Started this a long while ago.
Thought I'd finish it. 

The History lesson was really a great big bore. No one but the top five scorers – who coincidentally sat in the front row – paid attention to the teacher as she retold her routine speech on every introduction for the chapters. Jackson wasn’t excluded from having being overwhelmed with dread. The great, big, grey dread blanket draped over his shoulders, making the beginning of him experiencing the symptoms: heavy eyelids and constant yawning.

He became restless after his fifth yawn.

He kept crossing, uncrossing, spreading, folding and other multiple positions he could think of to do with his legs under the table. He attempted to doodle. Gave up the moment his mind reached its limit of conjuring smileys.

Having hunch himself over the table for too long, Jackson’s back began to form a stiffness that pinched whenever he moved from his initial posture. He’d use his backpack to cushion himself, but it lacked anything soft and cushiony for that very purpose. It’d be too thin too if he were to empty the knapsack and still be too thin if he were to fold it into two. Putting in more books for compact effect on the other hand would only make it too compact, adding more stiffness to his back.  

Jackson went with merely straightening his back and lean on something his spine could align based on an upright reference. At that moment, he was grateful for having a seat by the wall. The smooth vertical plane soothed him of his ache the moment his back caved into it and collapsed, fully depending on the concrete structure for his comfort.

It helped a bit, but he needed to do more. His spine felt out of place. He couldn’t keep still. He kept rotating and rotating. He couldn’t reach that satisfaction.

Sighing, Jackson simply threw his head back and idly listened, no more caring about the wellbeing of his back.

His right arm had outstretched, landing onto the table behind his. He wasn’t really conscious of what he was doing, tapping his fingers against the table surface, killing his boredom. That was until another bored being decided to kill her boredom using his forelimb.

He felt a light pick in the side of his index finger. He stopped tapping and glanced over to curious eyes looking through her bangs as she poked a mechanical pencil tip to his finger. The two of them knew not to make a sound. Jackson couldn't ask her what she was doing, nor could Young Ji ask him why he stopped tapping. The two knew that talking might lead them to trouble – but it was tempting to just even utter one sound, to exercise their vocal cords from enduring complete silence for the past hour.

Continuously, she poked. There was no increase in pressure or force. Her strength was constant. Jackson was a little amazed at her uniformity. But he was impatient nonetheless and grew irritated by the picking sensation.

Snatching the pencil out of her grip, he transferred the stationary onto his table and brought his hand back over to her table. Young Ji glared at him as best as she could between her bangs. Jackson tried not to let his smirk show. Quite a feat he’d say.

Loosening his shoulders, thinking they’d help loosen the tension in his spine, he resumed to tap his fingers against her table. She watched him at first. It was interesting somehow. More than the cultural information their teacher was disclosing. But, as always, she couldn’t exactly stand watch (in this case, sit watch). Readying a finger, she pokes his knuckles in the short spans his hand rested.

Jackson tilts his head so his angle now was perfect for viewing of Young Ji’s little doing. He stops tapping but she continues to trace the lines of his veins, tickling the surface in the process. He flexes his fingers, an unsaid hint that meant to order her to stop – but she doesn’t. Instead, she then begins to poke his hand with both of her index fingers, antagonistically. He indulges her, raising his palm so that now, her finger pads ‘punched’ his open palm.

He smiled upon seeing the indignant expressions she made as she poked. He let out a soft chuckle and took a finger in between his own. Young Ji’s big eyes blinked and observed his next move. Tugging on it slightly, she obliges the order and slugs her arm forward, extending the limb. Now outstretched, Jackson compares palm sizes. He then proceeds to interlace their fingers, scrutinized the way they fitted in each other’s hold.

“Look here!!”

The sudden burst of their teacher’s loud voice snaps their attention to the front. Their panic-stricken faces relax. They don’t spare another glance at their classmate being scolded for dozing off and continue with their little experiment of their own.

Jackson slides his fingers out of hers and lets it rest palm down on her table. He pulls back but leaves two fingers behind where he lets Young Ji entwine her fingers around his. His uneasy, troubled heart calms at the brushing of her thumb over his knuckles. He involuntarily curls his hand to tighten her grip and slowly brings his eyes to a close.

Young Ji places her head, right temple first, onto the back of her palm and soon too falls asleep.

Their hands stayed connected and entwined.

“Heo Young Ji!! Wang Jackson!! Wake up!!”

Ugh, the two thought in unison. 

This one's a little crappy, despite having already edited the raw beginning. 
I need to finish my poster. Then perhaps, projectile out some word vomit because I seriously need to.

About the short drabble though...I never really was a fan of Jack-Ji. 
But I seem to have warmed to the shipping.I even had a small fic idea spout out about it.
But I think it should remain in my archives.

That's all everybody. Good day.