✩ livie ✩

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back. 

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday. 

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

Because Mr. Loverboy was none other than Hwang Hyunjin himself, the cute art student on campus who somehow managed to date half of the people in his major. A weird flex, something he wasn’t exactly proud of but, the search for a soulmate was too serious of a business for him to dwell too much on the matter. His soulmate, his one and only love he wanted to grow old with, raise children and grandchildren in a big house next to a field full of colorful flowers he could walk to every morning to pick some. Not for himself, not anymore. For his sweetheart, the person he would never allow to wake up and face the day without a fresh bouquet on her nightstand, right next to a hot cup of coffee.  

Everyone wanted him as much as they wanted Mr. Loverboy yet, none of these many people seemed to want his only heart. Or maybe, he was the one not willing to give it away? But that would be silly since his heart was basically outside, unguarded on a silver platter right next to the little pink, fake mailbox that received concerns addressed to Mr. Loverboy daily. The ‘Lovebox’ he called it – silly and unoriginal for someone as creative as him – a place to store letters from people all around campus who were brave enough to ask for help about anything concerning their love lives.

You see, in the beginning, Hyunjin had no hope for this idea of his to take off, especially since the reason he started doing the column in the first place was also a bit selfish. Okay, it was completely selfish, but that’s a story for another day.

He needed another hobby to fill his time with and thought writing was the best one. Then, when he got bored of watching the same romance films, he needed another place to get his daily heart skips. And with a little bit of stirring here, a bit of snooping there, Ask Mr. Loverboy was born! What better way to witness real love than through real people, right?

Fast forward a year later, now the Lovebox was getting too many letters a day for a rebranding, so the cliché name (and color) had to stay, not like he minded too much after doing this for so long. They kind of became part of him, this little community he’s built and their soft, pastel pink aesthetic.

He felt like Barbie’s second cousin, less talented and smart but maybe just as pretty. Just maybe. 

However, what he minded right now was the previously mentioned best friend, Felix, and his new ‘great’ idea that was currently giving him a headache.

“What happened to ‘hi!’, ‘how are you, Hyunjin?’, ‘did you leave the house at all today?”

Felix shakes his head, barely listening as he looks through all the grocery bags he just came back with, searching for something. “I got this for you because I already know this is the first time you came out of your room today, Hyun.”

He…wasn’t wrong. But it’s not like Hyunjin was locked away in his room doing nothing! He was trying to help people, damn it! Not like Felix knew that nor could he ever find out about the fact that he was lowkey living a double life. Not that he didn’t trust him, it’s more like he didn’t trust himself in a way.

He just wasn’t ready to tell Felix, that was all. Maybe.

Leaning against the counter, still in his comfy pyjamas, Hyunjin peers over the opened bags, interest piqued. “What is it?”

Mumbling under his breath, a bit annoyed, Felix shuffles things around for a moment more before finally pulling out what he was looking for with the biggest smile. “Here!”

The book is shoved into Hyunjin’s hands before he can even realize what it is, the velvety material soft in his grasp. Looking down, he runs his palm over the cover before turning it around to read the title. His interest and slight excitement vanish on the spot.

“You can’t be serious, Yongbok.” Hyunjin can’t help but frown, making a face that only widened Felix’s grin. And who wouldn’t frown when the words ‘Love Magic’ were staring back at them, almost mockingly, like he was so hopeless he needed to resort to fake spell books to make someone love him? Was he such a loser in Felix’s eyes?

Coming closer, Felix takes the book and starts to look through it, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Come on! This is the best idea I’ve had all year!”

Hyunjin shakes his head, a little down in the dumps as he makes his way back into the living room with Felix in tow.

“It says right here: ‘Spellcraft makes love as easy as simply knowing the right words’!” Taking a seat, the blonde follows, still going on about his great idea as Hyunjin feels a headache coming in, quickly regretting the decision to leave his room more and more. “You’ve been going on all of these dates without anything coming out of them for a year now! Maybe it’s time for a different approach.”

“Oh, and witchcraft is the best next thing?” Hyunjin scoffs, reaching for the TV remote, anything to distract him.

“Totally!” Felix exclaims, not paying him any mind, as always. “This is legit stuff, Hyunjin. Let’s do it!”

He shakes his head, firmly rejecting the silly idea before putting on a random movie as he tries to ignore the way Felix’s face falls.

“Come on.” He nudges him, setting the book in his lap. “Don’t you want to find your soulmate? This book can help you do just that.”

Hyunjin sighs, deeply. “Felix, are we 12?”

“Could a 12-year-old come up with this amazing plan of mine?”

“Only a 12-year-old would have thought about doing love spells, so yes.” Hyunjin counters, not impressed while Felix just rolls his eyes.

He would love to say this wasn’t a normal occurrence, that their conversations were usually smart and normal but unfortunately, he can’t even lie about it. He and Felix were always doing random shit, strange even, fueled by the stress and exhaustion that came with their everyday lives, everything to escape it all. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but he didn’t think Felix was already that far gone, mind lost somewhere along the university’s many hallways.

They were both going to die alone, that’s for sure.

“We’re not doing love spells yet.” He takes hold of the book once again, quickly flipping through it before showing it to Hyunjin. “We can start with a simple potion.”

Hyunjin can’t help but snort, properly amused by his antics. “So, when you’re not dancing until your legs fall off in class, you’re doing alchemy on the side?”

His best friend smiles, happy he is slowly opening up to the silly idea. Felix wasn’t stupid, he knew nothing in this book was going to do anything, let alone bring along Hyunjin’s soulmate. But he’s been more closed off than usual, like his social battery ran out a month ago and never recharged.

