close he can count your eyelashes, but he doesn't move away. 

How could he? 

When you're…here. So close. And it feels so…right. 

“You said you wouldn't flirt with me anymore,” he whispers, eyes glancing at your lips in anticipation of a response. 

“I'm not flirting,” you say honestly. “I'm serious. Anyone would be lucky to be yours."

You pause long enough to catch a small smile curling at his lips, a flicker of bashfulness or amusement in the creases beside his beautiful eyes. But then it vanishes just as quickly, replaced by something more guarded.  

“___? Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“If…umm, if you can't respect my relationship…does that mean I have to lose you?"

You immediately shake your head. “No.”  

His shoulders relax visibly, the tension in his hand easing as he seems to melt just a little bit closer to you. His body is drawn into your space, far too close to be considered friendly. But you hold back the urge to comment. Partly because you know he needs this right now. He needs closeness. And reassurance. And also…he’s temptingly warm. 

“No,” you repeat. “I’m not going anywhere.”  

“Good,” he sighs in relief, a small breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“But since you brought it up,” you continue, “I should let you know I’m breaking my promise.”  

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he adjusts his hand in yours, holding it just a little tighter. “What promise?”  

“The no flirting promise.”  

His eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and realization washing over his face. His lips part, and for a moment, he looks adorably caught off guard. 

“Oh no.”  

“Oh yes,” you say with a smirk, stepping a little closer, chest to chest now. Your gaze drags over his nose and lips, then back up to his eyes, steady and enchanting. “Get ready to have your ass properly flirted with, nerd. I'm gonna show you how you should be treated."

And wouldn’t you know it, his gaze unexpectedly drags as well, all the way down to your lips. And it doesn’t lift right away. Instead, it lingers, longer than it should. Not just for a fleeting second. No, it stays there. And stays. And stays. 

If you hadn’t stepped back and forced his gaze to meet your eyes again, who knows how long he might have been stuck there, lost in that silent, tempting moment.

For someone who claims to want to be just friends, his eyes certainly tell a different story. A small suspicion stirs within you. Maybe stealing him from Girlfriend isn’t going to be as hard as you thought? Either way, you're sure about one thing. Any and all guilt or hesitation is out the window. Nothing is going to hold you back from fully pursuing him now.

“Well, glad we cleared that up. Now, I’ve got a paper to write, and you’ve got some studying to finish."

Pausing briefly at the end of the aisle, you glance back at him still standing in exactly the same spot, seemingly unable to move on from the moment. 

You turn away, acutely aware of his eyes tracking your every move. And don’t think you missed the way he gently tightened his grip before finally letting your hand slip away. He may think he's sneaky, but he's about as subtle as cannonfire.

“Oh and, Jisung?”  

“Yeah?”  

“You know how you said you're lucky Minji wants you because no one else does?"

He nods, a little uncertain.  

“Well, you're wrong. I want you. But you need to make the choice for yourself. When you're ready, let me know."

And with that, you walk away, leaving him speechless, breathless, and wondering.

You make your way back to the table and drop into your chair with a sharp exhale, not wasting any time locking onto your target.

Across the room, Minji is still sitting at her table, checking her nails with an unconcerned glance around the room, vaguely impatient for her missing boyfriend.

Her gaze eventually lands on you with a double take at the daggers you're shooting. Never before have you felt this kind of fire behind your eyes, and it seems as though the heat reaches Minji just as intended.

Immediately, she gives you a look back. Nothing intense. Nothing so obvious as your death glare.

Just a few silent, unimpressed, judgy blinks.

Then Jisung reappears.

And oh? Oh, that's interesting. Because Han Jisung looks like somebody just unplugged him from the wall before he was done charging.

He walks back toward the table in a daze, blinking occasionally as if he's only about thirty percent connected to reality.

Minji notices. Her smile falters slightly, and something in you feels lighthearted seeing her thrown off her groove.

When he reaches her, she slips her arm through his automatically, pulling him close and whispering something against his ear.

Jisung allows it. Technically. In the same way a coat rack would.

He has no reaction and no smile. No squeeze of her hand or shift of his body when she practically crawls halfway into his lap in an attempt to capture his attention.

