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couldn't make it any harder ! a winwin fic <𝟑 .

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 'RULE ONE consider everything an experiment.'

you can't risk losing in love again, doesn't matter how perfect the person in front of you seems to be. however, when a complete stranger who happens to be a bit cute practically begs you to be part of a project for his psychology class, your lips seem to move before your brain can even process the words that left his and then you were trapped in a classroom full of people you didn't even know — in the name of science.

contains ! neuroscience professor! winwin, fem!reader, journalist!reader, dreamies appearances, lots of psychological facts (google is my source don't come at me if its false), a bit of a slowburn, lots of food mentions, some comedy attempts as always, don’t think there is any use of ‘yn’, a very detailed make out scene, mention of alcohol and getting drunk, cursing, and the usual: fluff, angst.

wc ! 15.5k (i’m so sorry)

‣ quiet please, experiment in progress !

week one, monday at 2 pm - introduction.

⠀ LOVE (n.) an intense feeling of deep affection.

love often feels unexplainable, leading humans to try and describe it in philosophy, poetry, paintings, songs — anything, really, you name it. but the truth is that there are a series of chemical reactions taking place between the brain and the body, so, yes, love is a science.

let's define love non-scientifically first, which can be a bit different for every person. love is not reasonably operationalizeable, for example, affection can be the number of times one partner finds themselves thinking of the other. or the times one partner initiates physical contact; kisses, hugs, hand holding.

that being said, romantic love boils down into three categories: lust, attraction, and attachment. each category releases a different set of hormones in the brain. lust releases testosterone and estrogen, while attraction, dopamine, serotonin and norepinephrine — causing you to feel happy and comfortable, and then, attachment, releases oxytocin and vasopressin.

and not to crush your romantic helpless souls, but there is a formula for love. however, there is a main mystery yet to be undone and that is the concept of 'good chemistry'.

the very well-known 'spark' between two people upon first meeting, that undeniable pull towards the other, an instant connection, a feeling you can't explain. even though many people believe we can build chemistry based on intellectual stimulation, by laughter and shared interests.

the first ever interaction between two people determines in less than an hour, the type of relationship that will be pursued, really, in just five minutes you can evaluate compatibility.

“—hence why we are here to test it out.”

oh. oh. so that's why you are here, to be the lab rat.

you turn your head, widen blinking eyes scanning the whole room full of faces you have never seen before which, to be honest, you are glad, it would be embarrassing if any of your acquaintances were here. your attention goes back to the young man who dragged you here, taking a seat in front of you and offering you a warm smile as your eyes met for just a mili-second.

“we met on my way here,” he pointed to you and then himself, “i asked–”

you interrupt him, whispering under your breath, “you begged.”

and he did hear you, he was the only one close enough to hear it, still, he continued talking, “if she could spare me thirty minutes of her time and she kindly said yes.”

“i said, okay, and you didn't even let me finish the sentence,” you add, and again, you are ignored by him.

“the interaction was less than two minutes,” where he was down on his knees, saying please on repeat, “so, in the next three minutes, i am going to test my way of creating a connection with a complete stranger.”

he sets the timer, before focusing on you, his full attention on you. and so the games begin.

a smile pulled at the corner of his lips, his eyes bored into yours as if somehow he could hear your inner voice, analysing every single movement you make. “your necklace is cute,” he says, pointing to the pendant that you have been fidgeting with all this time, “is that. . . some kind of fruit?”

you stop, dropping your hands in your lap, clearing your throat as you nod slowly, “yes. . . a strawberry.”

“oh, so you are full of love and happiness.”

blinking, you tilt your head toward the people watching the two of you for a second, your lips slightly parted in confusion. “i— thank you?” you sounded unsure, “whatever that means.”

it was merely a whisper but of course he had heard it, and it seemed to be a bit funny to him. you watched as he threw his head back, a genuine quiet laugh escaping his lips. “that is what strawberries symbolises; passion, desire, affection, also sharing one is seen as a gesture of intimacy, with a legend suggesting that two people who share one will fall in love.”

“oh, of course you knew what fruit it was,” you squinted your eyes at him while you pointed an accusative finger towards him, “are you trying to flirt with me? not working.”

he squinted his eyes back at you, “you could say that, yes, but it still made you smile.”

and the moment those words leave his mouth, you realise that he is right and somewhere in between that comment and now, you have been smiling.

you blink, the smile adorning your lips quickly disappears, “it doesn’t mean anything,” you say with brows furrowed as you wet your lips.

“you are right, it doesn’t,” he frowns, directing his attention towards his hands for a few seconds, “but for some reason you haven’t left yet.”

opening your mouth to say something, you are interrupted by his voice, “you do find me interesting,” he glances at the timer as he talks, “and it does means something to you,” you want to protest, say that he is saying bullshit and that he failed to do whatever he intended to prove, which would be a lie but he quickly added:

“i’m not saying that you are interested in me, no, you are interested in the weird, curious facts i have been telling you since we met about thirty minutes ago.”

you break the eye contact that you two have had during the whole conversation this time, taking a quick breath, “fine, i’m curious about what project you had going on that you begged me, a stranger, to come with you.”

he presses his lips into a thin line, refusing to take a look at the other people in the room, “to be honest, you—. . .”

and then, the timer goes off, interrupting him in the middle of his sentence and leaving you with curiosity over what he was going to say. he smiles at you, bowing his head slightly as he mouths a ‘thank you’ only for you to hear it, standing up from the chair in front of you before turning his whole attention to the other people in the room.

⠀ LEMON PIE (n.) a sweet and tangy dessert pie with a lemon-based filling.

a fresh citrus scent mixed with an undertone of sweetness filled your nostrils, immediately catching your attention and appetite. it doesn’t take you long to notice where it was coming from, your brows raising slightly in curiosity as your eyes stay focused on the movements of the interesting stranger.

his hands moved swiftly as he cut the pie in pieces, talking about something you weren’t even listening to, too focused on his actions instead.

you would say that it was strange, indeed, the way that you have been feeling mesmerised by the young man who — for all that you know, could be a pathological liar, a serial killer, a cult leader, or even worse, a scorpio man.

as you try to find a logical explanation of why you let a total stranger drag you into a university building, you only realise that you should be more careful from now on, yes, even though you don't think, not even a little bit, that you are currently in danger.

perhaps the coral blue shirt he was wearing is the reason why your brain didn't scream at you to run the second he talked to you, it probably made you feel warmth, calm. you remember reading about color psychology somewhere, scrolling on instagram, maybe. or, his stupid cute face, even so you would never admit out loud, not because it is embarrassing or anything. but you dare to say, the way his eyes were smiling at you, did not exactly radiate distrust to you.

in the same precise manner he is doing right now as he hands you a piece of pie, along with a small bag you couldn't see what was inside.

“thank you,” and you watch as his lips start moving, slowly blinking, your eyes going from his face to the things he had placed in front of you. “i wanted to cause an impression, is the first day and—.”

his tone was quiet and soft, a bit different from the one he uses when he teaches, and when he’s begging, so you force yourself to actually listen to his words instead of the voices in your head fighting over if it was really the coral blue or not, you do support the one that says it is, though.

“—so thank you, really, not everyone would follow a weird stranger,” you nod your head as he talks, somehow agreeing with his words, “that says random facts five seconds into your—. . . oh,” he interrupts himself, his eyes widening and his lips parted slightly forming an ‘o’, “right, i’m— my name is sicheng, nice to meet you.”

he extends his hand to you, waiting for you to shake it, a lip-tight smile on his face as he waits patiently.

you blink, repeatedly, processing his words while you stare at him for a long second. you weren’t sure what you expected when you heard the words i need a stranger for my class please come with me, but if someone asked you, it was not this. you thought it was some student who left his assignment at the last minute, not a cute young teacher.

he tilts his head to the side, his eyes never leaving your face, and that small gesture gets you out of your mind, quickly realising he’s waiting for you to say something. “yea, it’s okay,” clearing your throat as your eyes scan the classroom for a second, and then you introduce yourself, saying your name while shaking his hand.

a light pink covers his cheeks the second your hands touch, it was barely there but you noticed it. and you found it amusing, a bit adorable, that the man who got down on his knees to beg you and then kinda flirted with you in front of around twenty people, is acting a bit shy now.

“umm, it was fun, i guess,” you smiled at him, letting his hand go so you could take the bag he had placed on the desk for you, “was nice to meet you, professor. . .” your eyes wander to the desk, looking for his last name, “dong, great lesson, let’s repeat some time again.”

you don’t actually mean those last words, the probabilities of having an encounter with dong sicheng, again, is very low.

⠀ + lemon pie has been written down as the first material used in this experiment.

this experiment follows a triangular theory of love that has to be applied to the subjects of study.

