13TS

Entering the music room, I see Yoongi’s already inside. He’s playing a very beautiful melody on the piano with his back facing me. He plays it like a professional—something even me can’t do. I never heard of a piece like this. A piece that even Beethoven, Chopin, and Liszt would wish they could also play—an exaggeration, of course. Even with my annoyance towards him, I can’t help but feel fascinated as I watch.

Then suddenly, he stops. “Are you gonna stand there all day?”

He pops the ‘balloon of admiring’ with his cold and grounded voice. I almost melted with how sweet the melody is. Almost. Until he lets his grumpy mouth speak, reminding me of who’s playing it.

How can someone so bitter, play the sweetest melody?

I clear my throat, striding towards him. “I was just waiting for you to finish,” I reply with the same indifference.  

Yoongi stands up, taking the piano sheets and shoving it in his bag before facing me. “Wait here,” is all he says before leaving me again.

What’s his deal now?I put my bag down on the floor, sighing as I feel annoyed. After a few more moments, he comes back with a radio cassette recorder, making me frown in confusion.

Vintage.

“What’s this for?”

“For our music, what else?”

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm—though it makes sense.

I stand idly on the side as I watch him turn on the gadget and put the cassette tape inside. The silence is rather awkward than peaceful. I guess this happens when there’s tension between two people. 

But still, I keep myself quiet, knowing he might just ignore whatever I say—and I definitely won’t give him that satisfaction.

Yoongi clears his throat as he turns to me. “Have you thought of the steps?”

“Of course,” I say, taking out a small notebook from my backpack. “For the simple parts, I have Left Box turn, Change step, Balance step, hmm…Turning Rock. Then, to level it up a little, Face to Face, and Ladies Underarm turn. We can repeat some of the steps until the song ends.” I click my tongue as I look back at him. “I haven’t thought of the arrangements of the steps because you might have a suggestion. Thoughts?”

He holds out his hand, blankly looking at me. I furrow my brows, and out of confusion, I give my hand.

“The notebook, dullard.” He sharply removes his hand from me, putting it down. I look down in shame, and I catch his fingers curl slightly as if the touch has disgusted him too much. He puts his hand on his back when he notices that I’m looking. “The notebook?” he asks again, reaching out with his other hand.

I give it to him and he annoyingly snatches it. From his pocket, he takes out his pen and starts writing. I stay quiet as he writes, stealing glances from time to time. After a moment or so, he gives it back to me.

I read what he writes, amused by it. He arranges the steps I’ve listed, making a complete choreography.

“I added Tuck turn, Wrap, and Unwrap in that sequence as a combo,” he says, rubbing his nape.

“But won’t I be dizzy in that?”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll guide you.”

As if I’ll need it. 

“Forget it. I can manage.” I give him a smile—of course a fake one. “Let’s start then.” I take out my cotton gloves from my pocket and wear them. Although my hands sweat easily in closed spaces, I bring them just to spite him. 

“What is that for?”

“Well, I…” I clear my throat, smugly looking up at him. “I figured that since you hate me so much, you’re allergic to me. So, here.” I keep a smile as I watch his brows furrow.

“Drop it, Y/n.”

“What? I’m doing us both a favor.”

“Stop being childish,” he says with gritted teeth.

I huff. “Me? Childish? You’re the one who started this dispute. And I tell you what, the feeling is very much mutual.” I smirk, stepping closer. “I hate you.”

“Huh.” His brows twitch and a mocking grin spreads across his face as he crosses his arms. “I hate you more. I hate you more than you can ever think.”

“Nuh-uh. I hate you a thousand more.”

He snorts as he shakes his head. Then as he looks back at me, he leans his face a little closer. “You might beat me at other things, but you can’t beat me when it comes to hating you.”

“You can never be sure, Yoongi. I might beat you in that too.”

Our smirks fades, leaving a look of disdain towards each other.

“I really really hate you,” he says firmly.

“I do too. I hate you so much.”

A second passes by and he holds out his hand once again. “Let’s dance.” He pulls back as he sighs. “Your hand? We’re wasting time instead of practicing.”

“And whose fault is that,” I mutter under my breath as I disdainfully put my hand on his, keeping the gloves on.

He scoffs, reaching for the recorder to play the tape. “I’ll count along with the song. You know the steps, right?”

Why does he have to lead me? 

Regardless of my pride, I keep myself quiet and nod.

“Okay…” He sighs and presses the play button. Soon, the song starts. “One… Two… Three. One… Two… Three. One… Two…”

>>>

“AH!” I yelp when he steps on me once again. “It hurts!” I crouch down to check my foot.

“You’re dramatic. You stepped on me thrice, I didn’t complain.”

“Oh you didn’t?” I huff. “Maybe because I don’t weigh like a thousand pounds!” I bite back, standing up again. “Why does she have to partner me with you…” I mutter.

He huffs out a laugh, obviously hearing it. “Everyone would die to be my partner.”

“Yeah.” I snort. “With your dance skills? They’d in fact die.”

“Hush, you’re the one who stepped on me thrice,” he repeats, making me laugh like a maniac.

“Simply because you keep doing the wrong step! How can something simple like this be so hard for you?”

“It’s not hard for me.” He scoffs. “I-I’m just distracted.”

“From what? It’s just the two of us.”

“I—uhm. I’m hungry. My stomach’s growling,” he says, his face going red.

I look at him deadpan, not expecting his excuse to be so shallow. “Fine. Let’s just go home. It’s getting late too.”

“Good call.” He nods in agreement as he rubs the back of his neck.

“But you better be in your best shape tomorrow. We’re so left behind.”

He nods again as his response. I guess he ran out of words from his vocabulary.

I roll my eyes as I take my bag. I don’t wait for him and leave completely, not even caring the slightest. 

As soon as I get home, I see Taehyung playing a videogame with Jungkook in the living room.

“How did it go?” Taehyung asks teasingly.

“Awful.” 

“Really?”

“What did you expect? I’m partnered with him.” I huff as I plop myself on the couch.

“Exactly, you’re partnered with him.” As he glances at me, he winks.

By the mention of it, I’m reminded of how nervous I was the first moments I danced with him. How his smell was even more intoxicating up close. And how soft his voice was when guiding me.

Though, it only happened in the first few moments. The atmosphere completely changed when I stepped on his foot.

I shake my head, shuddering at the memory. “Still awful.”

“Who’s what?” Jungkook butts in.

“No one.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at me. He doesn’t like it when he’s not part of conversation, an easy way to rile him up. “I’m gonna tell dad you have a boyfriend.”

“Then tell him his name is Kim Taehyung.”

The two frown at me, making me smirk. If I tell our dad that I’m dating Taehyung, he surely won’t be around here anymore soon. A fine leverage for them.

Honestly, I sometimes wonder who Taehyung's best friend actually is. I’m starting to think he befriended me to play with my brother.

“I’m so tired,” I yawn loudly, annoying them more. “I’m off to sleep. Don’t let him play too much, Taehyung-ah,” I say as I stand up, and he nods as a response. 

“You’re not the boss!” Jungkook shouts, but I’m already making my way to my room. 

The second I step foot in my room, I change my clothes to my sleeping wear. I’m too tired to eat, or study—or even wash my face and brush my teeth. Besides, I won’t lose my teeth right away if I miss one night.

I throw myself on my bed, inhaling the sweet chemical scent of it.

I wish this smells like him…

“What…?! Eugh!” I shudder at the thought that suddenly came to me. “I better sleep before I lose my mind.”

(MYG POV)

Her hand was soft… Much smaller than mine… But somehow sits perfectly on it.

‘Ring! Ring!’ The sound of my timer cuts my thoughts off, waking me from it.

“What asininity am I thinking?” I shake my head in disgust, hoping those thoughts would get out of my mind. An hour has passed since I started the timer, making me realize how much time I wasted. I’ve been staring at my hand that I have completely ignored my study notes in front of me.

“It was… One. Touch.” I breathe in deeply, calming my nerves. “Get it together.”

Despite getting sleepy, I force myself to review my notes, but the closeness we had earlier has altered my brain. How come all I’m thinking right now is how she looked being so close to me? How she couldn’t keep her eyes on me. And how I couldn’t either.

Next

“Gosh, he’s the worst,” I groan as I roll off my bed to get a slice of pizza Taehyung brought.

Jimin and Taehyung are hanging out at our house right now. They’re simply keeping me company since Jungkook still hasn’t come home, but who am I to complain? One is my best friend, the other is my seatmate. There’s not much difference between them: both get under my nerves.

But not as much as Yoongi. A person whom I barely know yet I can already list a hundred of beautiful awful things about. 

“Who?” Taehyung asks, wiping off the hot sauce on his lips.

Jimin laughs and taps our friend. “Oh, I forgot to tell you about him.” Still laughing. “A guy in our class—no, not just any guy. Our class president-slash-captain in our school’s basketball team-slash-leader of Ambitious Representative MC for Youth-and slash-a musical genius Min Yoongi, is making it his life goal to act indifferently around her.”

“Ooh, like annoying her? ‘Cause we’d be the best of friends if that’s the case.” Taehyung laughs as he high-fives Jimin.

“Yeah… No,” Jimin clarifies. “But bet, Y/n wishes that he’d annoy her like you do.”

I stare at Jimin, raising a brow as I do. “What are you trying to imply?”

He rolls his eyes at me as if the answer is literally in front of us but I choose to ignore. “I’m not an idiot. I saw how you look at him. You like him.”

Caught red-handed, I tear my gaze away from him. I’m such a bad actress when it comes to lying about these things. “I-I, uh… What do you mean? That’s not—Ew! What?! Gross. That’s… absurd. Like, me and him—”

“You said everything but ‘no’...” Taehyung cuts me off. “So you do like him.” A grin slowly creeps on his face, but it drops suddenly. “Wait, then—you’re not gay? I mean, I’d totally unde—”

I throw a pillow at him, interrupting him from talking any nonsense. “I’m not gay!” I exclaim, facepalming myself in frustration. “Gosh, I’m never beating those gay allegations, am I?”

Both of them laugh at me, and I laugh a little too. It’s truly funny how at least every once in a year someone asks me if I’m straight. No—asking is a humble way to describe it. They simply assume it for some reason. Despite how much makeup I sometimes put on, or how shyly I act around new people, at least one person in a group of seven people would assume that I’m a girl kisser.

Though, I can’t blame them if their girls would prefer me over their asses. I’m just that girl.

“I know. I was kidding. And it works everytime,” Taehyung teases as he winks at me. 

“Well, it’s not funny,” I scold him. “We’re not kids anymore, Tae. Obviously, sometimes… I also get self-conscious about these things. Like…why don't guys ask me out…”  Like why a certain person hates me so much that he’d rather talk back to the teacher than accept me as his partner.

