poetic justice

personal investment

...

“so… anything i want?” yang repeats, uncertainty peeking through in the slowness of her words. she starts to piece a few ideas together. be my tutor forever? watch tv with me whenever i tell you to, even if it’s the dead of night and it means you have to sneak into my window in nothing but your tighty-whities? do you even wear white underpants? please hook me up with the oppa of my dreams unless maybe you happen to be that oppa and i don’t even know it? what is happening?? yang bites down on her lip and looks to jihoon through a low, studying gaze. “are you secretly so all-mighty that you can actually promise that kind of thing?”

#yfxyang #after an eternity here it is!

when endowed a herculean task, ninety nine out of one hundred people will eventually roll over on their backs in surrender, white flag eagerly thrown into the air for mercy. the other one in a hundred burns up in a fit of passion and determination, making a straight blitz towards success. often they succeed, and if they don’t, they’ll crash and burn, but not before making sure to take someone down with them.

to his great dismay, it seemed as though he’d encountered yet another citizen of that ‘one percent’ demographic group -- or at least reasonably close enough to the type. watching her plow her way through the rest of the problem set at a new remarkable pace, he’s surprised. but then he remembers that he’s at sunwha, the feeding ground of not only the top one percent of incomes, but of those nastily persistent and determined top one percent personalities.

whatever. it’s not like being ‘cool first year, rank one’ meant much anyway. not in his books, and not in anyone else’s.

despite the growing fear for the possibility that she actually aces the upcoming exam and he’ll end up having to cough up something more significant, he does indeed feel a sort of satisfaction. the type of content state that he presumes all those soccer moms feel when their beloved kid shoots and scores a goal.

the slightest trace of a smile finds home upon his face, and he offers a simple “nice” when she hits the end of the packet. checking the time on his phone, he’s also amused that she’s done by the deadline for more personal reasons. he’d very much like to distance himself from academics of any sort now. he begins to gather his few belongings, but pauses when he hears her question.

he turns to look at her, and he doesn’t like the studying gaze she’s sending his way. it makes him doubt himself -- what if his thoughtless promise becomes a reality? -- and he hates doubting himself. he slightly raises an eyebrow, and racks his brain for a good reply, but frankly, he really can’t. “yeah ‘almighty’, sure. sounds a lot like me. but you can start worrying about the details after you rank first on that exam of yours.” he gets up from his seat now, glad to stretch out his limbs at last.

— smooth criminal.

He was the kind of boy Taylor Swift wrote her songs about, not that Nami kept up with all the affairs of the American singer. Girls like her didn’t get guys like him chatting them up. Besides, she figured, she had been studying practically all day. Illogical thoughts flooded her brain, something her father had said about how she should act more like a kid her age and have some fun, and at the time it had sounded like nonsense but now everything seemed to be clear. Really, how much more studying could she get done in the time she could be spending with him. It was too bad she didn’t have a best friend like in the movies, who could talk her out of this situation, this very obviously tricky situation that probably wasn’t going to end well at all. Any and all rational thinking was being overridden by thoughts about that goddamn smile. He closes her book, and she lets him, some of the tension caught in her shoulders easing as all the words disappear from in front of her. Her hands find themselves drumming on the closed book anxiously, her desire to go colliding with her brain telling her that he was probably up to no good. What could go wrong in a meal? A lot of things, really, but Nami pushed those thoughts out of her head as she found herself replying, “A date? Today’s date is July 22nd.” It was supposed to be a joke, and boy, it sure was a bad one. She was sure the headlines tomorrow would say something along the lines of, Yoon Nami, presumed robot with no capacity for emotion, cracks a joke. He had already gotten her to laugh in the library, something she had practically never done before, and now he had her cracking jokes? “Fine,” she found herself saying, pulling the book in front of her into her backpack along with the coffee drink he had brought as in offering. Though pretty much every bone in her body was telling her this was a bad idea, she went along anyway. “But it’s not a date. It’s a casual meal with a peer.” Sure, she’d go along, but she had enough sense to maintain a bit of distance, after all, someone who looked as good as he did wouldn’t be pressing on so hard to go out with her without wanting something in return.