⠀ TRIANGULAR THEORY OF LOVE. states that love is composed of three core components: intimacy, passion and commitment.

a fascinant thing about what it means 'to be loved' by someone is that it doesn't always mean the same thing, and loves do differ from each other in many ways. the amount of love one person experiences depends on those three components, and the kind depends on their strengths relative to each other so to form a number of the various kinds of loving experiences, those components interact with each other. now, is turn to explain the components:

(a) intimacy. is the feeling of closeness, connectedness, and bondedness. (b) passion. leads to romance, physical attraction, and sexual consummation. (c) commitment. the decision that one loves another and, in the long term, to maintain that love.

there are eight possible subsets of the various components, most loving relationships fit between categories.

i. nonlove. it refers to the absence of all three components of love, characterizing most of our personal relationships, which are simply casual interactions.

week two, sunday at some time around evening.

⠀ UMBRELLA (n.) an object designed to protect a person against rain.

a cool feather-like breeze touched your skin, the fresh air making the whole scene feel cozy and calm. you had checked the weather forecast this morning before leaving the house, it’s going to be a sunny day with low probabilities of rain, they said.

you guess they got it wrong then. or maybe you are not good at calculating probabilities, nor reading them.

with this weather, most people enjoy sipping on a warm drink, you on the other hand, enjoy something a bit more sweet, creamy, icy. thus, you are really grateful for the old lady who has a convenience store in your neighbourhood, which you have to pass by to get to your place, giving you the opportunity to treat yourself to a nice treat.

not that you need a reason to do so, but you deserve it to start new after such a long week. you had been working hard for the past days, going from one place to another, coming back to a lot of paper work, having to read many files and decide which ones are more important.

and at this moment you want nothing more than various flavoured ice creams, that definitely won't be the thing you will be eating all night while watching kid cartoons.

stopping in front of the freezer, your eyes evaluate every option in sight: plain vanilla, salted caramel, chocolate chip cookie, vanilla and fudge brownie, and even more ben&jerry’s creative flavours.

you are wasting time looking at the variety of ice creams as if you don’t always do the same thing: grab your favourite one and call it a day. most of the time it is a very specific one, or any of its variations, rather than try a new flavour. as you are grabbing every tub of ice cream you want: normal strawberry, chocolate covered strawberry, strawberries and cream, strawberry swirl, oh, fudgy flan, a new flavour. . .

“ms kim,” you say, not bothering to look at her way, hands roaming in the freezer looking for a very specific flavour, “you don’t have any strawberry cheesecake ice cream left?”

the sound of things being scanned, the store door opening then closing, and ms kim’s voice ringed your ears, “oh, sweetie, you are the only one who eats those things!”

you decide to stop disorganising the old woman’s freezer and just pay for the ones you already took — of course, with a very notorious pout on your face. “someone else must like it too,” you point out while you watch her scan your ice cream tubs.

she offers you a warm and, almost familiar at this point, smile while shaking her head slowly, “you better eat some proper dinner, you are always eating these things.”

of course, there is no buying ice cream in ms kim convenience store without being scolded for buying it in the first place. “yes, yes mom,” you say, almost laughing, taking the bags with the five ice cream tubs in them, “don’t worry, i will order some take out and-. . .”

ms kim interrupts you, shaking her hand in the air, “that’s not a proper dinner! you have to eat something healthy.”

“right, right,” you say, starting to walk away, “i will make a sandwich or a salad,” you wave your hand in the air, “see you later, ms kim!”

and as you step outside of the store, you realise that you did waste a lot of time, watching the rain hitting the pavement, quickly drenching the concrete. you press your lips together, stepping outside the small roof of the store, feeling the cold air and tiny raindrops covering your skin.

you step back, shielding yourself from the rain, taking a moment to decide what would be better; if wait for the rain to stop or walk under the rain for almost two blocks. of course, you wanted to be in the comfort of your own home, guarded from the rain, eating your ice cream while cuddling yourself in bed.

or maybe you should start eating it right now, you only would have to go back into the store and buy a spoon, but then your line of thought about how good the ice cream would be is interrupted by someone clearing his throat and muttering:

“can you hold this for me, please?”

you didn’t even hear the door opening, neither felt someone stopping close to you, but you did reach to hold the this he was referring to — an umbrella.

and that’s when you see it, see him, the young professor, dong sicheng, who you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing again, “oh,” is the first sound that leaves your lips, wide eyes scanning his face, “is you.”

"oh,” you frown as you watch him imitate you, “hi, miss strawberry,” he says, as he starts walking towards his car.

“wait,” you raise your voice, holding out the umbrella, “your–. . .”

he doesn’t let you finish the sentence, opening the door of his car, “you can give it back, you know where to find me!” are the last words he says to you as he gets into his car.

⠀ + umbrella has been written down as the second material used in this experiment.

week three, wednesday at 8:45am.

there was a buttery and sweet scent surrounding the air, people coming out and into the cafe, some of them in a rush, others completely relaxed. today, you were part of the relaxed ones, gradually warming up to the day with no outside stress.

eyes scanning the pastries placed in front of you, reading its names and prices in handwritten tags, debating internally if you should try the strawberry scone just to decide that buying a cheddar bacon one is a better option. you wait patiently as the barista is making your tea, curious watching her behind the counter preparing it, to where your eyes would occasionally go.

as more people enter the café and it begins to be a bit too crowded, being careful to not actually touch it, you step a little closer to the counter, taking barely two steps backwards -- and slightly bumping into someone, or more like, stepping on their foot.

you immediately turn around, a string of “sorry, sorry, sorry,” leaving your lips.

“it's oka—, oh, hey you." he smiled, looking down at you.

“oh,” you let out of surprise, quickly giving him a lip-tight smile back, “hi, professor.”

he shakes his head slowly, “you don't need to call me that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

your eyes go back to the baristas behind the counter, expecting your order to be ready, “have you. . . tried this?” his question makes you turn to him, eyes following his finger that was pointing to some kind of sweet pastry, you read the tag: soft melon cream buns.

denying with a shake of your head, you say “no, i'm more of a winter strawberry cream croissant.”

“umm, i will—,” a barista walked towards you, giving him a take out coffee cup, “thank you,— try it next time, then.”

“if you like really sweet things, you will like it.”

you smile at him, expecting for him to take his things and go, instead he opens his mouth, only to be interrupted by the barista handing you the tea.

a thank you. the sound of the bag with your scone in it. and then, a couple of seconds later, “did you know that regular consumption of tea is linked to a reduced risk of cognitive decline and better brain function.”

eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted, you lean closer to him, “really?” that's all you say, fingers fidgeting with the straw of your drink, moving the bottom of it, the red tea infused with orange juice, “umm, interesting.”

you start to walk away, taking a sip of your drink, the slightly acidic and fruity taste leaving a refreshing feeling in your tongue. you look at him for a second, walking by your side, giving short steps to match yours — and that's when he sees it, the spark in your eyes as you watch him, the curiosity behind it, the need to know more, to learn everything.

so he continues, opening the door for you while he says, “is because of compounds like l-theanine and catechins.”

nodding encouragingly as he speaks, “so, by drinking tea everyday, my. . . brain is healthy?”

“yes, you could say it like that.”

you smile at him, "good to know,” and before he could say something else, you point behind you, “i'm going that way.”

then, waving your hand as if to say bye, the both of you start walking, in opposite ways, while the fluffy clouds drift across the clear, blue sky, the sun dazzles, and big smiles adorn your faces.

week four, sunday at 8:36pm.

the shining stars adorning the dark blue sky were accompanied by the lamp poles, lighting up the neighbourhood. even for a sunday night, the street was filled with calmness and quiet, the only sound that could be heard was the occasional meowing of a cat.

you place your bag on the wooden table, eyes squinting as you look for the cat who’s meowing, thinking it may be close. so you end up squatting down, inspecting the ground.

the first and only thing you notice is a pair of glowing eyes in the dim light, his meowing getting louder or maybe it is just that you are closer, you allow a smile to adorn your lips, extending your hand to the tiny cat, wanting him to get to you.

“meow,” you whispered, a giggle leaving your lips the second he starts to pet himself with your hand, his head resting on your palm, “hi, cutie.”

he purrs at you, as if answering your hi, wagging his tail.

the cat is barely bigger than your hand, with black, long, fuzzy fur covering his tiny body, and almost sharp teeth as he tries to bite your fingers, starting to play with you in his own way. then, while he is giving you his paw — “what are you doing?”

the sound of a male voice startled you, causing you to almost fall into the ground.

you close your eyes, hand going to your chest for a second, “god.” you hear a soft laugh, making you glare at the owner of the voice.

then as you were able to hold the cat into your arms, you say, “i’m stealing ms kim’s cat.”

letting out a loud gasp, he adds, “scandalous. . . can i help?”