“But didn’t a guy named Myungjae ask you out and court you in ninth grade?” 

“That’s different. And it only lasted for three days,” I argue. “Do I even have to remind you why he did it in the first place?”

Jimin looks puzzled between us. “Wait, come on, let me in with your inside joke too.” 

“Right after Y/n turned him down—on the third day, because she was getting anxious that her parents would find out since in the first place, she was not allowed to date,” Taehyung explains as he eyes me. “Anyway, she hated him because he did something that was part of their rules when he was courting her. Can you believe that? She listed seven rules, only to dump the guy on the third day through text.”

“Long text,” I amend. “And even if he wasn’t courting me anymore when he did that, those rules still apply.”

“What did he do?” Jimin asks, munching another slice of pizza as he enjoys our storytelling.

“He sent a friend request to Mr Jeon,” Taehyung answers for me.

“Y/n’s dad? What’s wrong with it?”

I sigh exasperatedly, as if the answer isn’t so obvious. “It was part of our rule. No connecting or even interacting with my family without me knowing. Can you blame me? Have you seen my parents?”

Jimin nods, then shrugs like what I’ve just said is nothing. “Yeah. They’re pretty sweet.”

“To you. To every guest.” Except for their own children. 

My parents aren’t abusive or anything, it only happened that they’re hardcores when it comes to parenting us. Which explains why within those three days I was so nervous going home, terrified if they found out. 

“Do you want me to continue or…” Taehyung looks at me, and I give him a small nod, gesturing to him to continue the rest. “So, while she was doing her chores, her dad suddenly called her and asked if she knew any Myungjae. If he’s her classmate, and if he’s courting her.”

“Oof…” Jimin winces in pain as he hears Taehyung explain. “That straightforward?”

“That straightforward…” I can only mumble.

“Then our worst actress of the year when it comes to lying suddenly spills everything,” Taehyung mocks, sneering as he does.

Groaning, I reach out for the soda. “What did you expect me to do? I was caught red-handed!”

“Not really. Your dad was only asking. You could’ve brushed it off,” Taehyung argues. I only roll my eyes at him in response, and he laughs. “Anyways, surprisingly, her dad just laughed it off and insulted Myungjae’s looks.” He shrugs. “Then a lot of things happened, yada-yada, the guy still wanted her, yada-yada… Then, while she and Sana were hanging out at another’s friend’s house—which is Myungjae’s friend too—she said something that changed everything.” He pauses, probably for a dramatic intensity. “She said that she once asked why he liked Y/n, then he answered—‘Because I was insecure. Everyone in our friend group has a girl, and I don’t.’”

“So, he lied about everything he said when he confessed—saying he liked me for over a year and just had the courage then. And in fact, he actually liked my seatmate—not me,” I continue telling the story. My emotions turn into solemn once again while it replays in my head. 

I remember crying in the bathroom after sending that long text message because I really felt bad about rejecting him right away. I felt so guilty ending it and not giving him more chances. Murmuring apologies while I silently cry. It was stupid—I didn’t even like him. 

Then, it turned out everything was a lie.

Although, Myungjae and I are on good terms now—I think. Hating someone makes me physically and mentally exhausted, so I decided to let everything go.

Some people might think that my reason is quite petty or shallow. But they’re not me. If only they’re wearing my shoes, they’d understand. 

Everyone around me seems to at least have dated someone. The dumb, the smart, the rich, the poor, the mean, the kind, the pretty—even the ugly ones. They all somehow had a fling. Someone that contacted them and tried to make the first move. Meanwhile, I have none. My message inbox is clearer than the sky—if we don’t count my friends, families, and annoying classmates who constantly ask for notes.

“Did you…ask him about it? If it was true?” Jimin quietly asks, noticing my reaction.

Nodding, I give him a small smile. “He said he didn’t say such things, but our friend still stands with what she knows. She even said—to our faces— ‘If you want to believe this liar, feel free.’ So that's pretty much it.” I shrug as I shake my head. “It’s fine. You don’t have to feel bad for me. I moved on and I didn’t even like him. I was just… Let’s say that my ego got hurt.”

Taehyung raises a brow as he crosses his arm on his chest. “Just your ego? Are you sure you didn’t spend the rest of the week questioning yourself and thinking of every insecurities that you could think of?”

“Well—That also…” I mumble. 

After a moment of silence, Jimin breaks it by his loud humming, followed by his clapping. “I think I know why.”

“Know what?” Taehyung and I say in unison to which we laugh and high-five.

“Know why most guys don’t flirt with you,” he states. “Look, I have only known you personally for almost a month, and from this story… I think I can say that you’re too intense for an average guy.”

I scoff, offended by what he thinks of me. “‘Too… intense’?”

“Which is a compliment,” he quickly adds. “You see, with this trait, manipulators don’t have a chance with you.”

I huff out a laugh. What he’s saying definitely doesn’t make sense to me. “How did you even end up thinking I’m ‘too intense’ ” I quote his own words as I make a mocking quotation mark gesture. 

“Giving rules to a guy? It’s great but unusual. Also, you’re kinda… boyish. The type to scare away boys with your swag. Also, you’re smart. Like really smart. And…you barely approach anyone. You’re always busy with something, and would barely interact with our classmates,” Jimin replies with a slight shrug.

“Right. Even internet speaking, your internet friends are less than a hundred and you have at least a thousand friend requests,” Taehyung adds, but we both know the ‘thousand friend request’ is just for exaggeration.

I frown at them, confused by what they mean. “So what? I’m not interested in them anyways.”

“Then why are you whining about having no one approaching you?” Taehyung irritably questions me.

“Because it’d still feel nice knowing that someone likes me romantically.”

The two of them only slowly shake their heads at me, probably surprised, disbelieving, and disgusted.

“Anyways, going back to your archenemesis, I’m honestly surprised that he didn’t suggest cutting your wrist off to remove the handcuff,” Jimin remarks.

I scoff, making them look at each other with suppressed laughs. “Bet that’s what he was thinking.”

“This Yoongi guy seems like a real problem, huh? Want me to back you up?” Taehyung bumps his shoulder onto mine with a big proud grin.

“Back me up how?”

“I can go to your school and act like your big brother. I’ll just scare him off a bit,” Taehyung replies.

This time, Jimin and I suppressed our laughs. The whole thought is idiotic—he wouldn’t even carry a dog out of the couch because he’d be worried that he might bother it. Now, scaring a kid a year older than him? I just hope he's heaven's favorite. But his offer is tempting, there is still a chance that this might work.

“Fine. Meet me after school.” 

This can be very fun, or very stressful.

>>>

Ashtonbury Academy has strict rules that every student must obey. One of the rules is anyone that is not a student is prohibited to get inside the school premises unless given a keypass. Which is why Taehyung’s plan almost seemed impossible until I did one of the things he asked. I simply asked for a keypass from the nicest teacher I know and she gave it to me without any question why. To which I kinda find odd but couldn’t care less.

“I still can’t believe that worked,” I tell Taehyung as the security lets him in. 

Instead of his usual school uniform, he has changed into a more casual outfit: black tee over long sleeves, jeans, and converse. The typical teenage dirtbag outfit. His hair is more disheveled than usual too—not exactly messy, just loosely curled, with his bangs slightly swept on the side. 

And to my surprise, he seems to be wearing makeup too.

“I didn’t know that when you said you’d act like my big brother… you meant dress-up as Rodrick Heffley—but with long sleeves,” I say as I scan him from head to toe. “And—are you wearing eyeliner?” I lean in to get a closer look to which he quickly steps back.

“Can’t you just be glad you have a friend willing to help you?” He cocks a brow as he crosses his arms.

“Alrighty, Rodrick.” I raise my hands in a pretend surrender while I stifle a laugh at his confused look.

“Who?”

“No one. Just a very nice character from a movie—that’s technically based on a book.” My teasing can’t even land as it was supposed to when I ran my smartass mouth. “Forget it. Let’s just go.”

Taehyung doesn’t say another thing and lets me lead the way. Yoongi should still be at our classroom since he’s part of the assigned cleaners for today. And yes, even the one of the finest schools in Korea makes their students clean their classrooms. It’s their way to make us responsible and disciplined. 

As we get closer to our room, I can’t help but feel my stomach churning out of nervousness. Especially when every student we pass by, they stare at us with…admiration? Confusion? Disgust?

Why these three emotions? Simply because first, Taehyung has an eye-catching face. It’s not new to me to see people practically drool over him, and I won’t even try to deny that even I think he looks good. If only we didn’t see each other’s awkward phases and practically treat each other like siblings, then maybe I’d like him too in that way. But honestly, the thought of it alone is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies.

Secondly, these students are surely confused about who this new face is and how he got in. And thirdly, Taehyung’s outfit isn’t really school appropriate—at least for them. There’s no written or verbal rule that a guest must wear something specific.

I stop in front of our classroom and I instantly catch a view of him through the window. He’s arranging the chairs along with our other classmates who are sweeping the floor.

“So, which one is he? That one dude?” He points at someone and I quickly shake my head. “What about that one? Or that one? Or tha—”

“Stop pointing at them!” I whisper-shout at him. “It’s starting to look like I brought you here to beat someone.”

Taehyung drops his arms and turns to look at me. “Isn’t that the whole point of this?”

“Wha—No.” I snort, crossing my arms. “You really think you can beat him up? May I remind you that I think he’s part of a gang?”

He only sighs and rolls his eyes at me as his initial response. Then, it seems like there is a magical bulb in his head that suddenly lights up. “I got an idea. We go inside of the classroom. You, take your bag, while I pretend to help you and I’ll accidentally bump into him—”

“Is there a problem here?”

My whole body instantly freezes when I hear his voice. I got too distracted by Taehyung’s stupid idea that I forgot that anyone from the inside can also see us.

I refuse to move and turn to look at him, praying to the God above that I’m just hearing things.

“Nothing,” Taehyung smoothly says as he chuckles. “But, can you tell me which of them is Yoongi?”

“I am Yoongi,” he bluntly answers.

Please kill me now!

“You’re what?” Taehyung’s expression drops as he hears what he said.

“My name is Min Yoongi. I’m this classroom’s president,” he says. “May I know why you’re looking for me?”

Closing my eyes tight shut, I take a deep breath before facing him with a wide fake smile. “Uh, hi…!”

Yoongi doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, keeping his eyes on the boy beside me.

“So, you’re Yoongi—the president…” Taehyung sighs as he smiles at him again. “I’m honestly just here to see if my little sis is in good hands.”