#yfxnami #( smooth criminal )

there were several aspects of the evening’s series of events that nearly pushed him over the edge. his entire mental state and smooth facade balanced hazardously on a knife’s edge. but of all the near-NG moments for his acting debut, her tragic attempt at comedy was hands-down the closest he’d gotten to aborting mission. it drew out from him a sound that fell somewhere in between scoff, laugh, and snort. but he quickly recovered from his fall from grace with a amiable chuckle, flashing a nonchalant smile as he stood up straight, quickly running his fingers through his dark-brown locks. he couldn’t recall the last time he’d smiled this much for any girl. damn.

was he surprised that she accepted? well, yes and no. yes, because he’d expected her to put up a greater fight; perhaps the rumors of her robot status had been blown up way past reality. no, because at the end of the day, she was still a teenage girl. she scientifically had to have some emotional core to her, and he considered himself rather gifted at tapping into the female heart -- that is, accomplishing the task forcibly and artificially required much less dedication. his current scenario could serve as case study number one.

“wonderful. call it what you want, but i’ll call it what i want too.” he swiftly takes the bookbag from her hands, slinging it across a shoulder. he takes a few strides away from her and towards the library exit before stopping and motioning for her to follow suit. glancing back at her, a teasing grin dances upon his lips. “so, yoon nami... do you do this often -- going on dates? ah, sorry. i meant, having “casual meals with a peer”.

endxtzuyu-blog

cold, cold water.

@yfxjihoon

Summer had started, and Moon’s grandmother had decided to stroll in the beach with her friends. How the woman had the energy to want anything at this ripe point in her life, especially something so achingly social, Moon wasn’t sure of, but to appease her family (it never ends, does it), she had agreed to company her at her father’s request.

Ah, times like these. Being on holiday with your grandmother and her filthy rich, backstabbing friends, with thick make-up and hardened-with-surgeries faces. She thought that being here was not really any better than Sunhwa was. Moon almost snorted at how pathetic that would sound to her classmates. It had dawned on her that she was way past the stage of minding what other people thought about her; it had been a year after the incident that left everything in pieces, and Moon thought that she was somehow still walking and fine.

It was to her grandmother and her amigas’ dismay that it was actually quite cloudy and dark at the resort. A thunderstorm was visiting the country, and there were rain showers as they visited the shore. On top of that, the beach hotel they had been staying at was fairly aged, but somehow still well taken care of. It didn’t bother Moon, but somehow her grandmother had a few comments about it. Swallowing back her sighs and forcing herself not to speak back, she had instead settled in on their shared suite, curled up with her sketchpad as the evening stretched, letting the old women have their fun at the restaurant beside the hotel lobby. Room service would be her best friend for the next three days.

It had been fairly peaceful until thunder clapped, and Moon had decided to check on the ladies if they had switched to another place. That, and acting like a babysitter to four old women made her want to have a smoke or two. Tucking her cigarette case in her pocket, Moon ventured to check on her grandmother and hide herself away to a place where she can smoke undetected (else she won’t hear the end of it).

Halls were predictably empty, and from the twelfth floor, Moon will have to take the elevator to the lobby. Entering the lift, which was also unsurprisingly empty, she pressed “G” and waited, hearing thunder roar once more, but now with heavy rain, muffled from the hotel hall windows. With a sigh, she willed the elevator to move faster. At this rate, she would have to forgo her cigarette break and just take her grandmother back to the room. (That, and being alone in an elevator made her uncomfortable).

Three floors down and the elevator paused. The doors slid open slowly, and outside stood a boy that she hadn’t thought she would see eye to eye like this again.

She did not gaze on the floor anymore. She was done with that, it was all over. Instead, Moon merely blinked, and moving a step back to the corner of the elevator, as if Jihoon needed more room. Perhaps he did, more room away from her, but like she tried to tell herself repeatedly, she was over that. He’s only one of the friends she had lost, and that shouldn’t matter anymore.

#yfxmoon #( cold cold water )

to be completely frank, he didn’t think his family knew what the point of a summer vacation was. how many nobel laureates and people of iq’s over 140 did it take for someone to realize what the definition of a “vacation” was? he wished dearly that at least one other person sitting on the private resort restaurant floor would recognize the fact that theoretical physics, medical patents, and global political philosophy were absolutely not friendly dinner table topics; that it wasn’t socially acceptable to jump from gossip about your uncle’s latest affair into the dark depths of enigmatic academia without batting a lash.

at least it kept the topic of conversation away from his the results of his end of the term final exams. but then again, he was always too “dumb” for anyone to engage proper conversation with.

