#all my kids are gonna fail the fucking science test we only half finished on Tuesday but OH FUCKING WELLLLLLL

[shad-the-rad]

thank GOD I get another snow day tomorrow

[moonflower-31]

I Won't Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

(This is gonna be a series, so keep an eye out for this one if you like it.)

Summary: So imagine you're in the CM universe if you will. And you're just graduating from the academy. You're looking to join the BAU. You have hyperthymesia, the ability to never forget anything. Except for rare occasions. After the final exam, you run into one Dr. Spencer Reid. Eventually, you get accepted to shadow the BAU on a trial run as an agent. But you have a past that may endanger those you work with. Also, you love Spencer. Cause who doesn't?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (this makes sense only for storyline, sorry 😞)

Masterlist

Please leave comments! I love reading them ❤ 💕

~~~~~~~~

Nervous. So dreadfully nervous you were and am. But here we are. No turning back now. 

"Hello, cadets. And welcome to your final exam for your graduation. We hope all of you do well. The FBI, as you know, has many branches. 56, to be exact. We hope that for those of you who pass, that you'll find your calling in one of our offices. For those of you who don't, don't fret. We always allow you to retake the last semester and the exams. The FBI is in desperate need of new agents." The speaker in front of me is seriously loud. Though you don't dare speak up about it. 

Associate Deputy Director Gail Franklin spoke with such elegance. She obviously has had practice, you think to yourself as you watch the grey-haired woman speak atop the raised portion of the testing room. You couldn't count how many people even if you tried. And you don't forget anything. 

"Psst!" 

You groan quietly and try to ignore your idiot but golden-hearted friend who couldn't sit still. 

"Psst! (Y/N)!"  

You ignore him again, focusing on Franklin's closing commentary.  

"I wish you all good luck. Please refrain from beginning your exam until all test-takers have received their tests. Thank you." She then proceeded to turn and begin her trek out of the room, the click of her heels being the only reminder she was even here. 

"Psst-! Come on, (Y/N/N)!" 

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Finally, you turn your head and give your dear friend a very annoyed look. "What is it, Gabe? Like seriously, you couldn't sit still through one teansy tiny lecture? From the ADD herself?" You tease, pulling out a #2 pencil from your bag. Sure, most everyone will be using pens, but you remembered that the test scanners prefered graphite.

Gabriel whined teasingly at your jap. "No fair, (Y/N/N)! I just wanted to talk to one of my best friends. That too much to ask?" He sassily remarks, flipping his floppy golden-brown hair. 

You rolled your eyes and couldn't help but feel a smile form on your face. You loved him like a brother. But that also meant he annoyed you like one too. 

"You couldn't have waited till she was done?" You couldn't help but question him further. It was one of his weaker points. Under pressure, he tended to get uncomfortable. 

"Nope." Popping the 'p' he blew a kiss at you. "Anyway, how prepared do you think you are for this test? I almost made it an all-nighter trying to cram everything in again. Fuck me and my terrible memory." You grinned and giggled under your hand. 

"Gabriel, I told you, if you ever needed help studying I would be there. You're gonna do fine." 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say. You didn't even have to study with that god-given gift of a memory you got." 

You bite the inside of your cheek, faking a slight chuckle. Everyone thought remembering everything was a superpower. Sure, if you call superpowered headaches and occasional dizzy spells a super-side-effect. 

So, yes, you had the 'gift' of having hyperthymesia. The disorder where you never forgot anything. Of course, there were a few rare occasions, like you could only remember a handful of memories from before you were four. But other than that, you had nothing from your earliest childhood. It made you feel semi-normal. 

"It isn't a gift, Gabe. It's only a gift in the academic field. And I'm lucky to have a 'genius' IQ." You huffed in response to Gabriel's little comment. 

"Yeah yeah, but you have a filing cabinet for a memory. So why study? You have it all up there." He asks, taking the test packet from the assistant that had finally made it to him. 

"Studying, as a science, is a great way to improve your memory, quicken your speed of processing data and important information, and you stretch your mind's capacity for learning. Also it helps me understand a topic better. Just like anyone else." 

You take the packet from the assistant and widen your eyes slightly at the size. It was massive. At least the size of your tiniest textbook. You could almost hear Gabriel whimper next to you as he saw how big the packet was. At least you all had three and a half hours. And it wasn't required to get through all of them. Just try to do your best on the written response ones.

You turn to Gabriel and hold out your fist. "Good luck." 

Gabriel sighed and gave you a smile before pumping his fist gently against yours. Soon after he made a dramatic explosion noise that only you could hear. You roll your eyes and shake your head again, turning your full attention finally to the large test in front of you. 

Here goes nothing, you tell yourself. 

○●♡●○  

Remarkably, you think you did okay. Of course, you finished the test in the first hour and a half, but who's counting? Certainly not you. 

You rub your aching wrists from so much essay work as you exit the testing room. Even with an unbeatable memory like yours, your hands were still human. So they hurt like a bitch. 

You sigh and take a quick seat on the bench outside the room, probably sticking out like a sore thumb in a crowd of other cadets who weren't in your graduating class. But you tried not to pay it any mind. You were used to being the 'odd man out'. 

You check your phone and smile down at the message your other friend, Iris, had sent you. She wasn't testing for the FBI like you and Gabe. No she was a barista with some mean skills at mixing new drinks. She wanted to open her own cafe and Gabriel and you wanted to support her. She'd been there for you every second of the last five years. You owed her at least a little thanks. 

When you look up, you couldn't help but notice a tall, lanky looking man with long, curly hair walking towards you as he looked for…something. You couldn't tell. Probably a map. He had a gun holstered on the side of his belt along with a blurry ID you couldn't read from so far away. But it looked like it said FBI. 

You stifled a soft snicker. This guy could say he was a teacher's assistant and if he didn't have the gun on him, you would've believed him. 

And that's when you caught his eye and instantly you recognized who this lost puppy was. More specifically, who he belonged to. 

"Hi, uh I'm Dr. Spe-" he began, looking a bit nervous as he began to introduce himself. 

"Dr. Spencer Reid. From the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I've heard of you." You accidentally interrupt. "Sorry. I don't forget names easily. I don't forget them ever, really." 

Nervously, you rub your hand on your neck, waiting for his response. And surprisingly, it wasn't one you expected. 

Spencer widened his eyes a bit in wonder that someone knew of him that he hadn't met before on a case. And she knew which branch he worked in. He blushed a bit, growing a tad tongue tied. 

"S-sorry, I'm Cadet (L/N)." 

Spencer raised an eyebrow. He wondered why you didn't give him your first name. But he didn't pry. It was your personal business. And besides, it wasn't like he needed to know your first name. 

"U-uh yeah, actually. I-I wanted to ask you if you knew where I could get a glimpse of a map. Just so I can find my way around. I'm here for a 'lecture' that I'm helping give the graduating class of FBI agents." He couldn't help but brag a tiny bit. "It doesn't start for another 3 hours, but I like to be prepared." 

You smiled up at this tall nerd. And an incredibly cute one at that. He was so out of place you sympathized with him. He was basically you. In like, every academic scene you've ever been in. 

"Understandable. I'll be seeing you there hopefully. I'm a part of that class." You grinned. "But yeah, here's the map," you say, pulling up a digital map on your phone. Spencer leaned over your shoulder and looked it over. You couldn't help but shiver slightly at the sound of his breathing so close to your ear. It felt eerily calming. 

"Really?" He asked after he pulled away from your shoulder. "T-thank you for the map, by the way." He adds last-minute. You giggle gently and nod. 

"Yep. The test only started an hour and about 45 minutes ago, so I gotta wait a little while." Groaning playfully you shrug at him, crossing your arms to get more comfortable. You wouldn't lie, he was seriously cute. Of course, you'd seen him before on your secret internet dives. But in-person was so much better than sitting behind a screen gawking over a photo. An ID photo no less. 

"You already finished?" 

There it was. The immediate doubt of your intelligence everyone had when you accidentally showed your smarts. You sighed. "Yeah. Kinda hard not to with an IQ of 167 and a memory that pretty much never fails." You shrugged nervously, looking away as you braced yourself for his incoming doubt. 

"Oh. Hyperthymesia, right?" He inquires. You blink a few times and look at him like he just said something so foreign you didn't know how to respond. 

"U-uh...y-yeah. It's rare, but I got it. How'd you know?" 

"It was more of an educated guess. See, you bite the inside of your cheek when you're nervous," he points out. You in fact, were biting your cheek as he spoke. "And you seem unintimidated by me despite knowing of my position. You only grew nervous when I mentioned anything academic. Which proves to me you're used to being the smartest kid in the room. And having to explain why every time." He finishes, leaving you a gigantic puddle of impressed and embarrassed that he had profiled all of that from only a few minutes from conversation. 