“‘Little sis’… huh?” Yoongi mutters, and I’m pretty sure I’m not hallucinating when I see him subtly smirk. The corner of his lips raises faintly, but noticeable for me. Not that I’m saying that I was looking on his lips or anything because—that would be so weird. So I wasn’t. “You have nothing to be worried about. Ashtonbury only accepts the elites. Both in academics and morals,” he says, this time, with a more gentle fake smile. The ones people wear in commercials—perfect and scripted. The one I’d also wear given the situation. 

Morals my foot. 

“Cool! That’s cool,” Taehyung exclaims. “‘Cause… I’d hate it if ever someone mistreats my sister.” He literally puts emphasis on certain words as he sharpens his gaze, making it look like he’s threatening him.

“Copy that,” Yoongi replies with a nod. “Anything else?”

Taehyung turns to look at me and I only shrug at him. “Well—I think that’s it.”

Yoongi’s smile widens as he crosses his arms. I thought he’ll go back inside again, but he steps forward. Towards me. I freeze in my spot once again, and when he’s close enough, he leans in. “I suggest you take this outsider out before anyone finds out,” he whispers, close to my ear.

“We have a keypass,” I shortly reply, both annoyed and flustered at our closeness.

“Right…” He deeply chuckles. “Which you got for telling them he’s your…brother?” He leans back, giving me a chance to see his face full of mocking. “Right, right. Just make sure you’ll still be able to come to our practice later. Let’s meet up at the music room.” With a smug smirk plastered on his face, he eyes Taehyung and I before going back inside.

Wow…  How. Dare. He?

I huff, stomping my feet as I take Taehyung with me down to the building. He doesn’t ask any questions until we’re near the school gates.

“Uhm, so…did it work?”

“No.” I groan, not because of Taehyung, but because of that angel in disguise. “He has the nerve to tell me to practice?? Me?! I was the one who continuously told him to practice with me—but he always had an excuse!”

“But, look on the bright side. He’s up now for practice,” Taehyung says with an awkward smile. “Also, I think I acted like a big bro pretty well.”

I scoff, looking at him deadpan. “Well, it wasn’t enough. He knows you're not my brother.”

“How?”

“I don’t know!” I groan again, kicking some fallen leaves on the ground. “But… Thanks for the help, Tae.”

“No probs. Sorry if it didn’t work.” He beams me a soft smile as he puts an arm on my shoulder. “But don’t worry, he’ll soften up too. Who doesn’t like Jeon Y/n?” he teases while ruffling my hair. “Aside from me?” As he adds those, he knows I’m gonna kill him. So, he instantly detaches himself from me and waves a goodbye as he runs toward outside.

I shake my head as I lightly chuckle at his stupidness. Then, I remember the real situation I’m in. “I guess, this leaves me to spend a couple of hours with him—dancing. Ugh.”

This is gonna be a long afternoon…

(MYG POV)

I can’t believe I know too much about her. To the point I can tell that he’s not her brother. In fact—she has no older brother at all. Only a younger one. And I hate that I know all of these.

Next

Where the heck is Jimin?!

I annoyingly look around as I look for the blondie. He told me to wait near the school gates after school, and it has been almost half an hour since the school ends and he’s nowhere to be found. I keep looking for him and while I’m at it, I feel someone tap my shoulder from behind. Turning around, I see one of our classmates—Seheo.

“You’re waiting for Jimin?”

“Yeah… Have you seen him?”

Seheo nods and replies, “He’s at the gym. He said you weren’t reading his texts.”

“Oh… My phone died. But thanks for letting me know.” I smile at him and wave a goodbye before heading to the gym.

I really have no time for his shenanigans now. The time is ticking. Every minute—no—every second gets wasted when I could be practicing right now! The situation really seems to get under my nerves, and there’s no way—NO FUCKING WAY that I’d let someone bring my grades down just because they’re not cooperative. If I have to carry the whole team by myself—I don’t care, I will carry it no matter what. It affects me after all.  

Remember this day, Min Yoongi. I hate you. I fucking despise you.

Nearing the gymnasium, I notice from my peripheral view the figure of someone particular. Someone beautiful awful. Straight up awful. I ignore him and continue walking, but it seems like he’s heading at the gym too. I hear him call me but I continue to ignore him. I still have to know what plan Jimin has on his sleeves before I talk to this boy again and crush all the dignity I have left.

My mind is too fogged up by the thoughts of him and his awfulness that it didn’t process what just happened right when I reached the gym.

Click. 

The sound of handcuffs locking rings in my ears, and before I know it, I feel the cold metal resting on my skin. Looking down at my wrists, my hand is cuffed with someone’s hand. A pale one.

Fuck.

“Hyung! What is this?!” Yoongi wriggles his wrists and I do too. Although, he’s wriggling more, that it kinda hurts and scrapes my skin.

“I won’t do that if I were you, Yoongi,” a man says. I stop wriggling and turn to where the voice comes from. A young man I’ve only seen in pictures. Tall, vibrant eyes, plump lips. A graceful looking old money kid. 

The President of the Student Council—Kim Seokjin?

Beside him is the blondie I’ve been searching for. “Jimin-ah, what’s going on?” I ask as I feel too dumbfounded at our situation.

Jimin grins widely and puts his hands on his pockets. “I asked Jin hyung for help.”

I scoff. “ ‘Help,’ and you mean by handcuffing us together??”

“You’re in this?” Yoongi asks sharply as he looks at me. The panic, surprise, and anger mixing into one.

“Not in this. And—can you stop wiggling!” I snap at him and he immediately stops. His expression softens for a brief second before he scowls again. “We won’t be in this situation, only if you are cooperative.”

“Is this about the dance?” he asks. He stupidly asks! He has some nerve to ask about it as if it isn’t our issue.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I remark as I look at him in a mocking disbelief. “What else? It’s been a week! Everyone is at least halfway through their performance, while us? Fucking bitch—none! Nada!” I yell at him, hoping that it’ll go straight like a bullet to his skull.

“Don’t curse at me,” he says, keeping his ground with his eyes boring mine. “And we have more than a week. It’s enough—”

“No, it’s not! And I can curse at you if I want, shithead,” I cuss at him through gritted teeth. But it seems like my cursing doesn’t work at him at all, instead, he smirks. He has the audacity to smirk as if this is some sort of a joke for him.

“For someone who is 'smart', you sure have a foul-mouth rather than a smart one.”

I scoff at him, tugging my cuffed wrists harshly towards me, making him hiss. “Okay, knows-it-all.”

“Sure thing, dramatic.” He tugs back, his menacing smirk widens all over his face. 

“Drama—” I huff out a laugh, tugging it back. “Overbearing.” 

“Pretentious.”

“Arrogant.”

“Attention seeker.”

“Heartless.”

“Bossy.”

“Overconfident—” With my last tug, I go too hard, causing Yoongi to lose balance and push me down with him. We both hit the hard floor, groaning and muttering curses under our breaths. The sudden adrenaline slowing makes the sting in my wrist more perceptible. 

Yoongi lies on top of me, his weight almost crushes my already fragile body. We pant as we stare at each other, my fiery gaze throwing daggers at him, while he—he looks rather worried or concerned. But it might be just my delusion deceiving me. “Get off,” I say sternly.

“You should be thankful I sacrificed my hand for you,” he replies—just sharply as I did.

I scoff, shifting my gaze away from him before looking back. “Thankful? You pushed me.”

A look of aghast disbelief crosses his face. “Pushed you?? You were the one who tugged our handcuffed hands by the way,” he says as he shakes our hands near my face. “I tried to push you closer to me to save you from falling. Be thankful I still caught your head right on time, or else your brain will have more deformities than it already has.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” is the last thing he says before he gets off of me, pulling away his other hand that has been under my head and lies beside me. He has no choice anyway. He’s literally handcuffed to me.

Letting out heavy breaths, I let the time pass. We got too occupied with our fight that it seems like Jin and Jimin slipped away already. I didn’t know arguing with someone can be this exhausting. Especially with someone you adore—before. Before knowing the beast that hides in that beauty. 

Ever since that day, I keep thinking what’ve I done for him to react like that. I’ve always been good at things I do—sometimes even great. Which is why I don’t understand why he would hate to be partnered with me. He even tried to say that I’m a ‘great disaster.’ Well, it got cut off after the ‘great’, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he was about to say.

Am I ugly? Embarrassing? That he doesn’t wanna let other people see he’s dancing with me? 

But that is just quite impossible. I may not be the most good-looking girl at this school, but I’m also not that ugly. 

Contemplating whether to ask him or not, I choose my curiosity to win. “Why do you hate me?” I quietly ask.

“I just do.”

I turn to look at him, confused and offended at the same time. “But why? What made you hate me?”

“Your existence,” he replies quietly, sharply, and heartlessly—as he looks back at me.

Oh… My existence itself is a great bane for him.

“Right… No wonder the first time we met, you seemed like you’ve hated me your whole life.” I pause as I look away, not being able to keep my eyes on his cold ones. “But, we just met. That’s why I don’t get it.”

He lets out a snort, tugging our handcuffed wrists to make me look at him. “ ‘We… just met’? Are you being serious right now?”

Sitting up, I turn to look at him, frowning. “Do I look like a clown to you?”

Yoongi sits up too and rolls his eyes at my sass. “Are you referring to the first day you came to our class?”

“Well, yeah, unless… Oh gosh, the notebook! Is it about the notebook? How did you even know? You were deep in sleep.”

His face twists in confusion. “Notebook? Wha—Oh! You were the one who answered the homework?”

“Wait, if this isn’t about that—”

“Nevermind. Forget it,” he says. He also mumbles some things but I can’t quite catch it. “Let’s find the two first before we practice. Both of our wrists are grazed. We might get infections if we don’t treat it,” he quietly says.

I don’t argue with him, and let him drag me. We both walk out of the gym and quietly search for the two.

>>>

On our way to the Student Council’s room, we meet a bunch of guys hanging out under the shed.

“I didn’t know you’re into that Gloss,” some dude teases, while he and his friends look at us, pointing at our handcuffed wrists. They make a teasing ‘oohh’ sound, then laugh .

Did he just call him… ‘Gloss’? I think I’ve heard this name before.

Yoongi rolls his eyes at them. “Have you seen Jin hyung?”

“Oh, the great J? Nah. Why you ask, man?” the boy replies. He and his friends look like some thugs with their loose neck tie, chains, and a cap that says ‘fo shizzle.’ Whatever that means. 

Two questions come to mind as I watch the two talk: how did this boy get accepted in this school, and why are they friendly with Yoongi.

But hey, no judgement here—just genuinely curious. Someone with their swag usually beats up the fancy looking kids like Yoongi and Jin, so seeing them converse with each other normally feels a little… odd.

Or perhaps I just really want to see the two with bruised faces after everything that had happened.