He needed to bring back the usual, smiley Hyunjin before his face got stuck in an annoying frown for the rest of his life. If he let that happen, then he was really going to die alone.

“It’s my side hustle.” At that, they both laugh. “I even have an alchemy table and everything. I’m a pro.” Felix says, alluding to their kitchen island where he sometimes prepares alcoholic punch when they’re hosting the occasional party.

His care for him was endearing but the hidden concern in his eyes made Hyunjin feel bad, like he was a burden more than the fun roommate he got assigned to when they first started university. Granted, they weren’t sharing a minuscule dorm room anymore since they bought the apartment they currently lived in, but still, that didn’t mean he had the right to become a killjoy.

So, of course, he gave in, as expected. He could never say no to Felix.

“Fine.” He sighs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips to Felix’s delight. “But if your stupid potion makes me sick, I’ll cast a spell of my own and turn you into an ugly, green frog.”

He gasps, bringing the book to his chest. “Like the one from Rapunzel?”

It takes Hyunjin several moments to realize what his best friend is talking about. “That’s a chameleon?!”

The irony of this whole situation was that by the end of the week, Felix would indeed resemble a frog, green hair and everything. My God, Hyunjin has never seen a more obnoxious hair color. But somehow, his best friend manages to pull it off like nobody’s business, strutting around campus with utmost confidence. Felix was nothing if not confident in everything he did.

And you knew that too well since he was one of your best friends, the person you couldn’t help but adore a little too much. Unfortunately, the feeling was mutual, to Hyunjin’s annoyance. Not that you cared anyway – any opportunity to bring despair into Hwang Hyunjin’s life was a blessing sent from above in your eyes.

Because Hyunjin was the bane of your existence, the only person you could truly say you hated with every bone in your body. Okay, maybe not hate hate, strongly dislike at best but in your eyes, the feeling he awakened in you could only be described as hate. You couldn’t stand him, never were able to from the moment he opened his big, arrogant mouth back in middle school and snatched the spelling bee trophy right from under your nose. Or how years later, in your first year of high school, he deliberately cheated in front of your very eyes to assure he got the best grade on the exam which granted him the title of best student of the year, to your absolute fury.

That was supposed to be you! That title rightfully belonged to you, not to cheating and deceiving 15-year-old Hwang Hyunjin! Thank God you managed to one-up him and become valedictorian in your senior year because if things turned out differently, you swear you would’ve pushed him off that stage right into the mud below with no care regarding his pretty face!

Not like Hyunjin was pretty or anything, not in the slightest. Sure, maybe his face wasn’t the worst thing to look at but his personality spoiled it all for you. He was manipulative and too fucking soft for the real world, something that pissed you off beyond belief. Thinking he was all that and more, walking around like he was the most beautiful man in the world. Such a self-absorbed egocentric bitch.

You hated him. And there was no doubt in your mind he felt the same about you, all of these things from your childhood, up till teenagerhood piling up nicely like a brick wall between you two. An unbreakable one that stayed in place for years just to make sure you didn’t snap each other’s necks like it had a conscience of its own.

So yes, Hyunjin was only pretty when he shut up. Scratch that, he was only acceptable to look at when he stayed far, far away from you and didn’t try to rub his accomplishments in your face, bragging about how much better he was at everything.

So, by that same logic, right now he was absolutely hideous since he had the nerve to sit with you and your best friend at lunch like you were also best buddies or something.

Thankfully, the universe steered you in the complete opposite direction of him, hence the different majors. So why the fuck was he sitting right next to you, taking all of your oxygen?

Always so selfish, it seemed like you could never escape him.

Still, you managed to see the good in an otherwise horrible situation.

“Lix, I swear I thought you were joking!” You exclaim, reaching up to touch a freshly dyed lock of green hair, eyes wide. “This is insane. You are insane for being able to pull this off.”

Felix beams from ear to ear, leaning into your touch while Hyunjin only scoffs around his straw, making a point of looking away in favor of his phone. For once, he was the one who felt more miserable in your presence. Felix’s potion poisoned him, he was sure of it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You nod, ruffling his hair before he can stop you. “Good, because you’re hot as fuck.”

With a roll of his eyes, Hyunjin scoots his chair a bit to the left, away from you two as Felix manages to cage your wrists with one of his hands before tickling you with the other for messing up his hair. Your laughter makes one of his eyes twitch, blood pressure rising at an alarming rate while you and HIS best friend are giggling away in your own little world like he isn’t even here, invisible.

Something you don’t fail to notice even while distracted, smile getting wider. The pathetic way he was sulking in his seat, huffing and puffing like a child on the verge of a tantrum made his presence by your side more bearable. You were almost enjoying this, seeing Hyunjin this miserable and knowing you were the reason behind it.

Almost because you were still sane and under normal circumstances, you’d hate to make someone feel left out and ignored. But this was Hyunjin and your manners didn’t apply to him – they tended to fly out the nearest window when he was around. Not that you minded.

“How was your weekend?” Felix says softly after calming down, running a hand through the dyed hair, fingertips still slightly green. You always tell him to use gloves but for some reason, he never listens.

“Boring.” You shrug, stealing one of his fries. “Minghao is still out of the country so I’ve just been moping around in my room, missing him. I swear Sooyoung’s grown sick of me.”