“umm. . . maybe,” you nod, pretending to think as you stand up, “what do you know about cats?”

he frowns, pretending to be hurt by the tone you used, “petting a cat can lower stress and blood pressure, a cat’s purr has a calming effect—.”

you tilted your head, blinking, and you interrupted him this time, thinking he had finished what he said, “that’s interesting,” you say, hand petting the cat, “but, i mean, you seem more like a dog person.”

“well, you are not wrong,” he smiles at you, “i do have a dog.”

nodding, you observe him this time, a comfortable outfit compared to the dress shirt and pants that you had seen him wear before, and a plastic bag with whatever he bought from ms kim, the curiosity gets the best of you and a frown takes over your features— “do you live here?”

is not the first time you two have crossed paths in the last month, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he did, the thing is that you never noticed him before.

he shakes his head, frowning too, “no?”

oh, well, now is a bit weird. you take a step back, putting even more distance between the two of you, “are you like, stalking me?” you don’t actually think that, because his family could live here, or a friend, or girlfriend.

he brings his hands up, quickly denying it with his head, “no, what, i— no, my friend yuta lives here.” he points to a building across the street, “his apartment is right there,” he adds.

now, that is a more elaborated answer. your eyes linger on his face a little bit longer, the lack of distrust that you had the first time you meet comes back, so you simply nod, deciding to keep messing with him.

you watch as he unlocks his phone, scrolling through something really quick, “it's him,” he says, turning his phone so you can see it, a picture of who he says is his friend, and you do think you may have seen him a couple of times.

“oh, right,” you smile, a lip-tight, barely visible, but still a smile.

he shakes the bag in his hands, cans of beer colliding as he does so, “i—. . .”

then, he gets interrupted by ms kim's voice, “sweetie, do you like—” she stops herself, her eyes going from you to him, “oh, you have company,” she smiles and then, as if trying to be discrete, she winks, “i'll serve some kimchi just in case, anyway.”

⠀ + the subjects in the experiment have advanced to another subset.

ii. liking. it refers to the presence of the intimacy component only, the term is used here to describe the set of feelings one experiences in relationships that can truly be characterized as friendships.

week five, monday at 6:27pm.

⠀ PIZZA (n.) an italian dish made of flattened bread dough with a savoury topping of tomato sauce and cheese.

you take a deep breath, taking in the smell of the trees and fresh air and a gentle breeze touching your skin as you step out the library.

a warm orange tinge covering the sky, the evening sun casting long shadows on the ground in the shape of the various university buildings, you walk past some students sitting in the benches chatting with their friends, and some others who seem to be on their way out of the campus.

and as you see buildings with the lights on, you assume there must be some in class still. the neuroscience one comes into view and memories of the first time you walked into that building comes into mind.

he also makes a small appearance, with his coral blue shirt and brown pants, no, it was grey pants, you are sure. and now, he is standing right in front of you, wide eyes, mouth open slightly while waving his hand.

"oh, hi, for some reason i did not think of the possibility of seeing you here," then, you add, "again."

brows furrowed as he smiles at you, "i work here," he looks around, nodding, "you, on the other hand. . ." he makes a pause, waiting for you to say something.

"right," this time you nod, "i was in work seminary in the social—"

he interrupts you, "are you looking for a job?"

you laugh, moving your hand in a 'no' way, "i was the one that had to talk about how amazing is working at the company i work at."

"oh, right, makes more sense," nodding, he looks around again, his hand going to the back of his head, "umm. . . where are you headed?"

"to my apartment" you say, pointing to the right side of the campus where the bus stop is.

his eyes go from where you pointed to your face around three times, his mind seemed to be racing with thoughts, "oh, okay," he gives you a smile, nodding as he sees you shake your hand and start walking, "wait," he says the second you give only one step forward, "let me buy you some early dinner."

your lips parted slightly from the surprise, blinking a couple of times while looking directly into his eyes that seemed to have a spark that you didn’t understand then, nodding your head, “okay."

he points to the opposite side you were going to walk to, clearing his throat,"there is this place where the pizza is so delicious," he shakes his car keys so you can see them while smiling at you, "i'll drive."

⠀ + pizza has been written down as the third material used in this experiment.

week six, saturday at various times in the evening.

⠀ MOVIE (n.) a story recorded by a camera as a set of moving images and shown in a theater or on television.

7:48pm. for some reason, a month packed with casual encounters and some interesting previously unknown facts is enough to get to know someone.

well, at least to decide that you like each other enough to become friends and getting to discover the various sides of dong sicheng has been a really nice experience, he is a very fun person to be with.

he was not the guy who once got down on his knees to beg you, nor the one who kind of flirted with you in front of his students, he was some point in the middle. he would say random facts here and there, be quiet most of the time, have a really expressive face, and be a bit weird.

another thing about him is that he has the worst perfect timing.

every time he invites you to do something you would either not be in town or wanting nothing more than to stay at home and not see anyone. today, it was different, you received a text that said something along the lines of 'let's go watch a movie' and at the moment it seemed like a better idea than to stay at home watching some romance comedy that made you wish you were in love.

you scrolled down the cinema's website, looking through the various movies they had on display: after the hunt, good fortune —and the others didn't even pick your attention.

"oh, wicked for good!" he says, a little too excited to see the big poster while parking the car, "we should watch that, the first one was good."

you open your mouth, having a small internal discussion with yourself for not knowing how to tell him no, "after the hunt sounds good, and julia roberts is in it!"

he shrugged his shoulders, "maybe, what is it about?" he asks, leaning over the console, closer to see your phone.

"a college professor. . . like you, see you may like it!"

he leans back, a frown taking over his features, "wha- so you like a movie if it is about a journalist? that's dumb, berry!"

you turn to look at him, a frown on your face, "well, then let's watch good fortune!"

"or. . . let's just watch wicked!"

you take a deep breath, the words slipping from your lips, "i didn't watch the first one, okay?"

it takes him around a minute to process your words, biting your inner cheek so you don't laugh at his expression, lips parted in surprise, widened eyes screaming at you, and his finger pointing at you.

"you have never watched wicked?" now, his eyes are furrowed as he stares at what seems to be an invisible camera as if he was a character in the office, "wha-why? do you hate green people"

"yes, i haven't, they do not exist," you start, counting with your fingers as you explain yourself, "and–"

he interrupts you, "it was nominated for the oscars! shouldn't you watch all the oscars movies?"

frowning, you take a second, staring at him for saying the most stupid thing you have heard him say with the most serious face, and on top of that, expecting a real answer.

"i'm not a member of the academia, sicheng, why would i do that?"

he opened his mouth, raising a finger, "i don't know, but i have to make you watch wicked, we are watching wicked, i'm the birthday boy, i choose the movie!"

8:05pm. cinemas have been adding new things to their menu in the past years, it used to be only popcorn and sodas. now, they have a long list of food and drinks, and you believe it is time for them to add ice cream to the menu.

"hey," he nudges your arm with his finger, then points to the screen that contains the menus and prices, "we could get one of-. . ." he waits for the specific one he wanted to appear again, "those," a big popcorn and two drinks, that are in cups with the character's hat and tiara.

"oh chips, and cookies," he keeps pointing out, "oh, and chocolate, and whatever you want," he turns to look at you, "i'll pay, don't worry."

you frown, eyes never leaving the screen, "the birthday boy is paying? why—"

"actually, is in a month, i just used the birthday card so we can see what i wanted."

11:55pm. if you want to learn more about someone else, watching movies together is a great option.

are they the silent type? or more talkative? do they eat a lot? do they get annoyed when someone else talks? and do they enjoy sharing opinions once the movie is over?

right now, you can answer every single one about dong sicheng. is silent, except for the singing, which you noticed he has a great voice. he doesn't eat that much, but he does buy a lot of snacks. he doesn't seem to mind other people talking, or at least not the younger couple sitting beside him.

and yes, he does enjoy sharing his opinion about the movie.

he is rambling, saying every thought that crosses his mind, while opening the car door for you, "–and ariana's voice is, oh my god, amazing, she's so talented, and–"

he stops talking for a moment, walking fast as he circles the car so he can get inside, "cynthia is also, i mean, she's a broadway star, so. . . you have to watch the first one, you liked this one so!"

you rest your head on the window, your eyes glued to his face, the way he pronounced the words with a pout on his lips, one of his hands leaving the steering wheel when he had to make emphasis on something.