Yoongi points at our wrists, still giving them a plain look. The guys let out an ‘ahh’ in unison as if we’re in some sitcom. Then, the same guy calls out his friend.

“Ayo, Big Namu, help these guys out.”

Just when his friend steps in, I hold back my laughter as I look at him. For someone whose name is Big Namu—which translates to ‘Big Tree,’ he’s more of a bonsai size.

The guy seems to notice my reaction as he raises a brow. “You got a problem, girl?”

I gulp and shake my head. “Nope. All’s fine.” I force out a smile in hope to settle our little situation. 

Yoongi shifts beside me, leaning closer to my ear as he whispers, “Judgemental and a liar. Let me add that to the list.” I can feel him smirking while saying those. He’s probably referring to our banter earlier—throwing names back and forth. 

“Infuriating and a gangster, should I add those too?” I bite back.

He only snickers and shakes his head. “A gangster? You think—”

“Let me see the handcuff,” the boy named Big Namu walks over to us, making our attention turn to him. His voice is so deep and big. Definitely bigger than him.

I guess this is why they call him Big Namu.

Yoongi—without a warning—extends his wrist, making my wrist forcefully move along with him. My wrist still stings from our back and forth tugging earlier. “Ow! Can you be more gentle?”

“Perhaps it’s not in my vocabulary.”.

“Well, you should look it up.”

He only glares at me before looking back at the boy in front of us. “You think you can pick this lock?” 

“Well, I’ve tried houses, stores—banks, but never a handcuff. There’s a first time for everything.” Big Namu chuckles, taking out a hairpin from the back of his head. The action puzzles me more since he’s literally bald. To be clear—more of a buzz cut, but still, where does that pin cling?

I lean a bit closer to Yoongi, enough that only he can hear me—or at least that’s what I think. “Are you sure they study here? I’m starting to think—”

“A cousin of mine works as a security guard,” Big Namu cuts me off, and I can only drown in shame. He starts on working the cuff, trying to figure out ways to unlock it. “Always loses the keys. Good thing he knows lock picking. Then, he taught me. I just do this as a hobby.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I–Yeah… Sorry.”

“You’re handcuffed with the Gloss, but you don’t know us?” the same guy from the earlier chimes in. Then he turns to Yoongi. “Who is this girl, anyway? I thought you’re with—” He cuts himself off, then I look at Yoongi who subtly warns him with his eyes. Sighing, he shifts his eyes back to me. “Aight, aight. But seriously, you don’t know us?” 

Before I can reply, Yoongi answers his earlier question. “She’s Y/n. A transferee.”

“Wait—Y/n as in Y/n–Y/n?” he exclaims in surprise. Then, he turns to his friends as he points at me. “Y’all, it’s Y/n!” 

Everyone makes an ‘oohh’ sound in unison once again, and slowly, I’m starting to think that we're actually in a sitcom. They all seem to be happy realizing who I am for some reason. 

“So, you’re that girl,” another guy says.

“Damn, you’re her?”

“No wonder…”

No wonder what?

All of them look like they know me with their reactions. Beside me, Yoongi sighs as he rubs his temple with his free hand, evidently annoyed and tired of them.

“Hey, Gloss. Why don’t you invite her to our gig? D-Town would love her to go,” the same guy who has been talking to us from the start, says. He’s smiling mischievously as he offers. 

Click.

The sound of the handcuffs snapping makes our attention turn towards it. Big Namu successfully unlocked it. “Here. All good. It’s a cheap one so it’s easy.”

My eyes widen in surprise as I stare at my wrist. I’m maybe free from him now, but the visible red marks from the multiple times that the handcuffs scrape my skin stings a little more. Especially now that I can feel the cold breeze blowing on it.

“No.”

No?

I turn to look at Yoongi who’s also trying to ease the pain on his wrist. “She can’t go,” he plainly declares, referring to the guy’s offer.

“Technically, I can,” I say, though I don’t exactly know what kind of gig they are talking about—as long as I can oppose him.

“I won’t let you,” he replies as he glares at me.

Is there any reaction that I can get from him other than glaring?

Raising a brow, I question him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to. I don’t want you there.”

I quickly cover my hurt reaction. Not wanting to show that he has an effect on me.“Fine. It’s not like I would want to go,” I reply, rolling my eyes at him.

“Then why insist?”

“‘Cause an option wouldn’t be so bad.”

“So you really do want me to invite you.” He smirks, as if he just won a competition that I’m not aware of.

I gape at him, trying to come up with a better remark, but before I can do so, he starts walking away. I thank the guys—especially Big Namu for helping before I follow him. Usually, I’d go home and mentally curse at him for being a jerk, but there’s still some time, and we have to practice. I quickly catch up to him despite his longer strides.

“Where are you going?”

No answer. He keeps on walking, and I keep on following him. After walking for some time, we reached the clinic. He goes inside, still not even checking if I’m still with him—as if for some reason, he knows that I’ll follow. 

“Doctor Jang?” he calls out, searching for her. Though, it seems like the doctor isn’t here at all. No doctor. No nurses. Just an empty clinic. He might’ve realized it too as he exasperatedly sighs. “Stay here,” he says, leaving me standing there.

So he does acknowledge me.

I do as I’m told while he searches for something in the room. Walking towards the couch a few steps away from me, I sit. He doesn’t take a while, and he comes back with a pack of wipes, an ointment, and adhesive bands that have cute cat designs on it. He stands in front of me, eyes cold as ever.

“Your wrist.” His hand reaches out for me while I only stare at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Give me your wrist,” he repeats, sounding slightly annoyed. 

I don't argue with him this time, only quietly extending my hand to him. Then, he puts down the things that he brought and sits beside me. He takes my forearm carefully, doing his best to not accidentally nudge my wrist. With wet wipes, he gently cleans my grazed skin. I hiss from the cold contact of the wipes, and to my surprise, he doesn’t tell me to endure it and glare. No snarky comments or remarks. But instead, he just softly blows on it. His eyes scan every side of my wrist, making sure that it’ll be cleaned properly. 

Or at least that’s what it seems.

Quietly watching him treat my skin makes the moths in my stomach go wild. I mentally curse at myself for feeling such a thing. This is the same person who called me names and openly told me he hates me. He’s just doing this to clear his conscience, because after all—if only he was cooperative, none of this would’ve happened. 

At the same time, I can’t deny how good he looks from this distance. From this close. The sharp edges of his jaw, the soft arch of his nose, his lips ajar as he solely focuses on treating my wrist. 

I shake off my thoughts of him—literally. 

He flinches in surprise at my sudden movement and raises a brow. “What?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

Sighing, he goes back to treating me again. He takes the ointment, and softly dabs it on my skin. It feels cool as he applies it. The scrapes don't sting now as much as they did earlier. Then, he finishes treating my wrist by wrapping an adhesive band on me. I bite back a chuckle as I watch him wrap it, only because the cat on the design resembles him. Brows knitted, eyes sharp, mouth pouting. 

“Now, what?” he asks, a bit irritated, making him look like the cat design even more.

A grin tries to creep over my face but I suppress it. “Nothing…”

He shifts his eyes from my bandaged wrist to me, then back to my wrist. Closing his eyes, he sighs. He must’ve realized it. “I only found these ones. They hid the normal bandages,” he explains.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Yeah. Your non-verbal mocking is enough.” He scowls at me, sitting up as he starts to walk away to put back the things he took to the cabinet. 

“Wait—Your wrist… Do you want me to help?”

His steps falter, looking back at me with the same plain face. “No,” he curtly replies. “I’m fine. I’ll treat myself at home.” 

He’s so cold. Probably colder than Antarctica. For someone who clearly stated that they in fact hate me, his actions reflect it a hundred times louder than his words. 

It’s not like I care.

But I don’t argue anymore. It’s tiring. So tiring to argue with someone like him. Someone who—as far as I remember—I didn’t do anything wrong to. 

“Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s just practice tomorrow after school. And I’m not taking a no. We’ve wasted so many days.” I managed to keep my voice steady and grounded. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction and let him know how much it bothers me the way he acts around me.

If he hates me, then I surely hate him too.

(MYG POV)

I didn’t mean any of these to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Even if I despise her the most. 

And actually, I truly wish that she’s not here. With me. Eyes watching my every move as I treat her grazed skin that I caused. It’d be easier to crush her if only she didn’t come to my territory.

She’s a competitor. A rival. I can’t be attached to her ‘innocent’ gazes.

Next

A/N: This is honestly my fav part lolz

Where the heck is Jimin?!

I annoyingly look around as I look for the blondie. He told me to wait near the school gates after school, and it has been almost half an hour since the school ends and he’s nowhere to be found. I keep looking for him and while I’m at it, I feel someone tap my shoulder from behind. Turning around, I see one of our classmates—Seheo.

“You’re waiting for Jimin?”

“Yeah… Have you seen him?”

Seheo nods and replies, “He’s at the gym. He said you weren’t reading his texts.”

“Oh… My phone died. But thanks for letting me know.” I smile at him and wave a goodbye before heading to the gym.

I really have no time for his shenanigans now. The time is ticking. Every minute—no—every second gets wasted when I could be practicing right now! The situation really seems to get under my nerves, and there’s no way—NO FUCKING WAY that I’d let someone bring my grades down just because they’re not cooperative. If I have to carry the whole team by myself—I don’t care, I will carry it no matter what. It affects me after all.  

Remember this day, Min Yoongi. I hate you. I fucking despise you.

Nearing the gymnasium, I notice from my peripheral view the figure of someone particular. Someone beautiful awful. Straight up awful. I ignore him and continue walking, but it seems like he’s heading at the gym too. I hear him call me but I continue to ignore him. I still have to know what plan Jimin has on his sleeves before I talk to this boy again and crush all the dignity I have left.

My mind is too fogged up by the thoughts of him and his awfulness that it didn’t process what just happened right when I reached the gym.

Click. 

The sound of handcuffs locking rings in my ears, and before I know it, I feel the cold metal resting on my skin. Looking down at my wrists, my hand is cuffed with someone’s hand. A pale one.

Fuck.

“Hyung! What is this?!” Yoongi wriggles his wrists and I do too. Although, he’s wriggling more, that it kinda hurts and scrapes my skin.

“I won’t do that if I were you, Yoongi,” a man says. I stop wriggling and turn to where the voice comes from. A young man I’ve only seen in pictures. Tall, vibrant eyes, plump lips. A graceful looking old money kid. 

The President of the Student Council—Kim Seokjin?

Beside him is the blondie I’ve been searching for. “Jimin-ah, what’s going on?” I ask as I feel too dumbfounded at our situation.

Jimin grins widely and puts his hands on his pockets. “I asked Jin hyung for help.”