nevertheless, he’d completely lost his appetite, and indigestion didn’t seem like a very appealing alternative. how they expected him to enjoy a meal while dressed to nines and having to check a dictionary for every other word that filtered through his ears, he would never understand. prematurely excusing himself from the table, he makes a furtive dash back towards the elevator before anyone notices he’s gone -- he’d deal with his parental authorities at a latter time (that is, if they didn’t have their heads stuck too far up their pretentious scholarly butts to notice his absence in the first place).

he presses the button to call the elevator, pausing briefly to check that nobody was watching before aggressively mashing the button a few more times for good measure. satisfied that the “s.o.s. get me out of here” order went through, he withdraws his hands into his pockets, heaving a light sigh as he watches the number indicating the current floor tick down to where he was. suddenly he hears his father’s voice in the distance behind him, and he freezes, muttering a expletive under his breath.

to his relief, his escape route arrives in a timely manner. the doors swing open, and he finds himself eye to eye with someone who makes him doubt his sanity. maybe all that academic jargon was getting to his head, because god damn -- was this actually her?

instinctively he catches himself mid-stride, and hesitates for a split moment. but it was either moon jinyoung or being dragged by his father back to the table for an hour of oh-so-enlightening, intellectual bullshit. let’s just say that moon was going to take the victory on this one.

he steps into the elevator with a decisive stride, mashing the “close doors” button as he enters. standing opposite her in the elevator car, he doesn’t say or do anything; he treats her like he would any stranger on the elevator. he gently bites his lower lip at the thought, stealing a glance at her. stranger. just a year ago, he would’ve considered her anything but a stranger.

his gaze fixates on the door straight ahead as the elevator begins it’s descent.

personal investment

the realization doesn’t kick in just yet, but yang gets a ticklish feeling that maybe the tutoring club did a good thing here by setting her up with this guy. there’s none of that cooing or blind encouragement that she’s used to hearing—an unfortunate but unavoidable given, as one of the members of the youngest class on campus—that she detests so much, and jihoon’s terse words of affirmation are just enough to keep her in the game. after this ordeal, yang believes a drama marathon is in order.

she catches a hint of a smile on jihoon’s face and can’t help but feel a little smug; not only has yang conquered one of the hellish concepts in her problem set, but she’s managed to break down a wall here, too. if she had a tail, it’d be wagging even more vigorously than ever. yang likes victories, no matter how mundane. she’s a simple girl.

but jihoon retrieves the notebook from her, and, head cranking down towards the page, yang returns to the problems at hand. her expression naturally flattens as she reads through the problem to herself; her left hand covers the solution so she’s not tempted to look.

from the first read-through (and the consequent second, because the words escape her all too quickly), yang is happy to discover that the problem doesn’t rely on much conceptual knowledge—her weakness—but rather only requires a conversion and calculation. numbers are her strength and she’s at least thankful that a good portion of chemistry revolves around them (she is fully expectant that next year’s biology will be an even bigger catastrophe).

“any other cool first years? you’re implying that i’ve met at least one.”

it’s a snarkier response than she had anticipated, but yang isn’t one to back down from a provocation so small. she grins in response and brings her pen to the paper, working out a solution. “well,” she mumbles out, separating kilocalorie from conversation, “you have met one,” and there’s an unintentional, long pause that plays out as yang determinedly goes through the rest of the problem, pen scratching noisily. her left leg crosses over and her foot dangles loosely against her right ankle, a coy show of dominance.

she finishes the problem and uncovers the solution. it’s wrong.

she’d intended to finish the open statement with a resounding me! (as in, me, i am the holy cool first year of your dreams), but fate had different plans for her. to her relief, her solution isn’t entirely off–there was only a slight miscalculation made towards the end, as yang had misinterpreted the latter part of the two-part question. yang retraces, uncaps another pen, and circles the error in red. “i was going to say me, but on second thought, maybe it’s better if i rightfully earn it.” yang laughs and taps against the notebook. “unfortunately, most of the first years are a lot like me—fairly uncool. i can personally vouch for that.”

