entry 143 | 이희승
📬 Archived Letters #04 — “entry 143” ╰┈➤ for the boy who saw my words before I could say them and liked me anyway.
pairing. TVL-ICT!lee heeseung x ABM!reader
w.c. 2.6k
soundtracks. lemonade by jeremy passion, nobody's business by rihanna and chris brown and dream by suzy & baekhyun.
author's note. I kinda want to make this as a story tbh but for now it will stay as a one shot. Oh and Mr. TVL is one of the person who I don't talk to much. He has that aura that for me I can’t reach or pantayan. Pero he’s nice super!!
shs masterlist.
If there’s one subject I could swear off in front of a church altar, it would be Fabm. Seriously. I don’t know why Fabm seems to have a personal vendetta against me. No matter how hard I study all night, even if I memorize all the formulas like they’re TikTok songs, nothing works. And to make things worse, I dropped my diary in the Principal’s Office. Yes, that diary. The one we submitted for PerDev. The one I thought was a “private journal for growth,” but apparently, our teacher actually reads it. And guess what? It’s full of my rants about life… and my secret crush from the TVL strand who’s obsessed with cameras.
Ethan Perceval.
Fuck my life.
Okay, fine—his name is really Lee Heeseung, but he insists on using Ethan Perceval for the captions of his photo entries in Photojournalism. He says it sounds more “aesthetic.” Unbelievable.
I’m walking down the third floor hallway now, on my way to the canteen, but the world just feels so heavy. My whole day is ruined.
First, I failed Fabm because apparently I had an erasure. Second, the canteen’s out of Nestea Lemon Ice. And third—worst of all—my diary is missing. The same diary that’s full of confessions about the boy I keep taking pictures of in my head during lunch break.
I walked out of the classroom, phone in hand, not even sure where I was going. I just wanted to evaporate into thin air.
“Hey.”
Someone tapped my shoulders from the back. That familiar voice again—calm and low, like it always has a lo-fi hiphop soundtrack playing behind it.
Jay.
“Don’t scare me like that!”
But I sighed deeply too. Because I knew I was safe whenever Jay was around.
“What happened?” he asked, walking beside me. “You didn’t come back to our table earlier.”
“Jay, I swear,” I whispered. “No more Nestea at the canteen. I failed Fabm. And my—my…”
“Let me guess,” he cut me off. “Your diary? The PerDev journal full of ‘he held the lens like he was holding my heart’ entries?”
I gasped. “JAY!”
I elbowed him. Hard.
“Okay, okay, sorry!” he laughed. “But am I wrong?”
“…No.”
I shook my head. “Still, though.”
He slowed down and reached into the side of his clipboard. “Here. Made these last night. Marketing flashcards. You’ve got a quiz tomorrow, right?”
I took the paper. It was neatly printed, with highlighted terms.
“You didn’t have to…”
“Of course I did,” he said. “You’ll just overthink again and not get any sleep. You need at least one win, even if it’s just a quiz. Besides I have practice exam next week so I have to use them too”
I gave a weak smile. “Thanks, Jay.”
“Always. But wait—I have to head to Room 143. Gotta chase after those who still haven’t paid their mineral water dues. Pray for me. One section’s been saying ‘next week’ for three weeks now.” He said clasping his hands together.
“Want me to just pay for all of them?” I joked, even though I was clearly done for the day.
“Like you have ₱3k lying around that will be nice,” he laughed. “Text me when you find your diary, okay?”
I nodded as I watched him walk away.
CANTEEN — LUNCH TIME
I didn’t eat.
As in, literally, I had no appetite. The only thing I really wanted was my comfort drink: Nestea Lemon Ice. But when I ask if there’s any stock again, the tito v said:
“All out na, iha. Sold out.”
“What? Are you sure po ba?” I asked, my heart slowly breaking.
“Yeah. It’s been out as soon as it hit lunch time. It’s trending, apparently. Got featured in the school paper. ‘Aesthetic iced tea,’ they said.”
I looked up at the ceiling, not heaven. “Lord, why?” I whispered. Of course I’d fail Fabm. Of course I’d lose my diary. And now, even the only thing that calms me down is gone.
With my wallet and a storm cloud hanging over my head, I sat at the farthest table in the canteen. Corner spot near the water dispenser—the least populated area. I pulled out my phone, tried to scroll, but everything just looked blurry. I felt like any second now, I’d cry onto my tray… which didn’t even have food.
I forced a smile when a few classmates walked in. I avoided eye contact, as usual. I hate being noticed when I’m not with my friends.
Today really was out to destroy me.
“Hey, lost again?”
I turned to my right. Someone was standing there smiling, holding two bottles of Nestea Lemon Ice.
Lee Heeseung.