I scoff. “ ‘Help,’ and you mean by handcuffing us together??”

“You’re in this?” Yoongi asks sharply as he looks at me. The panic, surprise, and anger mixing into one.

“Not in this. And—can you stop wiggling!” I snap at him and he immediately stops. His expression softens for a brief second before he scowls again. “We won’t be in this situation, only if you are cooperative.”

“Is this about the dance?” he asks. He stupidly asks! He has some nerve to ask about it as if it isn’t our issue.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I remark as I look at him in a mocking disbelief. “What else? It’s been a week! Everyone is at least halfway through their performance, while us? Fucking bitch—none! Nada!” I yell at him, hoping that it’ll go straight like a bullet to his skull.

“Don’t curse at me,” he says, keeping his ground with his eyes boring mine. “And we have more than a week. It’s enough—”

“No, it’s not! And I can curse at you if I want, shithead,” I cuss at him through gritted teeth. But it seems like my cursing doesn’t work at him at all, instead, he smirks. He has the audacity to smirk as if this is some sort of a joke for him.

“For someone who is 'smart', you sure have a foul-mouth rather than a smart one.”

I scoff at him, tugging my cuffed wrists harshly towards me, making him hiss. “Okay, knows-it-all.”

“Sure thing, dramatic.” He tugs back, his menacing smirk widens all over his face. 

“Drama—” I huff out a laugh, tugging it back. “Overbearing.” 

“Pretentious.”

“Arrogant.”

“Attention seeker.”

“Heartless.”

“Bossy.”

“Overconfident—” With my last tug, I go too hard, causing Yoongi to lose balance and push me down with him. We both hit the hard floor, groaning and muttering curses under our breaths. The sudden adrenaline slowing makes the sting in my wrist more perceptible. 

Yoongi lies on top of me, his weight almost crushes my already fragile body. We pant as we stare at each other, my fiery gaze throwing daggers at him, while he—he looks rather worried or concerned. But it might be just my delusion deceiving me. “Get off,” I say sternly.

“You should be thankful I sacrificed my hand for you,” he replies—just sharply as I did.

I scoff, shifting my gaze away from him before looking back. “Thankful? You pushed me.”

A look of aghast disbelief crosses his face. “Pushed you?? You were the one who tugged our handcuffed hands by the way,” he says as he shakes our hands near my face. “I tried to push you closer to me to save you from falling. Be thankful I still caught your head right on time, or else your brain will have more deformities than it already has.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” is the last thing he says before he gets off of me, pulling away his other hand that has been under my head and lies beside me. He has no choice anyway. He’s literally handcuffed to me.

Letting out heavy breaths, I let the time pass. We got too occupied with our fight that it seems like Jin and Jimin slipped away already. I didn’t know arguing with someone can be this exhausting. Especially with someone you adore—before. Before knowing the beast that hides in that beauty. 

Ever since that day, I keep thinking what’ve I done for him to react like that. I’ve always been good at things I do—sometimes even great. Which is why I don’t understand why he would hate to be partnered with me. He even tried to say that I’m a ‘great disaster.’ Well, it got cut off after the ‘great’, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he was about to say.

Am I ugly? Embarrassing? That he doesn’t wanna let other people see he’s dancing with me? 

But that is just quite impossible. I may not be the most good-looking girl at this school, but I’m also not that ugly. 

Contemplating whether to ask him or not, I choose my curiosity to win. “Why do you hate me?” I quietly ask.

“I just do.”

I turn to look at him, confused and offended at the same time. “But why? What made you hate me?”

“Your existence,” he replies quietly, sharply, and heartlessly—as he looks back at me.

Oh… My existence itself is a great bane for him.

“Right… No wonder the first time we met, you seemed like you’ve hated me your whole life.” I pause as I look away, not being able to keep my eyes on his cold ones. “But, we just met. That’s why I don’t get it.”

He lets out a snort, tugging our handcuffed wrists to make me look at him. “ ‘We… just met’? Are you being serious right now?”

Sitting up, I turn to look at him, frowning. “Do I look like a clown to you?”

Yoongi sits up too and rolls his eyes at my sass. “Are you referring to the first day you came to our class?”

“Well, yeah, unless… Oh gosh, the notebook! Is it about the notebook? How did you even know? You were deep in sleep.”

His face twists in confusion. “Notebook? Wha—Oh! You were the one who answered the homework?”

“Wait, if this isn’t about that—”

“Nevermind. Forget it,” he says. He also mumbles some things but I can’t quite catch it. “Let’s find the two first before we practice. Both of our wrists are grazed. We might get infections if we don’t treat it,” he quietly says.

I don’t argue with him, and let him drag me. We both walk out of the gym and quietly search for the two.

>>>

On our way to the Student Council’s room, we meet a bunch of guys hanging out under the shed.

“I didn’t know you’re into that Gloss,” some dude teases, while he and his friends look at us, pointing at our handcuffed wrists. They make a teasing ‘oohh’ sound, then laugh .

Did he just call him… ‘Gloss’? I think I’ve heard this name before.

Yoongi rolls his eyes at them. “Have you seen Jin hyung?”

“Oh, the great J? Nah. Why you ask, man?” the boy replies. He and his friends look like some thugs with their loose neck tie, chains, and a cap that says ‘fo shizzle.’ Whatever that means. 

Two questions come to mind as I watch the two talk: how did this boy get accepted in this school, and why are they friendly with Yoongi.

But hey, no judgement here—just genuinely curious. Someone with their swag usually beats up the fancy looking kids like Yoongi and Jin, so seeing them converse with each other normally feels a little… odd.

Or perhaps I just really want to see the two with bruised faces after everything that had happened.

Yoongi points at our wrists, still giving them a plain look. The guys let out an ‘ahh’ in unison as if we’re in some sitcom. Then, the same guy calls out his friend.

“Ayo, Big Namu, help these guys out.”

Just when his friend steps in, I hold back my laughter as I look at him. For someone whose name is Big Namu—which translates to ‘Big Tree,’ he’s more of a bonsai size.

The guy seems to notice my reaction as he raises a brow. “You got a problem, girl?”

I gulp and shake my head. “Nope. All’s fine.” I force out a smile in hope to settle our little situation. 

Yoongi shifts beside me, leaning closer to my ear as he whispers, “Judgemental and a liar. Let me add that to the list.” I can feel him smirking while saying those. He’s probably referring to our banter earlier—throwing names back and forth. 

“Infuriating and a gangster, should I add those too?” I bite back.

He only snickers and shakes his head. “A gangster? You think—”

“Let me see the handcuff,” the boy named Big Namu walks over to us, making our attention turn to him. His voice is so deep and big. Definitely bigger than him.

I guess this is why they call him Big Namu.

Yoongi—without a warning—extends his wrist, making my wrist forcefully move along with him. My wrist still stings from our back and forth tugging earlier. “Ow! Can you be more gentle?”

“Perhaps it’s not in my vocabulary.”.

“Well, you should look it up.”

He only glares at me before looking back at the boy in front of us. “You think you can pick this lock?” 

“Well, I’ve tried houses, stores—banks, but never a handcuff. There’s a first time for everything.” Big Namu chuckles, taking out a hairpin from the back of his head. The action puzzles me more since he’s literally bald. To be clear—more of a buzz cut, but still, where does that pin cling?

I lean a bit closer to Yoongi, enough that only he can hear me—or at least that’s what I think. “Are you sure they study here? I’m starting to think—”

“A cousin of mine works as a security guard,” Big Namu cuts me off, and I can only drown in shame. He starts on working the cuff, trying to figure out ways to unlock it. “Always loses the keys. Good thing he knows lock picking. Then, he taught me. I just do this as a hobby.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I–Yeah… Sorry.”

“You’re handcuffed with the Gloss, but you don’t know us?” the same guy from the earlier chimes in. Then he turns to Yoongi. “Who is this girl, anyway? I thought you’re with—” He cuts himself off, then I look at Yoongi who subtly warns him with his eyes. Sighing, he shifts his eyes back to me. “Aight, aight. But seriously, you don’t know us?” 

Before I can reply, Yoongi answers his earlier question. “She’s Y/n. A transferee.”

“Wait—Y/n as in Y/n–Y/n?” he exclaims in surprise. Then, he turns to his friends as he points at me. “Y’all, it’s Y/n!” 

Everyone makes an ‘oohh’ sound in unison once again, and slowly, I’m starting to think that we're actually in a sitcom. They all seem to be happy realizing who I am for some reason. 

“So, you’re that girl,” another guy says.

“Damn, you’re her?”

“No wonder…”

No wonder what?

All of them look like they know me with their reactions. Beside me, Yoongi sighs as he rubs his temple with his free hand, evidently annoyed and tired of them.

“Hey, Gloss. Why don’t you invite her to our gig? D-Town would love her to go,” the same guy who has been talking to us from the start, says. He’s smiling mischievously as he offers. 

Click.

The sound of the handcuffs snapping makes our attention turn towards it. Big Namu successfully unlocked it. “Here. All good. It’s a cheap one so it’s easy.”

My eyes widen in surprise as I stare at my wrist. I’m maybe free from him now, but the visible red marks from the multiple times that the handcuffs scrape my skin stings a little more. Especially now that I can feel the cold breeze blowing on it.

“No.”

No?

I turn to look at Yoongi who’s also trying to ease the pain on his wrist. “She can’t go,” he plainly declares, referring to the guy’s offer.

“Technically, I can,” I say, though I don’t exactly know what kind of gig they are talking about—as long as I can oppose him.

“I won’t let you,” he replies as he glares at me.

Is there any reaction that I can get from him other than glaring?

Raising a brow, I question him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to. I don’t want you there.”

I quickly cover my hurt reaction. Not wanting to show that he has an effect on me.“Fine. It’s not like I would want to go,” I reply, rolling my eyes at him.

“Then why insist?”

“‘Cause an option wouldn’t be so bad.”

“So you really do want me to invite you.” He smirks, as if he just won a competition that I’m not aware of.

I gape at him, trying to come up with a better remark, but before I can do so, he starts walking away. I thank the guys—especially Big Namu for helping before I follow him. Usually, I’d go home and mentally curse at him for being a jerk, but there’s still some time, and we have to practice. I quickly catch up to him despite his longer strides.

“Where are you going?”

No answer. He keeps on walking, and I keep on following him. After walking for some time, we reached the clinic. He goes inside, still not even checking if I’m still with him—as if for some reason, he knows that I’ll follow. 

“Doctor Jang?” he calls out, searching for her. Though, it seems like the doctor isn’t here at all. No doctor. No nurses. Just an empty clinic. He might’ve realized it too as he exasperatedly sighs. “Stay here,” he says, leaving me standing there.

