the art of hatred - h.j.
while in a psychology class, you are faced with the cardinal sin of upper education; a group project. to make matters worse, your partner is the definition of a "douchebag."
Warnings: first person pov, female reader, uni!stray kids au, han being a general douche, self deprecating speak, hyunjin being hyunjin, reader being slightly egotistical, angst (only if you squint really hard), frat boys, underage drinking, mention of harassment (jokingly), negative speak of greek life, pet names used (jagi, baby, sweet thing)
back to m.list <3
ah! my first (public) fic!! i really hope you all enjoy this because it was genuinely so fun to create. i am so sorry this took so long to come out, i ended up catching the flu over my spring break and this fic kinda took the back burner. i am hoping to get part 2 out on monday!! AHH enjoy!
word count: 3.7k
SC count: 7
The monotony of schooling has never been lost on me. The mindless day and night cycles of spending too much time procrastinating and then stressing about the growing to-do list on my desk which leads to too little sleep only to restart the cycle when the sun rises again. There was very little I could do that would break me out of the downward spiral into my educational burn out that I constantly flung myself into. All of this was true until my psychology 201 class.
The professor, a middle aged man who bragged about his kids accomplishments and dressed like a cartoon character every Monday and Wednesday at 11:30 A.M. strolled into the lecture hall as per usual. He donned a yellow polo and his classic khaki slacks, all fitted together with the same beaten loafers that I swore were, somehow, cemented to his feet. I definitely didn’t mind this class. It was always easy enough to understand, the assignments never felt burdensome even with the massive habit I have for procrastination, and everyone decently kept to themselves, bar someone needing a pencil here and there from the row behind where I sat in my unassigned-assigned seat.
I would consider myself a good student. Always keeping my gpa high, attending extra lectures and seminars when the need arises, turning in work on time, introducing myself to professors and faculty, something my roommate insisted was important for “marketing myself.” Being in my second year at a state university, I didn’t see much need for it, especially in a class that I was simply taking for the prerequisite credit, but I went along with it anyway. It couldn’t hurt being on a first name basis with a professor if I ever needed an extension on homework, right? I had decided on this school, along with my major, while I was still in grade school, deciding that a sensible degree in human resources would get me just far enough in life to support myself while still leaving space for the things I truly wanted to do.
When my mind chose the reasonable and “safe” route, my heart still yearned for the pull of the arts. My vice? Painting. A hobby that had turned into something of a near addiction by the time I reached my last year of highschool, as well as a hobby that had brought me my very best friend, Hwang Hyunjin. A string bean of a man, Hyun had seen my sleeve covered in streaks of an emerald green paint at a university welcome event during our first week of freshman year and nearly exploded in excitement at the prospect of having a friend who shared his love for painting. From that day on it had been constant texts, trips to the dining hall, hours spent in the intramural art studio, drives to the local convenience store for snacks, anything and everything. I was grateful to have met him, no matter how often his and my friends were convinced we were something more than friends, neither of us had ever even considered it. Frankly, to the both of us, it would be like dating my sibling. Unfortunately for me, Hyun was not in this class with me meaning I was bored the majority of the hour and a half lecture, spending time doodling in a sketchbook more than I was paying attention to the words plastered on the powerpoint.
It was only when my professor uttered the words “group project” did I rip my eyes away from the anatomy practice that was scribbled over the canvas paper in front of me. Suddenly, this man had dropped from my highest ranking professor in the category of likeability to the lowest. He had committed the cardinal sin of large lecture classes. I let out a low grumble as he excused the class to open up the sheet of names he had added into the online course, listing the pairs of students working together. Scanning the document for my name I discovered that I was paired with a “Han Jisung,” a name that was as unfamiliar to me as the other 150 other names on the document. With a shrug I copied down his university email and number with the plan to message him to introduce myself and set up a time and place to work on the presentation once I was back in my dorm for the night.