Nothing.

His brain is clearly still lost somewhere between the autobiography section and an existential crisis.

Minji's eyes narrow as she studies him. Then she follows his gaze.

Straight back to you.

Her jaw drops in offense when you send her a little wink. The confidence in her posture wavers beautifully. The most satisfying flicker of uncertainty you've perhaps ever witnessed.

You don't smile. Can't give away just how much you're enjoying the sweetness of this moment.

You simply hold her shaking gaze. Calm. Steady. Unblinking. Like a fucking madman. And also, you realize there's actually two fun ways to make someone squirm under your gaze.

With the little experience you have declaring war, you like to think that you're doing a pretty good job considering Minji can't seem to do anything but uselessly tighten her grip on Jisung's arm.

Your new mission is clear: if he refuses to acknowledge how horrible Minji really is, then you’ll just have to make him see how valuable he truly is.

:: 

GF taglist: @nightmarenyxx @cepheus3 @strawberriesoup @kayleefriedchicken @hannamoon143 @0omillo0 @fly-you-dam-fools @urlocalmultigroupfan @inlovewithstraykids @felixleftchickennugget @hityoulikebahng @imfoive @imeverycliche @hannieslittlerockstar @staybabblingbaby @somber-reads @hyunjinxxs @straberieslee @brbwritingfanfic @velvetmoonlght @dearbisky @hwangjoanna @jeonginnieswifey @firstdivisiongirl @mikachux3 @pineapple-burgah @eyyyylucieeee

...play tiny venues like the crowd is a sold-out stadium. Doesn’t matter if there are twenty people there or twenty thousand. He still loses himself in it completely every time. Music is music regardless of how many ears hear it. What matters more is that the right ears hear it. Your favorite moments are when he rubs the back of his neck shyly and says, “this next one’s unfinished,” before playing a song that completely alters your brain chemistry. So emotionally overloaded and yet nonchalant at the same time. Whether it's the biggest venue in the country, or his hometown’s coffee shop, he never gives anything but 200%.

"I wrote this at two in the morning during a minor existential crisis, so if it ruins your entire week, I'm sorry. But you only paid five dollars for this show, so really you're getting an unreasonable amount of emotional devastation for the price."

…forget to eat when he’s creating music. Not intentionally, he just disappears into the process so hard he loses track of time entirely. One hour, three hours, five hours, seven hours. Before he even realizes, he's got an empty stomach and an inbox full of reminders from you to eat before you barge into his studio and force him to take a break yourself. He can't help it. It'll be 3:12am, and he's recording voice memo #9000, because inspiration hits when it wants, and he has to get the melody down before it disappears forever.

"Baby, it's time to eat."

"Okay, but just listen to this part and tell me what you think. The bass line changes everything."

…have fans convinced he’s effortlessly cool when in reality he’s just emotionally overwhelmed 24/7 and hiding it behind sarcasm, hoodies, and a good stage presence. You have to admit, his hoodies are possibly the most comfortable things you've ever worn. He has pretty good sarcasm for someone who gets sensitive about rainy weather. And he does have the greatest, most captivating stage presence of any idol out there. He likes to start his concerts playful and chaotic, but then suddenly stands under one dim light, singing lyrics so raw the entire room goes silent. He’ll sing the most devastating lyrics you’ve ever heard and then immediately follow it with: “Anyway, this next song is about one of my favorite things in the whole world. Fried chicken.” And then it becomes a best seller overnight.

"I think the universe knew I'd be unbearable if I had talent and confidence. That's why it gave me social anxiety instead."

…have ink stains, guitar calluses, exhausted eyes, and a hundred unfinished projects open on his laptop at all times. But those are only some of your favorite things about him. You especially love his commitment to bring you into every part of his life, and become just as engrossed in you as he is his music. You inspire him, just as much as the city at night, the early morning sunrise, and the sight of home after a long time away combined. He's deeply sensitive to your emotions even when you pretend they're not important. And even though you may be terrible at saying “I need you,” he's constantly showing up for you in any and every way.

