#20210819

“Yeah, they’re really…”

He trails off when he realizes who exactly he’s talking to — JYP High’s notoriously joyless cheer captain. People always say it with humor and from a place of love, but the wry smile you have on makes the statement seem serious. It’s a particular kind of smile, one that makes you look like you’re perpetually rolling your eyes. One that doesn’t really match with your jaunty red and white cheerleading uniform.

“Really what?” you ask as you sit into your seat. There’s no mockery in your voice, which surprises him for some reason; people only tease you about your overly cynical demeanor, so why does it feel strange? Right, it’s because you seem like — and look like, if he’s being honest — the mean head cheerleader from every teen movie made.

“Lame. Some of them don’t even make sense. Like, what’s so great about carp?”

You let out a sharp laugh, and Jeongin is unreasonably proud about it. “I hate that one so much. I swear, every English and lit teacher has it hanging up somewhere. ‘Seize the day.’ If I see that one more time, there will be no more days for them to seize.”

He shakily laughs and redirects his attention to the scratched surface of his desk. Someone has carved a frowny face with x-ed out eyes, which perfectly exemplifies how he feels.

“Jeongin, right?” you continue. Thank goodness you took his remark as a joke. “You’re a junior?”

“Sophomore,” he shyly replies, rubbing his still-burning ears.

“Seriously? I thought they only let juniors and seniors take advanced lit.”

“Miss Wang talked to the counselors about it last year since she knew I liked reading the classics, and I guess she thought I was doing well enough in her class, so the school made me take a placement test to see if I could be put in. I had to analyze some passages and write some essays…” He’s talking too much, so he stops there and goes back to looking at his desk.

“You nerd. And a literary one at that,” you say, though it sounds more like a compliment than an insult. “Please tell me you’re not one of those pretentious critics that scoffs at any piece of modern writing ‘cause those guys suck.”

Unfortunately, Jeongin doesn’t get the chance to reassure that he’s not a pretentious critic because class resumes. You rest your head on a propped up arm, and your glittery bow tilts in the same direction. Pretty.

The bow, that is.

Several days later, Jeongin is sitting frozen in his seat, waiting for someone to say something.

There are a few things worse than the entire room going quiet after one has presented their argument. Jeongin would know as he’s currently living in that moment. Is it an impenetrable argument — can you even call it an argument if it’s that indisputable? — or is it so outrageously awful that everyone needs a moment to fully take in the amount of stupidity he put forth? Even Changbin and Wooyoung are oddly silent.

“I disagree,” you say, bursting the bubble of anxiety welling inside him and creating a new one altogether. He should have just stuck with the easiest interpretation rather than try to impress the class. “I think you make an interesting case, but weather is traditionally used to reflect the characters’ emotions and not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but imagine being stuck inside a creepy mansion while it’s constantly storming outside,” Wooyoung counters. “Wouldn’t you go insane too?”

“I’m pretty sure the cheer-less-leader would like the gloom,” Changbin teases. To almost no one’s surprise, you smirk and nod. “I swear, rainy days are the only times you’re actually peppy outside of a rally.”

Mr. Kim, however, still hasn’t gotten used to the gentle ribbing you get from your classmates. “There’s no need for personal attacks,” he says, to which you assure him that it was not a personal attack but a fact. “Does anyone else have anything to add? Chaeyoung? We haven’t heard from you yet.”

Chaeyoung agrees with your stance. In fact, most of the class does, Changbin and Wooyoung being the only exceptions because they enjoy playing devil’s advocate. Jeongin is thoroughly embarrassed, and even more so when someone points out that correlation does not mean causation, rendering Jeongin’s argument useless in the face of statistics. He sinks a little lower into his seat.

After an excruciating amount of time — there is no way thirty minutes is that long — the bell rings. Mr. Kim reminds everyone that the first draft of the analysis essay is due in two weeks. The class lets out a collective groan.

“Time will go by quickly, so don’t procrastinate.”

Jeongin shuts his book, leaving a folded sheet of notebook paper as a bookmark. That essay’s the last thing on his mind as of now. He’s halfway out the door when he hears you mumble to yourself, “Well, that was fun.”

“Not really,” he mutters, mostly to himself. However, since you’re standing right behind him, you hear his reply.

“I think Mr. Kim was impressed,” you say as you fall into step beside him. You’re holding two thick textbooks along with your fancy metal water bottle, and Jeongin debates whether or not  to help you with your books. That would be the polite thing to do, but he’s not feeling too polite towards you after what happened. “I mean, you did argue the opposite of every single literary weather analysis, and you made it sound kind of reasonable. That essay’s gonna be easy for you.”