#yfxyang #( personal investment )#*literally rises from the dead to reply #*feel free to kill me again for being so late #cry

lee jihoon always had rather interesting standards when it came to people. first and foremost, he was never too much of a “people’s person”. social yes, but affectionate? hell no. that is, he never had any sort of trouble finding himself company (in fact, his time at sunwha often entailed a few too many forced interactions) or dealing with other people -- his social life was generally flourishing. yet, all too often he found himself at a general lack of interest for the overwhelming majority of them. as in he just didn’t care who they were, what they did, or why they did it. to him, it was a general rule of thumb: ‘you do you, but stay in your lane.’

thus for him to consider someone ‘cool’, he wasn’t even quite sure what that would exactly entail. after all, when you spend your entire life in a pool of people like the one at sunwha, the widely accepted standards of looks, money, clothes, and social background seemed to fade into mundane irrelevance -- simply a given. but if he had to take his pick, his definition of ‘cool’ would be someone who wouldn’t annoy him; who’d engage his attention; and with whom spending time around seemed generally worth it.

so more or less, she technically did fit the bill. not like he was going to allow her the satisfaction of knowing this though.

he peeks over her shoulder and stifles a friendly laugh when it becomes obvious that her efforts on the problem fall ever so slightly short. still, it was progress so he’d take it.

“well i’m sure your peers appreciate your evaluation of their character.”

he taps his finger on the next problem -- back to business -- as he picks up the textbook now, flipping through the chapters while taking note of the sections he vaguely recalls as important. with every passing minute of the tutoring session cutting into his free time, he finds himself surprisingly more invested into her success. like if he was going to be stuck here in the company of first year chemistry, he might as well make his time worth it.

“tell you what though -- if we make it out of here in the next hour, with all of this" -- he gestures at the array of notes laid out on the table. “making it’s way into your head” -- he suddenly taps an index finger gently upon her forehead. from what he’s noticed, active stimulation seems to work well with her, so he’d strike her a deal. “you get to be ‘cool first year’ rank one in my books.”

he planned on leaving his offer stand at that, yet he hesitates for a brief moment before continuing with clause number two of his lucrative deal. there was zero chance of this next condition coming true right? so he’d have zero risk in saying anything of the sort?

“and if you ace the test -- and by ace, i mean you rank first in your class -- then i’ll grant you another blessing. you get to pick what.”

yfkrystal-blog

( CAPSIZE )

yfkrystal-blog

it isn’t to say she isn’t used to this, the parade of people that tends to show at her step come finals season. sometimes it’s her sisters, fellow baek ho students that krystal had no issue in lending a helping hand in (they after all, did survive hell together), and other times it’s the likes of cheong ryong boys, starting from the smartest of them all to the least.

but did she expect lee jihoon? whose pride and ego was what tore them apart?

no, krystal supposes she did not.

glee is quick to overcome her with the realization, the way lee jihoon’s mouth moves to mouth words that later filled her with a sense of smugness. though unexpected, this was no less a gift in disguise—depending on what it was jihoon and his blown out eyes wanted, anyway.

but the baek ho member says nothing just yet, moving instead to push the window up a fraction—just enough to hear him make his plea—resting an elbow on top comfortably to keep him to pushing it open any further. she wouldn’t want him to get his way this early on, anyway.

“save you? the “great” lee jihoon?” krystal drawls, tone dry and eyes sharp as she watches him, near basking in the bit of satisfaction that comes with this. now, it isn’t usual behavior of her, smugness — krystal prides herself on indifference more than anything. but when it came to people who knew how to make her tick, people like jihoon—it was hard not to feel smug from this.

not when he was so adamant about ruining them over something as flimsy as pride way back when.

“why should i?” the question is posed simple, delicate brow arched as she scans the older’s face, taking note of the fact that he looks entirely gone. pathetic. though krystal supposes she’s in no position to judge, they all have their own ways of coping.

but the appearance of lee jihoon does nothing but bring amusement on a particularly stressful week. and krystal dares to let herself tease just for a while longer. just to see how this would play out. how jihoon would react. honestly, she’s curious: what would he do? faced in a situation like this.

she had never been the type to do things for free.

#yfkrystal #( capsize )#*also rises from the dead #so you good

even with his mental state completely incapacitated, blood drowned in alcohol, and cognitive abilities sinking into treacherous tar, he’s able to come to one strikingly clear conclusion: he hates krystal jung.

in fact, the revelation is sobering. he feels the conviction surge through his veins, feels his vision and other senses become exquisitely acute because he wants to hear every word that comes out of her mouth and through that stupidly ‘open’ window, even if he knows with perfect certainty that they’re going to shoot holes through his sanity. but really, he swears he’s no masochist.

