So this was Busan friend.

I shook his hand with my right. In return, he squeezed it tightly, subtly crinkling his nose at me while still grinning. It was a reasonably large amount of aegyo for a first meeting.

“Hi. I’m Hyemi. Park Hyemi.”

“Nice to meet you, Hyemi-ssi,” he replied, while looking me straight in the eyes. The depth of his stare was overwhelming and his gaze was reasonably deep for a first meeting. As badly as I wanted to break away from our eye contact, I simply couldn’t, because – and I could not stress it enough – it was reasonably intense for a first meeting. If it weren’t for Kyungsoo’s peculiar throat-clearing, I wouldn’t have had a clue that we were both still so immersed in our handshake.

“What’s up with the formalities?” Kyungsoo teased. “You can call her ‘Hyemi’.”

“Oh, good, then she can call me ‘oppa’.”

That was highly unexpected.

I wasn’t sure whether I looked offended, bashful or a strange masterpiece of both, but this unpredictable friend of Kyungsoo’s sneered a little. Digging his long fingers into his pockets, he resumed with his little staring game with me. I felt like a helpless child because it seemed like his eyes were going to swallow me whole and alive right then and there.

This Kim Jongin from Busan was intimidating.

“Yah, Jongin-ah, she’s eighteen years old,” my bestfriend chuckled, “and you’re still as greasy as ever.”

Jongin broke away from our eye contact, shot a stunned look at Kyungsoo and back again to me. “You’re eighteen?”

“Yes, I’m eighteen.” I was perfectly aware of the fact that I was lacking in height, so there were no unpleasant surprises on my behalf. Then I reconsidered that the weather might have been actually trying to tell me the opposite. So much for hopping.

After Jongin let the fact that we really were born on the same year sink into his mentality, we left the library and commenced the most awaited campus tour. Kyungsoo did all the talking while I just tailed after them, waiting for the first bell to ring. Along the way, the usual, random herds of pubescent girls practically drooled over Do Kyungsoo and all his glory. Having a university and a highschool together in one place was extremely disadvantageous to flower boys only wanting to finish a degree and score a great job in the future. In the process, they had to endure almost inappropriate glares, sickening love confessions and endless requests asking them to turn up at fanclub meetings.

However, I noticed that the girls’ shrieks were of a different tone today. Then, I realised I was also walking with the boy with the perfectly tanned skin and glowing brown eyes, Kim Jongin.

The bell finally rang and I thanked the heavens. We’d agreed to meet at the foodcourt at lunchtime again just to “be nice and keep Jongin company”. I sat in my classes and industriously completed all work given, but oddly, I caught myself visualising Kim Jongin’s award-winning, intimidating glare from this morning more than a couple of times. The first impression he left on me was undoubtedly very strong and somewhat eccentric.

Habitually, I took a quick trip to the restroom before heading off to lunchbreak. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, I slightly gawked at the sight before me. My face had definitely shrunken and had gone two shades paler. The dark circles under my eyes were gigantic, making me seem like a rookie corpse. I looked tired – I was tired. My physical appearance was almost a perfect representation of my emotional stance; a little more weight added to my hideous eyebags and it would have been seamless. I washed my hands and made my way slowly to the foodcourt where our little guest awaited.

Our lunchbreak slot was unfortunately the busiest and most inconvenient. A lot of the time, the queues went from wall to wall. The damned young “ladies” in highschool buzzed around with the latest and hottest gossip, while the boys deemed themselves to be equally pathetic when they venture into their testosterone-driven activities. The entire foodcourt was a chaotic playground. I’d learnt my lesson and decided to only get my food after the unnecessary fuss had died down, despite the undeniable grumbling in my stomach at this time of day.

In the midst of all the revelry, I quickly caught sight of Kyungsoo and Jongin. I made my way to their table in haste, trying my hardest not to make any sort of physical contact with any of the hyped up humans surrounding me who reeked of sweat and overused body spray.

“Hey, Hyemi,” Kyungsoo smiled upon seeing me.

It was the particular smile that had full control over my knees. Then, as if on cue, one of the girls who had been sitting on the table right beside where I was standing conveniently props her knapsack down on the floor. One of the straps caught my right foot, and the whole entirety of the next few moments took place in slow motion.

My heart lurched and I let out a yelp. Instinctively, I knew I had to grab onto at least something in order to save my face and my dignity. So without any hesitation, I grabbed onto the nearest “thing” in front of me.

Do Kyungsoo.

My hands desperately reached for his arms before completely losing control of my lower body, and then with a thud, I landed.

On him.

The first thing that shook me awake was the familiar and calming scent of ocean and peppermint. However, it took a few seconds to register on my mind that I was hovering on top of the boy who took my first kiss.

My face was buried on his chest and all I could feel was his breathing. If I wasn’t mistaken, his heartbeat was rapidly increasing, which made mine ascend even more. My body wouldn’t move regardless of how hard my mind was scolding it to budge. I tilted my head up slowly and met his gaze. His eyes looked down at mine and his expression was unreadable; it was the exact same look he gave me before leaning down to kiss my lips.