He parses those compliments in his head, looking for the slightest tinge of sarcasm. He doesn’t find any. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, but say it like you mean it next time.” You give him a half-smile, a cross between your peculiar one and a genuine one. He blushes. “Anyway, have fun in math. It gets even harder next year.”

Jeongin glances at the trigonometry textbook in his hand, deciding not to tell you that he’s not that bad at math. You would just call him a nerd again, and a math nerd seemed worse than a literature one for some reason.

Probably because you seem to prefer reading over solving equations and proofs.

He does too.

The fall rally means two things: one, he doesn’t have to be in class for an hour and two, he has a chance to see what you’re like when you’re in Cheerleader Mode. He overheard Changbin joking that you saved all your energy for performances during class, and he’s seemingly correct.

Your sunny demeanor is so stark compared to your usual cynicism, it’s hard to believe that they’re not from two different people. There’s no lazy cat languor in the way you cheer; all the stunts you perform are sharp and polished, and wow, if he isn’t impressed by the series of flips you pull off near the end. You land into a split in front of the finished human pyramid, grinning from ear to ear. It’s only when the crowd applauds and when the music stops does your grin melt into the particular smile Jeongin identifies you with.

When he sees in advanced lit, you’re still in your uniform, a frown on your face as you jot down the homework assignments from the classes you missed earlier.

“You did great today,” he greets.

You momentarily look up at him, startling him with your sour expression. “Then you must have closed your eyes during the ending.”

“What? I thought it was amazing.”

You shake your head. “I was supposed to finish at the same time the girl on the top made it to the top. I miscounted my flips and did one extra, ugh. Everyone worked so hard, and I screwed it all up at the end. Anyway, thanks. I’m glad you had fun at least.”

“No problem, but” — he’s already blushing, and he hasn’t even said the lines yet — “say it like you mean it next time.”

“Don’t you use my own words against me.” That wry smile returns. You sigh and shut your planner, shoving it to the corner of your desk. The passing period bell still hasn’t rung yet, so you turn to him again. “So Jeongin, literary nerd, how’s that essay going?”

“I’m done. Which prompt did you pick? I did mine on the narrative structure.” He initially planned to write about the landscape and weather, but after that discussion, he decided it was best that he stay away from that topic for a while.

“Yeah, me too. Wanna swap papers during peer review?”

“Yes!” he says too quickly.

“Great. You better not hold back with your comments. Be brutally honest. I want my essay to look like it's been drenched in blood when you’re done with it.”

Two days later, Jeongin is finding that to be rather difficult because you are underselling yourself as a writer. He has heard your points in class discussions before, and they’re always well-thought-out. On paper though, he imagines that this is what you’re like when you’re in Cheer Captain Mode: assertive and matter-of-fact.

Most of his suggestions are about your paragraph transitions and better phrasing, nothing about the actual quotes or their respective pieces of analysis. When Jeongin gets his essay back, his is the one that looks like it has been drenched in blood. He scans through the comments. In the empty space on the last page, in giant red letters reads, “Tighten up your arguments and HAVE SOME CONFIDENCE!”

He’s unsure if this is a personal attack or a motivational speech.

“What does this mean?” he asks.

You lean over, your shoulder only a few centimeters away from his. He could kiss your temple right now if he wanted, and the sudden thought of that makes him flinch.

“Oh, sorry. That was probably my hair,” you say as you draw back. “Anyway, this means exactly what it says. Even though you have good points, you write like you’re unsure about it, which makes you seem less credible. You’re a sophomore in a junior-senior class; you’re smarter than you think you are. So have some confidence.”

He doesn’t really have that much left after reading your paper. Nonetheless, he says, “Okay. And thanks for editing.”

“Thank you to you too.”

You shuffle your papers back together and ask Changbin if he could look over it. Jeongin then trades essays with Felix, who sits catty corner to him. Felix is a junior, a fact Jeongin only knows because that was his interesting fact about himself during ice breakers before Mr. Kim made him choose an actual interesting fact. Jeongin sighs in relief when he sees that Felix’s essay is not nearly as good as yours. At least he knows that not everyone else’s writing skills aren’t as intimidating.