Wearing his uniform with a green cloth on the bottom of our school logo, carrying a backpack that always looked stuffed with Photojournalism gear, and that smile. The kind that told you he knew you’d be embarrassed, but he’d tease you anyway.
I frowned. “What… are you doing here?”
“Buying a peace offering,” he said, casually sitting across from me like he was invited. “I figured you’d be upset after missing your Nestea.”
I looked at the bottle. “H-how did you know I like this?”
He shrugged. “You always have one during breaks. Then you sit by the side, sip, and close your eyes for a second. Like a loading screen.”
I stared. How did he notice that?
“Are you stalking me?” I asked, trying to sound serious even though I wanted to disappear under the table.
“Just observant,” he replied, handing me one of the bottles. “Here. For your reboot. Free of charge. I’ve got a discount since I helped tito and tita v sell out their drinks today.”
I managed a small smile. “Thanks,” I whispered.
“But wait,” he added, leaning forward, “that’s not all I brought.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
He opened his backpack and slowly pulled out… my diary.
“OH MY GOD,” I gasped, voice low but full of panic.
“Wait, chill,” he said quickly. “I saw it at the Principal’s Office. Sir thought it might be a literary project. Then I saw your initials with yellows flower in it. Pretty obvious it was yours.”
I covered my face. “Heeseung… please tell me you didn’t read it.”
“Hmm…” He shifted in his seat. “I read… a little.”
“A-a little as in—”
“As in the part where you wrote about a ‘TVL boy who looked like he was born holding a camera lens and caption ideas.’”
“Oh god…”
“And also the entry that said… wait, what was it again?” He flipped to a page. “Ah, here. Entry 13: ‘Watching him fix his camera during club hour was more healing than any PerDev lesson.’ Deep stuff.”
I buried my face in my hands. I’m going to die. This is it. Goodbye, world.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, voice softer now. “Your writing’s actually good. Honest. It’s cute.”
“It wasn’t meant for anyone else to read,” I mumbled. “Especially not you.”
“You say I shouldn’t have read it… but how could I not? You write like I’m the main character. I just figured… maybe I should play the part.” he said with a while leaning into me.
I rolled my eyes but still felt shy. “Are you giving it back, or are you framing it?”
He grinned. “Tempting. But I’ll return it. Promise I won’t tell anyone.”
We were quiet for a second. Then he smiled again more relaxed this time.
“You know,” he said, “you made me want to write my own diary.”
“For what?” I asked, confused.
He leaned in with that teasing smirk again. “So I can write a story. About an ABM girl who thinks she’s invisible…but she’s always in the frame of my camera.”
BOOM.
I literally stopped breathing. I just stared at him, speechless.
And then, like nothing happened, he stood up.
“Gotta head back to the club room. Left my lens cap on the tripod. You? Try not to be too mad at FabMath. It’s not worth it.”
He looked at me again before walking off.
“If you run out of Nestea again,” he said playfully, “I got you. Just don’t lose your mood…like you lost your quiz scores.”
I laughed. Even though it stung. Because it was true.
And as he walked away, still holding my diary forgot to return it, or maybe on purpose. I didn’t know if I should be mad or flustered.
Probably both.
ABM ST. DAVID CLASSROOM — AFTERNOON
When I got back, the room was almost empty. Just a few seats occupied, mostly people still listening to our UCSP teacher’s TED Talk-level podcast lectures.
Me?
I was sitting at the very back. Quiet. But in my head? Fireworks.
Lee Heeseung.
Still holding my diary.
And he said he will write about me? and I’m always in his camera frames?!
I took a sip of the Nestea he gave me still cold thanks to the two air conditioners in the classroom. And somehow sweeter than usual.
Sunoo would say, “Gurl, you’re delulu if you think the iced tea’s sweeter just because he bought it.”
But sorry, Sunoo. I am delulu today. And proud.
I opened the flashcards Jay gave me. The first one read:
“Marketing is about solving people’s problems. Not just selling. Solve your heart problems first, yellow. — Jay."
I laughed alone. Even if this subject was trying to kill me, at least I had a solid support system.
Speaking of…
Buzz.
My phone vibrated.
📸 Heeseung sent 1 photo.
My eyes widened.
Wait, wait, wait—why is he sending me a pic?!
I opened it. It was… a photo of my diary. Not the inside, just the cover. It was on the Photojourn clubroom table, with a yellow sticky note that read:
Safe with me. Unless you claim it personally. :)
Then came another message:
📱 Heeseung: 3:21 PM
I didn’t finish the rest. I stopped at the entry about me dropping my ID during club day. 😂 You made it sound like a K-drama scene.
📱 Heeseung: 3:21 PM
No more excuses. Drop by the clubroom after class. Please 🥺
📱 Heeseung: 3:22 PM
You can even take a photo of me fixing my camera. For your next entry.