"Geez, didn't expect to get profiled today. You're really good at it, you know. Well, I mean you would be. 'Cause you w-work for the BAU." You begin to ramble, groaning internally for suddenly turning into an awkward blob in front of this professional. 

Spencer smiled a bit wider and let out a soft laugh. "So, y-you want to work for the BAU?" 

You look at him puzzled for a moment before you remember that he'd been profiling you for the past five or so minutes. "Right, profiler…" you mutter. "Y-yeah. It's kinda been a dream of mine for years. Police officer never really appealed to me. I wanted to get into the real deal. Catch the hard criminals. Give myself a challenge, you know?" You rattle off, realizing just how comfortable you'd grown to Spencer in the short conversation you've had. 

Spencer nodded. "It was always a dream of mine as well. I was kinda groomed for it." He admitted. "S-so… any jitters at all? Did you know that t-the common feeling of nervousness or 'butterflies' is actually caused by the reduced blood flow to the abdomen. Your stomach's sensory nerves sense the lack of oxygen and blood and it produces the fluttery feeling you get before a test or before a big performance." 

You smile brighter. "Really? I never thought of that. I always just thought it was a signal your brain sent or something. That's interesting. I'm kinda glad I won't forget that." 

Spencer felt his surprise increase again. You hadn't cut him off. There was no 'Sorry I asked' or awkward asking if he always did this. You actually listened. And you wanted to hear more! He didn't think he'd ever find someone willing to listen. 

"H-heh…" Spencer chuckled. "W-well did you know that most people will forget 50 percent of the information you've been taught in one hour will be forgotten? A-and in 24 hours more than 75% of the information is gone. That's why studying is so important. It helps retain that information so it doesn't 'slip' as easily." He begins to rattle off again, quite glad he found someone who actually wanted to hear his statistics. It was a good cover for his nervousness about talking to this incredibly gorgeous woman. 

You tilt your head in interest, laughing gently. "That's what I keep saying! Yet everyone always asks 'Why study if you remember everything?'" You exclaim, making a whiny voice expression for the impression of absolutely every bully you'd had ever. 

A darker skinned man, who was much more gifted physically walked over as you and Spencer continued your conversation. He wrapped an arm around Spencer teasingly and nodded to you. 

"Hope this pretty boy ain't bothering you baby girl." He greets. "He's great once you get to know him." 

Spencer just looks annoyed at this man's sudden presence. "Seriously, Morgan? We were actually having a conversation before you butted in." He grumbled annoyedly. Then you remember the face. This was SSA Derek Morgan. You'd seen him in some pictures with Spencer. He wasn't too bad looking. In fact, you knew Iris would climb him faster than a squirrel did a tree. But Spencer was a bit more your type. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow and smirked at you. "Oh really? So now pretty boy's talking to girls?" He teases, letting Spencer free from his suffocating hold. He then extends a hand out to me. "Derek-" he started. 

"Derek Morgan. SSA from the BAU. Yeah, I know about you." You grinned. He looked you up and down a bit in the same interest that Spencer had. That soon was replaced by a confident smile. 

"So you know of me." He said in a clearly flirtatious tone. "Don't tell me you've been searching up my pictures in your freetime, babygirl." He flirts. 

You roll your eyes and take his hand, shaking it firmly. "No, I haven't. Though I have heard of you from my classes. But if I'm honest?" You begin. "I'm really wishing I could forget that comment." You sassily respond. He laughed. 

"No one ever forgets, Babygirl." He grinned. 

Spencer sighed and turned to Morgan in annoyance. "Morgan." He deadpanned. You looked towards him and giggled a little. It was clear Spencer had wanted to talk to only you. Maybe it was something to do with the statistics. You had a feeling that he felt he was finally being listened to. 

"What? I'm just introducing myself to one of the new cadets." He insists, raising two hands up in defeat. 

"Did you just profile me without my permission?" You ask him with fake offense. He laughed. 

"Did I need to ask, sweetheart?" He asks. You chuckle. 

"Guess not." You shrug. 

"What's your name, beautiful? A pretty face has got to have a pretty name." He flirted. 

"I'm Cadet (L/N)."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, fully ready to ask why the hold-up on your first name when Spencer thankfully saved you an explanation. 

"She didn't share it with me either. Probably a mode of trust." He explains. Morgan shrugged. 

"I'll find out eventually. You'll give it away." He insists. 

"Uh huh, sure I will." You tease. 

"Reid, Morgan, we need to prepare." You hear a third voice call the two men away from you. You stand a bit on your tiptoes to get a good look at who it was that was speaking. 

Aaron Hotchner walked towards the three of you almost with a purpose. So much confidence in one man. 

"Who is this?" He asked. 

"I'm Cadet (L/N), Agent Hotchner. It's a pleasure to meet you." You greet, holding out a hand to him. Hotch raised an eyebrow at you in interest before shaking your hand in earnest. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well. I've heard of your excellent grades and work in your studies. I hope to see you among the enlistees requesting the BAU." He greets, letting his hand fall back to his side. 

"That's the plan, Agent Hotchner." You chip pleasantly. Morgan seems genuinely surprised.  

"Wait, you're interested in the BAU? Profile me." He insisted. You blush from the sudden spotlight. 

"W-what?" You ask. 

"Morgan, that's enough." Hotch warns. 

"Leave her alone, Morgan." Spencer expressed. 

"No, it's fine." You assure. "Well, from the looks of your attire compared to your colleagues, I'd say you hate wearing formal clothing. Prefer to be comfortable. Your consistent flirty personality is mostly a show, as you wouldn't really flirt with someone you just met the way you flirted with me. So you either have someone in mind, or have a partner at home. And besides that, the way you greeted Dr. Reid proves you think of him as a younger brother, and you treat him like the brother you never had." You finished, a pleading voice in the back of your head screaming at you in hopes that you hadn't gone too far. 

Instead of being offended, Morgan began to smile and grinned, clearly impressed. "She's actually pretty good." He comments to Hotch, glancing to Spencer and then back to you. "You'd make a good profiler." He compliments. You smile happily and full of relief at him. 

"I sure hope so. Anyway, you should probably get going to the auditorium. The mics are a pain to tune and figure out, so I'd get it done now." You giggle slightly. 

Spencer nodded and smiled at you. "T-thank you, again. Cadet (L/N)." 

You couldn't help but blush a tad as he said your title. "Of course, Dr. Reid. Anytime you need directions." You tease. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "What about me?" He teased back. You mock think about it for a moment before you reply. 

"Sorry, I think you can figure it out, pretty boy." You joke, winking at him. He smiled brightly at your sass, chuckling a bit. 

Hotch then got your attention very easily. "It was a pleasure to meet you again, (L/N)." 

"You too. Good luck on the lecture." You bid them all fair well and turn around to take your seat again. 

"Ooh, somebody's in looove~!" You hear Gabriel sing in a sing-song voice. You chuckle and shake your head. 

"I am not in love, Gabriel. You just started eying the pretty boy I was talking to. You know, handsome black guy?" You tease. 

"Hmm, yeah, probably. But seriously. I saw you looking at that other kid, the professor's-aide-looking guy, like he was a mountain of sugar. And I know sugar." He teased, sipping a coke he had obviously bought after the test. 

"Oh shut up. Have you heard from Iris yet?" You ask. 

"Nope. She's probably busy over at The Bean. We should go visit. Tell her about your rendezvous with Mr. Teacher's aid." Gabriel snickered. 

"No, we are not telling Iris anything. You know how she gets. She gets all protective, and then nobody wants to go out with me cause they're all scared of her." You groan, stealing his coke for a moment. 

Gabriel smirks at you. "So you admit that you like him?" He teases. You immediately realize your mistake and groan, covering your reddening face. 

Gabriel chuckled and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, sugar-tits. Let's get out of here for a lil' bit. Come back for that 'lecture' in like an hour." He teased. You bring your hands away from your face and sigh. 

Did you really like him? Maybe. It was probably just an internet crush. Nothing more. It wasn't like it could get worse. 

[basicallywhiterice]

Eight words: Han Jisung

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, lowkey friends to lovers lmao, smidge of angst, fluff

Warnings: Cursing

Word count: 8.5 k

Summary: Sure, one could tell someone they loved them with eight letters. But eight words convey deeper, more complex meanings.

a/n: Happy birthday, Han aka J. One aka Jisung! I wish you a smooth, unhurried transition into adulthood, as do all Stays. And dear reader, I present to you this fic about my bias… enjoy!

•••

One word.

Three words and eight letters can sum up my feelings towards Han Jisung, although they’re much more intense than what eight letters can contain.

“I hate you.”

Case in point: After a long day of lectures and labs, I’m ready to throttle him.

“Jisung.”

“Y/n,” he mocks, making his voice higher to imitate mine.