It takes nearly a fortnight for him to realize it, but Jeongin is pretty sure he has a crush on you. It’s either that or he’s holding himself to very high standards of analysis. Your message to “have some confidence” rang in his ears as he made edits to his paper, and he kept checking your facial expressions during class discussions to see if you approve of his argument or not. Then he started noticing the little things, like that little eyebrow raise you do before doling out a snarky remark. Your jackets are always too large, so one side always ends up halfway down your arm before you hastily pull it back up.

“Hey,” you say as you turn to him after finishing your conversation with Changbin. “Are you busy after school on Friday?”

This can’t be what he thinks it is. There’s no way you like him. “I don’t think so,” he squeaks out, ears burning.

“Great. Or maybe not. Anyway.” You open the cover of your topmost textbook and hold out a purple flyer to him. “The cheer team has a fundraiser at FroYoZen. If you show them this, we’ll get twenty percent, so come if you can and bring your friends.”

He takes the flyer and carefully folds into halves. “I might be able to go.”

“Well, I’ll be there, so I’ll know if you actually show up or not.”

Oh, he’s definitely going to go, and he’s going to drag as many people as he can with him. That should make you happy.

Unfortunately, he only manages to convince Beomgyu and Chaeryeong, though Chaeryeong is there more for “cheer-dance solidarity” rather for Jeongin’s sake. He stands in line with his flyer, scanning the tables to see if you are there. Despite half the cheer team being there, he sees you seated by a window with a stack of purple flyers and a cup of yogurt in a perfectly matching color. You’re dutifully doing homework.

“That’s the cheer captain,” Chaeryeong informs when she sees him staring at you. Luckily, you’re too busy with homework to notice that he had been staring.

“She sits next to me in lit. She told me about this.”

Beomgyu and Chaeryeong are stunned by this news, but Jeongin is pretty sure he’s mentioned you before. Well, maybe not by name, now that he thinks about it.

“Is she actually like what people say she is?” Beomgyu asks.

The memory of Changbin calling you a “cheer-less-leader” plays in his head. “Kind of, but she’s nice and really smart.”

“Can you ask her if she’s eating taro or ube, and if it’s good, for me?” Chaeryeong interjects. “Since you know her and all.”

As much as Jeongin would like to talk to you, he’s not sure if he wants to do it in a crowded frozen yogurt shop with dozens of his classmates around. You’re popular, he’s not, and while the social hierarchy at JYP High doesn’t really exist, it still feels awkward to him.

“I just sit next to her…” he weakly protests as Chaeryeong pushes him along, using him as a human shield as they approach you. Beomgyu calls for them to hurry before the line moves up too far. “Why don’t you do it?”

“Because I don’t know her and you do.”

“She’s not as scary as people make her out to be.”

“I know, but I still feel weird about it.”

“It’s one question.”

“Don’t you want to talk to her?”

He stutters out an incoherent response. Jeongin stops at your table, Chaeryeong peeking from behind his back. “Hi,” he says to you, his pitch much higher than normal.

“Hey…” You finally glance up from your notebook. “Oh, you did come. And you brought a friend too. You’re on the dance team, right? With your sister?”

Chaeryeong shyly nods.

“Your routine during fall rally was sick. Anyway, thanks for coming and supporting the cheer team,” you say. “Make sure you show them the flyer during checkout. There’s a bunch here if you need one.”

Chaeryeong takes one even though she has one in her pocket and nudges Jeongin. With more embarrassment than normal, he asks about the flavor you chose. “It’s the same color as the flyers.”

“Yeah, I did that on purpose. Ube’s my favorite flavor here.” You flash Jeongin and Chaeryeong that particular smile. “It’s cheesy, I know, but red and white is really boring for a fundraiser. Might as well pick a good color, am I right? Also, you guys might wanna get in line before it gets too long.”

Chaeryeong nods and waits for Jeongin, but he doesn’t want frozen yogurt anymore. “You can go ahead. Get me mango if I’m not back in time.” he tells her, and she bounds off to Beomgyu who is anxiously glancing at them. To you: “I wanted to ask you if you got your grade for the essay yet.”

“No, I’ve been checking. He said ‘by the end of the day,’ but who knows if he means by the end of the workday or the actual day.” You sigh and readjust your falling jacket sleeve. “Did you get yours yet?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure you did good.”

“It’s Mr. Kim. He’s known to be a harsh grader.” You sigh again and pick up your pencil. “We’ll see what happens. Thanks for coming.”

You say it like you mean it, and something inside Jeongin bursts with confetti. “Thanks for letting me know about this.”

He also means it.