Minghao was your boyfriend of two years and with your third-year anniversary just around the corner, you’ve been missing him a lot lately. You’ve known each other since high school but only started dating in university after getting drunk and making out at a frat party in your first year. Yeah, maybe the start of your relationship wasn’t something out of a fairytale, but the rest going forward certainly was. Everything from your first date, your first kiss and your first time sleeping together was absolutely magical, like something out of a movie.

For two years straight, your relationship was perfect. Minghao was kind and considerate, a loving boyfriend many could only dream of having. Dare say, he was even dreamier than Mr Loverboy himself, the anonymous heartthrob that’s mesmerized half of your campus with only his words alone. It was insane how many people just fell for this random guy they knew nothing about – not a name, a face, not even a brief description of his looks, the guy whose presence was summed up by the helpful advice he gave to students alike.

Even so, you liked him and weren’t against the idea of getting to know the person behind the persona, the hopeless romantic that you were sure was sunshine embodied. After Felix, of course.

Speaking of, that was the only difference between this stranger and your boyfriend. After the honeymoon phase ended, which lasted for a year, longer than everyone around you anticipated, Minghao just stopped putting in the effort. Sure, he was still loving and kind but that was about it. No more impromptu dates, romantic evenings with candle-lit dinners, or late-night walks on the beach where you talked about your deepest, darkest secrets. It almost felt like…he got bored of you. Which was a horrible thing to even think about since this was your lover, your confidant and best friend, but his distance was affecting your self-esteem in ways you didn’t think possible.

Distance in more ways than one since two weeks ago, he decided to take a trip to visit his parents and left you with a brief kiss and nothing more, not even bothering to look a little sad.

With him away, it felt like everything you’ve built for the past two years was slowly crumbling to the ground. And the worst part of it all, you felt powerless, not being able to move out of the way nor put the pieces back together. Either way, you were getting hurt whatever you tried to do, slowly getting buried in the memories and what once was your dream-like relationship.

That’s why you’ve been more restless than usual. You needed him back like yesterday, just so everything could fall into place.

Then you’ll be alright. You’ll even make him love you again, though you’re sure he didn’t stop.

The fire in him just needed to be ignited again.

“She isn’t the only one.” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath, now chewing on the plastic straw while scrolling through his phone and pulling you out of your depressing thoughts.

Still in a slight daze, you ignore him as does Felix who doesn’t seem to have heard him in the first place.

“You should’ve called.” He responds, ring-clad hand resting on top of yours in a show of comfort. “We could have done something fun, the four of us.”

You, him, Sooyoung and…Hyunjin of course. That’s what Felix meant by four. Bless his heart, he could never leave a stray out in the cold, no matter how pathetic and dirty he was.

Hyunjin fits that description to a T, right?

You see Hyunjin roll his eyes, displeased by Felix’s words and that’s when you finally snap, turning towards him to glare holes into his side profile while he still pretends he’s a complete angel.

“What the hell is your problem now, Hwang?”

He doesn’t even bother to look up when he responds. “You, always.”

You’re the one rolling your eyes now, missing the sigh Felix lets out as his hand never leaves yours. “Then just leave. Nobody is forcing you to be here.”

“Me?” He finally raises his gaze, glaring right back, phone forgotten. “This is the table I sit at every single day, and that” he pauses, pointing at Felix past you, “is my best friend. If someone has to get the fuck out, it’s you!”

Oh, now you’re seeing red. “I don’t see your stupid name on either of those things!” You huff, crossing your arms as you turn in your seat to face him, with Felix trying to calm the both of you down. “Felix and I are actually having fun, you’re the bitch ruining the vibe, so you should go!”

“Guys, come on, people are staring – “

And he’s right, not that you and Hyunjin notice, too busy glaring each other down like two preschoolers. You swear if looks could kill, both of you would be dead by now, face first on the table and finally giving Felix the quiet he deserves. And he deserves plenty of it, especially since he’s been reduced to an object you’re fighting over now, like two spoiled kids.

“You ruined everything the moment you came up to us!” Hyunjin fights back, all the muscles in his body tense as he remains in the same position as before. “I was enjoying myself before you showed up and started blabbering about your boring life! We get it, you’re a loser.”

You can’t help but gasp, completely offended. “How dare you!”

“Hyunjin.” Felix finally chimes in, looking at him over your shoulder, eyes sharp. “That was uncalled for – “

“Says the guy that can’t keep a relationship to save his life! Tell me, how’s that body pillow of yours doing? Still stinky and miserable?” Without meaning to but unable to stop yourself, you cut Felix off and scoot closer to Hyunjin who tries to act unphased by the fact that you’ve hit a sore spot.

And he succeeds as he smirks, also leaning closer to lower his voice. “Yet, I’m still having more sex than you, body pillow and all.”

That has Felix gasping this time, as taken aback as you are for the mere moments before shame and embarrassment set in. Your whole face warms up all the way down to your neck, blinking rapidly as you try to mask the shock on your face, to which Hyunjin responds smugly. Silver hair tied back in a tiny ponytail, he reaches to put some strands behind his ear before breaking eye contact, satisfied with the fact that he managed to render you speechless. Again.

Another victory goes to him, his tongue sharper than yours this time. Ugh, you want to strangle him until that stupid smirk and audacity completely vanish and never return! Stupid cheater manchild –

“Hyune!” You’re snapped out of your evil plans that involve closing Hwang’s eyes forever by a high-pitched voice and a body that suddenly plops into said man’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Without meaning to, you scoot back until your body meets Felix’s, one of his hands steadying you by the shoulder. You can’t see his face but you can tell he’s just as surprised by the new addition to your little group.

Does he recognize her?