No, he’s not my friend. Of course not. I wouldn’t tell a friend: “I’ve been looking for you. Thanks for responding to my text messages asking where you were. I really appreciate it.” No, Jisung’s really more like a stuck up, annoying dumbass who happens to do well on every test he takes.

“Oh, I had my phone turned off. But you missed me that much?”

I puff my cheeks up and sigh. “You wish. Do you wanna review for the Bio exam together?”

“Biology?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“The one I’m really good at?”

“Debatable, but whatever floats your boat.”

“And let me get this straight,” he says, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. “You need my help to study for it? My help? The help of me, Han Jisung? J. One? The one for you?”

“I don’t need your fucking help-” I bite back a few colorful words when I see his barely-hidden smile expand into a smirk and he shakes his head, almost disapprovingly. “Sort of, yes.” I muster the fakest smile I can display without cringing, tilting my head for added sarcasm.

“No.”

“Why not?” I sigh, having expected this to happen.

“What’s the fun in that, darling?”

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I fume over his disgusting pet name. “Han Jisung, I’m gonna strangle you in your sleep-”

“While that sounds tempting, and I had no idea you were into that, you’re not giving me any other reasons to help you, darling.” He leans back, resting his head against his pretty soft interlaced fingers, fixing me with The Look™ that lets me know he’s messing with me and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

“We’ve studied for every test together and I’m sick of asking if you want to study every single time? Is that a good enough fucking reason for you?”

He drops one of his hands down and rests his index finger on his chin. “That’s valid…” he exhales, after a long, drawn out pause.

I nearly deck him in the face. I roll my eyes instead. “You know what, I’m leaving. Tell me your answer tomorrow if you need that long to think.” I shove my binders and textbooks into my backpack, swing it up on my shoulders, and make a beeline for the door. It’s not fair to snap at him so unexpectedly like this, but with the first semester at college rushing to a close, I don’t have enough time to play these petty games.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait up. What’s wrong?” he runs after me and pulls me back by my elbow with his right hand.

I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my anger that’s not because of him but directed at him (at least, not today). “Nothing, I’m just really not in the mood for this kind of exchange for another twenty minutes. I have to study for more than just the science exam. I’d like it if we could just skip this elaborate negotiating for just one day.”

“Oh.” He lets go of my arm. “Yeah. Sure. Studying for exams together. Same studying schedule, texting if we change any days?” When I nod in affirmation, he sticks his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sorry for stressing you out more. You can tell me when you’re having a bad day, you know.”

Oh. “I know. Sorry for snapping at you. I didn’t mean it.” He starts to say something, but I hold up a hand. “It’s somewhat tolerable to have someone to banter with every day.” I blurt out.

Jisung glances down, then raises his gaze to meet mine. His eyes squeeze into crescents. His plump lips (ew) stretch outwards to reveal his pearly whites. I’m sure that my expression mirrors his.

“Good to know my efforts are appreciated.”

“Don’t get a big head. Well, don’t get an even bigger one.”

“You mean a big brain.”

“No, you don’t have a brain.”

He feigns a hurt expression. “Wow, princess. I thought I was tolerable.”

“You ruined the mood!” I shake my head, laughing. “You’re only somewhat tolerable. Definitely not when you call me pet names.”

“Sugar, you wound me.”

“Han Jisung!” I smack his arm half-heartedly.

“You love it though, honey.” He rests his hand on the top of my backpack, gently guiding me out the library doors and towards the parking lot.

Hm.

(Yes.)

•••

Two words.

This was supposed to be a peaceful weekend hangout.

“Felix, put that knife down! Right now! Or no Fortnite for a week!”

Somehow, all our weekend hangouts end up with Chan and Woojin babysitting. That is, until they act like kids themselves.

“Don’t challenge him to a knife fight, Chan! This isn’t Australia, where you have to fend for yourself in the desert—Kim Woojin if you join them I’ll let Minho cook dinner for a week.”

Then the rest of us babysit them until we figure out a better alternative to plastic-knife fencing (Changbin and Chan end up winning after they team up). After finally agreeing on going to the park (like in the Boxer video you know), the boys take over the swings and unintentionally terrorize children (while complaining about freezing to death) while Ryujin and I rethink our life choices and miss Tzuyu, who’s in Taiwan visiting her family.

“Why are we friends with them, again?” she asks, picking at her nails and pretending not to laugh when Seungmin throws wood chips in Hyunjin’s face.

“Yeah, y/n, why are you friends with us?” Jisung butts in after Jeongin refuses all of his hugs. I shoot him a thumbs up, and he grins behind Jisung’s back.

“I’m not friends with you. I’m friends with everyone else here because they’re cool, unlike you, stupid.”

“Ah, you were never a good liar, sweetie.”

Ryujin stifles a laugh, and I shoot her a half-hearted glare. “Not right now, Jisung. I’m still stressing over exam grades.”

“All the teachers entered them this morning, you know.” Surprisingly, there were no pet names present in that sentence. Hallelujah.

“They did?” I check my phone, and sure enough, all the exam grades are there. “What! I was reloading this page all morning! What’d you get in Bio?”

“An A. You?”

“As expected. Same.”

“As expected,” he mimics.

“Is that why you didn’t drag me on the slides?” Ryujin asks. “Because you were worried about your grades, that always end up being an A?”

“No comment.”

“You should go and have fun now that you know your GPA is safe,” she suggests. “No point in coming here if you’re just going to sit here.”

“You were the one who refused to associate with these,” I jab a thumb at the boys, “losers.”

“Oops.”

“You guys should play tag with us or something,” Jisung offers. “See who’s a loser then.”

“Challenge accepted. I’ll go round up the others,” Ryujin agrees, pushing herself off the metal bench and jogging over to the swings.

“What about you, y/n?” asks Jisung.

“Hm. Maybe.” I pretend to think, already knowing my answer is going to be yes.

“Come on! Join us?”

“How could I say no? I can’t just sit back and watch you lose without joining and winning against you.”

“... I’m going to pretend the reason is because you’re such a great friend to us.”

“Only the rest of them. Not you.” I correct him.

“Thank you. ‘preciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

•••

Three words.

The ice on the streets is frozen and so am I.

I had ducked into the quaint little cafe on campus to grab a hot drink and to regain feeling in my feet when I saw what’s causing me to stand here—frozen, like a statue.

I saw Jisung. In our cafe. The one I frequent at least twice a week with him (not voluntarily, of course. He follows me here, probably to annoy me more, and I let him so I can annoy him more.)

Under normal circumstances, I’d be disgusted, not paralyzed. But today is different.

He sits at a two-person table. Next to him, a girl leans over his shoulder, wearing the headphones connected to his computer, occasionally commenting on parts of what I assume is his latest song. Her backpack rests on one of her shoulders. When she turns her head, I can see her face clearly.

He’s with Tzuyu, one of the youngest rising stars in the arts at our university, a hardworking student, an all-around sweet person, and a good friend of ours.

Why, one might ask, did I freeze in place? Simple: I’m sick of Jisung trying to woo girls with the songs he composes.

Once I regain my senses, shuffle forward in line, and place my order, I glance over at their table again. Tzuyu takes off the headphones and starts talking while pointing to different places on his laptop. Jisung smiles sheepishly at the last thing she says. The little prick. It must be an act–after all, if he’s flirted with so many girls through his music, he should be used to the compliments.

Tzuyu walks away from him after glancing at her watch and waving goodbye. She notices me when she���s halfway to the cafe door and grins, waving at me before she shoots Jisung one last smile and leaves. I wave back.

Of course, this exchange means that Jisung notices me. He motions for me to wait, holding up one finger. He clicks around on his laptop, closes it, and slides it into his backpack, along with his headphones. He stands up right as my drink is finished and my name is called. I snag the drink and try to rush to the door as discreetly as possible. Unfortunately, I’m very conspicuous, and Jisung follows me, calling my name.

I’m outside when he catches up with me, frozen in place once again as I internally debate if I should stay and talk to him or leave him. He makes the decision for me when he steps beside me, tugging my elbow in the direction I’m facing to get me to walk so I don’t hold up foot traffic.

“I told you to wait for me in there, y/n. You usually do it, why’d you ignore me today?”

Play dumb, y/n. “Who’s y/n?” Not that dumb!

I clear my throat and try again. “You were in there?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I know you saw me.” When I don’t reply, he sighs. “Walk with me? It’s the last week before break and I won’t have the pleasure of personally annoying you every day.”

I tilt my head forward to tell him to start walking. I can only think of a (half-hearted) protest once we’ve walked a full block. “It’s going to snow soon.”

“You love the snow.”

I exhale through my mouth, forming a cloud of condensation with my breath in the crisp, chilly air. “Yeah, I do.”