The rest of the class droned on until professor polo-shirt dismissed us, reminding us to connect with our partners “sooner rather than later!” I packed my things back into my bag, slinging the tote in which mostly contained art supplies over my shoulder and started my route to the creative art building on the other side of campus. Headphones over my ears, I drown out the sound of lively chatter throughout campus with whatever podcast was highly recommended to me by my roommate for the week. This is only until I come face to face with my biggest dread when it comes to attending a large university, the fraternities fundraising in the campus square. This degenerate sight physically pained the academic portion of me, seeing my peers dance around shirtless, getting pelted with paper plates of whipped cream all in the name of raising a few dollars. I tuck my head into my chest and pick up the pace to avoid any unwanted attention, which was normally a successful adventure. Until I felt the unmistakable wet, sticky feeling of sweetened cream slide down my arm.
I let out a disgusted gasp, snapping my eyes up towards the table of barely dressed men, all now wearing a look of shock as I stare daggers into every single one of them. After a painfully long moment, one of the members, a short, shaggy haired boy emerges from the gaggle of idiots clutching his stomach as he doubles over in laughter. It is at that moment when I consider throwing away any chance at a sensible life for one of murder and jail time as I feel the slimy, warm whipped cream slide down my arm and onto my tote bag. My attention moves to him as he walks towards me, still laughing as he attempts to get out, possibly the worst apology I have ever heard in my 20 years on this planet.
“So sorry, baby! Little bit of friendly fire there.” The cackling boy finally manages out.
“Yeah, I can see that.” I reply, moving my unscathed hand to the arm to scoop off the remaining sweetness and flick it to the ground before it dries. The boy watches my hand closely, turning back and giving a smirk to his brothers as he takes another step to me, gripping my arm loosely in his hands.
“Allow me…” He spoke, his voice lowering to the most abhorrent fake-sultry tone that makes me imagine all of the poor girls who had fallen for it in the past. He takes the corner of his shirt which was hanging from his belt loop and wipes the area of my arm coated in a sweet sheen, his eyes darting between my eyes and my lips. At this I reel back, ripping my arm from his grasp, my blood now boiling.
“You’ve clearly done enough. Go back to… whatever that is…” I spit out the words with barely contained venom as I turn my back to the crowd of men, all now cackling at the actions of their member. I decide, for once, to leave it there, moving back to continue my walk to the studio as I hear them guffaw at my borderline harassment case in the making. As I move my headphone back over my ear, I hear the same man who had “helped” me yell over the growing laughter.
“Come back whenever you want, sweet thing!”
With a roll of my eyes, I keep walking, waiting for the safe, stale air of the art studio to be around me once again.
“I couldn’t believe the audacity! I mean, if you're going to throw around whipped cream, of all things, at least have a tarp down so people don't have to step in it!” I pace around the easel that Hyunjin is working at as I rant, my hands thrown up in frustration. “And he had the bright idea to yell after me as I clearly wanted nothing to do with his little… party trick!” Hyunjin just hummed in response, a look of amusement on his lips as he placed his paintbrush down and leaned back on his chair, watching me as I walked circles around him.
“Let me get this straight. You caught a stray glob of whipped cream, and that led you to consider murder?” He held back an obvious laugh, knowing it would bring me back to earth from my angry bubble of nerves. “Jagi, it’s only Monday. I don’t think there is enough spite in the world to keep you going at this pace.”
I shoot a playful warning look at him as I pull a stool up to my own unfinished painting, staring at it as a huff leaves my lips unintentionally.
“It's the principal, Hyun. They think they can just do that because they paid for a group of friends as equally stuck up and dickish as they are!”
All Hyunjin can do is laugh as I let out another grumble and turn my attention to the canvas in front of me, picking up my paintbrush to continue the garden scene I have now been attempting to perfect for over three weeks now. I feel every worry and sliver of annoyance slip away as I guide the brush strokes over the canvas, keeping quiet yet thoughtful conversation going with my best friend.
I paint for another hour until I look over to Hyunjin’s easel seeing that he had since abandoned his canvas, yet again, to sit on the floor, his overly loved sketchbook in his lap as he traces shapes over the papers.
“Dining hall?” I question, wiggling my eyebrows at him in a mock suggestive way, sensing his boredom even from a few feet away. He lets out his signature excited squeal, even for the sub-par substance our school calls “food” we unfortunately pay way too much for, as he gathers his things, quickly shoving them aside to stand up. I pack up my own belongings and we walk over to the cafeteria. Our days since becoming friends have always been easy, never doing too much to overwhelm us in addition to our course work. I like the life I have created for myself, even if it is a few hours from what I still consider home.
