“What?” You ask him, stupefied. You move your mouth, but barely a sound comes out.

“I wrote these,” he repeats, his tone becoming more timid. 

No. Daehyun … wasn’t it Daehyun? It was Daehyun. It had to be. 

A part of you can’t accept it. No; you don’t want to accept it.

“Why?” he peers closely at your face, and you uncomfortably look away. His eyes darken, and he asks coldly, “Who did you think it was? Daehyun?” he sneers.

“Yes,” you bluntly answer, shocking him with your straight-forward response. “I did think that. I just … I can’t imagine … “

“Why I’d write you all this?” He finishes for you, waving the notes in the air. “Do I look that heartless?”

His words stop you. Before, you wouldn’t have hesitated in saying yes. He was heartless. But now … now, you’re not so sure. Unable to answer, you keep your mouth shut, and he shakes his head and sighs.

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” he mutters, returning to his textbook. You awkwardly stare at the counter as, from the corner of your eye, you see Jungwook place the notes in front of you. “Keep them or whatever,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

But it does matter to him. If it didn’t, he wouldn’t have looked so ecstatic when he had realized that you hadn’t thrown them away. But why? Why had he been so outrightly rude to you, and had kept encouraging you with such words? Why?

You tentatively reach out and take the notes, flipping through them as you stare at the words. You read them all over again, remembering the moments when you had discovered each one. The first note had given you confusion, and the second note had been a little insulting. At the third note, how you were affected by the words had changed into one more positive … and by the last note, you had been completely encouraged. But you had thought, all along, that these were Daehyun’s words. 

But it’s Jungwook’s. And you shouldn’t be sad; that’s unfair. You should be happy that the last guy you’d expect would go out of his way to help you. Still, you can’t help but be befuddled by all the facts. None of it adds up. Jungwook’s personality around you is contradicting to the personality he shows in these notes. What’s his motive? Which side is his real side?

“I’ll throw them,” you say out loud. You’re testing him. Maybe it’s a dirty way to go, but you want to know, and you don’t have the spine to directly ask him. You get up purposefully, nearing the trash can, but before you can drop the notes into the waste bin, Jungwook reaches you and stops you by grabbing your hand that holds the notes.

“What are you doing?” He asks you, his dark eyes boring into your own. 

“I’m throwing them,” you say blandly. “That’s what you wanted, right? You  said you didn’t care.”

Irritated, he runs a hand through his hair. Biting his lip, he tells you, “Please don’t. Don’t throw that. If you don’t want it … ” he looks away as pain enters his voice, ” … just … look. Pretend it’s from Daehyun, or whatever. But don’t throw it away. Please.”

Slowly, you retract your hand. “So why?” You ask him, your voice low. “I just … you write these. You tell me you write these, you tell me you don’t care if I keep them, and now you’re saying that I can’t throw them away. Exactly which is it? Which is it, Jungwook?”

“It’s neither. It’s both,” he answers vaguely. “I don’t know. I just … I’m sorry, okay?” He suddenly bursts out. “I’m sorry. For hurting you. I was confused. I was mad. I threw that piece of paper at your back, but I left notes in your locker. That doesn’t make sense, and even I know that.

“Just … I don’t know. I’m still pretty immature, you know? I can pretend all I want that I know something, that I’m smart … but I’m not. I’m not any of those things, and I guess … a part of me wanted to prove to you that I’m worth something.”

“Me?” You gape at him. “Why me?”

“You were the queen,” he replies bitterly, the definition of the word changing due to the tone in his voice. “And I was a scholarship student. I wasn’t like any of you. And you lost everything, and I thought maybe, finally, you’d notice me. It would make me feel like I was worth something. But you didn’t. Do you know how long I’ve been your classmate? Since freshman year. I was even in one of your classes. But you never once noticed me.

“I don’t know,” he bites his lip. “I don’t know. When I say that … it’s not an excuse. It’s not because I don’t want to explain anything to you. It’s because I really, honestly, don’t know. I didn’t know, that is. What to do. And I still don’t. And I’m sorry. All this stuff, being so contradicting … I wanted to tell you something, and I knew … maybe it was wrong, to do it in such a round about way … but I’m a pretty stupid guy, even if I am attending the school on a full scholarship.” Slowly, he pries the notes from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. He lingers for a moment, and the places where your hand connects with his feel hot underneath his touch. He finally pulls back, the papers in his grip, and adds, “I’m sorry. I’m saying that again because I … I should have been clearer. About everything. About what I meant. About what I want. And I was confused, but now … I think, I understand a little bit more, now.” He looks up at you, his eyes bright but lonely. You wait for him to continue, and with a deep breath he says, “All this … being rude to you. That was wrong. But … I don’t regret writing these notes for you. Because that? I don’t think that was wrong. But if you’d rather forget … then fine. Forget it. Forget it, if you dislike me so much. Just let me tell you this."

He takes a step forward. “I like you.”