A/N: sticking to short chapters because i have no time!

glad to report that I outlined this ENTIRE story hehe

just have to find the time to write it!

please comment your thoughts! 

All the love, xoxo

I’ve never been a morning person.

Mornings are a pain. Don’t bother hitting me with the “early bird gets the worm” bull because I don’t care about the worm. 

I prefer to spend my mornings unconscious, but thanks to feminism, I now require an education to thrive in this twenty-first century.

The bus ride to campus is quiet. Leaning my tired head on the foggy window, I watch the leaves fall from the trees. On campus, I walk with my hood up, and earphones on, trying to blend in with the crowd. Luckily, everyone’s too cold to focus on anything other than themselves. I’m quite the opposite. To distract myself from shivering, my eyes wander, eagerly drinking in my surroundings.  

Walking slowly down the concrete paths, fallen leaves crunching under my shoes, I pass Mark hunchbacked over a car engine. Not far North from him, Bona sits with a group of girls by the fountain. She giggles while twirling the loose ribbon tied to her pigtail. 

Exiting the auditorium, Jaemin hops down the stairs surrounded by people from his theatre troupe. They laugh and playfully elbow each other in the ribs. Jaemin waves his hands around animatedly and I let out a sigh. 

I held him back, didn’t I? As a friend, I caged him and clung to him so hard that he never got the chance to branch out. Now that I’m out of the picture, he’s all smiles with people who have much more to offer him than I do.

The same goes with Yeonjun. I stop dead in my tracks when he approaches, hand in hand with his new girl- the girl I caught him with in my bed.

Yeonjun and I are civil. We got our closure. He even threw punches at Jeno after finding out he played me like a pawn in chess. 

But nothing will ever justify cheating and there’s a permanent scar on my heart because of him. The scar tears open as he sidesteps me, too infatuated by his new girl to notice my presence. 

I fight the urge to glance back at them, marching on towards the campus coffee shop.

Today’s a storybook and I’m not rattled to find Jeno and Haewon in the parking lot. Haewon’s curly hair is slicked back in a messy low bun, and mascara streaks on her pale cheeks. Jeno’s white shirt is crumpled, his hands balled into tight fists as he shouts at a fuming Haewon.   

The sound of traffic and passerby’s conversations mutes them but I don’t need to hear their dialogue to know they’re in the middle of a fight. 

I notice a torn backpack and its contents scattered by their feet. There’s a broken compact, a smashed perfume bottle, and loose paper. 

Haewon shoves at Jeno’s chest and he grabs her by the wrists. I avert my eyes when Jeno yanks open his car door to force her into the passenger's seat. Haewon’s nails dig into his forearms as she refuses. 

I eventually reach my limit with the cold and scuttle into the coffee shop where I find warmth in the form of a friendly smile. 

“Noona!” Sungchan calls for me, his contagious grin curing my frostbitten heart. 

“Stop it with the honorifics,” I groan and he chuckles.

“I know, I know, I was just teasing you.”

I sit down in front of him, my eyes going straight out the window, still curious about Jeno.

Sungchan pulls me out of my thoughts. “I ordered you a coffee.”

“Thanks,” I say, ping my jacket. 

“Two sugars, two creams, right?” He asks, leaning forward and cupping his puppy face in his palms. 

 I nod and raise an eyebrow. “How’d you know how I take my coffee?”

A blush creeps up his cheeks. Others may mistake it as an effect of the cold, but I know a flustered blush when I see one. 

“I uh- may have overhead your order before,” he responds and I shrug it off. I’m sure he’s run into me before at this cafe. I’m a regular, considering it’s the only fair-priced coffee shop on campus. But still, it’s odd to commit a stranger’s order to memory. 

Sungchan scratches his nape and I focus my attention on the camera hanging around his neck. 

“You’re a photographer?” I straighten up, intrigued.

“A self-taught amateur,” he reveals, turning the device on.

Sungchan shows me his photos with pride and I gush at everyone, genuinely impressed. They’re mostly photos of nature and students going about their day-to-day lives. 

“These are good,” I compliment, and the blush on his cheeks darkens. “Can I take a photo?” I wiggle my brows and he transfers the strap from his neck to mine. His fingers brush over my pulse and I shiver. 

“Hold it here and to take a photo, click that button right there-.” His lesson is interrupted by the barista.  

“Order for Sungchan!” 

“Be right back,” he chirps, leaving to grab our drinks. 

My shaky fingers accidentally snap a blurry photo of his empty chair and I pout. Clicking into the gallery, I easily delete it and then get lost in the photos he’s taken. 

I scroll through his catalogue, recognizing the different buildings on campus and some of the people in the photos. There are a couple of pictures of Sungchan too, taken by a friend I assume. He’s captured mid-laugh, dressed in a grey hoodie and black sweats, holding out his hand to block the lens. 

Cute, I think. I continue to scroll. 

My breathing pauses when I stop on a picture of myself.

I’m asleep in the lecture hall, a grey hoodie draped over my shoulders. The grey hoodie smells like vanilla, the same one that’s been hanging in my closet for months, the same one Sungchan was wearing in the previous picture.