“Oh, hi.” Hyunjin smiles, dimples and all like you weren’t at each other’s throats a moment ago. And she’s completely charmed by the time he wraps an arm around her waist for support, literal stars in her doe eyes. This makes her lean down to plant a kiss on his cheek and you can’t help but stare, almost enthralled by the whole scene.

She finally seems to notice you and Felix when she looks up again, blonde long hair falling perfectly down her back in the process. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Her eyes find him again, manicured hand massaging his undercut.

“Don’t be silly.” He shakes his head and then, both of his hands settle on her waist as he moves his body around in his seat, turning his surprisingly board back to you and Felix to get some privacy. Even so, you can still hear most of their conversation, the words ‘coming over’, ‘tonight’ and ‘baby’ confusing you beyond belief and almost making you sick.

Why would someone as pretty as her spend time with someone as hideous as Hyunjin, willingly? Was he bribing her? What the hell were you witnessing?

Felix starts massaging your shoulders and talking again when their conversation comes to an end and, to your utter shock, the girl leans down again to kiss his lips this time, her hair shielding the public display of affection from prying eyes just like yours. Though you can’t clearly see it, you can hear it, and your eyes widen twice their size as you try to not throw up right then and there, the scene too much for your brain to accept as reality.

Your best friend notices the way you suddenly tense up and leans over to look at you, concerned. An angel, as always, the complete opposite of the asshole he shared a home with.

This, right here, was another reason why you hated Hyunjin. The way he played around with people’s feelings like they were a ball of yarn and he, a cat, was absolutely disgusting. Especially when he got bored and abandoned said person carelessly, leaving them all disheveled on the floor while he moved on to the next, newer toy.

Disgusting and vile, a person unworthy of love and support who played with others while simultaneously letting them walk all over him. A bit of a paradox, right? Still, it described your childhood rival better than any words could.

Finally managing to tear your gaze away, you clear your throat, uncomfortable while trying to fool Felix into thinking you’re fine. It doesn’t work, but before he can question you further, you spot your roommate at the other end of the cafeteria and relief floods you instantly.

“Sooyoung!” With that, you stand up, hug Felix goodbye and hurry off without noticing the way Hyunjin’s eyes open with interest.

A moment later, when you’re completely gone, Hyunjin finally pulls away from the girl who’s actually disappointed to his delight. “Don’t pout, pretty.” He coos lowly, wiping the smudged lipstick with their combined saliva from her plump lips. “We have all night.”

Her face lights up and that’s all it takes to convince her to leave, standing up from her comfy seat with little complaint. “See you later, baby.”

And with that, she’s on her merry way and Hyunjin can finally breathe again.

“You’re disgusting.” Felix says, softly slapping the back of his head and taking him by complete surprise. “I swear if you get cum on the new couch, I’m throwing you out in the street and burning your paintings.”

Hyunjin laughs, throwing his head back though he doesn’t know if it’s from amusement or actual terror. His best friend never made promises he couldn’t keep.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

That same night you decide to stop moping around and with some coaxing from Sooyoung, leave your dorm and make your way back to campus only this time, on the opposite end of where your classes usually take place. The building the art majors frequent is more intimidating than expected, tall and imposing, and not as welcoming as its students, almost making you turn around and run back into your comfy bed.

But, you’re already here so might as well do what you’ve signed up for. Can’t let that opportunity go to waste, after all. That and you’re pretty sure Sooyoung will throw you out in the street if you return earlier than expected, ready to lecture you about your tardiness for hours to come. You knew she meant well but her delivery could do with some work because even when she was concerned, she somehow managed to sound mad.

See, in that regard, Felix was her complete opposite. How you managed to befriend both of them and get the best of both worlds as some would say was beyond you.

You haven’t known her for long, Sooyoung, but in the short year you’ve lived together, your roommate has already managed to occupy a special place in your guarded heart. She was bubbly and cheerful and an overall delight to be around but she could also be blunt and direct when time called for it, not afraid to speak her mind in any situation. 

In a way, you saw a lot of yourself in her so maybe that’s the reason you clicked so well in the first place. You liked the fact that she could stand up for herself, that she was always honest and told you not what you wanted to hear but what you needed. Sooyoung was a force to be reckoned with and you loved and admired her for it.

As did your other best friend, the one you grew up with, Seungmin, who was too afraid to admit it even to himself. But that is a story for another time. You’ve been trying to play Cupid for them for months now, and all of your attempts have failed to your great disappointment.

For a person who’s been in love for years now, you felt powerless in front of their predicament. How hard could it be, truly, to bring people together? Mr Loverboy does it all the time, surely you can also help your two best friends realize they’re head over heels in love with each other, right?

Maybe after this class, you’ll go and try again. You were no quitter.

Most of the time, anyway.

Checking your phone once again, it doesn’t take you long to find the atelier at the end of the hall whose door is wide open, welcoming you warmly. That makes you slightly less nervous so you stroll in with a small smile, scanning the surroundings for a free seat. Thankfully, you don’t have to search for long because a saving grace appears out of nowhere.

“Y/n! Over here!”

Looking over, your eyes find none other than Han Jisung, the popular music major who hangs out with Felix (and the one you don’t want to think about anymore for today). Birds of a feather flock together, so of course, Felix’s entire friend group was popular and crazy attractive. You couldn’t help but wonder if you fit any of those criteria in his eyes. Probably not.

Dressed casually in black, baggy pants and a white t-shirt, Jisung waves you over enthusiastically until you finally take the seat next to him. All of the chairs in the room were placed in a semi-circle, each with a small, low table in front with no potter’s wheel in sight besides the one on what you assumed to be the professor’s desk. 