“aww, don’t flatter me.”

he’s never been the type to get hung up over regrets -- after all, if he knew he was going to regret something, why the hell would he have done it in the first place? though tonight was sort of an exception. as in he knew that he would regret letting her bask in glory over his crippled physical and mental state, yet some irrational voice in his head kept screaming GO.

and so he decides that he’ll press on. the river’s been crossed, and the bridge burned down. he wasn’t going to be convincing krystal jung without pouring his entire heart into it.

he heaves a pained sigh, the bitterness and hostility in his eyes now forcibly suppressed. to be completely honest, her question stumps him. “why should i?”

frankly, she really shouldn’t. but god forbid, he wasn’t going to tell her that.

he transfixes his eyes upon hers, conjuring every ounce of sincerity that exists in his being into his gaze. “oh, i don’t know. because you’re not like me, are you? letting your pride and glory crush a genuine request for help? it’s not like you have anything you’d want from me, so try some altruism for once. i heard it’s good for you.”

he stands up a little straighter, impatiently motioning with a hand for her to lift up the damn window at last.

“come on, up we go.”

— smooth criminal.

There’s this inexplicable feeling that surges through her as he smiles like that. She finds her serious demeanor melting, only to catch herself internally tripping over his honey coated words. Love is a neurochemical con job, she reminded herself. He was attractive, and the way he carries himself; smooth, flowing like water, like everything came easy to him, coming up to someone he didn’t know and saying words like those. She knew, in her t-shirt and jeans wearing self, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose that it was only in movies that someone like him came up to her “pretty self.”

She knew he was trouble.

Perhaps it was her years of fending off a nonexistent line of people who wanted her that kept her resilient, only the pink creeping to her cheeks giving her away. She wonders, for a moment, what he could possibly be doing here. The only thing she could think of was an assignment for the summer, or else why would anyone hole themselves up in the library of all places the first weekend of summer vacation? Anyone but herself, of course

Yet, her eyes are transfixed on his. She’s sure he can hear her heart pounding, even louder as he leans in. There’s no way this was real. There’s not way he was real. His invitation to dinner catches her so off guard, she actually laughs out loud. It has to be a joke, she thinks as she quickly quiets herself down in fear of being kicked out of the library. “You know,” she says after regaining composure, “You don’t have to wine and dine me to get tutoring.”

#yfxnami #( smooth criminal )

he’s always been known as somewhat of a stoic. hard to shake, hard to read. and yet, he feels something like butterflies in his stomach. not because this whole sick joke of a romantic endeavor makes his heart flutter, but because ugh, he’s grossing his own self out. yet, the die has been cast, and it takes every ounce of willpower in his body not to implode on the spot.

his eyes fixate upon her face, rigorously searching for any sort of response. initially he discovers nothing, and he mentally kicks himself for the unsuccessful hook. perhaps he should’ve gone with a more appetizing treat? or worn a nicer shirt? but then he spots a pinkish flush blooming upon her rather pale complexion and convinces himself that it isn’t just his eyesight playing tricks on him. ‘oh god. don’t tell me this is working.’

all of a sudden he finds himself, eyes locked with hers, and he holds his breath. it’s in her eyes that he finds the confirmation he seeks -- the sign that reads pass go, collect $200. her brown pupils shaken into a momentary delirium, an emotional conundrum; perhaps even miss robot was rather humanistic at times like this.

not even lying, her abrupt break into laughter catches him off guard, and he instinctively retracts, eyes slightly narrowing. maybe he misread. who was he kidding -- there was no way someone of her intelligence would fall for his poorly laid out trap.

for some reason her verbal response amuses him greatly, and he replies with a light shrug as he pulls out the chair opposite her. why is it that he feel like she’s indirectly questioning his intelligence? he takes a seat, placing his hands on the table with fingers interlocked. “ah, you’re right -- but i’m not trying to score a tutoring session,” he replies nonchalantly. he reaches forward to gently shut closed the book in front of her. “i’m trying to score a date.”

glrgoeun-deactivated20170908

unload –

glrgoeun-deactivated20170908

lee jihoon, asleep? that’s a joke. as much as she’d like the day for that to be true to come, it wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon. she scrolled through her contacts and called the nearest thai place, ordering “the max amount of pad thais you are willing to make at this hour”, to which the person on the other end said “uh, six?” and miryeo said “sounds good”.