So he does acknowledge me.

I do as I’m told while he searches for something in the room. Walking towards the couch a few steps away from me, I sit. He doesn’t take a while, and he comes back with a pack of wipes, an ointment, and adhesive bands that have cute cat designs on it. He stands in front of me, eyes cold as ever.

“Your wrist.” His hand reaches out for me while I only stare at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Give me your wrist,” he repeats, sounding slightly annoyed. 

I don't argue with him this time, only quietly extending my hand to him. Then, he puts down the things that he brought and sits beside me. He takes my forearm carefully, doing his best to not accidentally nudge my wrist. With wet wipes, he gently cleans my grazed skin. I hiss from the cold contact of the wipes, and to my surprise, he doesn’t tell me to endure it and glare. No snarky comments or remarks. But instead, he just softly blows on it. His eyes scan every side of my wrist, making sure that it’ll be cleaned properly. 

Or at least that’s what it seems.

Quietly watching him treat my skin makes the moths in my stomach go wild. I mentally curse at myself for feeling such a thing. This is the same person who called me names and openly told me he hates me. He’s just doing this to clear his conscience, because after all—if only he was cooperative, none of this would’ve happened. 

At the same time, I can’t deny how good he looks from this distance. From this close. The sharp edges of his jaw, the soft arch of his nose, his lips ajar as he solely focuses on treating my wrist. 

I shake off my thoughts of him—literally. 

He flinches in surprise at my sudden movement and raises a brow. “What?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

Sighing, he goes back to treating me again. He takes the ointment, and softly dabs it on my skin. It feels cool as he applies it. The scrapes don't sting now as much as they did earlier. Then, he finishes treating my wrist by wrapping an adhesive band on me. I bite back a chuckle as I watch him wrap it, only because the cat on the design resembles him. Brows knitted, eyes sharp, mouth pouting. 

“Now, what?” he asks, a bit irritated, making him look like the cat design even more.

A grin tries to creep over my face but I suppress it. “Nothing…”

He shifts his eyes from my bandaged wrist to me, then back to my wrist. Closing his eyes, he sighs. He must’ve realized it. “I only found these ones. They hid the normal bandages,” he explains.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Yeah. Your non-verbal mocking is enough.” He scowls at me, sitting up as he starts to walk away to put back the things he took to the cabinet. 

“Wait—Your wrist… Do you want me to help?”

His steps falter, looking back at me with the same plain face. “No,” he curtly replies. “I’m fine. I’ll treat myself at home.” 

He’s so cold. Probably colder than Antarctica. For someone who clearly stated that they in fact hate me, his actions reflect it a hundred times louder than his words. 

It’s not like I care.

But I don’t argue anymore. It’s tiring. So tiring to argue with someone like him. Someone who—as far as I remember—I didn’t do anything wrong to. 

“Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s just practice tomorrow after school. And I’m not taking a no. We’ve wasted so many days.” I managed to keep my voice steady and grounded. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction and let him know how much it bothers me the way he acts around me.

If he hates me, then I surely hate him too.

(MYG POV)

I didn’t mean any of these to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Even if I despise her the most. 

And actually, I truly wish that she’s not here. With me. Eyes watching my every move as I treat her grazed skin that I caused. It’d be easier to crush her if only she didn’t come to my territory.

She’s a competitor. A rival. I can’t be attached to her ‘innocent’ gazes.

Next

A/N: This is honestly my fav part lolz

“Oh, gosh…” I yawn as I stretch my arms and back. The light from my computer and my small lamp are the only ones that are lighting up my room. I prefer this way—it gives me the perfect solemn ambiance that I want. Quiet and dark.

It has been two weeks since the school year started, and I’ve finished all the requirements that I missed last week. Two weeks have passed, yet Yoongi and I don’t really interact with each other that much. 

Not to be that delusional girl, but, I feel like when it comes to me, he’s kinda… grumpy. Like whenever I catch him looking at me, he will quickly look away with a frown on his face. Which is weird, because every time I see him talk with other people, his face is neutral—even smiling at times. 

Still—the fact that he’s looking at me when I’m busy with my own world? That… speaks a lot.

“But the fact that I also look back… No. No no no no! I can’t. Classmates are prohibited.” I shake my head in hope to shake away my thoughts. “I can’t like him. I don’t like him.”

One… Two… Three…

“But gosh! He’s so pretty… So smart… What’s there not to like?? Even his scowling face is so cute—UGH!” It took me three counts just to give in, and say what’s actually on my mind. “This is just a silly admiration. Nothing more.”

Sighing, I turn my gaze to my computer screen. The screen fills with random people’s faces. I’ve been searching for a reference for my drawing, but I can’t seem to find a good one.

Or perhaps…it's because Yoongi keeps invading my head.

“Wait—Should I… just draw him then?”

I hesitantly take my pencil, playing with it as I think if I should let this mischievous idea happen. Squirming, sighing, wriggling, and everything in between as I lose my mind over it. 

After a few more moments, I compose myself, and focus on the paper in front of me. I’m quite bad at drawing an exact thing while only using my imagination, so I turn to my computer and go to the senior's page. Unlike the actual school page—that only promotes the school and never shows any student's profile, half of the posts in here are pretty much his face and some other guy named Jin. This page is exclusive only to the Seniors of Ashtonbury. A member from the student council automatically adds the student’s account on the exact date when the school starts.

I scroll further until I find something that’s worthy to be drawn with my golden hands. I giggle as I look at his picture—he’s smiling cheekily while he holds the ball as he stands beside his team. “Cute.”

Taking a deep breath, I let my left hand move and start to draw a sketch of his face. 

Besides…what can go wrong?

>>>

Shit… It’s four already?!

I yawn as I stop my alarm clock. Even after turning it off, it still rings in my head. I told myself that I will sleep around 1am, but I suddenly remembered that I had to organize my notes per subject. 

It’s not that bad though. I slept in the afternoon anyway. But still—the chance of zoning out during classes is high. Although, again, it’s not that bad. I studied in advance as soon as the teachers told us the topics we will be discussing this semester.

Standing up, I stretch my whole body—from arms to legs. It's not my first time to attend classes with barely any sleep. Besides, I think I can steal some minutes to sleep in between classes.

The next few hours, I prepare to go to school. Eat, bathe, style my hair—just my usual routine. After everything, I hop into the bus and reach the school. It's pretty early, that's why there's only a few students in our classroom—including him. I've never seen him late. Not even for a minute. 

And I’m not saying that I’m keeping an eye on him, it’s a rather casual observation. Everyone will say the same thing about him.

As soon as I walk inside, it seems like he notices my presence but prefers to ignore. 

See?? This is what I'm talking about! For someone who has an angelic face, he surely has an attitude.

I greet my other classmates ‘good morning’ before heading straight to my seat. 

>>>

“Yn! Wake up!” I hear Jimin's voice, whisper-shouting at me as he nudges my shoulder.

My eyes flutter open, and I quickly sit up straight. I notice that everyone seems to look at me.

Wait—What just happened?

I remember I was taking notes then… 

Fuck! I fell asleep!

It's our fifth class after all—physical education. The lesson isn't really boring nor am I uninterested, it just happened that I kept dozing off while we were watching a ballroom dancing video, until I finally gave in.

“You both. Jeon and Min, you will be partners,” Mrs Kang declares as she eyes us.

“What?! No!” Yoongi exclaims from his seat, his head snaps toward me as he glares briefly before looking away.

The whole class goes dead silent, surprised by his sudden exclamation. Everything seems silent but also loud at the same time.

Silent hatred.

Loud rejection.

His loud declaration of not wanting me to be his partner is strong enough to fully wake me. Stronger than any coffee beans that I’ve tried before. His words scorch, leaving me with a heart-aching pulse that refuses to calm.

“And why not?” She smoothly asks, unbothered by his reaction. “Didn't you once say that you'd be willing to help anyone in need? And look at this girl, sleeping in my class. You'll be a great help,” she taunts, then looks at me—in dismay. “Don't you agree, Ms Jeon?”

I didn’t answer, only staring back at her in confusion. Shame. Disappointment. Sadness. No matter how people tell me that I’m smart, I can’t seem to know what to answer in this situation. Although, I know that disagreeing with her right now would definitely get me killed—figuratively, of course. At the same time, I can’t seem to agree. Not when the guy whom I've been swooning over for the past days literally disagreed aggressively.

“But she won't even need me. She's a great d—” He covers his mouth as soon as he realizes the words that were coming out of his mouth. Clearing his throat, he composes himself. “Apologies, ma'am, but I still don't think—”

“You are hilarious, kid,” she says as she lets out a throaty chuckle. “I'm looking forward to everyone's performance.” She bids a good bye to everyone before leaving.

I turn to Jimin who's stifling a laugh beside me. “W-What performance? Why did she partner him with me?”

“Waltz. You'll dance with him.” His grin widens as he playfully says, “And guess what your music is.”

“What?” I ask in full horror. 

“The classic Can’t Help Falling In Love.”

“What?!” I exclaim too loudly, but I apologize for it. Good thing, the next subject teacher hasn't come. 

Jimin only shrugs. “You'd know that if only you weren't too deep in your slumber.”

Dancing Waltz with him? A dance of romance? Can he even hold hands with me without wanting to kill himself?

He doesn't have to show earlier how much he dislikes me, yet he did. He really didn't show any remorse for showing it. That kinda hurts. I still liked him after all. 

“Must be exciting, ey?” Jimin playfully nudges me, but I don't show any happiness or excitement in my face. Even the butterflies in my stomach died at Yoongi's reaction earlier.

“Why did Mrs Kang insist on partnering me up with him anyway?” 

“What else? To punish him.”

I snort, crossing my arms as I look at him offended. “ ‘Punish’? Never in my almost seventeen years of life have I ever heard that me being part of someone's group is a punishment.”

“Chill. I just answered your question. Besides, what can go wrong?”

>>>

“Everything is wrong, Jimin!” I say as soon as I reach the blondie who's munching his sandwich in the cafeteria.

Jimin almost chokes but I pass him a bottle while I still glare at him. He gulps and gestures to me to go on. I look around the cafeteria first, making sure that the little cat demon is nowhere.

“It's been more than a week! MORE THAN A WEEK!!” I whisper-shout at him, my mind fueling my rage as I think about it more. “We haven't practiced or anything!”

“Okay okay… Did you even reach out to him?”

I raise a brow at him, offended and displeased by his question. “You sound like Taehyung. Of course I did!... Once…”

He rolls his eyes at me and sips his water again. “Then what did he say in that one time you asked him?”