Grades are inputted in at midnight, and Jeongin’s first instinct is to tell you about the amazing 91% he received, only to realize that he has no way to contact you. He finds your social media and spends far too much time contemplating whether he should follow you or not. He wants to, he really wants to. He loves your profile picture: a candid of you leaning against a lit street light in the dark, your deadpan expression juxtaposed with the rose gold balloons you hold. It perfectly captures you.

But is it weird to do so? Would you suspect something if he did add you?

@cheerlessleader stares back at him, daring him to do so. He almost brings himself to press the button. Almost.

When he finally sees you Monday afternoon, he feels like he’s about to combust with all of the good news inside him. You finally finish your conversation with Changbin after what feels like an eternity.

“Grades went in,” he blurts out.

“You got a good grade, didn’t you? Look at this fountain of joy over here,” you call out to no one in particular. You smile. He loves your smile so much, especially when it’s directed at him. “So what did you get?”

He tells you with all of the confidence that he has, and you nod approvingly. “That’s great. Nice job, lit nerd.”

It sounds so pretty when you say it; it rolls off your tongue so easily, more like you’re singing than speaking. “It was because of your comments.”

“As much as I appreciate your flattery, you’re forgetting about your own writing skill. Stop doubting yourself. You’re too young for that.” Your jacket sleeve falls down, and Jeongin wants to pull it back up for you, to cover your exposed shoulder. Mr. Kim’s classroom is always freezing.

“What did you get?” he asks to distract himself.

You tug at your jacket collar. “96. Apparently, I’ve got ‘a little bit of confirmation bias.’ I can’t wait to see his actual comments on the essay, not just that little blurb he writes in the gradebook.”

Jeongin’s blurb is about his “extraneous and unnecessary details” and “looser-than-ideal structure.” “96 is amazing.”

“Thanks. 91’s amazing too.”

“Amazing” is too bright of a word for you to use, especially since your usual speaking tone borders on impassive. But he can tell the difference between your normal drawls and gibes now. Changbin is usually on the receiving end of your playful derision. Your words drip with sarcasm like honey from a spoon, deceiving the recipient momentarily with its sweetness, slowly covering them in its heaviness. It’s a very dramatic affair from Jeongin’s point of view.

He would love to get a taste, a true taste, none of that watered down stuff you serve him.

Beomgyu is one of his closest friends, and therefore knows something is off about Jeongin. “Hello? Are you even listening?”

“Yeah.” To all of his friends, Jeongin has been staring off into the distance for the past five minutes, but the truth is, he’s been observing you at your lunch table for the past five minutes. There’s a football game tonight, so you’re in your uniform, your iridescent bow shining in the sun. Jeongin has this stupid notion in his head that you’ll notice him and wave hello when you catch his eye.

“What’s the color of my homecoming dress?” Ryujin asks.

He snaps to attention after noticing everyone’s eyes on him. Ryujin’s question echoes in his ears, and he tries to play back the snippets of conversation he might have overheard. He swears they were chatting about peach drinks, not homecoming. It’s all white noise though. “Blue?” he guesses.

“Light or dark?”

“Dark?”

“Trick question,” she says, satisfied. She spoons a colorful blob out from her fruit cup. “I’m not going to homecoming.”

While Chaeryeong protests and while Beomgyu gets dragged into their bickering, signaling to an oblivious Jeongin for help, Jeongin is back to watching you make disgusted faces as your friends try hot sauce on apples. When Jeongin has finally given up on getting your attention, Ryujin is still adamant on not going to the dance.

“I’ll go if the boys go,” she says, clearly assuming that neither of them are interested.

“Well, I’m going now just to piss you off,” Beomgyu says. Chaeryeong cheers.

Ryujin is sending Jeongin warning glares, but he simply shrugs them off. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

The lunch table devolves into chaos: Ryujin aggressively flicks water at the Beomgyu and Jeongin, Jeongin tries to shield his books from water damage, and Chaeryeong pleads with her to go dress shopping together. On the surface, it appears that Jeongin has agreed to go to the dance just to spite his friend. That’s only partially why he’s going though.

Before advanced literature can begin, he turns to you to ask you what homecoming’s like — he wants to know if you’re going, but this seems like a more innocuous way of finding out — but you speak first.

“Did you hear about our final?”

He hasn’t.

“An ‘in-depth character analysis, complete with comparisons to other characters from any media.’ Ugh, I thought we were done with this book already. This has to be Mr. Kim’s favorite book or something.”