it wasn’t going to take him that long to show up, so she did what she could to make the place seem more put together. she threw her covers back on the bed and kicked her dirty pile of clothes into the closet. she grabbed the six-pack of beer from the fridge - she didn’t have tutoring tomorrow, and they had tons of food coming to keep them from getting too messy. it was beer, what kind of damage could it do? no reason the two of them couldn’t polish off a few cans each.

she had nothing left to do but sit and wait. now that food was coming her stomach was rumbling, but six pad thais was starting to seem like a sort of ridiculous amount to eat, and she was supposed to be eating healthy before volleyball started up again in the next term. she was going to be refrigerating pad thai for ages. a knock came on the door, and miryeo got up to swing it open. “i hope you’re hungry.”

it didn’t take him long at all to make his way over to the tigers’ cave -- what he semi-affectionately referred to the baek ho dorm. the route was a rendezvous he’d made plenty of times before for an extensively wide range of reasons. however, tonight he had a formal, personal invitation, and there were no authorities on night watch, so the trek over there was a mere leisurely walk. he appreciated the freshness, the serenity of the cool night air. though he kept wondering what his host could possibly have on her mind to be up this late.

he nonchalantly knocks at the door and is greeted by an almost immediate response. he quickly scans the girl before his eyes; to his slight surprise, she’s not drunk. but fatigued eyes and something other than the uselessly flawless baek ho styling tips it off to him that she’s been up for just as long as he has been. as he steps inside, the corners of his mouth pull into a visibly amused smile, but there’s a tint of sympathy mixed in.

he ponders upon her statement -- was he hungry? quite frankly he couldn’t really tell. for the last two weeks of the term, his stomach just harbored a constant sensation that he couldn’t label as either hunger or being full. he ate because regular meals were the healthy, normal thing to do; and god forbid, he was lee jihoon -- he was supposed to be healthy and normal.

“what the-- how much food did you possibly get at 3 in the morning? aren’t you supposed to be getting in shape or something?”

#yfxmiryeo #( unload )

halcywon-blog

{ s.o.s }

“OH MY GOD,” she shouts says. Her left arm drapes loosely around his waist – an action to prevent her from falling on her face – and rests her spinning head on his shoulder (had she been sober, she would honestly punch herself).

“Iss you, Jihoonie–” she hiccups, but that doesn’t prevent her from finishing…with a louder voice, “my bio buddy!!” Now, she’s shouting. “HOWZ IT GOING, FRIEND?”

#yfxsowon #( sos )#lmaoooo sososososos #life alert helppppp

of all places an assortment of filthy rich, big shot families could rent out for a get-together, they just had to pick seoul land, didn’t they? how did they expect him to take anything seriously when there was a children’s merry-go-round constantly in the backdrop? and were those bunny shaped balloons he saw in the distance?

it was starting to get rather ridiculous, how his family urged and pleaded with him to “not screw up for once” for this evening. honestly, the utter lack of trust they had in him didn’t even aggravate him anymore. what sort of disaster were they anticipating for him to get tangled up in? by the way his parents were eyeing him down, it was almost as if they expected him to turn into a drunken wreck before rampaging through the crowd, tripping and falling left and right.

well thank you very much, he was perfectly sober (why would he even want to drink in the company of these old pretentious men?) and minding his own business. but as life would soon prove, sometimes you get screwed over, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

all of a sudden, he’s shoved, pulled, and turned into a hectic scramble to maintain his balance. he’s successful in doing so, but once he catches a breath, he finds a girl at his side -- no, more like practically plastered to his side -- and the distinct scent of alcohol floods the surrounding air. furthermore, this girls is quite literally shouting in his ear, and he can feel multiple pairs of eyes beginning to fixate upon him and his unwelcome companion. he puts on a very forced smile that says “everything is under control” -- but it obviously isn’t.

truly a sudden trainwreck of events, but he thinks he’d prefer to just get run over by a train and get it over with. because there is only one girl he knows that could ever be this extra.

“yang sowon, what the hell are you doing?” he hisses at her, lightly jabbing her side with his elbow.

— smooth criminal.

She tried to get the flow she had just had when going through her notes, but her stomach was nagging, her body feeling a bit weary. By the time Nami was president, she was sure that some genius, probably from right here at Sunhwa, would discover a pill that would cancel out the need to eat a whole meal to get energy. Now, Nami didn’t believe in miracles, but amidst her body’s battle with wanting food but not wanting to deal with actually finding something to eat at the moment, a canned coffee beverage appeared right before her. Her eyes trailed up at the giver of the gift. He was a third year, she knew that much, but couldn’t seem to recall his name, and if she didn’t remember his, there was probably no way in hell he knew hers. Besides that, Nami knew that nothing in life came for free. Pushing her frames up the bridge of her nose, she made sure her voice was low enough to not get in trouble, “What do you need help with? A paper? Exam?”