The place was huge, with all the wooden furniture looking worn out and almost ancient. There were shelves against every wall, besides the one behind you that was all windows, with ceramic creations everywhere, in different shades of beige or even white. Some were half done but still proudly displayed while others even missing a handle or a big chunk of them, making it hard for you to understand what they were supposed to be. 

Big fairy lights hung from the ceiling and along with the clutter in every corner and the paint splashes, the room came together nicely, bringing you a strange sense of comfort. It looked like every artist's dream but that was the thing - you were nowhere near being one. You couldn’t paint, draw, or sculpt; hell, your major had nothing to do with the arts either.

Still, something made you choose this class as an elective for the semester, sounding like a good break from your usual boring, migraine-inducing ones from your major.

Seems like Han Jisung had the same idea.

“Hi.” You smile, setting your bag down at the foot of your chair. “I’m going to be honest, you were the last person I expected to run into in a place like this.”

Jisung laughs, full cheeks making him resemble a squirrel. “I could say the same thing about you. I didn’t know Shakespeare allowed you guys to have other hobbies.”

Shakespeare because you are a literature major and Jisung hasn’t opened a book since fifth grade. You’ve been friends for more than a year now and he’s still making this joke every chance he gets and you, like the amazing friend you are, continue to not laugh each time.

This was the nature of your relationship.

You roll your eyes, convinced Jisung thought he was the funniest man in the room right now. “Oh, yes, because destroying guitars on stage and pottery go hand in hand.”

“I mean,” He shrugs, tilting his chair back, “it’s not like I wanted to be here in the first place.”

“Then why are you?”

He pauses like he isn’t sure himself, your question making him frown in contemplation. Jisung wasn’t stupid nor did he ever do something he didn’t want to so, the answer he gave was completely out of character. It’s like his mouth was faster than his brain for once and betrayed his true feelings, leaving him vulnerable in front of your questioning gaze.

A deer caught in headlights that was able to hide his surprise exceptionally well.

That’s why, you have a feeling he’s not completely honest when he speaks again. “I was bored.”

This time, you’re the one giggling. “Right. Because your rockstar lifestyle is just so monotone, Ji.”

The life of a music major was mostly parties left and right, especially for a popular student like Jisung. He was in a well-known music group after all, there was just no way he couldn’t find something else to do on a Thursday night.

Grinning, you notice the slight uncertainty in his demeanor, proving your hypothesis correct. Something was going on with him - you just hoped it wasn’t anything serious that you had to worry about. 

“Even rockstars need a break here and there.” Then, whatever was bothering him vanishes as he changes the subject. “Speaking of, we’re throwing a party next week and I won’t take no as an answer this time, Y/n!”

Just as you’re about to speak, a new presence waltzes in and all the buzzing in the room comes to a halt as you realise who it is. A smile tugs the corners of your lips upwards when your eyes fall on him - a small, older man with glasses larger than his head and white hair shuffles over to the big desk that almost makes him disappear once he settles behind it. The professor looks like a grandpa straight out of a Ghibli movie, adorable and warm-hearted, and by the look you share, Jisung has the same thought.

You have never seen him before, which is to be expected since you rarely wander to this part of campus but from what you’ve read online, Mr. Park is renowned for his art pieces. This sweet, old man was a jack of all trades in the art world, spectacular at everything he put his mind to. You’ve only caught a glimpse of his paintings - which lived up to their title of masterpieces - so you couldn’t wait to see what else he can create in this class.

With a small, almost shy smile, he introduces himself, voice laced with honey and sunshine that brightens up the whole room despite the darkness outside, helping everyone get rid of any remaining nerves. You can tell that he’s already well-liked, even by Jisung who stumbled in here for no apparent reason. 

This is exactly what you needed, a sanctuary you could escape to once a week and forget all about your worries and crumbling love life. Here’s hoping this atmosphere will continue to bring you peace throughout the semester and that nothing will ruin it.

After, with his hunched back, Mr. Park makes his way over and gives one of the students at the other end of the semi-circle a piece of paper for attendance.

When said paper finally reaches your corner of the room, it dawns on you how many people actually signed up for this class. The list of names was so long, that there was barely any space for your own. 

“Do you want me to write your name as well?” You ask, busily writing yours. Jisung shakes his head and waits patiently before taking both the paper and your pen to do so himself, slightly shielding it from view which you think nothing of. Boys were weird at any age.

When he’s done, Jisung passes the paper to the remaining students before the lesson starts. Then, for the next two hours, Mr. Park goes on and on about the history of pottery, picking several things from the shelf behind him to explain every detail with great enthusiasm. It’s endearing for the first 20 minutes but then everyone’s attention starts to slip, thoughts wandering elsewhere, most likely to an activity that wasn’t so monotone. Jisung almost falls asleep at some point, arms crossed over his chest as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

You’re a bit disappointed as it all begins to resemble one of your usual lectures, a long and boring monologue that you’re stuck listening to for three hours straight. Just like everyone else in this room, you were hoping for a more interactive class, one that would stimulate your imagination and bring forth your creativity.

Though that doesn’t happen, in the last 10 minutes, Mr. Park seems to pick up on the change in mood and finally moves on to show the potter wheel, explaining every mechanism and demonstrating how to turn it on and off safely. Not like there was too much danger to begin with, but everyone appreciates the sentiment.

