It was nearly four in the morning. He was by no definition a hikikomori, but he was starting to understand the feeling of being “pulled inward”. His blankets were wrapped around his body like a hermit crab, so the only thing that popped out was his head, his eyes brightly scrolling down his laptop. He had three cords attached to his laptop, one to the wall charger, one to his phone, and the other to his camera. Acoustic music was playing softly from his speakers, calling it a peaceful night.

Carefully scrolling the piles and piles of freshly uploaded photos, his mouth was open in awe like a newborn kitten, reveling in every detail and quirk. It was a bit of a tradition for him before every exam period to scroll down his endless amount of memories, before he found the perfect one to title as his next project.

Kim Myungsoo liked landscapes. It was his favorite thing to document. He enjoyed that they never changed, they’re stationary and unmoving, nothing could sway it. It’s in that moment, where he captures vignettes of the sky’s color, the earth’s texture, and his overwhelming desire to remain still.

Yes, he liked things one at a time. It was simple, and organic.

But it wasn’t practical.

Scorn pulsed through his mind, as he looked through page upon page of landscapes he spent hours editing and saturating. They were no less beautiful, and wonderfully prepared at the perfect time of day, but they were too ordinary. He spent way too much time doing the same thing, the professors must be bored with him. It was too expected, it was too Myungsoo.

Almost as much as he liked taking scenery, he liked taking pictures of his friends. While he didn’t purposely exclude himself from friend-events, he preferred to be the documentor, absorbing every moment they had together.

There was a page just for Sungjong, who would have a great deal being a model if he wasn’t so intent on his economic career. His poses were automatic and effortlessly poised, and he never minded when Myungsoo asked for hundreds of shots. There was some for Dongwoo and Howon, because their bodies just glide effortlessly when they dance, but they were a stark contrast to each other. It was like comparing hydropower to a well-oiled machine. Sungyeol was there too, whenever he felt like taking a goofy self-cam his big mouth would practically eat up the lens, but there were other times when his face looked pretty damn gorgeous, and Myungsoo couldn’t help himself.

Scrolling further and further, he felt his leg throb, a painful reminder of earlier activities. He didn’t mind the pain, weirdly enough.

Deep in the depths of his computer, there was a folder in his photo log that he opened rather regularly. It was almost a guilty pleasure, something that made him blush like an elementary school kid, and sometimes it even bothered himself by how cheesy it was.

He clicked the only English word on the screen, Muse.

She didn’t just show up out of thin air like an angel hailing from above, at least not initially. In their first year, Sungyeol was struggling with his papers. It wasn’t because he wasn’t smart enough, he just lacked the ambition and refused to go to the school’s tutoring center.

So one day Sungyeol approached her after class and said, “You’re really smart. Let’s hang out sometime.”

Myungsoo loved visuals, he loved photography for goodness sakes, and he had to admit Lee Sungyeol was prime eye candy for the campus ladies. Girls usually blushed at his confidence and audacity, and Myungsoo half-expected her to blush like a strawberry.

She didn’t reply immediately, instead her gaze wavered to him. She grinned, at him, eyebrow raised, as if she were asking, “did you let him become like this?”

He remembers that day with reluctance, because he never answered her. Instead, he babbled like an idiot, nodding his head like a dashboard doll. He remembers how sensitive his chest felt when Sungyeol patted him aside, as if to say, “that’s enough interaction for today, Myungsoo”.

And that’s how they became friends by association.

He can’t pinpoint exactly when he started taking pictures of her, it just happened one day. Howon asked if his face looked dirty since he worked out that morning, so he gave him his phone to check. When it was promptly returned, it must’ve been clicked to capture with the  back-facing lens, and it immediately focused on her.

She looked diligent, yet relaxed. She took notes with ease, or was it notes? What did she ever write those days, he never knew. He noticed how her knuckles turned floral white from gripping too hard, but she was far too gone to notice. Back then, she wrote in notebooks, which he preferred, it was classical and sentimental. He recalled her having stacks of notebooks in her bag, and he wondered about the secrets she shared with them. That was until Nam Woohyun got her one of those fancy tablet-laptop folding things for her birthday. He had never felt envious of Woohyun’s wealth, but he was envious at the way it made her smile, it was faint and muted like pink champagne, but blissfully genuine.

So, he clicked the shutter. People around him in the back gave him weird looks after that, because he forgot to turn the sound off, but it was so worth it.

He scrolled further, remembering the summer after exams. She was loud that day. She was upset that two punks disturbed her leg space on the subway. She animatedly explained that she was packed like a sausage but refused to move because she shouldn’t have to move, they should close their legs. New wave feminism wasn’t popular in Korea, it still isn’t, but he silently agreed and felt her anger.

Of course, Nam Woohyun charmed the pants out of her and bought her bubble tea. He  apologized that they weren’t in the same compartment, otherwise he would’ve beat them up.

She said that he needn't apologize, but jumped up and down all the same when he unveiled the boba from his back, her face breaking into a heart-stopping grin.

Unfortunately, that time he couldn’t get his camera out fast enough, but at least he had the memory. He regrets it to this day.

He loved her energy, and her passion for whatever slammed her way. She wasn’t afraid to express herself, to give a snarky reply to Sungyeol or gush out her gratitude to Woohyun. But at the same time, she was reserved like he, and made every word count when she did speak.

After that, he compensated by taking pictures whenever she went his way. He’d wait by the quad sometimes, or even during class he’d relent to using his cellphone whenever she dazzled him with her low-key acting skills. She wasn’t modest, she was proud of her hard work, but didn’t let arrogance seep from her pores.

She probably knew, he brooded. It was pretty obvious. His camera was quite literally attached to his hip, and if he’s taking pictures of his friends her face is more than likely to appear. And every picture of her came out aggravatingly wonderful, was she secretly posing for him or was she just that candid?

He vocally winced when the lights kicked on, the room saturated with an unnatural arylide yellow unsuitable for both photography and late night photo edits.

Lee Sungyeol unceremoniously stumbled in their room, looking both ragged and pleasantly glazed. He eyed the cocoon!Myungsoo for a second before flopping on his bed like a jellyfish. “Stop giving me the mopey eyes,” he rumbled.

“I’m not.” he huffed defensively, shuffling the laptop closer to his body with his quilt-covered hands. He noticed Sungyeol’s hair was curlier, and was never one for vanity, so why did he get his hair permed? Never wanting to indulge himself in the usual Sungyeol-shenanigans, he kept his mouth shut and opted for him to find out on his own.

“Why don’t you just make it official!” he exclaimed exasperatedly, having no consideration for his suitemates. “Just be like, hey, I find you more attractive than my best friend, can you be my muse like you’ve always been because I’m an idiot and hate feeling?”

“I don’t hate feeling.” he deadpanned.

“You sure do a good job of avoiding it.” Sungyeol suffocated himself with a pillow, muffling. “God you two project your feelings in the creepiest of ways.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’m drunk talking. Turn the light off.”