A beat passes. Quietly, Jisung asks, “Are you mad?” Another beat. “At me?”

I think back to Tzuyu getting the opportunity to hear an unreleased track. “No, I’m not.” My heart pangs when I picture them leaning in so close together, even though my rational self tells me I shouldn’t be mad over something that small, especially if it concerns such a close friend and such a stupid asshole.

“I think you’re mad. You’re talking a lot less than normal.”

“Congratulations. You must think you’re so smart.”

“Thanks for finally noticing.”

“Look, what do you want?”

“I want to know why you’re mad.”

“Who said I was mad?”

He snorts in disbelief. “You literally just admitted to it.”

“When did I say that?” I stop walking.

He laughs, a dry, airy chuckle that morphs into a sigh. “I just want to know why you’re mad, and if I can help.”

I scoff. “Thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll be alright. Is there anything else-”

“No, you don’t seem like you’ll be fine! You almost never get angry!”

“Why are you so angry about me being angry? Not everything’s about you.”

I suppose it would be a great testament to anyone else’s character if they realized my insults were just my anger speaking and refused to insult me back. However, this is Jisung we’re talking about. He’s more likely to stop talking because he can’t think of a retort, not because he’s conscientious.

Sigh. Maybe he’s not that bad after all.

Just when I acknowledge the slim possibility that Jisung might not be a jerk all of the time, he reaches out and steals my phone.

“What-”

“I’m not giving this back until you tell me why.” He taps away at the lock screen, and unlocks it.

My lips part slightly and my eyebrows crease together. I’m in shock. “How-”

“I’ve seen you enter your password a lot, I just never thought about using it until today. Let’s see… should I read over the English story you refuse to send me because it’s not done yet?”

I break out of my stupor. “Stop it! There’s a reason I haven’t sent it yet. It’s horrible!” I reach out, left arm flailing uselessly, hand smacking his shoulder. He just steps back and turns away from me.

“Oops, too late.” Over his shoulder, I can see him click on the Google Docs app and open the most recently edited document. He scrolls the page down, reading as he goes, but he’s moving around so much that I can’t read the words on the screen at first. My heart nearly stops when I recognize the format of my poetry doc, a place where I word vomit all my artistic and lyrical poetry ideas.

“Jisung, stop! Right now!” I wonder how desperate I sound right now, although I try not to show it.

That’s my poetry. It’s raw, unfinished, and, quite frankly, really cringy. I’ve only trusted Ryujin, Tzuyu, and Hyunjin enough to read one poem, let alone all of them. And now Jisung is scrolling through the entire document.

My blood boils over, simultaneously turning to ice. I chuck my cup of hot chocolate into the trash can. My appetite’s been ruined. I wrestle my phone out of his grip using two hands, palms and fingers crashing against the screen, frantically checking to see if I accidentally modified my poems with my clumsy tapping. I silently sigh in relief when I’m certain nothing was edited. Then, I fix Jisung with a cold, blank stare.

“Those poems were good…” he trails off when I take a step towards him. “No, really.”

“Those were personal poems that I don’t want people to read unless I decide to share them when they’re finished. I don’t want someone who’s going to make fun of me to read it! Don’t you understand the concept of privacy?” I spit out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. That… kind of reminds me of my songs and how I only share them with people I trust a lot when they’re unfinished. I shouldn’t have gone through all of that.”

“It reminds you of your songs? Well, unlike you, I don’t use my creative work to flirt with others.”

He flinches, eyes wide and panicked. “How did you know about that?”

“About you flirting through songs? It’s obvious: you let them listen to your unfinished work, and then they compliment you and you pretend to be all humble and everything and-” I groan and run a hand through my hair. Be a nice person. Don’t insult him. Be a nice person. Don’t insult him. Be a nice-

“Are you mad that Tzuyu was helping me with a song earlier in the cafe? Is that why you’re mad?”

I gape at him. “The world doesn’t revolve around you and your enormous ego! Plus, don’t you remember what happened the last time you stole my phone?”

Jisung wasn’t always this annoying. When I first met him, I even thought he was cute. (I still do, but I always deny it, and any non-platonic feelings, if anyone accuses me of thinking that way.) But a few weeks after I met him, when we had become friends, he stole my phone and accidentally deleted a notes page where I kept several passwords (that I was too lazy to remember). He apologized, but the damage had already been done.

“I’ve never used my music to flirt with anyone. And for your information, I ran into Tzuyu. I didn’t invite her to flirt with her.”

Oh. “Ok, and?”

He drags a hand over his face. “Why were you mad at me when we left the cafe?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m ready to storm off and leave, but I realize that Jisung did have a point. Today is the last day before break, and even if he’s a conceited jerk, I don’t want to end things on a bad note until we see each other again.

I take a deep breath. “Let’s sit down and talk through this like civilized people. Is that ok?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this entire time!”

I drag him over to a bench and plop down, leaving a respectable amount of distance between us. “You want to know why I’m mad? I’ve been asking to hear your unreleased tracks for who knows how long, and you won’t even let me read the lyrics. I have to wait until you and the rest of 3racha drop an album. And I understand that! You're allowed to not share your work! But you also let a ton of people listen to your songs and they just end up complimenting your talent, whereas I’ve offered to help you refine your songs. To me, that seems shallow, especially since most people you show them to are girls. And then you go through my poems without my permission. To be fair, I might be overreacting.”

“No, you’re not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

I smile tiredly. “Sure, I’ll probably share them someday, but I need a heads up. I thought you would’ve understood how much they mean to me since you’re protective of your songs.” I drag a hand over my face. “Ok, rant’s over.”

And so I spend the next half an hour understanding Jisung’s point of view. I end up accepting his apology. As we part ways, he pulls me into a hug. I don’t resist, and bury my face into his shoulder. When we pull apart, he waves before walking away. I can’t help the goofy smile that spreads onto my face once his back is turned. Suddenly, a thought washes over me.

Idiot. I’ll miss you.

•••

Four words.

Winter break is refreshing.

That is, until I realize how unproductive I’m being. Then I panic, becoming both unproductive and unhappy.

It’s almost a relief when I get back to school, until I realize how much work I’m drowning in. Then I wish I was on break again.

Sigh. The paradoxes of life.

On the bright side, at least I get to see my squad again. (And (see) roast Jisung.)

On the third week back from school, Hyunjin drags Ryujin and me to one of 3racha’s monthly shows (they have quite the fanbase on campus.) We would’ve gone anyways, but Hyunjin is a nice addition.

The first thing he says when we arrive at the venue is, “Aren’t you so excited about seeing Jisung perform? Hmm?” while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, y/n, aren’t you going to gush about how cute he looks while performing?” Ryujin adds.

“No. And that was one time. Once.”

“No, it’s every time. You always talk about him.” Hyunjin may have a point.

“Is there something that we should know?” Ryujin asks slyly. “I am your roommate, so if you’re going to talk about him 24/7, you might as well just tell us you like him instead of being in denial.”

“No. I don’t like him. I never talk about him.” My words sound weak even to me. “Remember? He’s like my mortal enemy.”

Pause. The two of them stare at me skeptically, waiting for me to stop denying everything.

“Ok, fine. He looks so fricking attractive when he’s performing, and his eyes transform completely and it’s like looking at a sharper version of him, and he still manages to be absolutely adorable when he smiles and his nose and eyes scrunch up, and-” I envelope Ryujin in a hug, cringing in embarrassment. She tries not to laugh, but I can feel her shoulders shaking. Hyunjin fails to contain his amusement, laughing so loudly that 3racha, preparing backstage, can probably hear him.

“Not a single word to anyone,” I make them promise.

“I’m totally convinced that you don’t have a crush on him,” Hyunjin says once he’s stopped laughing (two minutes later.)

“You’re the one who’s all buddy-buddy with him when you tried to beat him up that one time in high school.”

“People change,” he shrugs. “But you’ve always seemed like you had a soft spot for him.”

“No, you’re wrong. He’s my sworn enemy. He deleted my passwords that one time and read my poems and that makes him my arch-nemesis.” I sigh. “Oh, who am I kidding?”

Luckily (or not), Jisung chooses this moment to saunter over, sparing me from all their teasing. “What’s up, my dudes? Are you ready to get wowed by us?”

“Wow is your best song yet. You’re performing that tonight, right?” I confirm.

“Yup. I’m sure you guys can get some meme-worthy material out of Changbin’s reactions.”

“Jisung, have I ever told you how attractive you look when you perform?” snickers Hyunjin, excessively batting his eyelashes and latching onto Jisung. I shoot him daggers with my eyes while trying to look not-exactly-murderous to Jisung. Ryujin stifles a laugh at my expense for the second time tonight.

“Thanks, buddy. I’m aware, but it’s nice to know that someone appreciates my hotness every once in a while.”