After exactly two hours on the clock, the old professor stops talking and wishes you all a good night, expressing his excitement regarding your future collaboration. It’s sweet he doesn’t treat you any differently when the majority of the people who signed up for his class aren’t even art majors, students he teaches on a daily basis. That shows he genuinely wants to spread the beauty of art to everyone, despite their career paths and talent (or lack of).

Overall, the experience is an enjoyable one though you hope that next week, you will finally start doing pottery and not just listen about it. You’d hate to drop this class and have to listen to Seungmin give you his infamous ‘i told you so’ speech. Your head hurts just by thinking about it, an unpleasant shiver running down your spine.

“Hey.” Jisung snaps you out of your impending doom with an arm around your shoulders, smiling. “Let’s walk back together.”

You agree without thinking, a smile also making its way onto your face as you reach for your bag and the coat you discarded sometime during the lesson. The room is buzzing again, though you can tell everyone isn’t as energetic anymore as you and Jisung leave it all behind without a second glance.

Since you’re both going in the same direction, the walk back to your dorm is full of laughter and joy as you catch up to what’s been happening in each other’s lives lately. Jisung tells you about his last show and how he finally managed to do a crowd dive and you promise to be there for the next one, wanting to see it with your own eyes. Not like you don’t believe him but Han Jisung wasn’t anything if not an over-the-top storyteller. Maybe that’s why his songs were so good.

You part ways in front of your building, with him reminding you of that previously mentioned party again and pleading with you to convince Seungmin to attend as well like you already agreed to be there in his head. With a laugh, you wave him off, thinking of a plan to escape the whole thing that will also fool Felix. That was going to be a hard one, the most difficult quest of them all.

Jisung then turns around to make his way to his own dorm and as you finally reach the room you and Sooyoung shared, your phone rings. 

The caller id knocks all the air out of your lungs with the brief look you take at it before answering.

“Babe!” You exclaim, happiness overflowing your senses as you enter the room, letting your bag fall to the ground without care. “Hi! How are you? How is everyone there? I miss you!”

To your utter delight, Minghao laughs on the other end, the sound soothing your wounded heart. 

“Easy, easy, butterfly. One thing at a time.”

And just like that, your faith is restored with a simple pet name, finally believing everything will be alright. You two will be alright, you’re sure of it. 

“Sorry.” You giggle, leaning against the door with a lovesick smile that hasn’t found solace on your face in a long while. “I just…really, really miss you.”

Your boyfriend sighs, most likely sensing the unshed tears that want to be let free in your tone alone. “I miss you too, beautiful. That’s one of the reasons I called after all. I needed to hear your sweet voice.”

It’s like someone injected small doses of excitement into your veins with every minute that passes, increasing your happiness in exchange for the air in your lungs. Straightening your back, the wooden door feels almost pleasant against your clothed skin which keeps the cold away. Grounding even. Safe, like it’s got your back.

“What’s the other reason?” Your voice is small but hopeful, ears straining to hear every intake of breath on the other end, wanting to catch every little detail that could tell you anything about his current mood.

Another sigh but your confidence doesn’t falter, already convinced nothing bad could happen at this point. I mean, what could be worse than your situation now? You’re already hundreds of miles away from each other, separated by a whole sea. Nothing can make you feel worse than this.

“I’ve been thinking…” That’s never a good sign. You see, Minghao never just thinks about stuff - he overthinks them to the point of driving himself and by default, you, insane. “I - God, I thought this would be easier than this.”

Choosing to ignore the other half of his sentence, you kick your shoes off before letting your head rest against the door. “About what, baby?”

He hesitates, and you can tell he’s currently stuck with his mouth half open and one hand tangled in his long black hair, struggling to find the right words. Or maybe, just struggling to let them out.

“We need to take a break, Y/n.”

That’s when your whole world seems to stop spinning, eyes widening right before your head collides with the wood once again only this time, louder and harder. But the only pain you feel is still the one in your slowing heart, wounds reopening and creating an even bigger hole like they never closed, to begin with. “What?”

You can’t mumble any other word, too stunned to react in accordance to the explosion that is currently taking place in your mind. A break? Weren’t you already on a ‘break’ anyway, since he wasn’t even here to play the role of your boyfriend? Did he hate you this much that he needed even more space from you? Wasn’t a big body of water enough, did he now need to push you out of his heart for good too?

The systems are failing, alarms going off. What button do you need to press to restart the whole day and take another route to prevent your boyfriend from punching you right in the gut? Could you even prevent this, were you given another chance?

“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing he says, voice small and quiet, echoing in your head almost like you’re the one saying it over and over again. Over and over until you’re driving yourself mad, convinced it’s all your fault. “I just can’t do this right now. It’s me, not you. Never you.”

But by now, you can barely hear him, sliding down the door slowly while your head feels like it’s submerging underwater. Everything he’s ever told you echoes in your mind, all of the sweet words of love and encouragement along with the bad floating around in small bubbles. You’re underwater but somehow, you can still breathe just fine. However, it’s too dark for your eyes to see anything other than your own body.

It’s never you but in reality, it’s always you. You’re always the problem. The one that’s never good enough for anyone to fight for, to keep in their lives.

Why now? Why after all these years? You knew your relationship wasn’t perfect, but which relationship was? You were willing to work through it all with him right before he left, running away from everything and everyone that didn’t walk to the beat of his own drum. That wasn’t fair at all. Minghao gets to go somewhere, away from his problems and instead of taking you with him, he creates even more for you while also dumping his on your shoulders. 