#yfxnami #( smooth criminal )#*sings annie are you okaaaay???#but like nami instead of annie #k bye i'm done

sunwha high was always known to be a haven filled to the brim with overachievers of all sorts. of all people, lee jihoon would know; third year cheong ryong, consistently ranked second in academics, baseball captain, student council vice president. on paper he was arguably yet another one to add to the list of poster children. those who never had to witness one of his rare, but significant meltdowns would be quick to ask “how does he do it?” but confining oneself to the school library on an evening of the first weekend of summer vacation?

that was downright sadistic.

the more he put thought to it, the stranger it was. well to be exact, the stranger she was. yoon nami was a simply a name at first. and then he’d matched a face to go with it. somewhere along the way he learned that she was yet another one of those baek ho initiates. and of course, she had a whole slew of rather interesting rumors to go with. and then for some inexplicable reason driven partially by devious murmurings of “someone go approach her” among her peers, partially by the necessity that was commonly known as “bother the initiate”, and finally partially by his own personal interest in testing his male pride and ego, here he was. plus, she was kind of cute, right?

target spotted. the closer he gets to his person of interest, the larger his doubts grow. sick jokes never bothered him too much (you can’t survive initiate hazing otherwise), but contrary to popular opinion, lee jihoon wasn’t completely heartless and cutthroat. he knew well enough that manipulating people’s emotions, especially when it came to ones associated with romance, was quite frankly inhumane. he really didn’t think this one through.

oh well. too late.

the girl raises her head, and their gazes meet; the bridge has been crossed, and there’s no way back now. and in that case, he might as well go all the way. he curls his lips into a devilishly charming smile, one that falls somewhere in between downright flirtatious and chastely friendly. placing down the can, he leans against the table with two hands, lean figure looming over the seated girl. in response to her question, he gives a light shrug -- funny how she automatically assumes he needs help.

“hmm, nothing much. i just wanted to make sure you were taking care of your pretty self.”

his gaze is warm and sincere, and shit -- he has to try extra hard not to cringe at his own antics. honestly, he thinks to himself, ‘how the fuck does jang do it?” at least there’s not a single other soul left in the library to witness his display. he forces eye contact, searching her eyes for some sort of response, but he might as well have stared straight into her soul with the way he was dong it.

“actually wait -- you can help me with something.” he leans in noticeably closer, gaze entreating. “can i treat you to dinner?” he tilts his head ever so slightly as he awaits her response. god damn, there’s no way she’d actually fall for this, right?

glrgoeun-deactivated20170908

unload –

@yfxjihoon

[ msg → hoonie tunes ] we’re on break but im literally pulling my hair out from residual stress haha [ msg → hoonie tunes ] come over i have food

miryeo dropped her phone next to her head on the mattress and let out a deep sigh. the baek ho dorms seemed unusually quiet; a combination of people disappearing for luxurious vacations and the fact that her watch said it was 4:16 am on a tuesday had laid a hush over the building. there was no guarantee jihoon was awake (he definitely shouldn’t be, a motherly voice nagged at the back of her mind) but after weeks and months of constant work, she was beyond restless. she now lived in a kind of purgatory, where she was always dead tired but could never actually fall asleep, where caffeine only made her jittery instead of awake. maybe she shouldn’t be calling him over in the middle of the night, but he was the first person she usually thought of when things got too overwhelming, for better or for worse. to be honest, she probably wouldn’t end up talking about it. the term was over, there was nothing to talk about. but hey, she was awake, and lonely, and the thought of food made her realize how hungry she was.

she got up from her bed to double check that she really did have food - after discovering a sad, half-empty box of gluten-free granola bars and a six-pack of beer in the communal fridge with her name sharpied on each can, she opened her drawer of takeout menus and picked up her phone again, the bright screen making her temples throb in the otherwise dark room.