"i expected you to ask me questions about what was going on, for a second i thought you were asleep, and–" you have been friends for around two months, maybe, and this is the first time you have seen him so talkative, "am i talking too much? sorry."

you quickly denied with your head, "oh, no, no" you made a movement with your hand, "i just-, no, keep talking, please, i enjoy it."

he turns to look at you for a second, his eyes sparking at the meaning of your words, then looks back at the road, "well, glinda is–"

and then, on the forty minute drive home, you listen to him ramble about the movie, you would let out some jokes about the movie, about him, to which he laughs while nodding, as if memorising them.

week seven, tuesday at 1:41pm.

lots of shuffling around and camera shutters that are louder than the various distant voices conversing with each other.

the tent being illuminated by pink and white tones of light, giving the impression that your white outfit may be baby pink. you use the palms of your hand to flat out your skirt then, staring directly into the camera, you raise your eyebrows to the cameraman, waiting for him to give you the go, except, that it doesn’t come.

you feel your phone ringing inside your bag, frowning, noticing that the filming crew seems to be having trouble, you decide to answer however is calling. when his name appears on the screen, the first word that comes to mind is: weird, still you press the green button, holding the phone to your face level.

he started talking, eyes squinting at the computer screen while adjusting the camera, you could see him clearly, a green shirt, tie, glasses on, and a classroom full of students. “hi, sorry for calling out of nowhere but– wait, where are you?”

you turn around, making sure you were still seen and showing the place: a red carpet, lights, cameras, microphones, people wearing nice outfits, and a big poster with an actor he didn’t recognise at first.

with a smile on your face, you wave your hand, saying ‘hi’ to everyone watching and then you say:

“i’m at the mantis premiere.”

you see how he looks at his students and then at the screen, his eyes analysing the entire picture, “what? how do you get into that?”

you show the badge hanging on your neck, shaking your head while frowning, “i don’t know, i found this on the floor and then snuck–.” you interrupted yourself, rolling your eyes at the question, “i’m a journalist, sometimes we do this.”

“right, right,” he nodded, scratching the back of his neck, “umm. . . i wanted to show my students that we are acquaintances.”

“oh,” this time it was you who nodded, “right, maybe next week i can go to the cla–.” you are interrupted by the cameraman’s voice, saying your name and announcing that they are finally ready, you quickly turn your attention to the camera, waving your hand and “have to go, bye.”

camera flashes on your face was the last thing sicheng and his students saw before you hung up the call.

the only sound was the one that the air conditioner makes, and then the total silence filling the room is broken by the students chatting at the same time. he clears his throat, closing his laptop before turning around and clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“we’ll continue with our lesson,” he starts, only to be interrupted by one of his students.

sitting in one of the front rows, there was his favourite student, chenle, “professor dong, be honest, she was no stranger, right?”

well, maybe not a favourite all the time, he is not even able to answer when minjeong, another student, chimes in, “he lied to us on our first day, that’s mean.”

he takes a deep breath, denying with his head, “no, i didn’t lie, she was, technically, a stranger.”

for some reason, he was feeling nervous over a bunch of younger people questioning his relationship with you, and he knew there was no way of them not noticing it, “what does ‘technically’ mean?” this time it was yujin, who sits a few seats behind chenle.

“they were already dating!”

and when another student says that, he runs a hand through his hair, saying ‘no’ but being ignored as chenle adds: “well professor, your girl is meeting yim siwan, if it was my girl, i wouldn’t be so calm.”

some students laugh, and for some reason that comment of you being ‘his girl’ bothered him a little, because he has not seen you in days, and a feeling he couldn’t quite describe settled in his chest.

still he pushes it down, ignoring the loud voice in his head, and tries to get everyone’s attention to continue with the lesson.

sicheng: heeey, sorry for earlier, won’t call you out of nowhere again. my students do want to see you soon, hope you can make it:)

strawberry<3 : hi, don’t worry, it’s fine. yea, i think this month won’t do but maybe next one!

and when the absence of the other arouses strong feelings of intimacy, passion or commitment, it is best to classify the relationship as going beyond liking.

week eight, friday at 8:41pm.

⠀ DATE (n.) a social meeting planned before it happens, especially between two people who have or might have a romantic relationship.

the dim light in the restaurant made everything feel more intimate than it already was. books on the walls that caught your attention, stopping yourself from grabbing one. and the paintings, you could see one sideways, a pan with eggs, bread, tomatoes and wine, the texture was an eye-catching sight.

you sat on the soft-green booth, eyes observing the food placed on the table, various types of sushi, a plate of gyozas, shrimp tempura —just for you—, and beef udon.

in front of you, there was sitting sicheng, drinking a glass of wine, just one, because he was the one driving tonight and he had to make sure you get home safely, his words not yours.

"oh, this looks tasty," you muttered, eyes shining with curiosity leaving the food and looking around, "and the place is really nice, cozy."

he smiles at your words, nodding his head slowly, "i knew you would think that."

you look back at him, a pout on your lips, "i'm sorry i couldn't come to your birthday dinner-"

he interrupted you, shaking his hand, "no, it's okay, you were working."

and he was right, you were supposed to go, you had even bought a gift and chosen an outfit, but your job has the surprise element that sometimes you just can make plans in advance, "and, we are here tonight, so, is okay, really," he smiles at you, placing one of the gyozas on your plate "the tornado was more important anyway."

"well, okay," you know there is no point in saying how sorry you were, and as you watch him try the udon, you keep talking, "at least we are celebrating now!" you bring the gyoza to your mouth, letting a sound of enjoyment at the flavour, and you nod to him, a way of saying is good.

he places more gyozas and some udon on your plate, and then, after swallowing, he says, "you know, it was dangerous even for you, a tornado will demolish everything in its path, including measuring equipment, because its formation is so complex that scientists don’t completely understand it."

you nodded, eyes wide and mouth full of food as you listened to him, "tornadoes are also very unpredictable, so it is difficult and dangerous to study them."

you cover your month as you swallow, quickly pointing at him, "there is no way you 'just' know that. . . impossible, you sound like you learned it on your way here!"

"i-i didn't," he stutters, quickly defending himself, "i learned it when you told me you were going to jeju to document the tornadoes and what happened after and all that."

you just nod, focusing on the food, smiling as you reach for the shrimp, widen eyes, tongue poking between your lips, hand in the air with the chopsticks and then the sound of the camera flushed.

now, you looked like a deer caught on the lights, before you could even look at him and say something, your phone screen lights up, a notification of airdrop. your eyes go to him, putting his phone down and trying some gyozas, and placing more food on your plate.

you are taken back, unlocking the phone and opening what he had sent, pictures, and your lips parts slightly, eyes widening as you see them: the painting, the food, the place, you eating, you looking at the paintings, you pointing the books as you said something, and then he says something:

"none of them captured your beauty though."

the moment your brain registered the words, you looked up, eyes scanning his face but he was looking at the food, eating one of your shrimps, as if he had said nothing, but the light pink blush that covered his cheeks gave it away.

you blinked, not being sure of how you should react, 'okay' or maybe 'thank you', or 'do you say that to all of your friends?" it took you a minute, and you went with the best option, ignore it.

clearing your throat, you reached to the gift bag placed beside you at the booth, "i got you a gift!"

and with the low jazz music playing in the background, you watched as he opened the bag, his eyes scanning the cover of the book, two orange cats partially covered with a blanked and the grey tail of another cat, before turning his attention to the handwritten note, you watch the way a sparkle appears in his eyes while he read the words you wrote ‘happy bday my boy! just a little something i saw and thought of you, hope you enjoy it’

⠀ + a book ‘the blanket cats’ has been written down as the fourth material used in this experiment.

⠀ + the subjects in the experiment have advanced to another subset.

iii. romantic love. derives from a combination of the intimacy and passion components, romantic lovers are not only drawn physically to each other but also bonded emotionally.

week nine, wednesday at 8:25am.

shadows of trees barely doing anything to cover the rays of sunshine that filtered through the car’s windows, illuminating his blushing face with golden tones, a sight you could engrave in your mind.

and the past you totally would, along with all the conversations, interesting new facts, his mannerisms you know are very much yours too now. you blink, eyes settling in the steering wheel, and his hands, mind racing with thoughts you want to push away so you do.

clearing your throat, you tap your fingers into the console, “you didn’t have to drive me to work, you know.”

he turns his head to the side, looking at you for a moment before turning his attention back to the road, brows furrowed slightly, “i keep you up till late,” one of his hands leaving the wheel to poke your hand, “so yes, i had to.”

the shy smile on his lips is contagious, “okay,” you simply say, “thank you.”