“Why are we here again?” I wonder out loud, giggling at the overly dramatic look of betrayal that Jisung puts on.

“My dear, it’s obviously for me! How could you forget?”

“Oh right, it was for my favorite 3racha member, Changbin!”

Jisung shrugs Hyunjin off, coming over and embracing me playfully. “No, not allowed.”

“C’mon, let’s go say hi to my man, Changbin!” I tell the ‘jins, tilting my head towards the stage.

“Noooo. Darling, that’s so mean.”

I give up on pushing Jisung off once it’s clear that he stubbornly refuses to leave. I ruffle his hair instead as “revenge.” (“Hey! That took me a solid five seconds to style! You’re fixing that.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever floats your boat.”) Ryujin, Hyunjin, and I agree that we should go greet Chan and Changbin. As we head backstage to say hi to 2racha, Jisung reluctantly stops hugging me when it gets too difficult to walk. He still keeps a hand loosely anchored on my right shoulder. I don’t complain, nor do I shrug him off. I guess it feels nice ok when he’s a normal, chill, person.

Ok, that was an under-exaggeration. I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

Maybe Ryujin is secretly a mind reader, or maybe I’m just really transparent, because she pokes my arm, not saying anything when I ask her “what,” while trying to hide the furious blush I know is present on my face. She just raises her eyebrows and grins. I widen my eyes back.

“So, uh y/n.” starts Jisung, breaking me out of my semi-staring contest with Ryujin. “There’s an open mic at our cafe next week—you know, the one we go to at least twice a week? Anyways, there’s an open mic next Friday and I was planning on going to either test out a new song I produced or a couple of poems I wrote and would you—I was wondering if you wanted to go too? I know you’re a little hesitant about sharing your poems, but from what I saw, you had some really good works and I’m sure other people would enjoy your poetry too. And of course you don’t have to go, I just thought it would be a fun experience if you were down.”

I’m floored. Han Jisung being genuinely nice and considerate? Unheard of. But when I start thinking about all my previous encounters with him, I realize that this is not the exception—it’s the rule.

Maybe I was so intent on labeling him as a rival that I’ve been halfheartedly denying the existence of his good traits.

“Thank you for appreciating my poems. That… honestly, that means so much to me. I’d love to go and perform. As long as I have time to prepare and I get to choose what to present… it’ll be new, but doable.” I wrap both arms around his waist and squish the left side of my face against his right shoulder. “I’m excited for Friday.”

“I’m glad you’re excited.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

Wait. What am I doing lowkey cuddling him in public? Oh well. I don’t hate it. In fact, I might go as far as to say… I really like it.

(When we get backstage, I fist-bump Changbin and do a weird quasi-dance off with Chan before hugging them both and wishing them good luck before promising to record the entirety of Wow. Jisung pouts and pouts and pouts some more until I fix his hair, then takes my hands and pulls me around in circles like the man-child he is.

Ryujin promises to tell their embarrassing stories to all their fans after she greets 2racha.

Hyunjin forgoes any formalities and starts complaining about Seungmin.

“Chan, control your child! He’s becoming more and more savage. The world can’t contain his saltiness.”

“Maybe that’s his way of showing love.”

His face goes :o. “RYUJIN, YOU’RE A GENIUS!”)

•••

Five words.

It’s Wednesday and I am: straight-up not having a good time (bro).

After a long day filled with tests and being even more sleep-deprived than usual due to said tests, I really just want to curl up into a ball and do absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, I need to stay awake in order to finish a creative writing story (yes, another one.) Then, I need to study for two more tests for tomorrow and do a shit ton of homework. On top of that, with the open mic two days away, I’m furiously revising and editing what I’m presenting.

To be completely honest, I’ve been playing with ways to reference Jisung in my poems. I know: crazy, right? Stupid Jisung and his stupid mole on his left cheek on his stupid face that my gaze always drifts back to. Stupid Jisung and his genuinely expressive personality. Stupid Jisung and his amazingly accurate intuition and knowledge and pair of eyes that allow him to say things like:

“You’re staring at me quite a bit, sugar.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m just thinking of all the ways I… could get you to shut up.” I finish lamely.

“Really, now.” He leans towards me in his stupid library chair. “Do any of them involve making out in the library?”

Gahhhh. “Not funny didn’t laugh.” I go back to trying to be productive, but it’s hard when my brain is spewing out thoughts faster than (Jisung) Changbin and Chan can rap.

It sucks sometimes when Jisung makes all these suggestive jokes because he’ll never see me in a romantic light. I think that might be part of the reason why I try (and routinely fail) to act so cold to him: I was aware of all the emotions beneath the way I wanted to view and portray him. (My brain: No, this is not a crush. Crushes are shallow and go away after a week. These feelings aren’t going anywhere.)

I get through editing one paragraph of my story before Jisung speaks again. “Are you considering the offer?”

“No.” Maybe. Yes. “Don’t you have a lab report to write?”

“I’d gladly give up on that for you.”

“Jisung, stop, please. Not tonight, ok? On any other day I’d go along with your banter, but I have serious shit to get done with tonight.”

“Oh, ok. Do you want me to help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks for offering.”

I give up on my story for the time being and slip an earbud into the ear facing away from Jisung. I pull out a thicc textbook and finish my Calculus homework. A page of notebook paper later, I’m done. I close the book, lean back in my seat, and rub my eyes.

“You look like you need a break,” he notes.

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, you deserve it. I’ll even play with your hair.” Darn it! Why why why does Jisung know all my weaknesses? It’s always a destresser for me when plays with my hair. Still, I’m a little hesitant to completely neglect my work for five minutes.

“I’ll give you a back rub too.” Hesitation? Productivity? Who? We don’t know them.

I fall into his outstretched arms and nuzzle my head in the crook of his neck. He laughs a little, leaning back in his chair. His soft hoodie creates a comfortable cushioning, and I sigh in contentment when he runs a hand through my hair, wrapping my arms around his waist. He shifts his legs so his knees are slightly angled toward me, and I do the same.

Then he shifts his right arm and closes the lid of my computer. And picks it up off the table. And sets it back down further away from me so I can’t reach it.

“Jisungggggg,” I whine, reluctantly lifting up my head. I extend my left arm, trying to grasp it, but he just pushes it away again. “I need that. Gotta get this bread. Flaunt that croissant. Ice that rice.” I’m not sure when I stopped talking and started babbling nonsense, but I can blame my lack of sleep for that.

‘What you need is a good night of rest.” He picks up the laptop and holds it close to him, turning away from me.

My senses kick back in. “No! I need to get all this stuff done first. Then I can sleep. Give,” my right hand grasps the edge of my computer. “It,” I give a strong yank. “Back!” We engage in a brief game of tug-of-war before I almost pull it out of his grasp. Then he snatches it back, firmly in his grip.

I huff and pull out my phone forcefully, opening the Google doc containing my poems and stories I’m planning on presenting at open mic for a few revisions and edits. “Must you always be this infuriating? Like, is there a point to stealing my computer when there’s stuff I need to do?”

A small, almost imperceptible pause. I almost don’t even notice it because it’s so brief. It goes straight to the back of my mind.

“You need to rest, y/n. I don’t think all of this stressing is good for you.”

“That doesn’t mean you can steal my computer.”

“Deal with it.”

I sigh. “I hate you right now,” I mumble tiredly. I go back to skimming over my prose and poetry, inserting and deleting a few words here and there.

I have no idea how long the silence stretches on until Jisung responds. “I know, you’ve told me.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz it’s the truth.” Is it grammatically acceptable to use the word ‘like’ in a narrative if you want to have a casual tone? Like, if you want to express a coherent train of thought without using too many words? Would that tone be acceptable? Jisung’s tone just now was off. He almost seemed hurt—oh my god what did I just say.

I come to the (belated) realization that I falsely told him I hated him—with what sounded like conviction, too!—just as he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and sometimes, you treat me like I’m you’re enemy or rival. I thought we were friends. I wrote you a song—multiple songs. I’ve tried dropping so many hints about how I see you as more than just a friend, but all this time, you saw me as less than one.”

My drowsiness has dissipated. “No, Jisung, I wasn’t thinking—have you never seen me as a rival?”

“It’s ok. You’re not obligated to feel anything for me. You don’t owe me anything. And of course not. I would never see you in such a negative way.” His entire demeanor changes. Jisung is normally very open about his emotions, whether he’s happy, stressed, excited, sad, hurt, enthusiastic, or serious. In this instance, though, his face falls into a more neutral expression that betrays next to nothing about what he’s thinking. But this expression is more than enough to tell me what he feels.

He’s hurt because of what I said. Deeply hurt.

“You could’ve just told me that you hated me,” he continues. “I don’t understand why you would make me feel like we were friends while secretly despising me.”