[ msg → hoonie tunes ] thai or chinese

#( mirror )#tbh this is misleadingly angelic lmao

though it seemed like the day would never come, it eventually did. with the end of the term and the start of summer break, he was theoretically supposed to feel relief, find catharsis, seek oasis. yet none of those sensations seemed to bless his poor soul. on the bright side, his time at hell high was nearing an end, but for some reason that bothered the utter crap out of him. it merely reminded him of all the uncertainty of the future and regrets of the past.

he’s lost count of how many hours now he’s been tossing restlessly on the bed. honestly he wishes he could just shut off that near-genius brain of his because there’s way too many thoughts and crises that process through his head for him to humanly fall asleep. he would consider drowning his system in the depressant that they call alcohol -- but his supply is out.

his forcibly shut eyes flutter open to the light produced by his phone screen, and he sits up straight in his bed now, feeling around in the dark for his phone. he checks the time -- 4:16 a.m. -- before checking who else could possibly be up at this ungodly hour. who else but ban miryeo?

[ msg → banban ] no, i’m asleep

groaning a bit, he slips out of bed and heads straight for the door, fingers lazily running through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at grooming his 4 a.m. self. at least it’s vacation -- meaning no additional effort necessary to sneak out past curfew.

[ msg → banban ] omw

[ msg → banban ] let’s go with thai

#yfxmiryeo #( unload )

tldr; i could use some more threads, pls like this post if you’d be up to plot✌️

#ooc #yf:plotcall

daenso

personal investment

there’s still a fair number of other questions left in the set she’s brought for jihoon today, but yang switches topics, gives herself a bone to chew on. “so, jihoon-ssi…” her brain chugs on. what do third years usually talk about? boobs? college? she doesn’t care about any of those things. “…met any other cool first years?”

yang wiggles her brows.

#yfxyang #( personal investment )#i apologize on jihoon's behalf #he can be a douche

by this point in his life, he’s learned that the moment someone says “don’t worry about me” is precisely when he should begin worrying. he debates picking up his phone to shoot out an s.o.s. but he’s convinced that whatever "friends” he has are probably already too drunk or preoccupied with non-chemistry matters.

he stares at her in disbelief and defeat, because it’s starting to happen with all those chemistry terms; that phenomenon how saying a word over and over makes it seem fake. he forces his lips into a thin, unreadable smile that conveys an emotion somewhere in between pity and surrender.

“uh... yeah. what you just said.”

but buried deep within her hail-mary attempt at an coherent explanation, at how she suddenly begins to flip through her notes, he spots a glimmer of hope. the gleam in her eyes has changed in an instance from passive defeat to a hungry desire for victory -- or at least a desperation for survival. at least she’s got some fire in her. he leans over to catch a glimpse of what she highlighted, and is surprised to find that it’s actually what he was just about to start formulating to explain.

“ah yeah. nice -- that’s actually right.” he’s never been too generous with compliments.

internally, he thinks to himself: alright, first year. alive or dead, you’re going to learn this shit.

or perhaps he spoke too soon; scratch that whole thought about her having some fire in her. god damn, she’s actually just a puppy, isn’t she? literally, a puppy. he begins to wonder how it’s humanly possible for her to flip-flop emotions and expressions how she does. whether she has more facial muscles than he does, or perhaps she watches too many k-dramas?

well regardless, her antics bring a unintended smile to his face (but no, he still doesn’t find her cute okay?), and he releases a sigh from his chest. yes, her lack of expertise in chemistry annoys him, but he thinks that he could probably learn to accept her as a person.

damn, he feels like some kind of pet owner.

with a renewed hope, he’s ready to resume plowing through the rest of the study material, but perhaps he overestimated her attention span. he comprehends her suddenly off-topic question and turns to her, raising an inquisitive brow. okay, he’d have some “fun” while he’s at it.

“any other cool first years? you’re implying that i’ve met at least one.”

he reaches over to ply the packet of problems from her grasp, straightening out the page before tapping his finger at the next problem, indicating for her to begin attempting it. after all, he plans on getting out of this library before the end of the day. he knows true and well that provoking her won’t be the best for her focus, but he honestly can’t help it.

“why though? you know any that fit the bill? are you going to introduce me?”

echolalialia

“I mean— ” she starts before breaking off. it’s embarrassing to admit she’s lied, especially about something so stupidly asinine. it’s not as if jihoon really gives a damn about whether or not she likes to waste he early morning hours obsessing over nanoseconds in water that currently matter to exactly nothing. even if the dark look about his faces suggests she ought to be a little more on guard, there’s no wrong in telling this truth. “sorry yeah you’re right, you know swimming is the reason i’m here so it’s only right that i work hard to stay the best swimmer here.”