“i won’t do it again though,” his words make you frown, confused to what does he means, “sleep deficiency can cause your mental health to decline, and we don’t want that, do we?”

you never had a great sleeping schedule, still, you used to get to work on time, except for this past week. it was only once, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again, hence why he is driving you today. you shake your head ‘no’ when he looks at you, the smile on his lips becomes bigger. “and, why is that?” you ask, leaning over the console, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, wanting him to keep talking.

he tries to bite back his smile, but you know how happy he feels when you are interested in what he is saying, so he continues; “because during sleep, the brain flush out waste and toxins, and,” he makes a pause while he parks the car, “i would tell you more, but you have arrived, berry.”

rolling your eyes at the nickname, you put a hand on his arm, “thank you.”

but you don’t even make a move to leave the car, well you were about to when his eyes found yours and somehow, that made you stop. his eyes had a spark, that you now know it was because of how much he appreciated you listening to him, but there was something else hidden this time.

you see his eyes flicker to your lips, it was just a second, which you would have noticed if your eyes hadn’t left his. the air had shifted, you were still leaning over the console and you were not sure if he had been this close the whole time, he could move a bit closer and you would feel his breath in your face, then maybe he could put his lips on—.

a really loud honk, drags you out of your mind, reminding you where you were, you blink, sitting properly before reaching out to open the door, “thank you, text me when you get to the uni!”

he nods, letting out a sound of agreement as he watches you step out the car, “call me later?”

you stop yourself from closing the door, smiling at him, “uhmn, maybe,” you say, deciding to tease him a little, “bye!” closing the door, you start walking towards the building entrance, the smile on your lips faltering for a second.

“who’s that?” you turn to your side at the sound of her voice, intertwining her arms with yours as you enter the building, she is pointing behind her and your eyes follow her finger, not expecting to see his car still there.

“a friend.”

week ten, monday at 2:27pm.

⠀ MEMORY CELL (n.) a type of immune cell that remembers specific pathogens the body has previously encountered.

taking a deep breath, you fix your hair while rushing through the university’s hall, checking the time every few seconds on your phone. you should have been in the classroom already twenty minutes ago, however you got distracted watching a park jinyoung’s drama so technically, it wasn’t your fault.

the second you reach the door, you stand there, fixing your clothes, even though it didn’t have any wrinkles. before knocking, you take a peak over the glass panel of the door, having to squint your eyes and stand on your tiptoes to see him, in front of the board, the words ‘holistic understanding’ written there and curiosity gets the best of you.

so instead of texting him that you were already there, you do what you used to do when you were late for your own classes a year ago, opening the door slowly and carefully sitting in the back, not making any noise.

“–the notion that memories could exist beyond the brain, residing within various cells of the body, inspires various new perspectives on the human experience.”

this brings you back to the day you met him, hearing his voice tone, watching him manage himself in front of his students, and you enjoy this side of him, you rest your chin on your hand, making yourself even smaller so he doesn’t see you, yet.

he moves his hands while talking, a smile on his lips while talking, he paces around his desk, “if memory is more than a neuronal construct, it suggests that our bodies hold intimate connections to our past.” he looks at his students, paying attention to them, so when one of them raises their hand, he immediately points to them, “yes, miss yujin?”

“so there is a possibility in treating cognitive disorders, those affected by memory impairments, right?” she asks, and you watch as his smile gets bigger, nodding softly.

you can see how much he enjoys teaching, and it makes a smile appear on your face too without you even noticing it, “yes! by understanding proteins, we could develop strategies to bolster cognitive resilience in conditions like. . . alzheimer’s disease.”

he presses his lips together, claps his hands together and looks around, pausing for a second, which seems to be for see his students faces, and when he opens his mouth again to say something, he gets interrupted:

“soo,” you hear a male voice, one of his students in the front row, “when is your girlfriend coming?”

and there is a pause, other students making noises, teasing him, and he is rolling his eyes, a smile on his face that he tries to hide behind his hand, and you can see how his ears have turned red, and for some reason you are blushing too. the girlfriend they were talking about, has to be you, even though you would correct them and say you are friends.

“no, chenle, and you guys have to stop,” he says, shaking his hands while leaning against his desk, “she’s not my. . . girlfriend,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “and, she should already be here.”

you unlock your phone, quickly writing the words ‘i’m here!’

he is checking the time on his watch, frowning, and then claps his hands, “let’s continue, the memory cells–.”

that’s when you send the text, causing his phone to ring and then he turns to check it. you stand up quickly, imitating him as you clap your hands, “i don’t want to interrupt but–. . .”

you pause when you hear the class start making loud, boisterous noises, excited for some reason, you try to not laugh. you walk down the stairs to join sicheng standing in front of his desk, you watch as he claps his hands, trying to get the class to go quiet. and they do, “i don’t know what am i doing here tho,” you say as soon as you reach his side, giving him a lip-tight smile, “am i the lab-rat again?”

he smiles too, shaking his head ‘no’, “well, maybe?” he raises his hands towards you but quickly stops himself from reaching out for you, putting his hands down while flexing them, and of course everyone notices, as the students are about to start teasing you two, he continues the class, “we were talking about the memory cells. . .”

week eleven, thursday at 8:39pm.

a few various smells combined along with many voices all talking at the same time, footsteps of people passing by, still, you had all your focus on the food you were eating and the boy sitting in front of you.

tossing a fry into your mouth, you nodded as he began to tell a story, paying attention to what he was saying. his hand motioning over the table, while his feet settled between yours, “then, one of my students, you know, chenle,” the one he always mentions, you do know him, “he says–. . .”

he gets interrupted by a woman’s voice, “winwin!” you frown, watching as he stops talking, his eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted, eyes blinking while looking to the side.

you turn your head to the side, the frown never leaving your face, noticing her with her arms opened, clearing talking to him. weird, because his name is sicheng, you never heard anyone refer to him as winwin, your eyes going from her to him, the smile on his lips faltering a bit, “m-mom!”

oh, you quickly move your feet away from his, suddenly feeling nervous about her getting the wrong idea. you watch as he stands up, hugging his mom for a few seconds, giving you time to stand up too.

“hi, nice to meet you, ms dong,” you say with a smile on your lips, extending your hand for her to shake it, and she does, her eyes flickering from you to her son.

he clears his throat, “mom, she’s–.”

you interrupted him, saying your name, “i’m a friend of your son’s.”

she claps her hands together, “oh, yes, i know you!” you frown again, confused at what she means because you do not know each other, “he talks about you all the time,” she adds, patting her son’s back.

and that information takes you aback, not expecting him to talk about you with anyone, and even less with his mom. you look at her, lips pressed together and eyes wide, not knowing how to react, and you don’t need to, sicheng quickly grabbing his mom’s attention, “i–, mom, what are you doing here?”

“oh, just buying something for your sister,” she patted his head this time, and then fixed his hair, “i’ll leave you two alone, see you in the weekend? right.”

he nods, “yes, mom.”

she turns to you, “nice to meet you, darling, hope to see you again,” she smiles at you before turning again, about to walk away but stopping next to her son, whispering something only for him to hear and then, she winks.

my berry<3 : soo, winwin

sicheng : don’t know why people call me that, stop

my berry<3 : whatever

my berry<3 : question

my berry<3 : does your mom like me?

sicheng : it’s one in the morning

my berry<3 : i know, but does she?

week twelve, sunday at 4:21pm.

⠀ ICE CREAM (n.) a soft frozen food made with sweetened and flavoured milk fat.

the moment you hear a soft knock on your door you mute the sound of the tv, a frown appearing on your face. then, another knock, and that's when a feeling you couldn't describe settles in your chest, because you were not expecting anyone. and with the third knock, you take a deep breath, standing up from the couch and walking towards the door.

any other day you would probably ignore, so the person outside assumes there is no one home and leaves you alone, but for some reason, a tiny little voice in your head is telling you to open it today, so you do.

and you don’t even try to hide your surprise, eyes wide with a curious spark on them, mouth open slightly, and the first words to leave past your lips, “i did not invite you.”

with furrowed eyebrows, he shrugs his shoulders and a lopsided smile, "i know," he raises the bag he was holding, shaking it gently.

you squint your eyes, trying to see what it has inside and when you notice the ‘ben&jerry’s’ design, you step aside opening the door completely with a smile on your lips, “okay, i’ll let you in,” you pause, pointing at him, “only because you brought ice cream.”

his eyes scanned you first; still on your pajamas, hair a bit disheveled and not even a drop of makeup. in his eyes you look gorgeous as always, still he feels a bit shy so he runs a hand through his hair, “am not interrupting something, right?”