“It could be worse,” he volunteers. He’s itching to ask you, so he says it without any pretense. “Have you been to homecoming before?”

“Okay, look, I know my whole thing is ‘the cynical cheerleader,’ but I do cheerleader-y things too.” Dry wit, but none of it is about him. Your signature smile doesn’t accompany it, and your tone morphs into something more neutral. “What do you wanna know? It’s definitely not as fancy as prom, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“What’s it like?”

“Kind of boring, if I’m being honest. You just hang out with your friends and talk, maybe dance if you’re feeling extra alive that night. Take pictures in front of the balloon arch and pretend that you’re not actually inside the gym.”

His heart drops. He hopes his voice doesn’t betray him when he asks, “So you’re not going this year then?”

You laugh a little, and the smile shows up, instantly soothing his worries. “No, I am. It’s my senior year. I might as well.”

That’s all he needed to know.

Like you told him, homecoming is a little boring. JYP High’s football team did win their game yesterday, so everyone at the dance is in high spirits, but the event itself isn’t as exciting as teen movies made it out to be. Pictures are taken in front of the arch, in front of the painted ocean scene, in front of the extremely out-of-place red padding on the gymnasium walls.

Jeongin scans the sea of people for you, getting hopeful every time he sees something green. He overheard you talking to Chaeyoung about rewearing last year’s dress, and Changbin complimented the color, saying it reminded him of the wooden grass cutouts they had for the Alice in Wonderland theme but “in a good way.” However, the dimness of the building doesn’t help.

While taking (another) picture in front of (another) painted whale, he hears Changbin’s and Wooyoung’s distinct voices above the hum of the dance. You’re standing near them by the octopus cutout, posing for pictures with a few of your cheer members. Even in the low light, you’re stunning in your short flared dress. You mockingly twirl for the camera, your skirt still spinning with motion when you stop. You smirk and push your shoulder forward, batting your eyelashes in the most coy manner he has ever seen. Then you dissolve into laughter as your members look on with horror when they realize how un-you you’re being. He can’t stop the growing smile on his face.

The sound of a shutter goes off, and Beomgyu lowers his arm and hands the phone back to Chaeryeong. Your cheer members have dispersed, and you melt your way into Changbin and Wooyoung’s circle.

“There’s an octopus!” Ryujin points out. Jeongin never knew about her enthusiasm for them, but he’s grateful for it as she drags them all to where you just were. She plants herself firmly in the center of the cutout.

“Jeongin, ask her to take it for us,” Chaeryeong says, shoving her phone into his hand and using him again as a human shield to get to you. “You know her.”

The same nervous feelings from before arise, and he’s sufficiently red when he finally reaches you. He stiffly holds out Chaeryeong’s phone, being careful to look at your face and not anywhere else. Seeing you up close now is like the opposite of looking at a Monet.

“H-hi. Could you take a picture for us?” he manages to get out. “You look nice, by the way,” he adds in a hurried breath.

“Flattery always works. And thanks.” You say it like you mean it. “Nice tie. I think Changbin’s wearing the exact same one.”

Jeongin’s not wearing a tie.

He fiddles with his shirt collar, wondering if he should have worn one after all. At the octopus, you snap a few pictures of him and his friends, an amused grin appearing as Beomgyu gives Jeongin and Ryujin bunny ears with his fingers. Chaeryeong bounds forward to see how the photos turned out, and Jeongin follows closely behind, mostly so he can be near you again.

“I like your dress,” he shyly tells you as Chaeryeong scrolls through her camera roll.

“What other favors do you need? If it’s stealing the octopus, you should probably ask them,” you say, gesturing toward Changbin and Wooyoung.

“I was just complimenting you.”

“Sure you were.” You turn to Chaeryeong. “Did the pictures turn out okay?”

She beams and nods. “Yes! Thank you so much.”

You wave them off and head back to your friends, returning Wooyoung’s challenge to a dance battle with a snarky retort. Your remark about dancing echoes in his head. Does he dare to do it? And during an event where no one is actually dancing? He takes a step in your direction, eyes trained on your back—

“Shark!” interrupts Beomgyu, disbelief and excitement coloring his cries when he spots the poster. “Let’s go.”

Jeongin follows his friends and situates himself right under the shark’s gaping maw. When he smiles for the camera, it’s because he’s watching you. Your lips are curled into a smirk as you listen to Changbin’s taunts, but even from this distance, he can see the genuine happiness shining through. You catch his eye and wave at him, sending his heart racing.

Carpe Diem!