Our night ends as it always does, sitting on the floor of my dorm, food sprawled across my carpet, his laptop open and playing a Netflix show both of us have sworn we would pay attention to but never do. My dorm became our hangout spot quickly when my roommate met her boyfriend a few weeks into our freshman year, opting to spend most of her nights at his place instead of the room she was supposed to inhabit. I never complained, even though we had been friends long before we became roommates, her incessant cries for me to “find my person” and “live a little” began to sound like nails on a chalkboard. I knew her intentions were good spirited, even if me getting a boyfriend was mostly for her gain so that we could go on her coveted double-dates, however I had told her from the beginning I was at university to get my degree, not a hookup buddy. I let out a sigh as I rolled off of my place on the floor, reaching for my laptop and opening it to the same screen it had been left on since my psychology class ended earlier in the afternoon.
“I still can’t believe my professor is damning me to hell by assigning this random group project. Who even does that?” My complaints are met by a shrug from Hyun as his attention stays on the pint of Ben and Jerry’s in his hands, scooping away at the chocolate ice cream gleefully. I type out a text to the number I wrote down earlier, deciding now was as good of a time as any to get the ball rolling on the project, even if it wasn’t due for another few weeks.
I scoff at the message sent back to me, placing my phone on the ground to set aside the annoyance I felt resurface at the blatant dismissal.
“This project is going to be a nightmare.” I groan, laying back onto the ground, my hands dragging down my cheeks. “Who even assigns group projects in lectures anyway! I don't know any of those idiots! Why does my grade have to depend on them?” I shove my phone closer to Hyunjin, flipping over onto my side to watch him as he reads over the text.
“Oh, ew. Good luck with whatever stick is shoved up your partner’s ass.” He pushes the phone back over to me as I let out another frustrated noise. Great, two annoying men in one day. What could be worse.
Four days have now passed since I had heard from my project partner, and my displeasure for him has only grown. Since the text on Monday, I have already started the work deciding to just get my part started so that when I finally do get a reply I have a better idea of what needs to get done. As I sat in a study room inside of the creative art building I hear my phone chime.
God… This dude was still a prick even after blowing me off when I wanted to meet earlier in the week. I swallow any other choice words I may have for my mystery psychology partner and turn my attention back onto my laptop, finishing the outline for my section of the project I had pretty much assigned myself. The project would be simple enough as long as my partner cooperated, which now seemed like a fleeting wish. Letting out a sigh I continue working, my mind drawing pictures of what this shit show of a project was going to turn out like.
I rounded the corner into the business building at 11:47 the next day, deciding to get there a bit early to ensure there was a study room available. Finally securing one of the rooms in the back of the building and pulling out my laptop and pulling up whatever resources would be needed for the project, shooting my partner a text to inform him of where to meet me. To pass the time I began sketching an idea for another landscape that Hyunjin had told me to attempt.
I watch as the clock hits 12:48, my hands gripping the pencil in my hand so tight, I think it might break. He’s late. What else did I expect? Pulling my phone out once again, I text him again, holding back any rageful curses, just barely. It takes him an exorbitant amount of time to reply, and when he finally does, I only see red.
When he finally shows up, I nearly bolt out of the room. Of course. Of course it's the same, shaggy haired, cretinous, nuisance of a man that I had the displeasure of interacting with in the campus square at the beginning of the week. He now stands before me, reeking of stale, cheap bear, sporting the most egregious hickey on the side of his neck in a backwards cap and a somehow wrinkled hoodie.
“How nice of you to show up.” I finally mutter as he enters the room, slumping over into the chair opposite of me.
“Nice to see you again, baby. I would have been here sooner but the brothers and I threw last night. Ended up drinkin’ a bit too much.” The smirk he is wearing makes my very insides turn inside out, either that or the smell of the cheap perfume that still lingered on him from his night-time escapades.
“That much is obvious.” I scoff, waking up my laptop that had been abandoned in his tardiness. “Lets just figure out who has to do what so you can go back to whatever hangover activities you were attending to.”