“oh, no,” you close the door the second he steps inside, “just watching our unwritten seoul,” pointing at the tv, you walk towards the couch, he follows your every move, “you can join me.”

patting the space next to you, you watch as he quickly sits by your side, leaving a few inches of distance between the two of you, it is not the first time he is in your apartment, he has only stayed close to the door waiting for you to get ready so it is the first time he’s been on your couch.

his eyes are scanning the room, noticing the plants in the corner, cat toys scattered around, a blanket at the armrest and an empty cup in the small table in front of the tv. “umm. . .” you reach for the bag he had placed in his lap, taking the ice cream out, “which flavour did you– chocolate?" he could hear the disappointment in your voice, your eyes left his lap, staring at him with a frown.

he takes the tub off your hand, “no, leave, i–,” he feels a bit nervous having you so close, the faint of your breath grazing his neck, “that one is for me,” he reaches for the other ice cream in the bag, immediately placing it on your hands, “strawberry cheesecake for you.”

nodding, you happily look at the cup, humming before standing up again, “oh, perfect,” you say, walking to the kitchen, “you can stay,” you take two spoons before going back to the couch, “this one is sooo much better,” you point to your ice cream, “chocolate is boring.”

you extend your hand, offering the spoon which he gladly accepts “really?” he says, an eyebrow raised, opening his cup, “let me try it.”

“okay,” you take the spoon from his hand, scooping just a little, is only for him to taste it. “open,” you hold the spoon to his lips, mouth slightly open while you wait for him to do it, you watch his ears turn to a lighter shade of red before opening his mouth.

“umm,” he hums, nodding, “yea, is good.”

smiling, you shrugged your shoulders, “i told you, anything strawberry flavoured is superior.”

his eyes linger on your face for a bit longer than it should, making your heartbeat fasten for some reason, “why do you like strawberries so much?”

you frown, turning your body completely to the side, being able to look at him properly, “i also like the fudgy flan one,” you mention, bringing a spoon full of ice cream to your lips, “and, you know strawberries are my favourite fruit.”

“well, they are good for the brain, you know,” he starts, and by now you recognise that tone of his voice way too well, so you look up from your ice cream, noticing his eyebrows raised and barely any blinking, “they have high levels of anthocyanins and vitamin c.”

you hum, nodding slowly while eating your ice cream, “so, my brain is very healthy then.”

he looks at you, eating a bit of his chocolate ice cream, “sort of?” he frowns, taking a minute to think, “i mean, if you eat strawberries everyday then yes,” he watches you listen to him attentively, leaning closer while eating your ice cream, “it helps to reduce inflammation and oxidative stress, which can protect brain cells from damage.”

“the conclusion is,” you point at him with your spoon, “strawberries are better than chocolate,” he pressed his lips together, trying to stop a laugh from escaping, “and they are good on everything.”

you go back to eating your ice cream happily, a spoon full of strawberry cheesecake, so you don’t notice the way his frown is different this time, as if there was some process going on inside his head, he is staring at you, his eyes focused on your face, “on everything?” he muttered, and you looked up at him again, tilting your head to the side.

“wha–. . .”

he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence, leaning closer to you, placing his ice cream cup on top of the table, “let me try it.”

his hand goes to your cheek, cupping your face slowly while leaning in, watching your widened eyes and surprised expression. he took the ice cream cup from your hands, giving you time to push him away or even stand up and kick him out, even though he knew it wasn’t going to happen. and then as he watches you close your eyes, as he reduces the small distance between the two of you, lips touching yours softly, brushing, tasting, slow almost as if he was being tentative.

you don’t waste time reacting, placing one of your hands on his neck while the other grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. his lips were soft, barely moving, as if he was testing you and choosing to take charge of the kiss. and you want him to do more, you open your mouth just a little, tilting your head to the side, letting him know he can do more.

and he does, his tongue exploring your mouth, the strawberry cheesecake mixing with chocolate ice cream. he doesn’t let go of your cheek, his other hand going to your waist, tugging you into his lap as he deepens the kiss, causing you to let out a gasp, surprised, that simple action catching you off guard. he is amused by your reaction, pulling away just a little with a breathy laugh.

you open your eyes, finding him already staring at you, a soft pink blush covering his face, a lopsided smile, and pupils blown wide, and you probably look the same way, or even worse. giggling, both of you are trying to catch your own breaths, is just a second and your eyes wander down to your hand resting on his chest, over his shirt, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat.

"umm. . ." you hum, lips brushing against his, "on everything, right?"

"i think," you can feel his lips on yours while he talks, "is more than good on you," the moment your hand leaves its spot in his neck and runs through his hair, he squeezes your waist, trying to ground himself, "we should do this more often then–. . ." he pauses, taking a deep breath, "strawberries, umm, improve memory, delay cognitive decline. . ." he starts yapping, even when his brain seemed to be malfunctioning while his mouth shared the very interesting fact, knowing how much you enjoy hearing him, "oh," there it was again, the fast-paced tone, "there is a study from 2023 that shows that strawberries reduce the risk of diseases like alzheimer's–."

humming, you nod, “umm, that’s interesting,” you whisper before pulling him into you again, lips crashing into his, and this time there is nothing tentative about it, it’s desperate, greedy, the second his tongue pushes past your lips, you gasp, tasting more of him this time, the mint under the chocolate, and a kind of emotion you don't think you deserve.

he kisses you in a way that makes it seem as if he already knows you mouth, feeling him breathe your name against your lips. and you, you kiss him like you are doing everything in you to not memorise him.

his hands grip your waist tighter, trying to pull you even more closer to him, hesitantly doing so. you try to let him know is okay in the only way you know how, rolling your hips down onto his, pulling his hair until a groan leaves his mouth. and god, you swear you’d do anything to hear him doing that sound again.

when he is touching you like this, you feel his hands softer, larger, fitting. his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, just above your shirt, and your whole body aches at the thought of more. him getting to know every inch of you, the warm feeling of his body against yours, surprisingly delicate and rough at the same time.

then, something that has never happened before, scenarios of a future flashes on your brain: his tie laying on your dresser, your favourite bra in his nightstand. him making breakfast in your kitchen wearing your red-heart apron while you just sit there staring at him. his laptop next to yours on your desk. waking up next to him every morning, his hair messy from the sleep, without glasses, muttering sweet nothings while leaving kisses all over your face. family weekends where he stays by your side all day, except, when he is helping in the kitchen.

the feeling of his hands pulling your hips down to meet his again as his lips leaves yours, trailing down your neck just over your sensitive spot, gets you out of your mind. you turn your head to the side as if it was an instinct, giving him even more space. god, how did he know what to do to make you feel like this? a breathy moan escaping your lips before you can stop it, he lets out a groan and it hits you soft and hard, you want every part of him, his body, his voice, his lips, his hands, his brain, his extended and interesting knowledge about almost everything.

and your chest tightens with that realization, you don't want to stop kissing him even when you know you should because those scenarios that flashed in your head minutes ago will definitely happen and then the unavoidable heartbreak will come, even worse than you can imagine. you have been part of this experiment many times before, and the result is always the same, you'll end up losing your mind over him, overanalyzing every single one of his movements, his words, and you refuse to let that happen, again.

⠀ + the subjects in the experiment have advanced to another subset.

week thirteen, friday at 7:21pm. - analysis.

⠀ SELF-SABOTAGE (v.) behave or think in a way that is harmful to one’s own interests, especially when this is involuntary.

your limbs are numb and you feel your whole body ache, so you stretch your arms while your feet walk you towards the airport entrance. even though you were barely paying attention to your surroundings, you could notice people walking past you, some just as tired, others happy for their trip, others saying goodbye to the person leaving, and others waiting for the person to arrive.

the feeling of someone's hand touching your arm before intertwining it with theirs brings you out of your haze, "ugh, i need the rest of the weekend off," your friend says, leaning over your shoulder as both of you walk.

the other members of the team were walking in front of you, just as tired as you were. you wanted nothing more than to lay down on your bed and sleep till the next month, not even thinking about eating.

“if you say it louder maybe he can hear it, eve,” you muttered, pointing behind you, eyelids heavy, almost closing completely.

she gently punched your arm, shaking her head, “and fire me probably,” it was above a whisper, but somehow he hears it and as he walks past the two of you, he says, “i’ll let you take until wednesday off.”

you were about to ask if he was being serious when someone very familiar appeared in your line of sight, the sage green shirt, brown tie, immediately catching your attention. so you stop walking, squinting your eyes in that direction with a frown on your face.

your arm pull causes your friend to stop too, but she doesn’t look at you, her attention completely on the older man,“really?” your friend eve asks, eyes shining with hope, that he was being real.