"You know, you don't always have to be the version of yourself that's easiest for everyone else to handle. And you don't have to pretend you're okay with me. I'm kind of a professional at falling apart. Trust me, I can handle it."

...look at you during ordinary moments together – folding laundry, grocery shopping, making coffee on sleepy mornings – and feel hit with the overwhelming realization that these small pieces of life matter just as much, if not more, as his sold-out shows. Onstage, music is how he tells the world who he is. But with you, he learns how to say it without a melody at all. He lets you see the versions of himself the audience never gets to see. The frustrated perfectionist, the exhausted artist, the soft-hearted insomniac who overthinks everything. He's his most affectionate late at night, when the world is quiet, and he isn't performing for anyone. That's when he needs reassurance sometimes. Not because he doubts your love, but because he loves you so deeply that losing you genuinely scares him. He can't imagine his life without the stage, but even more, he can't imagine it without you. Without sending you thirty second voice notes because texting takes too long when he's excited about something. Without writing songs inspired by you without realizing he's doing it, until someone points out that every love song he's written for the last six months shares suspiciously specific details. Without handing you one earbud so you can hear the rough draft he just finished, asking what you think of a lyric when he's insecure. Without looking for you in the crowd before stepping onstage. At the end of the day, music taught him how to express himself. Fame taught him how to be responsible. But you taught him something entirely different: you taught him that there is a version of him that can simply exist. Messy, exhausted, overwhelmed, human. And at the end of every encore, every tour, every standing ovation, he'll always have a home to come back to.

"I never knew home could be a person before I met you."

::

Naturally, somewhere along the way, you ended up with his phone number. You don't remember how it happened. One minute you were talking, and the next Jisung was holding out his hand, asking for your phone so he could put his contact information in himself. Because friends have each other's phone numbers, obviously. 

You vaguely remember handing it over. But what you remember much more clearly is getting it back and discovering he had saved his name as [Sungie 🤓]. 

Sungie. 

Sungie!? 

Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding. 

Nicknames are already a known weakness of yours. This is not new information. But never – not once in your entire existence – have you suffered emotional damage from one. 

And yet, here is Han Jisung’s nickname staring up at you from your phone screen, laughing maniacally as each of your bodily systems start shutting down one by one. 

Sungie. Clearly, this was a personal attack, what other reason could he have had for doing this to you? 

Every time you think you've regained some sense of control, every time you think you've got a handle on your own feelings, Jisung somehow finds an entirely new way to make you struggle. 

The worst part is that he has absolutely no idea he's doing it. And all the while, you're expected to act like a normal friend. As if you aren't one affectionate nickname away from launching yourself directly into traffic. It's unbelievably unfair! 

You know for a fact that, given the opportunity, you could turn that nerd into a whimpering, sputtering puddle of a man. A beautiful, stammering mess of desire. 

But you CAN'T! Not with “Girlfriend” still in the picture. (And yes, you used quotes when talking about her because, let's be honest, she’s the human equivalent of a 3rd place participation trophy.) 

Look, you're trying very hard to respect their relationship, because you told Jisung you would. And you respect Jisung with everything you have regardless of his previous catastrophic error in judgment. 

It's just difficult when their relationship seems to consist primarily of Jisung being adorable and devoted while Girlfriend wanders around campus treating loyalty like an optional side quest. 

Regardless, the point remains, you are behaving. Against your will. Every single day. Mostly. 

Honestly, at this point, you're convinced the universe is running some kind of social experiment, and you're losing it to hidden cameras at every corner. 

Once you recovered enough from your crash out over his contact name, you started texting pretty regularly. This led to you discovering two very important things about Han Jisung: 

First, he treats memes like a legitimate form of communication. Some people say hi or at least explain why they're texting you. Jisung sends a blurry image of a raccoon falling off a trampoline and expects you to understand exactly what he means. 

Second, the man refuses to go anywhere alone. 

[Sungie 🤓] "Gotta make a coffee run. Come with me?” 

[Sungie 🤓] "Headed to the library. Walk with me?” 

[Sungie 🤓] "Grocery shopping today. I don't wanna go by myself again…the cashier lady is scary.” 

At first, you assumed he was being polite. It's always nice to include a new friend on errands. It gives time and space to get to know each other better, and it makes them feel like their company is appreciated. 