Han sucks in a breath through his teeth, moving his hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Hurts me to have you think I get hungover, sweet thing.”
I just roll my eyes at him and push my laptop closer, showing him the outline I had prepared previously explaining to him the parts that I wanted him to complete. After a while of me talking and him trying to use what I can only describe as stereotypical “charm,” on me, he leans back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head with a look of confusion written clearly on his face.
“See, baby, I was thinkin’ that you could just… yaknow, do that part for me. Be a team player, yeah?”
“You're being facetious, right..?” I question, jaw half clenched as I get the words out. Taking in the look on his face I can tell he is, in fact, being dead serious about me doing every portion of this project.
“Look, I don't even know what that word means… Do you really want your name tied to mine on a project like this? I couldn’t tell you the last time I actually showed up to anatomy.”
“This is for psychology class, you…” I bite my tongue before I can call him every fowl name in the book. I let out a sharp sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I try my best to calculate the next words that are about to come out of my mouth. “I am submitting this project with my name on it whether you do your part or not. But I refuse to do the work of two people. You and the brothers of Alpha Epsilon… whatever, can keep your hands away from a girls tits for two days while you do your part of the project.”
“It’s Sigma Kappa Zeta, and I’m just saying, your grade, and mine by default, would be better if you just did the project.” He corrects me, as if I genuinely care about the name of his stupid paid friend group. I get to a point where if I have to listen to him for another moment I will claw my eyes out right here in the study room. I close my laptop abruptly, causing him to flinch in his chair, his eyes wide and locked on my movements. In one quick motion, I shove my laptop back into my bag, throwing it over my shoulder and standing from my space in the room.
“Do the project or don’t, just know that I am not doing it for you.” The not so well contained anger that laces into all of my words definitely sparked some sort of fear in the brown haired boy as I walked quickly out of the room and back into the main atrium of the business building.
If I am anything, I am a woman of my word. The entire rest of my weekend was spent working on my portion of the project and nothing more. Formulating slides for the presentation, ensuring that my research was concrete, everything was cited in proper notation. I didn’t leave a single point of the rubric untouched. I wanted to give Han the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would have taken my little outburst as a warning and actually done his portion of the work. I shared everything he would have needed in his email, but nothing more. But as the weeks leading up to the due date wore on, I saw no new activity in the shared documents. There was a gnawing feeling of guilt that lingered in the smallest corners of my mind at how I reacted to his mostly mindless request until I reminded myself that he was also a grown man. He didn’t deserve to be babied through college, no matter how dim-witted he came off.
The day of the presentation came quicker than I expected as my workload nearly doubled before my eyes. The last week and a half became a blur of midterm papers, stupid assignments that left me more confused than not, and some of the worst wine hangovers i've ever experienced thanks to Hyunjin’s new fake ID. As I took my seat in the lecture hall, I spotted Han entering through the side door, ego emanating off of him like cartoon stink lines. Just as I had expected, he hadn’t even opened the document that I had sent him so I submitted it to our professor unfinished and only with my name on it, along with a lengthy email drafted in my notes when I inevitably have to submit my peer review.
The rest of the student’s presentations nearly put me to sleep as I mindlessly scribble in my sketchbook, awaiting my turn to completely embarrass Han. And when that fateful moment finally rears its head, it's just as glorious as I had expected. We walk to the front of the hall from our respective seats. Him clad in an unironed button up shirt and slacks, me in my most business casual dress from the very back of my closet. I begin by introducing the topic, giving the prepared background and flipping through my slides with practiced ease. It was clear to my professor that I had put in effort and time, rightfully so. But once Han’s slides appeared on the projector in front of the entire hall, his face paled. I bite back the shit eating grin I know is forming on my lips as I watch him flounder at the sight of the empty slides. Small snickers can be heard from around the classroom, the more astute students whispering to one another about his clear unpreparedness. This beautiful scene carries on for another 30 seconds or so until our professor loudly clears his throat, dismissing us back to our seats.
Once I am out of view from Han, I can't hold back my smile any more, cheeks burning as the muscles contract further than I think they ever have. Sweet, sweet revenge. My phone vibrates against my desk and as I turn it over, the messages that plastered my lock screen only made my smile grow.