You knew he wouldn’t have been able to ask for a break to your face. Everything was easier when you were disconnected from the other, when the plug was pulled and you didn’t have to witness any of their pain. With him away, once this phone call was over he could act like this conversation didn’t even happen and that what you were feeling wasn’t even real. Object permanence sadly applied to people as well. What you can’t see, doesn’t exist. Who you can’t touch, can’t break down and hurt.

“Y/n?” His voice sounds like it’s calling to you from a distance, muffled. 

You don’t do anything to come back to the surface and hear him more clearly. But you do speak.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry.” He says again and you almost believe him. “I just think we should separate for a while. To find ourselves again.”

Find yourself? But you weren’t lost nor did you lose your sense of identity. Why would you want to fix something that wasn’t broken?

“I thought…we could work it all out.” You say, voice barely above a whisper.

And then, one of his hands reaches for you. “And we will!” However, it doesn’t manage to pull you up.

“Together.” You clarify and he goes quiet, sighing again like your pain was the biggest imposition for him.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” 

Then, he hangs up and you’re left all by yourself, sinking more and more as your ears start to ring, full of water. It’s quiet as your hand falls to the side, phone tumbling from your hold to the wooden, cold floor, next to your shoes. 

You feel numb, eyes glued to the window and the darkness outside that managed to creep not only into your room but your heart as well. But despite being in pain, there’s no sign of tears. Even if your limbs feel ten times heavier as you keep sinking, you’re still dry.

Funny were the consequences that came with loving someone else more than you loved yourself. Hilarious, and you didn’t even get to the punch line.

Without thinking, you suddenly stand and push through the dizziness until you reach your desk and open both of the drawers. When your hand comes in contact with a cold envelope, you gasp quietly as a sudden gush of air rushes into your lungs, almost knocking you off your feet. Slowly lowering yourself into your fluffy desk chair, a few tears escape and roll down your cheeks shyly, like they too were afraid of imposing. For a few moments, everything hurts as you set the pink envelope face down on the desk and let your head fall next to it, exhausted.

For the first time in your life, you were glad Sooyoung wasn’t here. 

You don’t allow yourself to cry for long because it isn’t over, there’s still more fight left in you. Even if your last resort is dumb and silly, something Seungmin will scold you over without second thought, you were still hopeful. 

Because you were finally going to let someone in on your deepest feelings, emotions that tried to crawl their way out of your chest every single day to no avail.

And what better person to listen to it all than a complete stranger, right? 

Maybe he will be willing to work it out with you, tears and all. You can’t sit back and watch it all crumble to the ground anymore like your life wasn’t yours to begin with - like you were some sort of spectator unable to do anything.

You’ve already got your happy ending - you can’t let it slip through your fingers without fighting back!

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

The very next day, you’re up before the sun has a chance to rise, tossing and turning in your bed until your alarm goes off and wakes up Sooyoung who groans and chucks a pillow at you.

Wholesome mornings with your roommate were your absolute favorite. Nothing could beat them.

After a very thorough morning routine and a quick run to the nearest coffee shop, Sooyoung chooses to accompany you to campus, arms linked as you guide her to your first class of the day. The perks of sharing a major with your roommate were endless. 

“It’s so cold!” She yawns, the caffeine in her system not kicking in yet. “They should cancel class when the weather gets in the negative.”

You nod, only half of your attention on her complaining. The other was focusing on staying warm, hands tightening on the coffee cup. “Morning classes should just be banished altogether. I see no point in having to be out and about when the sun hasn't woken up yet.”

But the sun was waking up, slowly creeping on the pale blue sky and bringing life back into it while making your breaths even more visible. It was a cold morning, one that most people would rather spend in bed, cuddling the hours away with their beloved to keep each other warm. A luxury you no longer possessed, something so small and normal in other’s eyes that was brutally taken away from you.

The campus was almost deserted, with a few people here and there who could barely keep their eyes open, sharing your unfortunate fate as they too had to drag themselves out of bed for education. Not only that but with it being so early, a thin layer of ice was still covering the pathways to all the departments and adding to your misery.

Snuggling closer to your friend, you hide your face up to your eyes in the big, fluffy scarf that was wrapped around your neck. A matching one Sooyoung chose not to wear this morning, claiming it couldn’t be that cold. Wrong as always, her intuition never worked in her favour, which prompted you and Seungmin to often joke around and say she was cursed. That would certainly explain her poor luck.

“Alright, princess. Anything for you.” She winks and you can’t help but laugh, the action causing a small cloud of air to form in front of your face, like a veil covering you from view.

Reaching the huge statue you walk by every day, that was right in the heart of campus, you pull Sooyoung to an abrupt stop and skip right around it to the small, pink mailbox placed by the rose bushes that were always in full bloom in spring, slipping a letter inside.

“What was that?” She asks, raising a curious eyebrow while taking another sip of her hot beverage. 

You shake your head, carefully walking back to her to make sure you won’t slip. “Nothing.”

“No-uh, I saw that and it didn’t look like nothing to me.” 

Rolling your eyes, you reach for her arm again before she takes a step back, shaking her head, still waiting for an answer. Exasperated, you huff and cross your arms. “Come on, Sooyoung! It was just a silly letter, that’s all.”

Her eyes widen as a sudden spark appears in them, dark brown eyes resembling two precious gems. “You wrote to Mr Lovervboy without me?! Oh, the betrayal! You should have told me!”

“What?” Now you’re confused. “Why?”

That was not the reaction you expected from her at all. In the past, Sooyoung didn’t shy away from letting everyone know how she felt about this ‘loverboy’ and his, and I quote, “stupid column that tries to paint love as this wonderful fairytale where the sun always shines and everything sparkles.” She was firmly convinced that Loverboy only wrote about love in the way he did because he never experienced it but you chose to ignore her cynicism, too fascinated to care.