My shoulders slump and I pout slightly in annoyance at the memory. “He said he can't since he's tutoring someone that day…”

“But isn't it illegal? Students from our school can't tutor anyone. Ashtonbury wants us to only study for ourselves,” Jimin replies.

I gape at him. Eyes, mouth—even my nostrils are going wide. “That dirty little liar!”

He almost bursts out a laugh but I glare at him before he can do it. “Well, if you want, I can think of something.”

“You will help?”

“Yeah!” He grins, putting his arm around my shoulders. “What are friends for?”

I eye him suspiciously, and he gulps, but still keeping the grin. “What do you want from me?”

“Me? Want something? Pfft. Nah,” he says as he exaggeratedly shakes his hands dismissively. I keep eyeing him until he gives in. He pulls his arm away from me and fidgets with his hands. “Persuade your parents to let Jungkook have a sleepover with us.”

“A what?”

“Come on. It'll be just one night. Tae and I will protect him, don't worry,” he pleads. “So? I help you, you help me.”

I don't really know what Jimin’s plan is, but my grades are at stake in this, leaving me no choice at all.

“Fine. But if it doesn't work…”

Jimin mischievously smiles as he winks at me. “It'll work. Trust me.”

<MUSE>

Clearing my throat, I glance at him as we walk. “You know, we kinda look like we’re classmates. I wonder what type of classmate you are…”

A slow grin creeps into Yoongi's face. “Hmm… we’ll probably be academic rivals.”

Stopping my track, I raise a brow at him. He stops too, tilting his head as if to ask me why I stopped. I cross my arms, mimicking the way he tilted his head. “What do you mean? Why… would we be rivals?”

He chuckles for some reason, crossing his arms like I did.

Are we in a mimicking competition?

“Just so you know… I might not seem like it, but I was quite a competitive person,” he says, almost sounding so smugly in my ears. “And I heard, you really did great in school.”

I nod, a small smirk plays in my lips. “Hmm… So, you consider me a threat in your academic validation?”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh, nodding as if thinking about it. “You can say that… But I tell you what—I hate losing.”

My brow twitches, not expecting him to be this type of person. It surprises me that behind the soft and gentle Yoongi that I know, is someone that’s competitive as I was.

Before I can reply, he steps forward—just a few steps to shorten our gap even more. “And I don’t do the things I hate.”

And in another universe, where Y/n and Yoongi cross paths again, will everything be just fine? Better than the Muse universe where they know so little about each other when they were high school students? Is it right that the fate tugs their red strings closer again? 

2010

First day of senior year!!

But what...?

That snorlax is my… classmate?!

A week ago…

As my mother is too busy talking with a teacher, I slip away and go to roam the school.

But my adventure doesn’t last as it starts to rain. Reaching a shedded place, I groan. “Oh great… Why call it summer when it rains this heavy?”

I know the rain won’t stop soon, so I turn to look at the room behind me.

“So I end up in front of a library…”

Noticing the door ajar, I go inside. I look around the large and wide library. But none of the books really interest me—simply because I've read most of it…unwillingly. 

I sit at one of the tables there, and at the same time, I notice a guy sitting just a couple of tables across from me. His head resting on his arms as he sleeps soundlessly.

In my perspective, he has this soft doll feature that I almost envy him. His skin is as pale as the cold snow, his brunette hair looks soft too—making me wonder what products he is using just to achieve that perfect fluffy looking hair. Small button nose—boopable, thick brows, pink lips that look kissab—

I shake off those thoughts. Why did the thought of kissing a complete stranger suddenly come to my mind? Have I gone mad?

To summarize my whole impression of him—physically—he’s… fine. Which is an understatement, I know.

But what makes me wonder is what his eyes look like. Does he have doe eyes? A siren? A hooded one?

The reason I’m interested in people's eyes is because as the old saying goes “Eyes are the window to our soul,” it thrills me knowing how many words are left unsaid yet with a brief glance, you can tell—you can feel their emotions stronger than any words could describe.

Cliché? Trust me, I know.

I’m just genuinely weird… I guess?

The rain doesn’t seem to plan on stopping so I look over the snorlax once again. Observing the books that are piled up beside him, I look at him with horror and disgust.

Calculus… Linear algebra… Topology… and wha—Quantum physics?!! I’ve read that once, and I don’t have a plan on reading that again. Is he preparing for college at Harvard or something?

He’s so pretty that I just now took a look at what he was doing before he fell asleep. Turns out he’s some kind of nerd, huh? I just hope we won’t be in the same class so I won’t have any problem.

It’s still first or nothing afterall…

I stand up on my seat, and start walking towards his table. I take a look at the notebook that is neatly placed beside the stack of books. 

Min Yoongi… Cute name for a cute face.

I let out a silent chuckle before flipping the notebook open. 

“Whoa… Seeing all these equations… really brings me back to time. The things he’s reading don't even have any connection to their current topic.” I click my tongue, flipping the pages even more until I land on his unfinished assignment.

“Functions and relations? Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” I mutter as I take his pen that is sprawled on the table, and sit a few feet away from him to answer his assignment. 

I know that it’s wrong to touch someone’s stuff without their permission, but I’d like to think of this as help to him—instead of meddling (which I’m obviously doing). I saw his past marks of his other seat works and assignments, and they are all nearly or just perfect. Answering this won’t pull him down. I know what I’m doing—I think.

Why is he reading all those when he still has an unfinished assignment?

A sudden thought comes to my mind while I’m answering his homework. The questions are too easy that I can do it with my one eye closed.

Maybe he finds that answering this is such a waste of time when he could be reading quantum physics instead. Or… those books are just a display and he purposely went here to sleep. The latter seems more believable, honestly.

As I’m close to finishing answering, I notice that the rain outside has stopped. I have one more question to answer anyway, so I start scribbling faster until I’m done. Once I’m finished with it, I draw my little doodle as a signature.

ㅡㅅㅡ

Cute…

I place it back to where the notebook and pen was originally placed, making sure that he won’t have any suspicions until he sees that his homework is done.

It’ll be funny if he’ll think that some ghost answered it.

Back to the present…

I stand in front of the 11-A’s class, eyes never leaving his face. He’s looking back at me with confusion—with smug confusion. His brow raises a bit, his head tilting, arms crossed as he eyes me as if we’re having a staring contest I didn’t know that has started. I can barely grasp the words that my teacher is saying in the background as I‘m too immense on staring back at him. 

He has sharp eyes. A dainty-looking pair. It makes him look like a doll a thousand times better. Even from a few feet, I can see his soft features properly now—better than when I saw him in the library. He still has that cute nose and lips, of course. His hair is neatly combed—making his bangs rest on his forehead just right. His face is a whole perfection, the sharpness of his eyes and brows balance well with his nose, lips, and cheeks. His soft-looking round cheeks.

The type of face I’d draw even in the late hours of the night. Trying so hard, yet even with how many times I try, I still can’t draw him perfectly. Like my hands are not worthy enough to capture it—to draw his perfect face. 

I hear the teacher clear her throat and mention my name that takes me back to reality. “So, as I was saying, why don’t you introduce yourself Ms. Jeon?”

My head snaps toward her, giving her a small apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry.” I turn to look back at the class that consists of exactly thirty students—I did some research, but sadly enough, I wasn’t able to look at everyone’s profile. Though, I was able to get some information about Min Yoongi.

And with every information that I gathered about him, all I know is that he’s a threat.

Academically? Great. In terms of sports? Has a winning streak in their basketball league. He’s even leading a small group of students and teachers that handles charities. He also has the charming and pleasing personality that makes everyone head over heels for him—from what I heard, of course. Not that I’m believing it until it happens to me. Everything in the limited information I got says he’s the perfect role model student that everyone is gushing over. 

How can I compete with… that? This only tells me that for the rest of the school year, I will only suffer from the academic validation my parents are hungry for. 

With a confident stance, I smile at everyone before speaking in the most amiable but formal tone I’ve always been disgusted hearing. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Jeon Y/n. I’m fifteen years old. I was born on December 27, 1994. I like to read. I also write whenever I feel poetic enough, and spend most of my time drawing,” I pause, not really knowing what I am supposed to say after the unnecessary facts about myself. I decided to just end with it, not really wanting to let them know where I used to study. “That’s it. I hope we’ll all be on good terms!” I say with much fake enthusiasm, and bows at them. 

“You look familiar… Where do you used to study?” A sudden voice cuts through. 

I stand up straight to turn to look where the voice came from. A girl with her hair dyed in purple looks at me with genuine curiosity. 

Do they know…?

I study her face, looking for any malicious intent but I find none. Her wide eyes just stare at me as if I’m a boring painting placed in a museum. I clear my throat as I smile at her. “I used to study in Orion High School.”

A few gasps from here and there after they hear it. It’s not really a surprise for me to see them act like that as my previous school is known for being prestigious. For being second.

Second-best to this school. Practically a rival one.

This school—Ashtonbury Academy—is more costly than Orion High, but a few weeks before the school starts again, I got an email that says they’re willing to give me a full scholarship to their school. The reason was probably because ever since I took over the leadership in almost every academic and athletic group, Orion High almost beat them for being first in everything. 

Again—almost.

I was only able to manage to get the first wins in a few competitions and categories. Especially since I was the only one who was lifting the whole team to the prize. Though, in terms of individual competitions, at least 77% of them I was able to win—to be the first.

As soon as I told my parents about the email, they were literally forcing  supporting me to change schools. 

That’s why hearing them gasp and murmur from here and there is understandable. I ditched my old school to go to their rival. I’m a complete traitor—not that I care. I’m only here to study and make sure I won’t hear my parents blabbing how I’m not the first or something. 

But again… How can I?

Even without knowing him personally, I know I should be careful around him. Make sure all my guards are up—neverminding the fact how beautiful he is. I turn to look at him again, wanting to see at least a glimpse of his beauty, but what greets me is his scowling face.

What’s his problem…

I let out a small huff, and plaster a fake smile on my face once again.

“Yoongi, can you raise your hand?” The teacher calls out, and he does as he’s told. He’s sitting exactly in the middle like a king surrounded by peasants—it's an exaggeration of course. “Now, hands down. He’s the class president, and you can ask him for the requirements and tasks that their subject teachers gave them before you came here. And don’t worry, Yoongi will help you. Right, Yoongi?”

His scowl vanishes as the teacher tells him his tasks. He smiles politely, but I know that smile too well. It’s the same smile I use whenever a teacher hands me a task I hate. “Of course, ma’am. It is my pleasure.”

Wow… That voice…

His voice is soft, but deep. It’s alluring enough that it almost makes my knees weak. At the same time, the voice seems familiar too, I just don’t know why.