Today is the day Jeongin seizes the day.

The golden quote by his head has been a reminder of your first interaction with him, and though he can still hear your sharp laugh over it’s cheesiness, it’s a perfect description of what Jeongin’s going to do after school.

Last weekend, he finally worked up the nerve to follow you. He nearly squealed with delight when he saw that you followed me back. Plus, you liked his photos from the homecoming dance and his latest one of his poke bowl. That had to mean something.

So that is why Jeongin is standing in line at FroYoZen, ordering ube yogurt instead of his usual mango. Cheer practice is still going on, but he needs to be back on campus before it’s over. He needs to catch you at the perfect moment and present your favorite dessert to you and ask if you would like to go out with him and wait anxiously for your reply. Just thinking about it makes him dizzy.

When he makes it back to school — thank goodness the store isn’t two far away — practice is still ongoing, judging by the lack of people hanging around the parking lot. Jeongin makes himself comfortable on the steps leading to the main building and watches the building doors. Your carefully packaged yogurt is sitting in the shade of his backpack. He would rather you eat it when it hasn’t been completely turned into a puddle, but practice is going longer than he expected.

“Hey,” he hears Changbin say.

Jeongin meekly says hello back. He doesn’t know Changbin that well since he sits on the other side of the room; you’re his only connection to him.

“You waiting for someone too?” Changbin asks. He sits down beside him, stretching his legs and his arms.

“Yeah.”

“How’s your final essay going?”

“I haven't started yet. What about you?” Why is practice so long?

“Same. I don’t know why he told us a month early. It’s not like anyone’s actually going to work on it.”

Jeongin nods and is frantically trying to come up with another response when the main doors swing open. Two girls he recognizes come out, holding their sparkly pom poms and water bottles. Another girl, this time with a duffel bag. Then you and another senior girl, chatting about another fundraiser, pausing under the veranda to finish the conversation. After you’re done discussing the finer points of Friday nights versus Saturday nights, you start making your way towards the parking lot. When you see him, you raise your eyebrows and your mouth quirks up.

“You seriously waited for me?”

Jeongin smiles and nods. “Y—”

“I told you I would,” Changbin says, standing up to greet you. “I can’t believe you didn’t trust me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause last time I trusted you, I ended up eating fruit with hot sauce!” You shake your head, more with amusement than annoyance, and notice the yogurt cup. “Ube or taro? If it’s ube, you make good choices.”  

“It’s ube,” he replies. His fingers wrap around the container, but he hesitates about giving it to you right now. Changbin being here wasn’t part of his plan.

You nod approvingly. “Nice. Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yeah.”

“I think the dance team is almost done.”

Jeongin just smiles stiffly and wonders if he should just go for it now. He sets the yogurt onto his lap and finds that no words are coming to his head. The speech he had prepared two days ago has been erased from his mind. His heart is beating too fast, the sun is too low in the sky and directly in his eyes, and your gift is slowly melting in his hold.

“See you on Monday,” you tell him as you begin to walk down the steps with Changbin.

All he needs to do is get up and follow you. He’s halfway up when he sees Changbin throw an arm around your shoulder. You make a noise but don’t pull away. Jeongin sits back down.

“You seriously waited two hours for me?” you say. “I was just going to ask Tzuyu for a ride.”

“You know I’m not actually a lousy boyfriend, right? Whatever bad things Yeri has said about me is a lie.”

“Oh, so they’re definitely true then.”

You gasp when he shoves you away and chase after Changbin when he sails down the rest of the stairs. Your red and white pom poms swing back and forth in your hand as you shout in your loud Cheerleader Voice for him to “get back here!”

He’s such an idiot. Why didn’t he see it before? Changbin is always around you, playing devil’s advocate to all your arguments, teasing you. Your social media handle is his nickname for you! All this time, he just thought Changbin was a friend — a really, really good friend.

The main doors swing open again, and the dance team comes out, just like you promised, but he doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t even realize going to school the following Monday; all he knows is that it was torture. Tuesday is torture. Wednseday is torture and basically every day sitting beside you is torture now that he knows he can’t ever go out with you. You still act the same towards him, sharing complaints about homework and teasing him for being a nerd, but he can’t joke or make you laugh like he used to. His feelings for you melt like yogurt in his hands: an ungraspable liquid that seeps through his fingers, falling helplessly to the ground, yet ever still so present, sticky and uncomfortable.

~ ad.gray

Extra: Changbin’s oxymoron is supposed to be salty sweetheart.