Then you realized he just doesn't like to be left alone. Ever. Han Jisung, for reasons known only to god and his anime dolls, believes every mundane errand is only doable if another human being accompanies him.  

[Y/N] “why can't Minji go with you?” 

[Sungie 🤓] “She doesn't like the grocery store. Plus she said she doesn't need anything.” 

Doesn't like the grocery store? Doesn't need anything? What kind of lame, stupid ass reason is that? Your boyfriend doesn't want to go alone, but you're still going to make him simply because you prefer not to make grocery runs when you don't have to? Wow.

[Y/N] “alright I need pads anyway” 

[Sungie 🤓] “I'll pretend I don't see them.” 

The unfortunate thing about being his go-to errand buddy is that you’re his go-to errand buddy with a crush on him.

And no matter how hard you try to keep it straight in your head, it doesn’t get any easier to remember he has a girlfriend when he looks at you like that. 

Like your excitement matters more than whatever you were actually saying. Like he’s studying your expressions instead of just hearing your words. Like he's memorizing the freckles on your nose and the scars on your cheeks. Like he's lost in the golden rims around your eyes. Like he's enchanted by the tone of your voice and encapsulated by the humor behind your jokes. 

It's just errands. Nothing special or meaningful. 

And yet, every so often, in the middle of everything, in the blink of an eye, for a split microsecond, you think you catch him looking at you like…like he could really be… 

[Sungie 🤓] “Do you know where the financial aid office is?” 

[y/n] “yeah it's on the fourth floor of the Main Hall building” 

[Sungie 🤓] “Great. Thanks! I have to turn in some paperwork for next semester.” 

[y/n] “no problem” 

[Sungie 🤓] “...come with me?” 

It has to be nothing. But, fuck, it doesn't feel that way all the time. 

For now, you're his friend. Errand buddy. Nothing more. 

[y/n] “give me five minutes” 

[Sungie 🤓] “🙌🥳” 

:: 

The biggest red flag in college isn’t some creep trying to sneak a feel up your skirt.  

It’s professors who spend an hour speed running through half a lecture, then casually drop a three hundred page reading list and assign a paper that’s worth a quarter of your final grade.  

Psychotic behavior. Uncalled for, disrespectful, and diabolical. 

Armed with a study guide and an unhealthy amount of resentment, you drop your backpack on one of the library tables and plop down with a dramatic sigh, hoping the sheer weight of academic achievement in the room might somehow seep into your brain through osmosis.  

The environment isn’t exactly familiar, but maybe that’s for the best. A fresh start. A clean slate. A quiet place free from distractions.  

No, this isn’t your first visit to the library. Come on, you're not that academically irresponsible. Last semester, you were behind those shelves over there, reading. 

Okay fine, you weren't reading. But your back was pressed against the wall! Granted, your now ex-boyfriend was shoving you against it with his tongue down your throat. But that’s beside the point!  

The point is, today’s different. Today, you have a plan. A purpose. Today, you’re going to sit down, focus, and actually write this damn paper. Your professor might have designed this assignment to crush morale and shorten lifespans, but honestly? That’s irrelevant.  

This is about your pride now, and you’re determined to get an A. 

If only your brain didn’t wander so much. Seeing those shelves doesn’t help when you’ve been starved for touch for almost a month. Every time your eyes drift that way, old memories start to follow. Not necessarily the memories themselves, but the feeling of them. 

You haven’t hooked up or even kissed anyone since you met Jisung. Which has started revealing some…interesting things about yourself.

First off, you never realized just how often you crave sex and physical affection until you didn’t have it anymore. Daydreams during class, zoning out during lectures, imagining scenarios while trying to write – your brain’s been running wild.  

Frustrated. You’re frustrated. In every sense of the word.  

Not just because this paper feels like it’s designed to destroy your will to live, but because your depraved brain refuses to stay focused for more than thirty seconds before wondering if anyone’s ever gotten caught doing it behind the receptionist’s desk.

Every time you manage to drag your attention back to the essay, it slips away again.  

A memory.  

A daydream.  