“Jisung, I don’t hate you.”

“Sure you don’t.” He laughs without humor. “Well, seeing as you clearly don’t want my company, I’ll leave now.” He shoves his laptop, textbook, and notebook into his backpack. He rises and starts walking off.

I rush after him.

“No, Jisung, I didn’t mean it. Please just listen to me.” I catch his left arm a few seconds after we exit the library. He stands there, stationary, neither moving towards me nor pulling away from me. The wind gently breezes past the two of us, tousling the ends of his hair. My heart threatens to get stuck in my throat. I swallow and force myself to go on. “I don’t hate you. You can hate me all you want for saying hurtful things to you, but I’ve never hated you and never will.”

“I could never hate you. And while you may not completely hate me, if you’ve always felt hostile toward me—ever since the start of our so-called ‘friendship’—I don’t really know what to think anymore.”

“No, that’s not what I think. At all. Please hear me out.”

“I think I should leave. Have fun studying without a constant annoying distraction.” He lets his arm slip out of my grip, taking a step forward. “Goodbye.”

He takes long strides away from the library, away from me. All I can think about is how wrong he is. About how wrong I am.

I hurt him, a person with one of the truest hearts and most genuine personalities I’ve ever met. Always being open and transparent with his thoughts, never failing to make me smile. He knows me so well, and I know so much about him, too. He’s been through the ups and the downs with me, and I’ve stayed by his side when he’s needed support, too. He even manages to harness raw, heavy emotions and transform it into beautiful songs such as ‘I see’ that he, Han Jisung, J. One, produces. And now he thinks I hate him.

“No,” I whisper to myself after he’s gone and no one is around to hear me. “It’s the opposite of that.”

I like him so much. Platonically, and romantically. But I’ve missed my chance to tell him, and I’ve broken our friendship that we’ve always had, even if I denied its existence.

Five words can crush someone.

•••

Six words.

Once I’m done with my self reflection about just how foolish and spiteful I acted, I call Ryujin, Hyunjin, and Tzuyu for help. We meet at the dorm Ryujin and I share.

Hyunjin silently shakes his head. Ryujin gives me a side-hug, rubbing circles into my right shoulder. Tzuyu is the first to speak after I describe the events that happened.

“He really likes you. He’s written at least five songs for you and ten songs about you. That day in the cafe, when I ran into him and saw you, he asked for my opinion on one of his songs for you. The reason why he’s never asked you two,” she glances at Hyunjin and Ryujin, “is because he thought you guys would spill the beans.” She sits down on my right side and offers me a hug. “You need to talk to him as soon as possible. He’s cares enough to write songs for you.”

“I know, but he won’t respond to any of my messages or calls.”

“Honestly,” Hyunjin starts, “I’m sorry if this sounds bad, but we were always convinced that you two were secretly dating and wouldn’t tell us.” He half-smiles awkwardly. “Don’t give up just yet.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that!” Ryujin comforts. “We all make mistakes. Don’t let this bother you and make you give up. I’d say that you’ve learned a lot from this.”

“Thanks, Ryu.” I groan, my face falling into my hands. “What the heck am I supposed to do?” I wrote you a song. I thought we were friends. I’ve dropped hints about how I see you as more than just a friend.

He cares enough to write songs for you.

I’ve been thinking of ways to reference Jisung in my poems.

“That’s it!” I exclaim. “Poetry! And maybe a short story, too.” When I see three confused faces, I elaborate. “He’s written songs about me, right? Well, writing is important to me, so what if I wrote about him in the stuff I’m reading at the open mic? And apologize and explain to him afterwards? All I need to do is make sure he goes to open mic, and you guys could help me convince him. At least, that’s the best idea I can think of right now.”

“Sure.” “We’ll help you.” “You got this, girl!”

Their encouragement lifts my mood, and I’m overly optimistic for a second. My phone buzzes, and I dare to hope that I might be able to mend my relationship with Jisung.

The message is from Jisung, and I foolishly hope for the best. Then I read what he sent.

You don’t have to pretend, y/n.

He doesn’t believe me. He doubts that I see him positively because of how hurtful I acted and the words I said to him. Honestly, I don’t even blame him. If I was in his position, I’d probably do the same.

I have screwed up. Big time.

I never meant to hurt or belittle him, even if I claimed he was my enemy. But somewhere along the way, I turned into one of the worst kinds of people and did.

I hope I can salvage this.

•••

Seven words.

Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. Everything will turn out fine.

It’s showtime. After much persuasion, Tzuyu and Hyunjin convinced Jisung to perform at open mic (of course, they had to make him think I wouldn’t attend.) Jisung will perform first, then perform one more time after three people. I’m the person right before him.

I stand inside near the counter, far away from our regular table near the windows. He hasn’t seen me yet. I fiddle with my hands, trying to hide my face. I breathe a sigh of relief when he hops on stage to perform. He hasn’t seen me yet.

He greets the patrons of the cafe, cracking a few jokes before kicking things off with a revised version of ‘For you’. He gets halfway through it before he locks eyes with me.

I tentatively wave. He glances away.

After he finishes, he receives a warm round of applause. He grins, equally bashful and proud, and hops off the stage. He situates himself far away from me.

Two more people present. Two and a half minutes into the second person’s slam poetry performance, I work up the courage to shuffle over to him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve never hated you. I’ve never even disliked you. In fact, I feel the opposite way. I just never thought you’d see me as more than a friend, so I tried convincing myself that you weren’t an all-around amazing person. It didn’t work. It would never work.”

He stares at me, not speaking. I press on.

“You’re one of the most genuine people I know. I can always tell what you’re thinking, because you have nothing to hide. You’re incredibly dedicated. You’ve been a great friend to me, especially when I was rude to you and didn’t deserve it. You see the best in everyone and encourage them to showcase their strengths.” I take a fluttering breath. “I never thought that someone like you would even consider someone like me. I’m sorry for calling you annoying and saying that I hated you. You’re not annoying. I don’t think anyone who’s ever met you would hate you.” I lace my fingers together. “I am really, truly sorry for saying untrue, hurtful things to you.”

The poet onstage finishes. The people watching applaud. I’m next, but I’m frozen in place.

Jisung breaks the silence. “Good luck. We can talk later.”

I dare to smile, and walk onstage.

I’ve chosen to share a short story about the time I accidentally kicked my friend in the face when we took a dance class, saving my poems for another time. I’m really telling a story about Jisung. I take a deep breath and begin.

“This is the story of how I almost broke my friend’s nose.” This is the story of how I broke my friend’s heart.

I describe the contemporary dance class we were in and how close our friendship was. “She was one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would have done without her.” He’s one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would do without him.

I add details to build an image of that day, inserting humor and appealing to the audience’s senses, while making sure that my plot advances. “I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings. When I kicked my leg up, my foot collided with her face.” I wasn’t being true to myself or him. When I spoke, my words attacked him.

“I felt immediate regret. I had hurt my friend on accident because I was careless.” I immediately felt horrible. I hurt him with my careless words and actions.

“For a few horrifying minutes, she couldn’t talk because of the pain. I thought our friendship was over and that she would never forgive me.” For a few terrifying days, he wouldn’t talk to me because of the pain I caused. I thought our friendship was over. I thought he would never forgive me. I still do.

“Yet in the end, she chose to forgive my mistake. Even though my actions didn’t reflect how deeply I cared about her, she knew me well enough to understand it was an accident. She knew how much she meant to me, and how I never intended to hurt her.” I hope he can find it in his heart to forgive me. I hope he knows me well enough to know that he means the world to me. I hope that all is not lost.

“It’s easy to harm someone on purpose. It’s even easier to do it on accident, because we’re not fully aware of our actions—we zone out—until we can see a concrete impact. Be self-aware. And if you want to do something fun with a friend, make sure it’s in a low-risk setting. Don’t end up like me! I might have taken the phrase “break a leg” literally if I was a little more careless. The point is, people need time to think. Forgiveness is not easy to receive. But when someone chooses to forgive because they want to, especially if that person plays a crucial role in your life, that can mean the world to someone. Thank you.”

Granted, that’s not the best narrative I could produce, but given my time limit of one-and-a-half day, I’m not too disappointed in myself.

Jisung and I pass each other when he heads toward the stage.

“This song is dedicated to someone special,” he says once he’s onstage. “I hope you guys like it!”

And it’s about me. Us. The time we stayed up until 2am studying and found this cafe because it was the only one open then. The time we wrote tons of poems, narratives, and short stories together (most of them were as a meme, barely longer than four sentences) because we bet the other person they weren’t as creative (it ended as a tie—we created the last poem together). The time he asked for help on the lyrics for a song and I ended up showing him a few of my poems willingly.

