senpai notice me: kjn&kkb!
The laws of high school dictates that every junior should have a favourite senior. The obvious seniors that most juniors would fawn over were the handsome, sporty seniors; but there were some juniors who would kiss the asses of honour roll seniors because that would guarantee them free notes and a better chance at excelling in their grades; and the few remaining others—usually weirdos—would write secret love letters to the oddball senior that they truly felt they had a bond with. So it should come as no surprise that Jennie, herself, entertained this cliché and had her very own favourite senior that she fondly looked up to. But he wasn’t very sporty, not like one would expect someone like Jennie to adore; and although he was—is—insanely smart, Jennie didn’t choose him for the sole purpose of making the honour roll, either. She supposes if anything, he was a bit of an oddball, but not the kind of oddball that the cliché’s referring to: that being a complete and utter loser.
No, Kim Kibum was something else entirely.
And in an incredible plot twist, Jennie has also never met this ‘favourite senior’ of hers, either. When she had entered high school, he was already long gone, but his name still lingered in the hallways. As a hacker who often gathers information that others’ are trying to hide, she believes that it is practically written law for one’s past to follow them wherever they went; and that was what happened to Kibum.
All anyone knew was that he had to have stirred up some trouble in his previous high school, what with him transferring to Incheon in his last year—something dire had to have happened for any good Korean parent to decide that the best possible course of action for their child’s education was to add on the pressure of trying to fit into a new school on top of prepping for finals—but Jennie, being her, decided to find out why simply because she thought it would be interesting. And oh, did it pay off.
Kibum was, in short, a hacker, just like her. (In a more extended version, a freaking genius. And he was pretty cute, to top it all off.)
She was so new to hacking then, and had not been exposed to others’ who enjoyed computing just like she did—it was a guilty pleasure of hers that she treated a bit like the proverbial dirty laundry—so it came as a surprise to find someone just like her in her school (well, who was in her school). And the thing about Jennie is she is a bit like a rabid dog who would bite and never let go.
So cut to the present, in one of her spare days, she happened to think of him after all these years and decided, on a whim, to hack into his private archives. It was hard, no doubt—and gladly so, because if he could only manage shitty firewalls, needless to say, she would be extremely disappointed—but she finally got in. She’d like to think it was because she was just that good, but the real reason as to why she had managed to hack into his network was because he was prone to human errors, while she was not. It hurts her to admit, but she thinks that if she was rid of her powers and had only manual code to rely on, he’d be a formidable opponent—one she might possibly even lose to.
Needless to say, she had to meet the subject of her hero worship in high school. So off she searched for him, through hacked police security cameras around town, and a vicious smirk tugged at the corner of her lips when his face pops up on her screen.
Turns out he lives and breathes coffee, just like she did. (Oh, they had so much in common.)
Laptop held tightly within her arms, Jennie skips to this coffee shop that he often visits. (Perhaps they make their coffee much better in this one compared to the one she frequents, because seniors are supposed to know everything: that may extend to the best coffee joints.) When she finally arrives, her eyes dart towards that table that’s right beside the counter—it’s her favourite spot, because it saves her the effort for when she orders the next cup—and there he is.
(She squeals in delight, because he is just like her.)
Jennie hops towards the seat across from him and pulls it out quickly, the legs of the chair dragging against the cold tiles and making a loud, screeching noise. She dumps her laptop on his table, careful not to be too harsh lest she accidentally spills his coffee, then plops herself on the seat.
“Hi! I’m Jennie, and you’re Kibum. I’ve heard so much about you!” she sings, and from her jacket pocket, she pulls out a red letter, “you were my favourite senior in high school! Everyone else had love letters to give to their seniors, but I could never give this to you because—well—you already graduated by the time I got in, but oh well…”
She hands him the letter, the bright smile never once faltering.
“Oh! By the way,” she turns her head to face the counter and addresses the cashier, “I’ll have an iced mocha with whipped cream! Extra-large!”
And then she turns slightly to catch Kibum in her peripherals, and the expression on her face can only be described as shock, what with large eyes and parted lips, “omigosh, don’t tell me… is that how you take your coffee too? Gosh, I swear we’re like the same people.”