A hypothetical situation involving a bookmark, questionable intentions, and a certain nerd who’s somehow become the star of most of your fantasies.  

Your skin practically buzzes with restless energy. You tap your pen. Bounce your leg. Reread the same sentence six times.  

Nothing sticks. 

At this point, you’re fighting your own brain more than you’re actually writing.  

It's not your fault the library is practically begging for a steamy, rebellious make-out session. The idea of an innocent nerd like Jisung trying to focus on his studies while being subtly teased and edged gives you the shivers.

You can picture it now – Jisung sitting at the table across from you, occasionally sneaking glances, even with his girlfriend sitting right next to him. He can’t help but steal looks your way as you bite your lip and send him signals with your eyes. It's only a matter of time before you sneak away and meet up behind the archives, unable to keep your hands out of his hair when he drops to his knees, arching his back just to look up at you with those pleading, boba eyes.

Fuck. It feels so real in your head, like he’s actually sitting there, just a few tables away.  

Your phone vibrates on the table, breaking the spell of your maladaptive daydream. With a deep sigh, you unlock it and open the notification. 

[Sungie 🤓] “Why are you looking at me like that, silly?” 

Oh shit.

The world comes back into focus. When the daydream fades away, Jisung is there – the real Jisung – sitting exactly where you pictured him. 

You meet his gaze, and he offers a small smile, his eyebrows dancing up and down as if trying to communicate something just between the two of you. 

And honestly, this could be a cute little moment, one you wouldn't necessarily be embarrassed to have with your crush. If it weren't for his girlfriend sitting right next to him. Also looking your way. 

Oh boy, she is not amused. Clearly pissed to the max with a little snark curling her jaw and her tongue pressed against her teeth.

Yeah, she definitely saw the looks you were giving her boyfriend. And unlike your dear, sweet, naive Jisung, she knows exactly what your eyes meant. 

As if trying to prove she’s that bitch, Minji leans into Jisung, her finger trailing lightly along his arm, a teasing smile curling on her lips. And yes, she maintains eye contact with you the entire time because she is, as previously mentioned, that bitch.

When Jisung’s gaze shifts to her, she meets it instantly, her expression transforming into one of innocent affection, her hand landing softly on top of his, giving it a gentle, almost loving squeeze. 

Oh, you're about to slap a bitch. 

It’s all you can do not to gag when she leans even closer, pressing her breasts against his arm, wrapping her own arm around his bicep, and whispering something into his ear. Whatever she said must have been cheeky (or downright disgusting), because in the next moment, you notice Jisung’s ears flush a familiar pink. 

But he’s not smiling like he did with you. Instead, he quickly averts his gaze back to his book, as if trying not to react. Minji giggles, the horrid sound unfortunately managing to reach your ears all the way over here. 

She shifts closer, her hand casually drifting downward until it rests on his thigh, her fingers curling subtly but unmistakably. Her eyes flick back to yours, sharp and knowing, as if she’s privy to your special inside joke with him. 

The logical part of your mind insists she can’t possibly know about how you two met. (It's not like Jisung would have told her that another girl was feeling him up, right?) But the other gut-wrenching part of you starts sinking at the sight of her hand creeping up his thigh, brazenly, as if she owns him, without a hint of shame.  

Jisung stiffens but doesn’t pull away, caught between her touch and his clear embarrassment as he checks the room. You can't read his lips, but you can read his body language, and he's clearly not okay with this right now. 

With zero regard for her man, the look she gives you is straight up icy. A clear warning: back the fuck off. 

Your stomach twists as her hand inches closer and closer, and Jisung becomes visibly more and more uncomfortable. Before you even realize it, you’re on your feet, abruptly seeking any excuse to escape the scene. Unless you get out of here, you'll end up giving a testimony that it was you in the library with a candlestick.

Without a destination in mind, you slip into the maze of books and shelves near the back of the library, as far from the study tables as possible. You come to a small dead-end among the autobiographies and lean your back against the shelf, head spinning violently and chest caving in on itself with each lackluster breath. 

It all crashes down on you in this moment. 