“umm, until tuesday, may–. . .” he stops when a not really loud, male voice interrupts him, saying your name while walking towards you and the second he reaches your side, a big smile adorning his face.

your friend pokes your side, eyes going from him to you, you can see it in her eyes the ‘i knew it!’ she wanted to scream at you but you ignored it, too confused as to what he was doing here, so you turned to him, a frown on your face while you muttered, “hi? didn’t know i would see you here.”

your voice was low, monotone without showing any emotion, mostly because you were tired, normal for a week of barely sleeping. “i’m picking you up, you texted me the time and i figured you were going to be too tired, so i came after finishing my last class.”

he spoke too fast, explaining himself, you just nodded, not moving your eyes from his face until your friend cleared her throat, “oh,” you turn to her, “right,” you point to your left, “this is eve, my friend, we work together.”

he quickly extended his hand, which she shook happily, “and he,” pointing to your right, “is sicheng.”

and that’s it, nothing else, no friend, or anything else. your friend looks at you, eyebrows raised and eyes wide while she shakes his hand, and you don’t see it but his smile falters for a second, because you didn't say anything else, nor smiled when you saw him, and maybe he was thinking it too much, you had a one hour flight so probably you were just too sleepy, normal.

someone else clears their throat, making all of you turn to him, and there is the leader of the team standing awkwardly, and waiving his hand, while extending the other that was holding your bag, “oh,” you say, quickly taking it from his hand, “thank you, youngjae,” you smile at him, letting your friend’s arm go, and patting his arm just for a second.

the older boy smiles at you, “it’s okay, see you all on tuesday,” he says, ruffling your hair before walking away.

sicheng reaches for the bag, taking it off your hands, and that’s the sign your friend takes to leave, waving her hand and walking fast to catch up with the group, “nice to meet you, bye!”

you turn to him, and he just gives you a lip-tight smile before starting to walk towards his car, he keeps a slow pace, walking by your side, “you tired?”

nodding, you lean into him, the side of your face barely touching his arm, “yes, all i wanna do is sleep all weekend.”

“umm, my car is right there,” he points with his free hand, “you can sleep a little on the way home,” when he decided to pick you up he knew that you sleeping in his car could probably be a scenario, even though he wanted to spend a little time with you since you haven’t seen each other in a week, he understands how tired you may be.

the moment you reach the car, he opens the door for you, like he always does, waiting for you to step inside, but you don’t, you place one hand on his arm, “you okay?”

and there it was again, another lip-tight smile, “of course,” nodding he pulled away, opening the backseat door, placing your bag there, you do find it weird, nonetheless, you entered the car, closing the door with you.

you watch him take a deep breath before entering the car, “so,” you start while he puts on the seatbelt, “have you. . . learned anything interesting recently?”

he watches you lean over the console, looking at him with blinking eyes to try and stop them from closing completely, that were still shining even when covered with dark circles. he knows that tone of your voice really well, and even more the way you were looking at him, you were flirting, and it was messing with him after what happened inside the airport.

now, he is completely sure you are going to fuck with his head.

hours later, week thirteen, friday at 03:43am

the strawberry scent of the fabric softener, for the first time ever, is causing you a dizzy sensation. you have been using it for ages and normally its scent makes you feel at ease, helps you to fall asleep in minutes.

today, that serene state of mind doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon. you could name a hundred and fifty excuses, blame your cat who is peacefully sleeping beside you, or finally admit that something that has been occupying your mind for the past few weeks. a change. a feeling. that you haven’t been able to get it out of your system, and is keeping you awake.

you can’t shake the image of his furrowed brow, narrow eyes, lips pressed together, tilted head as he was lost in thought, as if he was trying to decipher a mystery. you pressed your eyes closer together, harder as if it would magically make you sleep. you tried to get your mind to focus on other things, cat videos, dog videos, park jinyoung’s edits, even mukbangs to see if you get hungry and think about anything but him.

this emotion used to be different, kind, instead of feeling nauseous, you should be having butterflies. even though you can’t lie because you have expected it, usually you would have convinced everyone that he was the one and planned the whole wedding, something this time was wrong. you have been pulling away, not letting your walls down, repeating yourself that he may be just another guy playing with your heart, not allowing yourself to fold over any time he has made your heart flutter, like when you find out he told his mom about you, or the time his students called you his ‘girlfriend’, when he kissed you like he knew you were the one, or even more recently, when he picked you up from the airport without you even asking him to.

and now, as you are lying on your chest with your face down on the bed, you are wondering how much better this situation would be if you had met him when you were you, the romantic and emotional you, because the one he is trying to love can not stop hesitating every move, and you know, he would prefer someone who doesn’t make it any more harder.

the next day, week thirteen, saturday at 8:28pm.

your vision began to get blurry, not even recognising the letters on the screen as the credits rolled down, mind finally drifting away when suddenly a thud was heard, as if someone were gently knocking on your door.

barely lifting your head away from the armrest, you hear another knock, a bit louder this time, so slowly, you force your body to stand up. your feet felt heavy with every step you took, eyelids fluttering as you reached out the door handle. opening the door, you blink repeatedly to keep your eyes from closing, trying to push the fatigue away the moment your brain registers the sight in front of you, black coat, grey scarf, and his black hair falling over his forehead just above his glasses.

"oh," for some reason, his presence made you feel a bit more awake, tiredness leaving your body and being replaced with confusion, "hi?"

he gives you a lip-tight smile, nodding slowly while his eyes darted around your face, "can i come in?" he asks, his expressive face seemed blank, weird.

you pause, mouth opening and closing, "yea, right," you step aside, giving him space to walk in, "what are you doing here?" you frown, and you watch him step in front of you, eyes glued to his face as a weird feeling settles in your chest.

he's taken aback by your question, "i, well, i- i texted you," he starts, "good morning at eight and something, then, i figured out that you were sleeping and texted that i was going to be with my family," your eyes widen, as you hear him explain himself, "maybe i should have texted again– well," he interrupts his own words, shaking his head, "i did, an hour ago to ask if you were okay and then twenty minutes later to let you know i was coming," he pauses, watching your confused expression, "uh, maybe i should leave."

your only reaction is nodding, blinking eyes, and hands by your sides fidgeting with your shirt. your phone is probably dead since you watched tiktok for three hours straight and left it there on your bed, "no, you know what? i'm not leaving, not until you tell me what's wrong."

shrugging your shoulders you quickly say, "nothing. . ." he lets out a sigh, his eyes boring into yours as if searching for a sign, "nothing!" and he notices it, your voice getting a higher tone, "really, we are just fr-"

and there it goes that word, he knew what you were going to say, feeling his heart fall to his stomach, shaking his head while pressing his lips together, stopping himself from saying what he really wanted to say, “no, don’t even tr-. . . is mean what you are doing, you know? if you had told me that you didn’t want something serious i would have just stopped pursuing you but you didn’t, you flirted with me, you kissed me, god, even more than that. . . and, then you just pulled away? i gave you space, waited for you to start this conversation, if there is something going on with you i can understand and wait–“

"no."

you could tell the truth, admit you are scared about what comes after falling completely, giving you all to another person and then that's when the heartbreak hits, when out of nowhere he wakes up and decides he is tired of you and realises you are not the one for him, it could be tomorrow, or in a couple of months, or worse, in years.

“let’s just, i can’t do this, okay?" you walk towards the couch, "i can’t just pretend i lo-like you like this, that am not looking for even a small thing to just leave before you do, god, you are a scorpio!" you laugh, is a bittersweet laugh, while running a hand through your hair, "and you are always sayin– honestly, don’t know, i just cant keep pretending this is going to be more, that we are going to become a ‘we’ an ‘us’ okay, so just. . . stop, i was only really attracted to you, physical, that’s it, nothing more”

so you lie, because that's how you can protect your heart, the future you, breaking it yourself before he does but the thing is, that in the process of doing so, you see the hurt flash over his face.

and that's when he feels that hollow pain in the back of his throat, "physical? okay," he nods, you can see him trying to not be mad, and not failing in the process, "if you really mean that, i can just leave, that’s what you want, right?” there is a small drop of hope he doesn't hide in his voice, and a part of you wanted to be honest and say that you want him, but the scared part of you is stronger, so you don't, you just swallow hard, blinking, "i just- you really, i mean, the way you look- no, kissed me? i thought you wanted this."

you laughed, again, not like this was even funny, because it wasn't. "i am sorry if i made you think like there was something else."