“Why?” She asks like she can’t believe you didn’t realise her intentions. “Because he sounds like a dream come true! I want to ask him out, duh!”

Well, that was new.

Head tilted slightly to the side, you look at her and try to decipher the sudden change. “That’s not what you said last time, though.”

“Details, details.” Sooyoung waves you off, her breath visible. “Can’t a girl change her mind? I don’t relate to the person I was one year ago - she made an error of judgment, forgive the poor fool.”

Amused, you move to pinch her cold cheek before asking. “But what about Seungmin?”

She gasps. “Wait, you think he is Mr Loverboy?”

A pause followed by a prolonged moment of silence as you both stare at each other, unmoving before bursting into laughter at the same time. Seungmin was the true definition of an anti-romantic in your eyes so even thinking about him possibly being someone who called themselves Loverboy was just hilarious. It’s not that he didn’t want to be loved, he most certainly did, especially by the girl you were currently laughing with - he just had a hard time expressing such emotions.

Or so you thought. You were his best friend, after all, not his therapist. There were a lot of people who wanted his attention and the crowd of girls coming to watch him practice every day attested to that. The audience was always packed with his fangirls on game days, bleachers full of people coming to support him and squealing over his looks.

Seungmin might not be Mr Loverboy but he still made everyone he encountered fall for him with a smile alone, his subtle charm working in mysterious ways.

You guys stop laughing, taking a moment to catch your breaths but the laughter doesn’t fade away and as you turn around to check, curious, your eyes land on the last person you wanted to see so early in the morning.

Hwang Hyunjin is a few feet away, laughing away with a group of snobby art kids he so happened to share a major with. He hasn’t noticed you yet so that gives you the perfect opportunity to walk away right now but for some reason, your gaze lingers on the way the peeking sun rays caress his side profile, tenderly kissing his unblemished skin.

He’s dressed in all black, with a long, fancy coat and pants alike, the only pop of color coming from the yellow beanie that covers his silver hair. A beanie that makes him look like a dumbass, in your opinion. 

What steals your attention away from the obnoxious laugh, is his company. The group surrounding him, all four of them, are people you’ve heard talk about Hyunjin behind his back on multiple occasions and none of their words were positive. They were nasty and vile but knowing him, he already knew all of it. Hyunjin knew all of the insults they threw his way, back full of little daggers that were only digging themselves deeper into his skin as time passed.

But for some reason, he didn’t care. He never did, even as you were growing up. You remember it so clearly, almost like it happened yesterday and not 15 years ago.

You were both in second grade, innocent kids with an unmatched love for life and all the people around you. You were also friends, having fun together and playing every day during recess and after school at your house or his, depending on which parent came to pick you up. However, not everyone found Hyunjin as nice and endearing as you did.

Eight-year-old Hwang Hyunjin, who was soft-spoken and smiled the brightest while drawing or during arts and crafts, got pushed around and made fun of every day just for being himself. Other kids would push him off his swing during recess or go as far as steal his lunchbox from right under his nose, just as he was about to eat and all the dainty boy did was smile sadly and look down, not reacting in any other way. Of course, as expected, that made you angry and that’s why you had countless stories about getting into fights on his behalf before you reached high school.

He was such a nice boy, so kind and always jumping at the opportunity to help someone in need so their behaviour towards him made no sense to you. But neither did Hyunjin’s behaviour towards his bullies, especially when, not only did he not react to the cruel words thrown his way, but he also was the first to offer a helping hand when they were in trouble.

Looking back at when you confronted him about it, right after getting into another fight just to stand up for him on the playground, all he said was “They don’t mean it, Y/n. They just never learned how to express themselves and their emotions. Can’t you see they’re sad?” That was your breaking point but also the moment your relationship went cold. The moment you gave up on Hyunjin and went home with scratches and blood on your knees and palms, crying all the way there until the very next day.

He’s always had this thing of showing compassion to the people who didn’t deserve it in the slightest, the ones who were hanging around him because they wanted something. Never to you, his friend. You never had that privilege, especially after your friendship ended and turned into a rivalry that would go on for years until the present time.

“Hello? Earth to Y/n?” Sooyoung waves a hand in front of your face and you finally blink, just in time to see that Hyunjin was staring at you as well. His laugh finally vanishes and he frowns, raising a curious eyebrow in your direction that might as well say “What the hell do you want?” Every single part of his body was hostile when it came to you, it seemed.

You look at him and for a moment he morphs into that cute kid you used to have pillow fights with, hiding from your parents just so you’ll get a little bit more time together. But then he disappears in the blink of an eye and you can’t help but glare, eyes sharp and turning into another two daggers meant to hurt him.

“Oh, great. It’s Hwangwhore.” Sooyoung shakes her head and reaches for your arm, coaxing you to follow her and walk away. “Let’s go before he starts telling people you’re in love with him or something stupid like that just for staring.”

Under normal circumstances, you would have done just that but now it looks like neither of you wants to back down and lose the glaring war. As Sooyoung drags you away, your head remains turned to the side, eyes glued to his as he continues to glare at you like he just found out you murdered his entire family. Unconsciously, his tongue slips past his lips to wet them and that’s when you stick out yours and make a face at him.

The gasp he lets out reaches your ears, his shock causing you to giggle and finally look away and move along, dragging Sooyoung in the process. You can hear him say something to his friends but by the point you do, you’re already too far away to decipher what, nor that you care either way.