Your feelings for Jisung suddenly more intense than you’ve ever admitted. The reality of knowing he’s with Minji of all people. Your mind and body in withdrawal, overwhelmed with a strange nostalgia and also craving the comfort of something that’s not even real. 

Oh god, are you about to cry right now? What the hell, man!?

Panicking, you quickly cover your face with your hands, desperate to hide the sudden prickling behind your eyes and the way your face feels puffy. You blink rapidly, silently cursing yourself and trying to bully the tears back, determined not to break down in the middle of the campus library.

This isn’t supposed to be how it goes. Jisung was supposed to see that you’re better than Minji, even with your eerily similar backgrounds and reputations. Then, he was supposed to dump her, get with you, fall in love with you, and– 

Your breath catches.  

Why the hell are you wishing for Jisung to fall in love with you? Unless you're also… 

“___?”  

You jump, startled, and turn to see Jisung paused at the end of the aisle.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a soft whisper. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I just…you ran away so quickly, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, making his way closer. Because Han Jisung has never once minded his own business in his entire life.

He stops directly in front of you, standing only a few inches away, while behind him there's plenty of space. Your back is pressed tightly against the shelf, almost trapped by his body.

Any reasonable person would argue that Jisung does not need to be standing this close in order to ask if you're okay.

But those people would be forgetting one very important detail: Han Jisung cannot properly assess your emotional wellbeing from a socially acceptable distance. He needs to be occupying ninety percent of your personal space. Duh.

You don’t dare lift your gaze to him. If his lips come within reach, you might not be able to resist them. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, turning your back to him, facing the shelf. “Just came to get a book.”  

But you don’t actually reach for a book. Instead, you stand still, barely registering the titles in front of you. Because as soon as you turn around, you realize what god forsaken position you’ve just put yourself in.  

Almost flat against the bookshelf, trapped by Jisung’s body behind you, his presence closing in. His eyes burn into the back of your head, and you feel the heat of his chest nearly pressed against your back.  

If you were feeling touched starved before, it doesn't compare to the rush surging through you now. 

Suddenly, you’re transported back to the dance floor. To Jisung dancing behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist, your bodies moving in perfect sync, the sensation of him so close it’s almost tangible.  

He whispers your name, and you feel his warm breath on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your spine. And then the touch of his hand on your wrist, firm yet gentle as he tugs on it. 

“Please look at me?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I'm looking for a book.” 

He leans in closer, placing his lips beside your ear and low-key resting his body up against yours, hand still holding your wrist. 

“You're avoiding me. Why?” 

“Like I said, I need a book.” 

“Which one?” 

“This one,” you say, grabbing a random book off the shelf. 

Jisung reads the title over your shoulder. “Nalini Jameela: An Autobiography of A Sex Worker.” 

“She's an American hero.” 

“She's Indian.” 

“Okay, Mr. Know It All, I'm the one writing the paper.” 

He doesn't laugh. 

“___, something is obviously bothering you. Can we please talk about it?” 

You put the book back with a loud thud, spinning around so abruptly that he stumbles back a step in surprise.

“Why?” 

His brows pull together. “What do you mean, why?”

“It's not your job to make me feel better.”

"It is, as your friend.”  

The words hit your ear like a punch, sharp and unexpected, making your jaw tighten and your head throb with the sudden rush of pain.

“And what about your girlfriend? Shouldn't you be with her right now?” 

“Not when you're…” his unfinished sentence hangs between you, the delusional part of your brain filling in any and every possible ending. 

Not when you're upset.

Not when you're crying.

Not when you're in need. 

Not when you're the one I care about more. 

Whatever he was going to say, he's clearly unable to say it because it’ll imply that he's choosing you over his girlfriend. And that wouldn't match his loyal, good boy character. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other.

Fuck, there it is again. That damn look. The one that's been ruining your life lately. The one you’ve tried so hard to decode with all your skill and tricks honed over the years. But when he gives you that look, you’re immediately lost in his eyes, and all your defenses suddenly fall. 

“Did you tell her you came after me?” 

He's silent, eyelids fluttering with what you can only assume is guilt. 

“You didn't. Why not?” 

“Because–” 

“Because you know she doesn't like me,” you answer for him. “And she doesn't want you to like me either.” 