“okay, then. . . whatever this was for you, is over, i’ll go back to being. . . a stranger,” and for some reason that word hits you, because that's the last thing you want but you don’t say anything, even though your hands do reach out to stop him, and you can’t tell if he noticed or not as he is already half-way out the door.

and when the door finally closes behind him, you don't feel like you are worthy of being sad, so you just let that sting settle in your chest, not even ignoring it.

iv. consummate love. results from the full combination of the three components, attaining this kind of love is no guarantee that it will last, it can be easier or more difficult to form or maintain, depending on the relationship and the situation in which it is developed.

week fourteen, saturday at 10:37pm.

you'd like to think that those months with him were some type of brief interruption.

ever since that night, the tiredness, slouched shoulders, and lump in the throat have not gone away. your routine reminded the same, except for avoiding some places, in a weak attempt to escape the memories that haunted your every decision. sidewalks, restaurants, even in your own apartment, you could hear the sound of his voice sharing some fact while you just stare at him, attention fully on him, you were haunted by him.

so, you do everything that can distract you, bury yourself in work, spend more time with ms kim, watch movies with your cat, or go out with your friends.

such as today, you hear your friends having a conversation, something about the cute new guy at work, you are not paying attention, eyes narrowed as you stared at a couple a few tables away, a soft look in the guy's eyes as he whispers probably some stupid fact into the girl's ear, and that's when you see him, his coral shirt, dark blue tie, disheveled hair, and glasses.

and that's all you needed to empty the soju glass in one gulp, laying your head on the table, to stop yourself from keeping staring at him. but what you don't even notice is that if you take a closer look, you'll see that is not sicheng, god, that guy doesn't even look like him.

you tell yourself that's exactly what has to happen, and you'd go back to wanting dudes who give nothing, numbing the pain in some old fashioned way, drinking until you don't remember anything the next day.

week fifteen, thursday at 10:32am.

⠀ DECISIONS (n.) the action or process of deciding something or of resolving a question.

the words 'decisions may result in better or worse outcomes' get written by him on the board, before turning around to face his students.

clapping his hands together, he starts "the theory of decision-making," it takes him four seconds to scan the students and notice the atmosphere of the classroom, either they were paying attention or they are good at pretending, "time to prove who did the reading. . . yujin."

he points at her sitting in the back, she fidgets with her own hands, "umm, it holds that people make decisions based on integrated global calculations that occur within the frontal cortex of the brain."

he doesn’t react immediately, pressing his lips together he shakes his head, "you are quoting the text, give me an example."

"if the coffee from the cafeteria is good, one brain circuit is activated, if is bad a different one is activated, then another one records the memories of the experience, doesn't matter if it's good or bad."

his eyes are darting around, not exactly distracted perhaps less focused than always, "that's right," he clears his throat, "umm, our brain makes thousands of decisions daily, and there are at least three individual processes that combine to help us to make good decisions. . . who can tell me about the third process, —chenle," he points at him, and then crosses his arm over his chest, waiting for his answer.

the younger boy looks away from his laptop, eyes widened and lips pressed together, "the third circuit is," he makes a pause, hesitating his answer, "crucial in making decisions such as hearing all the bad reviews and still choosing to go there."

"is correct mr. zhong, explain mor–. . ." he stops himself at the ringing of his phone, deciding to ignore the text messages and focusing on the class again, he shakes his head before continuing to speak and explain the subject in his own way.

pacing in front of his desk, he raises his hand, “we ‘make’ decisions as if they are our own creations, and sometimes we know when the result is not going to be good, why is that?”

one day later, week fifteen, friday at 8pm.

there is something about confessing this feeling settled in your chest a while ago that is filled with a sense of guilt, like it’s a secret you have been trying to hide even from yourself.

‘to fall in love’ is a very poetic phrase, because it really describes the feeling of tripping over a well and the fall can’t be stopped by no one. maybe, that’s the reason why you haven’t been able to function properly, you need to hold onto someone else while falling and instead, you pushed him away, you’d have to meet him again, and decide if he is the person who’s there to make your world different than how it was.

so, you finally make the decision, grabbing your coat before storming off your apartment. for a second, you consider taking the stairs as you feel like the elevator is taking too long and the wait helps doubt creep into your mind, however you know better than to go down 14 floors on foot. and as you are waiting, flashes of every possible outcome that your actions will cause, fill your mind, most of them are negative results but you know that in these experiments you have to take risks and if breaking your own heart, again, is one of them? you can handle it.

a ding drags you out of your mind, and you blink a few times before stepping in, not even noticing the other person inside. is not until his ragged breathing hits your ears that you turn around, and you see him, leaning against the elevator’s walls, tie loosened, hair disheveled as if he had pushed it back so many times in the last minute, the moment his eyes meet yours a flashing image appeared in your mind: him with someone else, and it was as if your brain was reminding you of the results of your own foolish decisions in its own very sick twisted way.

but the second he said, “hi,” your heart flutters, a pink flush covers your cheeks and you do want to say something, except that you fear the correct words may not leave your mouth, and you will just embarrass yourself, “i know i said i was going to be a stranger but i don’t think you want that.”

his voice was soft, considering the audible breathing as if he had run to your place, and those words surprise you, blinking you just stare at him, “i haven’t stopped thinking about the words you used that day—“ the doors open, and he steps outside first, hand on the door stopping it from closing as he waits for you to step out. you aren’t sure where you are going now but your feet just follow him, stepping into the lobby by his side, “i never planned to leave, i mean, the idea of dating, for me, is to spend the rest of my life with that person, throughout hardships and more important, to spend our happy days together, isn’t that want you want too?”

cold breeze and gentle rain hitting the pavement do little to silence your beating heart, his words hitting you softly and making you remember why you left your apartment in the first place, “i didn’t mean it, you know, i was trying to stop feeling and— i didn’t think it all through,” you start, mind racing with the various things you wanted to say, ”i said the things i knew would make you leave, i’m a mess right now, it would have been better if we had met two years ago, and then i would be able to love you properly.”

when you look up at him, he’s watching you with soft eyes, the ones that hold patience and hope you never thought you deserved to see again. “berry,” and the way he says that nickname sounds angelic to you, “i didn't keep pursuing you with the idea that we are both healed, being human means we're always healing and if i can't be kind to you while you're going through life, what kind of partner am i?”

you wonder how he knows exactly what words to say to cause your fluttering heart to calm down, and you see him extend his hand towards you, giving you the opportunity to accept or reject him, letting you know that you are the one calling the shots here, “you know, i read somewhere that attention is the beginning of devotion,” you pause, taking a deep breath as your eyes met his, reflecting the same emotions sparkling with adoration, “and you have always had all of mine,” the feeling of your fingers finally intertwined with his causes a smile to appear on his face.

holding hands. flushed cheeks. big shy smiles on your faces. eyes locked in yours. you realise he is the person you have been waiting all along to explore that part of you that has been hidden all this time.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ attachments:

i. friday, 7:09pm.

⠀ ACCIDENTAL (a.) happening by chance, unintentionally or unexpected.

his typing on the board was overshadowed by the sound of footsteps, catching his attention as a gentle knock on his desk caused his eyes to look up to find the younger boy, who always has something smart to say in his class, in front of him.

a mischievous smile adorning his face as he looked down at his teacher, “sooo,” he starts, dragging the ‘o’ as he sits on the desk, “winwin. . .”

the man who’s nickname was said, frowns, softly hitting the student’s thigh with a book, wanting him to get off his desk, “do not call me that, chenle.”

“boring,” he scoffed, standing in front of his professor, “well, professor sicheng,” the words rolling off his tongue with a grating voice, “how did you actually meet strawberry?”

he looks up, the frown more evident now, “don’t call her that either,” closing the laptop with a bit of too much strength, he points to his student, “and, to answer your question, i did, technically,” there was the word the always used when asked about it, “i met her here.”

“technically?”

his eyes linger for a second too long in his own hands, before putting the laptop inside his bag, “well. . .” he debated whether he should tell the truth or no, thinking that maybe that story should be yours to hear it first, “yes, i bumped into her in front of the neuroscience building, so,” he shrugged his shoulders, fixing his glasses before turning his attention to the younger boy, “what do you want?”

chenle smiles again, “you, my dear professor, i want your help.”

squinting his eyes, he analysed chenle’s face and somehow he couldn’t figure out what his words actually meant, so he shakes his head, “no,” he says while standing up from his chair, “i will not help you with whatever this is.”

his words elicited a gasp and widened eyes from chenle, quickly putting a hand over his chest, “as a professor, you should be helping me.”

“no,” he says, patting the younger boy’s back so he could start walking, “c’mon, i’m leaving, i have to go home to my wife.”

chenle started walking, while nudging his professor’s arm, “c’mon i just need you to partner me up with someone, you can do it!” he does consider stop to hear exactly what his student needs but then, the next words make him shake his head and push the younger boy out of his office, “aaand, she’s not your wife.”

“yet,” sicheng adds under his breath, because maybe it is too soon to even bring it up to you, but definitely those months you have been together are more than enough to consider planning it in his head.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ + observation: none of it was accidental.

⠀ ⠀ THIS LAB REPORT HAS BEEN EVALUATED.

note ! leaving the closet of 'winwin is my bias i miss him he needs to come home because the kids miss him too' it was made of glass but whatever, happy birthday to my baby, this was supposed to be short but once i started writing for him i couldn't stop, anyway as always i hope someone likes this! thank you for reading<3

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