“I knew I could rely on you,” she compliments him before turning to me again. “As for your seat… Sit with Jimin. He’s also a transferee here so I think you guys can bond more since you share that same thing!” The enthusiasm in her tone is enough to ring in my ears for a few days and still will never leave. She points at the blondie who’s sitting near the window. His head hangs low but he smiles when he sees me walking towards him. 

I take a seat beside him, putting my bag down and taking out a notebook to start taking notes on whatever the teacher will say. Not even a minute after settling down, Jimin speaks. “Aren’t you friends with Taehyung?”

My head snaps toward him so fast I almost break my neck. “How—You know him?”

He nods, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re friends too. He told me his friend will also transfer here… So, it’s you, huh?”

“Yeah…” 

“I’m friends with your brother too, don’t you know that?”

Okay… Maybe this is a bait…. I’ve never seen him before.

I play pretend, keeping a small smile. “Who?”

”Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook,” he replies. “Your last name is Jeon and you’re friends with Tae so I assume…”

So, he is actually friends with them.

“Oh, yeah. I’m his sister,” I say as I chuckle awkwardly. “How come they never told me about you?”

“They don’t? Man… that hurts.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Anyways, why did you only start attending now?”

I scratch the back of my head, smiling at him as I’m too embarrassed about my actual reason (which is me hanging out at my grandma’s house longer than I should). Instead, I just lie. “I got sick, so… yeah… Hah…”

He only nods, suppressing a grin that threatens him to appear. “Ah… Wasn’t it because you were…” He leans a bit closer, enough that he can whisper me his next words. “You were at your grandma’s?”

My eyes widen as I gape at him. “How—”

Jimin pulls back, not suppressing his grin anymore. He shrugs, chuckling quietly as he catches my lie. “Taehyung told me.” That is the last thing he says before turning to face the front to write down the teacher’s lectures.

>>>

The next class starts, and all of our eyes are fixated on the board. Our teacher is discussing matrices. So far, it’s one of the easiest lessons I came across.

A matrix is a rectangular array of numbers. It has rows—symbolized by m and is horizontal—and columns—symbolized by n and is vertical. The numbers inside are called ‘elements’. There is also something called a ‘dimension’ which is ‘m x n’. For example, the row is 3 and the column is 2, so the dimension is 3 x 2.

So simple isn’t it?

There are a lot of types of matrices. Row (just one row), Column (one column), Square (equal m and n), Zero (all elements are zero), Diagonal (the elements are lined up diagonally—rest is zero), Scalar (same with diagonal, but the elements are the same), Identity(same with scalar, but only using number one), Upper and Lower Triangular (aligns in a triangular form: one is upper, the other is lower—vice versa), and Rectangular matrix.

To solve (if it’s a word problem), it should be in a general equation form first. Then, simply turn it into a matrix arrangement.  

In solving a matrix in addition (or subtraction), their dimension should be the same. Simply add their corresponding elements. This operation is the simplest because it is commutative (interchanging the numbers doesn’t affect the answer) and associative (grouping the numbers—using parentheses—doesn’t change the result either.).

I’m too focused on recalling and writing down every important thing our teacher says that I jolt a little when I hear my name.

“Jeon? New girl?” She calls, making me look up at her. “Since you’re new here, you’ll answer this one.”

What does that have to do with me being new here?

It seems like she read my mind as she adds, “I like doing a mini game during my discussions. All of your classmates have played already, so now it’s your turn.”

I stand up, feeling slightly nervous as I walk towards the board. 

She gives me a chalk as she smiles at me. Then, she turns back to them. “Any volunteer to—Oh.” She lightly chuckles. “Come here then, Yoongi.”

I look at him, and I feel my heart jump at the sight of him. But… he barely bears me a glance. Face blank as he only looks at the problem on the board.

“Okay.” Our teacher claps enthusiastically. “The rules are once I say go, you’ll have to solve that. No peeking at one another’s work. The first one to finish wins and gets a plus-five points for our next quiz!” 

The second I hear there’ll be plus points for the winner makes me want to take this seriously. Yoongi and I have the same problem to solve. Nothing too hard nor easy. 

In the problem, it says:

My brain already knows the answers just by looking at it. It’s only a matter of if I’m able to write those fast. 

I take a deep breath, my hands hovering the board as I wait for her signal.

“Ready… Get set… Go!”

 As soon as she says it, my hand swiftly writes the answers. I keep my pace up while still making sure all of them are right. And with the last digit, I harshly write it, making a ‘tack’ sound.

“Done!” I look back at her, suppressing my grin. The adrenaline that suddenly surged through me is slowly dying down.

“Ooh, someone’s fast,” she teases as she checks my answer.

I’m confidently sure it is right, as my answer is:

“It’s correct.” She applauds, making the whole class clap too. Then she turns to Yoongi who’s now scowling. Still cute though. “Hmm… Yours are right too, but she’s faster.” She clicks her tongue as she gestures to us to go back to our seats. “Anyhow, Y/n wins!”

I’m feeling giddy inside but I’m still trying to keep a composed look. There’s nothing better than getting bonus points for a quiz after all.

>>>

The bell rings and it’s already lunch time. Jimin beside me starts tidying up his things—putting everything back on his bag. On the other hand, I just sit still, watching everybody leave. Jimin notices that I seem like I don’t plan to move but rather just slack off in the room.

He nudges me, tilting his head as he asks, “Aren’t you going to eat lunch?” 

“I am,” I say as I turn to look at him and nod. “I’m just going to eat here while I do some work. I packed some snacks anyway.”

He nods, but before he can leave completely, I reach out to grab his wrist. “Oh, and…” I chuckle awkwardly—again—as I look at him. Not that I feel uneasy with him, it’s just that I really get embarrassed whenever I have to ask someone for things—especially if we just get to know each other. “Can I borrow your notes? Just for the things that I missed out.”

“Sure—”

Someone cuts Jimin off as they clear their throats. I turn my head to the side where the sound comes from, and to my surprise, I see Yoongi standing a few feet away from me. He’s holding a piece of paper as he looks down on his feet. His brows are knit together, which makes him look like a grump. A beautiful grump.

It takes a second before he shifts his eyes to me. His gaze remains cold and sharp.

Damn.

“I already told the teacher that I’ll help you. Wouldn’t it be disrespectful if you ask others?” Yoongi says, unamused for some reason. 

His statement catches me off guard. He’s… presumptuous. And I can’t even solely focus on the rudeness of his tone because of his angelic face. 

Even from a few feet away from him, I can see his milky soft skin glow with the help of sunlight that shines on him. His dark brown eyes pop and make it too alluring to look at him.  His hair appears in a lighter shade of brown—still due to the sun rays. In this stance of his, it makes me realize how sharp his jaw is. How good his face is sculpted. Like God Himself took the whole nine months to shape him in the most perfect way he could grant a human while he’s in his mother’s womb. 

It’s unfair how he looks good—no, ‘good’ is an understatement. Pulchritudinous, that’s the word I’ll use to describe his looks. It’s the longest and hardest one to pronounce that I read in a book back then. It’s unfair how he looks so pulchritudinous while wearing our uniform. For him to wear a plain white collared shirt, vest, tie and trousers, and still look like he’s going for a high school photoshoot. The uniform suits him so much that I would think he’s portraying a rich kid in a high school drama. 

The way he stands, his wide shoulders and long legs make his frame look well-proportioned. From the tiniest strand of his hair, to his toe, everything looks in perfect harmony. Like a conductor used his whole life to practice his masterpiece.

Before I even know it, I start murmuring as I get lost in him. “I can draw a circle here… a small triangle just below his—”

“A what?” he asks, his eyebrow raising at me in a provocative way.

My eyes quickly shift to look back at his eyes. “H-huh..? Oh—Yeah… I… Erm… What were you saying again?” I say as I smile at him apologetically.

“I was—Nevermind.” 

That’s all he says before turning on his heel, leaving me dumbfounded.

It takes at least a good three seconds for me to remember what we were talking about.

“Ah—Right! The notes!” I exclaim as I groan, rubbing my temple after realizing how obtuse I must’ve looked like. “Uhm, Jimin—” I turn to the other side to ask my seatmate again for the notes, but when I do, I’m greeted with no one. “He must’ve left too…”

How long did I actually stare at him...?

>>>

The day has come to an end, leaving me to worry about the requirements I have to finish until tomorrow. After I fed myself some street food near the school, I headed straight to the school library, looking for a book that I can use as a reference for our English homework. We have to write an essay about William Shakespear that includes his works and why he is called the greatest playwright.

As I scan through the shelves, I can’t seem to find the one that I need. Sighing exasperatedly, I give up and go to the study area. My eyes light up, feeling giddy inside as I see Yoongi. His back faces me as he scribbles some stuff. Then just when I come closer to him, I see the exact book I’ve been searching for.

Should I sit beside him or ask first? He’s kinda… grumpy.

I instinctively chew my lower lip as my mind goes into panic whenever I have to decide on the spot. I’m not much of a people person, making it harder for me to decide. I hesitantly walk back and forth, until it seems like he notices my presence.

“What are you doing?” he asks sharply, which makes me freeze. He doesn’t even have to look at me, yet I can feel the coldness in his tone.

I clear my throat as I compose myself. “I uh… I’m just wondering if… you don’t mind sharing the book?”

He keeps his back facing me, not even answering my request. After a second of remaining still, he stands up. Tidying up his things, he slings his bag to his shoulder, and walks past me without even taking a glance.

What… was that…?

The book remains on the table, as if staring at me—questioning what just happened too. I sigh, walking towards the table. “Maybe he’s just shy… Or doesn’t like sharing… Or maybe he’s done with it…” I mutter to myself while I take my papers out from my bag. 

As I finish prepping myself, I notice a piece of paper slightly sticking out from the book. I open it to that page so I can take the paper out, and when I do, I gape at what I see. “Wha—this is the… list of requirements.” Highlighted by subject to subject and the dates of the deadlines are also written. Better than what Jimin gave me—which I think that some of it are inaccurate. I chuckle as I read the piece of paper. Then to my surprise, when I shift my gaze from the paper to the book, the page is on the exact topic that I need. “Wow… that’s uh… Min Yoongi is surely full of surprises, huh?”

(MYG POV)

You’ve gotta be kidding me. She can’t be my classmate!

My gaze pierces at the girl in front of me. She’s smiling so widely that even I can tell that it’s fake, leaving me utterly disgusted. While she introduces herself, her words barely register in my head. For what anyways? Listening to her blabbing about herself is nothing worth storing. Besides, I already know her too well—not that I like that fact.

When she says which school she used to go to, everyone gasps. It’s not a surprise. She went from a rival school. I wonder how her old teachers and classmates reacted when they heard about it.

Now that we’re attending the same school, how am I supposed to beat her?!

c.2