“That's not true. She said she's fine with us hanging out.” 

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Jisung, open your eyes. She's never meant half the things she says. She's not an honest person.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see something flicker across his face. Not anger, not defensiveness, not even annoyance. 

Recognition.

Like you've just stomped on a wound he was trying really hard not to touch. 

“I'm really sorry,” you say, voice strained. “I tried, honest, I did.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can't do it. I can't respect her. I can't respect your relationship.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because she's terrible!” 

He sighs and shakes his head, but it's not as convincing as it was before. “___, come on. We already talked about this.” 

“I’m serious, Jisung. She ditches you at parties. She cancels plans whenever something better comes along. She ignores your boundaries. She never goes with you places but still expects you to drop everything at her beck and call.” You gesture helplessly. “How am I supposed to respect someone who treats you like that?”

“Because she chose me. When no one else did,” he replies immediately. “And I'm lucky someone wants me. So, I don't have to be alone."

His response hits you hard. Not because of what he said, but because of how blatantly he said it. Like he's said it to himself before, over and over in the quiet solitude of his own mind. Like he's still in the process of convincing himself that he needs it to be true. 

But the uncertainty lurking behind his glasses, the way his tense shoulders have drawn inward, the quiet, frightened truth buried beneath his words.  

Suddenly, it hits you. This isn’t about Minji at all.  

It’s about him! 

It’s about desperately craving to be chosen, to be wanted, to be truly valued.  

Holy fuck, how did you not see it before!? It all makes so much sense now. No wonder you feel so empathetic and drawn to him. Jisung, with all his quiet struggles, is just like you. 

You’ve both used other people as armor, as a way to feel wanted, to feel like you matter. You’ve always needed that validation, that feeling of being desired. You've chased meaningless sex and shamelessness for years just to get a snapshot of what it feels like to be genuinely valued. 

And him? He’s holding onto a toxic relationship, not because he loves her, but because it convinces him that he’s worth something – that someone chose him. Even if she doesn’t treat him right, it doesn't matter because she wants him. Because he's valuable to her. 

Both of you are chasing that feeling of being desired, being wanted, being enough. But somewhere along the way, you’ve both confused the feeling of being chosen with the feeling of being used.  

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. When you look up at him this time, he looks different. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a whole different picture, an image of Jisung you’ve never seen before. 

He's not just the sweet nerd you've been hopelessly crushing on for weeks who's unfortunately stuck in a toxic relationship. 

He's just…a person. A lonely person. Someone who's spent so long feeling overlooked that the fact that someone picked him became more important than how they treated him afterward.

Oh god, your chest aches every time you breathe. 

You know exactly what that feels like. It causes any and all irritation you may have been harboring to drain out of you all at once.

Your eyes soften, filling with a new understanding. The edges of your mouth relax, no longer pulled tight with judgment. 

“You know what's funny?"

His eyebrows lift. "What?” 

"You say you're lucky. But I think you've got it backwards.” 

Jisung doesn't say anything, but you notice his breath catching at the feeling of your hand slipping into his hand, your fingers intertwining naturally. 

“She's the one who's lucky to have you.” 

He looks down at your hand, the way your thumb lightly brushes over his skin, unsure of when you got so close he can count your eyelashes, but he doesn't move away. 

How could he? 

When you're…here. So close. And it feels so…right. 

“You said you wouldn't flirt with me anymore,” he whispers, eyes glancing at your lips in anticipation of a response. 

“I'm not flirting,” you say honestly. “I'm serious. Anyone would be lucky to be yours."

You pause long enough to catch a small smile curling at his lips, a flicker of bashfulness or amusement in the creases beside his beautiful eyes. But then it vanishes just as quickly, replaced by something more guarded.  

“___? Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“If…umm, if you can't respect my relationship…does that mean I have to lose you?"

You immediately shake your head. “No.”  

His shoulders relax visibly, the tension in his hand easing as he seems to melt just a little bit closer to you. His body is drawn into your space, far too close to be considered friendly. But you hold back the urge to comment. Partly because you know he needs this right now. He needs closeness. And reassurance. And also…he’s temptingly warm. 