I clutched my face.
Lord… why is he like this?!
📱 Heeseung: 3:24 PM
Want? I’ll even give you exclusive access to the Club Room.
I nearly dropped my phone. I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from squealing.
And I thought, what if I actually went?
Just to get the diary, of course. Not because… I wanted to see him again. And maybe catch another candid moment—where I’m the one in his frame.
PHOTOJOURN ROOM — LATE AFTERNOON
The hallway in the ICT wing was dead quiet. Then I spotted a bond paper taped to the AV Room door:
PHOTOJOURN OFFICE Knock before entering. Or don’t. Just don’t be loud.
I already knew who wrote that caption.
I knocked three times gently.
“Come in!” his voice called out, a little groggy, like he just woke up. Classic.
The cold hit me as soon as I opened the door. The projector was on standby. Stacked chairs lined the side of the room. And right in the center—on the floor—was Lee Heeseung, lying down like the place was his own world.
“Hey,” he said when he saw me, smiling. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.”
I stepped inside. “What are you even doing here?”
“Didn’t I say… I have something to return?”
He raised the diary, resting it on his chest like it was some holy relic. Right beside it? Two bottles of Nestea Lemon Ice. Again.
“Seriously?” I asked, barely hiding a smile.
He sat up, still holding the diary. “You’ve had a rough day. I figured… cold peace offering. And a soft launch of Photojourn chill.”
I sat down next to him, still a little wary. But I took the bottle he handed me.
“Thanks.”
We sat in silence for a while. Only a dim lamp was on. The projector flickered with a slideshow of school event shots. Students, teachers, field demos, intrams...
Then suddenly..one slide flashed onto the screen.
The ABM hallway. A girl standing off to the side, holding an iced tea. Me.
I slowly turned to him.
“Heeseung. Seriously?”
“It’s candid, I swear. The lighting was perfect. Very artsy,” he said casually.
“Delete it.”
“I was thinking of printing it and put it into my ID.”
“Heeseung—”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, holding up both hands. Then he turned to face me, still holding the diary, this time with a quieter expression. “Truth is… I didn’t mean to find this. But once I recognized it was yours… I couldn’t stop myself.”
I looked at him. No teasing in his voice now. Just honesty.
“I mean,” he continued, softer, “Funny, isn’t it? We’re from different strands, never had a single class together… and yet, I always see you. In the canteen. In the hallway. During school events. You’re always there—but it’s like you try not to be noticed.”
I stayed silent. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified.
“Then I read your diary…” he said, even quieter now, “and I realized maybe you just want a little quiet. But also… maybe you want someone to understand. You just don’t want to force it.”
I swallowed hard.
“You weren’t supposed to read that,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
Then he slowly held the diary out to me. This time, no jokes. No smirks.
“But thank you. Because even if you didn’t mean to… you let me see a version of you most people never get to meet.”
I didn’t know what to say.
So I just took the diary.
Then I looked at him. “Thanks for the Nestea.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Honestly? Every time. I’ve racked up canteen points because of you.”
I laughed—quietly. Even though I wanted to be embarrassed. Even though I wanted to crawl into a hole, I couldn’t. Because Heeseung makes it impossible not to laugh.
“But,” he added, tone shifting back to playful, “you do owe me.”
“What?” I asked, brows raised. “For what?”
“I’ve been your inspiration,” he said with a smug grin. “So I think I deserve at least one request.”
“A request?”
“For your next diary entry,” he leaned in just a little, “maybe mention how good the TVL boy looks when he’s fixing his camera… especially when he’s smirking.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“But you’re blushing.”
I didn’t respond. Because it was true.
And as the afternoon stretched on, with lo-fi music humming in the background, and him sitting beside me—not too close, not too far—I knew this moment?
This one was definitely entry-worthy.
Maybe even the start of something dangerously soft.
HOME — MIDNIGHT
The screen brightness stung my eyes, but I didn’t stop scrolling. Fabm reviewers on one tab, Marketing case study sources on another, and a blank Google Doc waiting for a thought to land.
I leaned back against my chair, highlighter still in hand, lips twitching like they couldn’t decide whether to sigh or smile. My backpack was half-zipped beside me—diary safely tucked inside now—but I hadn’t touched it since I got home.
I didn’t need to. The words were still echoing.
“Maybe I want to write too.”
“About an ABM girl who thought she was invisible… but was always in the frame.”
God. What kind of boy says that at 5 PM and gets stuck in your head ‘til 1 AM in the morning?
Then, right on cue, my phone buzzed.
📱 Heeseung: 1:43 AM I like being written by you.
Buzz.
📱 Heeseung: 1:43 AM But I like taking pictures of you the most. abmladycandid.gdrive
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