My eyes are glued to him, right up until he exits the stage and walks up to me. Then they flit towards the stage for a moment while I try to prepare myself for whatever he has to say. The world stops spinning as he opens his mouth.

“I forgive you.”

Blissfully, unexpectedly, the world starts spinning again. “You do?”

“You didn’t mean it, and while it hurt to hear, I know you don’t actually think that way. It’s not like I’m perfect, either. I’ll get annoyed and say things that aren’t true, too.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “I know you, y/n. Like you said, you wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose.” He gives a gentle tug on my hand. “You want to get out of here?”

“I’d love to.” I lean up and press a brief kiss against his cheek. “Where to?”

“You know that new burger place we wanted to try out? I was thinking we could go there.” He pauses. “As a first date,” he adds, the slightest hesitance showing.

I grab his other hand and take a half step towards him. “That sounds like the perfect first date.” I blush. He blushes. He pecks my forehead, the tip of my nose, and both of my cheeks. I untangle our hands to reach up and pinch his cheeks, squishing them together. Mindful of the people in the cafe, we leave soon after, sparing them from watching our PDA. We decide on taking my car, since I drove by myself here and Hyunjin dropped him off and yeeted out of here. (Speaking of Hyunjin, he, Ryujin, and Tzuyu have been blowing up the group chat—The 3 Musketeers—asking how things went. I text them that things went well, and silence my phone.)

Before I start the car, he takes my right hand. “Don’t ever think you’re not good enough,” he states firmly. “You are good enough. 100%. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“Aw, thank you. I realize that a little more now. I was really out of it that day. I turned into a mean version of myself, but I’m working on being more aware of what I’m feeling.”

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. You’re only human. What matters the most is that you truly didn’t mean it and you’re sorry. I’m with you right now,” he starts drawing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, “am I not?”

“You’re right. You are with me now.” I lean in to kiss his cheek, reluctantly pulling away after a few moments to start driving. “Now, Mr. Han Jisung… give me the best first date ever.”

I smile. He smiles. We’re blissfully happy.

•••

Eight words.

That night, the squad gathers at our dorm and invites Jisung in after our date to question, gush over, and tease us. I spend most of the time curled up in his arms, snuggling with him as Ryujin asks what his intentions are (“To show this wonderful lady how much I love her.” “You pass.”).

Hyunjin keeps insisting he was right all along (“I knew you would end up dating!” “Whatever cooks your bacon, buddy.” “You were right, ‘jin! You’re like a fortune-teller. Quick, tell me what I’ll get on my English story next week!” “Uh… 420.”).

Tzuyu grabs me by the shoulders and squeals about how much of a power couple we are (“You guys are so cute! You could write each other poems as gifts! Aaaaah, our y/n is growing up so fast!” “...thanks, mom.”).

While we talk, I occasionally press light kisses anywhere I can reach: his cheek, his neck, his hand, his forehead, and his lips. The reactions are either highkey shipping (Ryu and Tzu) or highkey faked disgust (Hyunjin lmao). (We don’t tell them that we made out in the car for a solid twenty minutes before coming inside.)

The topic shifts from our relationship to anything and everything. After passionately debating whether humans are inherently neutral (neither good nor evil) and if raccoons should be considered pests, it’s well past midnight, and Tzu-Hyun-Sung head home.

The next day, Saturday, we have a weekly hangout with the nine boys and us three girls. More teasing ensues (particularly from the Aussie line and Changbin), but the day is like any other until that night.

Jisung and I go on our second official date to our favorite ramen store, the one where we know the owner by name. We take a stroll outside by a river afterwards, admiring the scenery.

“Y/n, I really like you. I get so happy whenever I see you, or even think about you. You make me want to compose a million love songs and dedicate them all to you. So what I’m saying is… I’m asking you if you’ll be my girlfriend?”

“Yes! A million times yes. I would love to. I could write a million poems about you.” I lean up and kiss him, smiling as I do so. “I would love to be your girlfriend, sweetheart.”

“You finally called me a pet name, babe! Why are you so cute?” Another smooch. He presses his forehead against mine. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“You’re cute. And I’m the lucky one.” I suddenly step back and grab onto his shoulders. “The lucky J. One!”

He laughs, shaking his head, and we continue walking. “This is part of what made me fall for you.” He swoops down for another kiss, leaving me a blushing, stuttering mess.

Jisung really has a way with words. Of course, that’s a given, seeing as he’s a songwriter and poet. But combined with his actions and intentions, his strong work ethic and how much he cares about everyone, the transparency of his thoughts and emotions, he really is unique.

He has the power to make me speechless. But I’ll always have eight words to say.

You are amazing and loveable. Never forget that.

•••

Happy birthday, Han Jisung. You have the support of all us Stays.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I need the story of the Underground Shakespearian Ring

Okay, so the school I went to for 9th grade had this really bizarre grading setup that I still don’t understand- for some reason, instead of the teachers writing up and grading tests and exams and the like, all the work was sent to an unknown third party for them to grade??? It made no sense.

Now, for the most part, the school had decent teachers, and they would just teach the curriculum correctly and then you wouldn’t run into problems with the grading. My English teacher was not one of those teachers.

So like, she hated me pretty early on- she was my homeroom teacher and thought it was disrespectful that I slept in homeroom in the mornings (I was on sleeping pills and they never wore off completely until around 10am), I never had the vocab homework in on time (someone kept breaking into my locker and stealing my vocab books I had to buy a new one like five times), she thought it was “inherently pessimistic and stuck up” when she caught me reading a book called ‘Ninth Grade Slays’ (it was about vampires, not her?), and during our Greek Mythology unit I kept correcting her about the name pronunciations of the gods (she pronounced Hephaestus as Hepatitis one time holy shit). 

Anyway, her feelings on me aside, her teaching skills were shoddy at best. But I had had way worse teachers, so had the rest of the class, and Greek myths are pretty straight-up in what’s going on, so no one really had trouble with the third-party tests.

Then we get to the Romeo and Juliet unit.

Now, fun fact: Shakespeare has always come pretty easily to me. Like, to the point where I sometimes forget/fail to understand that other people have an incredibly hard time translating his works. (I told this whole story to my friends in the school I went to for 10th/11th/12th grade and when the drama department put on ‘Midsummers Night Dream’ one year, more than half the cast tried to get me to translate their scripts and monologues for them lmao).

So, anyway, I’m just a girl, reading Romeo and Juliet and digging how it’s going…and then the teacher starts ‘translating’ it.

Um.

I cannot sift through all the bullshit this woman was spewing, but let’s just say that my favorite part is during Romeo’s spew about Rosaline, there’s one part where he says something like ‘with cupid’s arrow/she hath diane’s will’, and the teacher was taking this to mean Rosaline was a Super Lesbian who was breaking the law or something and running away with her lover Diane, which would be a rad storyline, sure, but like…I’m just raising my hand like “Um Ma’am, Diana is the Roman goddess of chastity. What Romeo meant is that she told him she’s sworn off love and is probably becoming a nun?” and this woman just got. So angry. Like, excuse me, you are a student, you’re here to learn, so you clearly don’t know anything about this (I read Romeo and Juliet for the first time in like preschool whoops). Anyway, she continues on making up her own plot to the play, and I…well I was basically Hermione Fucking Granger at this point I couldn’t just sit there and listen to someone be this wrong about something omfg??? She just got angrier and angrier and stopped calling on me after a while.

So for a couple lessons I’m just left to seethe quietly, but one day after class this girl I knew since grade school came up to me and was like “Could you…? Tell me what the hell we’re supposed to be learning?” and I didn’t even like her but I liked the validation of being someone’s Chosen Teacher so I wrote out a summary for her of everything we had covered so far so she could actually write a comprehendible essay for our homework that night.

But THEN the during the class when we got our essays back, she made a HUGE DEAL, like ‘oh Molly, it wasn’t bad enough that you’ve been failing this course material, now you have to drag your friends into it by trying to re-write the play?’ (l m a o). Like this bitch had literally tried to fight me on ‘Paris is the guy Juliet’s father wants her to marry’ and she didn’t even put a grade on my essay where I said the play only ended in tragedy because of how young and naïve the kids were, that if they had taken a breather and thought things through it probably would’ve been fine (it was a damn good essay and I stand by it). But anyway, she’s trying to make me out to my classmate’s as someone who’s trying to sabotage their education for laughs.

This backfired on her.

See, it dawned on people one by one, that she was only teaching the wrong material -> so they wouldn’t know the right material -> so when they eventually would take the exams they would only have her crazy answers -> which the third party graders wouldn’t know about -> everyone fails this course that’s like half the overall grade of the year.

Most students consider that a problem.

