Myungsoo. Kim Myungsoo.

I tested the name on my lips, figuratively because I was occupying the lobby of Sungyeol’s dorm. My laptop was connected to the flatscreen television, playing some of my favorite animes for background noise. I couldn’t help the small smile that fought long and hard to make its way on my face, and I promptly covered it with my notebook. After much debate, which consisted of personal late-night pillow talks, disturbing my sleep and my mental health, I thought it best to delete the MPDB entries. Its run was brief, but I thought it better to get rid of it now the closer the reality and fantasy collided.

But it couldn’t just go away. Methodologically, yes, I could clear my recycling bin and it could potentially be gone forever after I wiped my harddrive, but it’s not as easy as wiping my memory.

I still wanted to know stupid things about him, like if he prefers pictures of landscapes or people, or the way he prefers his meat cooked, the way he liked his tea, anything.

Notebook on my lap, I scribbled incessantly, trying to forget all the embarrassment from yesterday.

My eyebrows knit in confusion, realizing I ended up doodling a picture of a chibi character eating udon. Clenching the pencil tighter in my palm, I sighed, ripping out the page and balling in into my backpack.

“You missed the best part.” a voice said, soft but impressionable.

I looked up in surprise, clutching the throw pillow to my notes as if it were my shield. He was standing there, a towel draped over his neck, his dark hair impeccably fluffy and soft. Wearing a light white jumper and black cut offs, he smiled at me, his eyes harboring a piece of sensitivity I never noticed.

“The part where Roy says there’s no such thing as a cheap shot, it’s pretty awesome.” he continued, and the way he was swaying back and forth on his heels, I couldn’t help but move my pillow and offer the seat next to me. He happily obliged, unfortunately making ample space between us.

“Yeah,” I finally reply, “It’s a pretty strange transition to Edward, who’s never been used to being commanded, especially in the military when it’s either kill or be killed.”

He beamed at me, as if I spoke the world to him, and it was so contagious and heartwarming I couldn’t help but grin back. “And, he has a freaking automail arm,” he spoke quickly, trying to absorb the next scene on the television and explain, “I know his backstory is pretty tragic but that’s basically a cheat in itself.”

We talked like that for a few moments, and I never realized how surpressed I was in anime analysis, it felt good to finally share it with someone.

“Not that I don’t mind you being here and all,” he stretched his long legs on the small foot rest under the coffee table. “But why are you here? Sungyeol’s still sleeping.”

“It’s kind of an established thing that I hang out here.” I explained with a shrug.

“I’ve noticed.” he nodded, looking seemingly interested. Interested in me, believe it. “I don’t get it though.”

“The girls on my floor don’t really like me that much.” I replied nonchalantly.

“How come I’ve never heard of this?” he frowned.

“Well, this is the longest we’ve talked, like ever.” I said bluntly.

“Ah, yeah, is this a little too much?” he muttered to himself, before shaking his head, turning to me as if I didn’t hear him talk to himself like a mad man. “But why wouldn’t they like you?”

I shrugged, thoughtless. “People will always find a reason to pick on you. Too fat, too skinny, too smart, not smart enough.”

Myungsoo huffed, clearly not satisfied by my answer. “That’s superficial.”

“No kidding.” I scoffed, flashing a half-hearted crescent grin. “But likewise, why would they like me?”

That was a rhetorical question. But I was blissfully intrigued when his body sunk further into the couch, contemplating. His hair was fuzzied up with static from sticking to the couch too long, but he paid no mind. When it came to focusing, be it exams, chord progressions, or ordering dinner, Myungsoo was unwavering. And then he looked up at me, with those honest, deep brown eyes.

“Well, for starters, you make an awesome Se Na.” He was really taking this seriously! I wanted to laugh at the cuteness of it, but used all my will power to let him continue. “And you’re smart, and not just book smart, you see the things people take for granted.” It seemed like he wasn’t talking to me at all, but going off in tangent. “And even though you don’t like to show it, you’re really kind. You read all those essays in our study group.” he looked away, bashful. “Well, except for mine.”

“Seems like you’ve been paying a lot of attention to me.” I said wryly.

Surprise registered in his expression, as if he were a criminal caught in the act. “Well, yeah.” he mumbled, turning uncharacteristically crimson-flushed.

The words “me too” lingered on the tip of my tongue, but apparently I was too slow to reply, Myungsoo eager to fill the void.

“I just thought, when you kicked me the other day, you were starting to notice me, too.”

I wanted to laugh in his face, pour my heart out like I had nothing to lose. Yes, you idiot, I’ve noticed you, who wouldn’t have? I wanted to scream it, because he thought a kick to the shin was all the attention he thought he could get from me. I wanted to say you make me happy in the most inopportune times, over things that don’t even involve me. You were my MPDB.

But again he beat me to it, leaving the couch disproportionately emptier than before. He rose, checking his leather-strapped wristwatch (seriously, he never fails to intrigue me, who still wears watches to check the time)?

“I think my laundry’s done.” he said lamely, still staring at his watch. “Sorry, but I gotta go. See you around.”

And in my stupor, I realized that was it, feeling left behind and wholly insulted.