Oh. The puzzle pieces snap together as I discover more photos of myself.

I’m captured walking beside Jaemin, our arms linked. There’s one of me sitting in the courtyard, a basket of art supplies on my lap, my ankle in a cast. The last photo I find is of Jeno and me at the Halloween carnival. We’re sitting on the bench away from the crowd, in our little world. My feet are on his lap, and I’m smiling silly, falling in love. 

I hurriedly shut off the camera when Sungchan returns. He apologizes for taking too long. The barista messed up my order.

“Here, I made you something while waiting.” Sungchan places an origami rose he folded using the receipt. 

I cradle it in my palm and gulp, realization sinking in. 

“T-thank y-you,” I fumble my words, and Sungchan sticks the straw into my drink. 

“Anything for you,” he responds without missing a beat.

Oh boy, I think.

Do I have myself a secret admirer? 

Sungchan takes a sip of his latte and then clears his throat. “Hey uh-. I was wondering if you’re free later today?”

“Later today,” I echo, blinking blankly. 

“Mhm. We could hang out. Taylor Swift released her new concert film,” he says, the anticipation in his eyes enticing. 

“Sure,” I agree, leaning back in my chair. “Sure.” I bop my head, showing him my sweetest smile. 

“It’s a date,” he confirms and I force myself to nod. 

Hush little baby. 

Don’t say a word. 

Hush little baby. 

Don’t you cry. 

I wake up to a damp pillow under my cheeks.

Gasping, I force myself into a sitting position and rub my sore eyes. 

The nightmare lingers in my bones, chills radiating from my core. Staring blankly into space, I wait patiently for the pain to diminish. Soft rain, straight and silvery, knocks on my window, asking permission to enter. 

I glance at my alarm clock. 11:30 pm is displayed in bold red. 

After a trip to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, I’m ready to head back to bed. 

My plans are spoiled by a knock on the front door.  

I mistake it for thunder, but the knocking is desperately continuous. It turns into pounding, competing with the rain’s rumbling for my attention. 

My feet feel cold against the floor tiles, and so do my shaky hands when I yank open my front door. 

Jeno, shivering and drenched, leans against the doorframe. His damp hair sticks to his forehead and his lips, usually the prettiest shade of pink, are now a deep blue.  

“Hey,” he rasps and I swallow my shock, shifting to the side to let him in. The faint smell of antiseptic, with undertones of artificial fragrances accompanies him. His white coat is tied around his waist.

“What are you doing here?” I question, staring at his back. The thin wet fabric of his black turtleneck clings to his toned body like a second layer of skin. 

“I think I forgot something here from the night before,” Jeno lies, his tone flat.  

Yes, I know he’s lying. I know he didn’t leave anything. I cleaned the apartment earlier today. 

I don’t respond and he heads to my coffee table to pretend to search for his lost item. He picks up one of the two wine glasses, his jaw ticking. 

“You had company,” he states and I rub my arms to get rid of the goosebumps.  

“Yeah, Sungchan came over,” I reveal. 

Jeno’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “Oh.”

“We just watched the Taylor Swift concert film,” I explain and he nods blurrily, setting down the glass. He picks up the fallen pieces of popcorn, tossing them into the empty bucket on the couch. 

As he pivots, I notice a purple patch on his neck. It’s violet and it makes me feel violent. 

Did Haewon do that? I wonder, recalling their fight at the parking lot. 

Did they fight and then make up in his car?

The image of her lips on his skin lights my nerves on fire. 

I hastily fetch myself a glass of water, drowning the intrusive thoughts. 

When I turn to discard the glass in the sink, I walk straight into Jeno. Our bodies collide and a gasp gets stuck in my throat. 

Jeno steadies my body by grabbing my shoulders. I flinch away from his touch, which is concerningly cold. 

We make fleeting eye contact and I drop my gaze to the scratches on his forearms. 

“D-do you want a bandaid for those?” I blurt and Jeno, clearly dazed, only responds with a half nod. 

We both settle on the couch, the first aid kit opens between us. Jeno’s cold hands tremble, his slippery fingers struggling to rip open the packaging. 

“Let me,” I say softly and Jeno a frustrated sigh floats past his lips.

I tear open the bandaid with my teeth, then meticulously smooth it over the red cuts on his arms. I guide his balled hands onto my lap for easier access. Jeno shuffles closer, his breathing shallow. He smells like petrichor and the hospital and needs warm hugs. 

Tracing his veins with my pointer finger, I confess. “I saw you and Haewon in the parking lot this morning.”

Jeno clears his throat, withdrawing his hands. He crosses them over his stomach. 

“Looked serious,” I comment and he swipes his tongue over his teeth.

“It was,” he mumbles and I dip my head to try and get a view of his eyes. 

“Jeno, why are you here?” I ask, not at all demanding, only concerned. He peers at me through his thick lashes. “You didn’t forget something here.”

Jeno’s lips form a thin line. He leans back on his palms, chin towards the ceiling. “I was on my bike,” he husks. “I was on my way home and it sta