So suddenly the class has decided I’m the fucking Shakespeare Whisperer or something, and one by one start begging me for help. At first I was confused, because as I said, it’s so easy for me that I didn’t realize literally the entire class was lost out of their asses here. omfg. So I was really getting hassled here but I didn’t want my entire class to fail you know???? So I started meeting with people during study halls or texting them after school so they knew what was going on. And then they started telling people in this teacher’s other classes, including upperclassmen who were lost as fuck, so this was quickly spiraling out of control on my end, but overall people were really starting to understand the plays better!! So I was feeling really great.

But then, the teacher noticed that none of the homework getting handed in to her matched up with her crazy translations, and knew I was the sole person to blame (naturally). She literally tried to get me suspended over this, she went to the school’s disciplinarian!

Note: This guy, Mr. C, knew I was a God damn angel- my science class was off the charts, inappropriately awful, so every time one of our science teacher’s wanted to give the entire class detention, instead of calling Mr. C up to the class room as was the rule, they’d send me down to get him so he’d know to write up every student except for me. So when my English teacher dragged me in there he was looking her like “What on Earth could this girl have possibly done to piss you off?” 😂😂

And when she explained he looked at her for a very long moment, glanced at me with a signature ‘Office’ Reaction Face™ , turned back to her and was like “You want her suspended…for starting a study group?” and I was CHOKING.

So that really pissed her off and they started fighting and this was a very overworked and Done man so at some point he gave up and was like “I’m not suspending her but fine we can put a ban on the study group if you leave my office” omfg. So all the other students get notified and now they’re back to freaking out about the upcoming exams.

So like two days later, I’m at lunch, complaining about this to one of my friends who had a different English teacher and thus no problem, and I��m on this whole angry rant (Because I’m pissed, a bunch of kid’s grades are gonna get fucked up because of this! They just wanted to do well! I just wanted to help them!) and my friends staring at me quietly the whole time and when I finish I’m like “What?” and she’s just like “…Molly did you literally start up Dumbledore’s Army in our fucking school?” and I died on scene.

But then I started thinking about the comparison and I was like? You know fucking what? If Harry Potter can get those kids to pass their fucking DADA test I can help kids pass their fucking English Exam. Bring it the fuck on, Umbridge.

So I started Spreading The Word that anyone who needs help with their Shakespeare course can still get help, we just all need to meet up once to hash out the details. After some back and forth notes and deliberations, we ended up meeting in the school library, which was hilarious for a few reasons:

1) It was directly across the hall from this teacher’s classroom.

2) It was actually a converted janitors closet, way smaller than all the other classrooms, and there were like 50 people shoved in there; Not exactly an ideal Room of Requirement

3) The library carried no Shakespeare texts, but had the entire Harry Potter series on display to see when you first walked in

But anyway, despite the fact that we were literally three feet away from her door while we were doing this, our teacher was none the wiser of the meeting. We worked out a game plan- everyone writes out bullshit essays that align with what the teacher’s expecting. After she grades those and gives them back, they get them to me- slipping them in my locker, handing it to me discreetly in the halls or in another class, what have you. I then try to power through the dizzying amount of confusion radiating out of the teacher’s mouth and onto these papers, and more or less write out better translation of what was going on in whatever scene they covered, what the highlights they needed to know were, stuff like that, and then slip it back to them in similar discreet fashion (so the teacher/disciplinarian wouldn’t see me and get suspicious ; also because I was like 15 and wanted to feel like a super cool secret agent). They would then keep my copies and use them as study guides for the upcoming exams, where they would then answer all the questions correctly, the way the third party graders would mark correctly, and pass the exams + the bullshit essays would get them high marks in the teacher’s homework grades. The teacher never caught on to what was happening, just thought her students finally started paying attention to her.

All in all, it was a complicated mess, but it fucking worked. I don’t think anyone failed their exams that year. Will I ever be cooler? No. I think I fucking peaked when I was 15.

[needlekirby]

I only have a few minutes before I turn 18 so just in case I've been cursed by a witch or something let's go over some of the highlights of my young life: -survived multiple epileptic episodes as a young un that I apparently brought on purposefully bc I would throw a tantrum, hold my breath, pass out and induce a seizure to get what I wanted -survived all those times me (or my sister) would wake up in the middle of the night feeling like we couldn't breath and have our parents sit us in front of the running shower until we felt better -survived being hit by a car when I was like 3, the tires went over both my legs and midriff so both my legs were broken. -I also burned my knee and ankle on the fuel pipe so there's two fairly big burn scars there. -The doctors removed my appendix "while they were at it." -The radiologist and the surgeon got into a fight over whether I had one broken leg or two, radiologist won. -I was in two casts for a while and couldn't walk so I went back to being in a stroller, I was just young enough to not need physical therapy and relearned how to walk within a day. -had to be brought into court against the guy who hit me where I sat squeezing a stuffed duck that would quack loudly a few times and make everyone in the courtroom giggle. -walked into first day of first grade and after being asked to introduce myself I had the biggest near-meltdown of my life, my vision was spinning and I was scared stiff but I was saved on the spot by another kid who knew me and gave my name for me and let me sit next to them. -became known as 'the witch' in second grade bc i loved hanging out in the bushes near the playground and scaring the boys who would harass other girls. I fucking adored the nickname. -had my first crush on a girl I became friends with later over Kirby games. -my girl crush, me and another friend created a horror and ghost story club bc we loved the scary stories to tell in the dark books so much. -got the attention of the 'gifted students' teacher (basically she led classes for kids she thought were super smart and lead sessions with them where she would ask them questions and gauge how creative or intelligent they were I think) by being a smartass and saying that red was "orange minus yellow". She had my older sister in her classes and she wanted me IQ tested for this response. -my mom was not crazy about me being in these classes bc they would take time away from my regular classes and put me behind which I think was what was happening m my sister. She gave her permission to have me IQ tested tho and I was brought in from class to take it. She explained to me what was going down and I asked if the test was required. She said no, it was an optional test and I said 'well then I don't think I want to take it' and walked tf out. Mic. Drop. Third grader me was relentless. -read the tale of desperaux so many times that book fucking touched my heart it's good I was crazy about it. -in fourth grade I learned pig pen code and I loved it so much I used it all the time. I still use it now and I can write it without needing to look at a cypher. -I correctly solved the second half of a two-part math problem that needed the answer from the first part, but got the first part wrong and my fourth grade teacher brought my mom in for a meeting bc he had no idea how it did it. -On the last day of fifth grade, the really cool science teacher gave me that fancy dragonology book as a gift and it was the most genuine gesture I received from a teacher ever. -the really cool science teacher taught us that skin can grow around physical objects and that rlly stuck w me. -went on to middle school and somehow wound up in a friend group full of goths and punks, was never either of those. -our middle school had no playground so we'd just walk around the bus parking lot and I brought in chalk to draw w and inspired a back and forth conflict between the school and the students about whether chalk was allowed during recess. -a kid from the outer skirts of the goth/punk/emo/art ho gang committed suicide in 7th grade and his parents blamed their OWN KID for his suicide. -one particularly scary guy from the group said that if anyone else in the group died or killed themselves he'd "take everyone and him all with them." -ended up """going out""" this guy, we were friends at the time but I was still too scared to say no. -this boy asked me one day to 'take our relationship to the next level' I was terrified but I asked what that would be and he said 'holding hands' and I burst out laughing. -this boy would also write me love notes on graph paper with scratchy black pen and sign them off as 'the shadow prince' or some bs. -started playing Pokémon in 8th grade. -burned my first personal cd mixtape in freshman year and made playlists for the next three years and got into tons of different kinds of music. -took drivers ed freshman year and drove on the highway only the second day of behind the wheel. -slept in the classroom part of drivers ed everyday. -there was a filing cabinet in the back of the room that had the words "big booty" scrawled on them in shaky black marker and I miss that filing cabinet a lot. -took beginning art freshman year w the art teacher who hated life and watched two seniors smoke a strawberry shortcake scented hookah right in front of me. Teacher put his feet up on the table. It took a while to come back to another art class after that. -that one day in math 2 when that boy was bothering me about why I didn't shave my vag and the teacher failed him for that m&m graph assignment you do like all the time in math which he was supposed to be helping me do and I got all candies we were supposed to split -took health sophomore year where they honestly tried to tell us that sugar was the chemical equivalent of cocaine and wanted to scream so BADLY. -embarrassed myself at the psychiatrists office which will stick w me forever and anytime I ask for even very minor school accommodations FUCK U 15 YR OLD ME YOU IDIOT -took my last Latin class at the end of junior year at the same time my beloved, blessed, angelic Latin teacher was retiring after like 40 years of teaching at our school. She had amazing stories and was super funny and I miss her desperately. -took high school art for the last time. Our teacher told my friend who had done three whole watercolor pieces to branch out and didn't say a word to the kid who only ever did copic marker pieces. - took only bullshit classes all fall semester including horticulture 1 where we had no teacher for about 2 months. Now I'm finishing my senior year with community college classes and I look forward to more highlight moments now that I'm gonna be an 'adult'. Cheers lads✨🎉