“No,” you repeat. “I’m not going anywhere.”  

“Good,” he sighs in relief, a small breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“But since you brought it up,” you continue, “I should let you know I’m breaking my promise.”  

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he adjusts his hand in yours, holding it just a little tighter. “What promise?”  

“The no flirting promise.”  

His eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and realization washing over his face. His lips part, and for a moment, he looks adorably caught off guard. 

“Oh no.”  

“Oh yes,” you say with a smirk, stepping a little closer, chest to chest now. Your gaze drags over his nose and lips, then back up to his eyes, steady and enchanting. “Get ready to have your ass properly flirted with, nerd. I'm gonna show you how you should be treated."

And wouldn’t you know it, his gaze unexpectedly drags as well, all the way down to your lips. And it doesn’t lift right away. Instead, it lingers, longer than it should. Not just for a fleeting second. No, it stays there. And stays. And stays. 

If you hadn’t stepped back and forced his gaze to meet your eyes again, who knows how long he might have been stuck there, lost in that silent, tempting moment.

For someone who claims to want to be just friends, his eyes certainly tell a different story. A small suspicion stirs within you. Maybe stealing him from Girlfriend isn’t going to be as hard as you thought? Either way, you're sure about one thing. Any and all guilt or hesitation is out the window. Nothing is going to hold you back from fully pursuing him now.

“Well, glad we cleared that up. Now, I’ve got a paper to write, and you’ve got some studying to finish."

Pausing briefly at the end of the aisle, you glance back at him still standing in exactly the same spot, seemingly unable to move on from the moment. 

You turn away, acutely aware of his eyes tracking your every move. And don’t think you missed the way he gently tightened his grip before finally letting your hand slip away. He may think he's sneaky, but he's about as subtle as cannonfire.

“Oh and, Jisung?”  

“Yeah?”  

“You know how you said you're lucky Minji wants you because no one else does?"

He nods, a little uncertain.  

“Well, you're wrong. I want you. But you need to make the choice for yourself. When you're ready, let me know."

And with that, you walk away, leaving him speechless, breathless, and wondering.

You make your way back to the table and drop into your chair with a sharp exhale, not wasting any time locking onto your target.

Across the room, Minji is still sitting at her table, checking her nails with an unconcerned glance around the room, vaguely impatient for her missing boyfriend.

Her gaze eventually lands on you with a double take at the daggers you're shooting. Never before have you felt this kind of fire behind your eyes, and it seems as though the heat reaches Minji just as intended.

Immediately, she gives you a look back. Nothing intense. Nothing so obvious as your death glare.

Just a few silent, unimpressed, judgy blinks.

Then Jisung reappears.

And oh? Oh, that's interesting. Because Han Jisung looks like somebody just unplugged him from the wall before he was done charging.

He walks back toward the table in a daze, blinking occasionally as if he's only about thirty percent connected to reality.

Minji notices. Her smile falters slightly, and something in you feels lighthearted seeing her thrown off her groove.

When he reaches her, she slips her arm through his automatically, pulling him close and whispering something against his ear.

Jisung allows it. Technically. In the same way a coat rack would.

He has no reaction and no smile. No squeeze of her hand or shift of his body when she practically crawls halfway into his lap in an attempt to capture his attention.

Nothing.

His brain is clearly still lost somewhere between the autobiography section and an existential crisis.

Minji's eyes narrow as she studies him. Then she follows his gaze.

Straight back to you.

Her jaw drops in offense when you send her a little wink. The confidence in her posture wavers beautifully. The most satisfying flicker of uncertainty you've perhaps ever witnessed.

You don't smile. Can't give away just how much you're enjoying the sweetness of this moment.

You simply hold her shaking gaze. Calm. Steady. Unblinking. Like a fucking madman. And also, you realize there's actually two fun ways to make someone squirm under your gaze.

With the little experience you have declaring war, you like to think that you're doing a pretty good job considering Minji can't seem to do anything but uselessly tighten her grip on Jisung's arm.

Your new mission is clear: if he refuses to acknowledge how horrible Minji really is, then you’ll just have to make him see how valuable he truly is.

:: 

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