“A-are you okay?” he finally spoke. He held onto my arms and swept some hair out of my face. My mouth would not produce anything, as my tongue seemed frozen. I swore my pounding heart was going to injure at least one ribcage. I could only manage to nod in response.

“I suggest you two get up now,” a deep voice broke the awkward silence. Kim Jongin was standing over us, reaching out with his arm towards me. I took it and he pulled me up swiftly. I was about to thank him when I saw what he was doing.

He was smirking.

“Unnie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” the owner of the cursed knapsack bowed to me, exceeding ninety degrees.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” I bowed back. Some of these girls had manners after all.

Or maybe they were just trying to save face because two handsome men from tertiary school were involved. That seemed more logical.

When our little scene was over and all the commotion had died down – thankfully – I finally sat on one of the chairs and settled down. Both of them were looking at me, and their stares watching my every move triggered chills and goosebumps.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” my bestfriend asked, now with a tinge of anxiety on his face.

“I’m alright, really,” I half-heartedly laughed because my left leg was throbbing.

“I bet this happens all the time. It’s like the freaking Serengeti in here,” Jongin exclaimed while stuffing his face with jajangmyun.

“This is nothing,” Kyungsoo remarked. “Aren’t you eating?” he turned to me.

“I’ll wait for them to leave or at least calm down,” I said, and then attempted to give him a warm smile. I couldn’t help myself but mentally rewind our past two evenings together.

“Oh, by the way,” Jongin slurped a noodle strand, “do you know which bus I have to take to get home? Dad dropped me off this morning so I have no idea.”

“What street do you live in?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Geumjin Street. Our house is by a gelato shop.”

“Oh, take 505, then.”

505. The number sounded very familiar.

“Okay, then, thanks,” Jongin resumed with his slurping.

“Wait, Hyemi-ah, isn’t that the one you take?” Kyungsoo looked at me.

That’s right. 505. It was familiar because it was the bus I’d been taking every single day of my life ever since I started highschool. My stomach turned.

“Oh, great, then, I won’t get lost.” It was hard to determine whether that statement was drawn out of sincerity or sarcasm. Kim Jongin smiled at me and gladly finished the rest of his meal.

The bell rang so it was just fantastic. I didn’t have time to get lunch and my leg was getting worse. Thankfully, my last lecture for the day was creative writing, so I thought I’d be able to withstand all the grumbling and throbbing for one more hour.

--

I met Jongin straightaway at the bus stop. Our class was dismissed early because according to Professor Shim, it seemed that we could all use the rest of the afternoon to revive a healthy skintone. Being an English major was already incredibly tough on its own, and having constant, emotional dilemmas didn’t make things more fabulous.

As expected, Jongin made himself comfortable and sat down next to me. The whole journey from the campus to our suburb was about twenty minutes, but I readied myself as I was perfectly aware that it was going to be the longest twenty minutes of my life so far.

“Are you really eighteen years old?” Jongin turned his head to face me. A puzzled look clouded his face. It was both startling and offending.

“I am. Look, I know I’m short and everything but-”

“I’m sorry for coming off so rude this morning.”

I assessed the situation. Jongin was apologising to me for thinking that I was just another one of those typical highschool girls who automatically swooned whenever guys like him offer to be addressed as “oppa”. He was practically informing me that his dominance over girls was limited.

“It’s okay,” I shrugged. I considered it as a form chivalry when men ignore their pride and somehow apologise.

“But, come on, I must’ve been born first at least?” I had no clue as to why the age issue was such a huge deal. I almost took back my recent conclusion.

“May,” I bluntly remarked.

“Are you kidding me? You’re still my senior by a month?” he exclaimed, looking like a six-year-old deprived of his ice cream.

“I’m guessing you were born on June, then?” It was my turn to smirk.

I looked out the window and it had started pouring outside. Raindrops were frantically racing each other yet again, and it kept me amused for a few good minutes. Then my attention shifted to the strange person beside me. He had gone bizarrely quiet as he bit and picked his nails. The Jongin next to me was the exact opposite of the intimidating jerk I met in front of the library this morning.

“So why don’t you have an accent?” I found myself asking.

Jongin stopped biting but looked straight ahead.

“Ah, well, my family only lived in Busan for a year. I was born and raised in Seoul.” That explained everything. I merely gave him a nod and resumed watching the Raindrop Olympics.

“I take it as my turn to ask a question now.”

I looked at him, and for the fourth time today, I caught his stare. His brown eyes still dazzled, but this time they were curious.

“Why do you like Kyungsoo?”

At the mention of his name, butterflies attacked. I was a bit lost and overwhelmed since I’d only been acquainted with Kim Jongin for a few hours, and here he was, already immersed in a brave attempt to dig deeper.

“I- I don’t.” The façade must go on.

The bus turned and made a right on Geumjin Street. My palms had started to sweat and my pupils had most likely begun to dilate. I was relieved, but my lifespan had probably been reduced by five years because we were now both in a mutual agreement that he had found my weakness.

“Okay, then. If you say so,” Jongin pressed the buzzer and slung his backpack onto his shoulders. He stood up, but he wasn’t quite finished yet. Staring deeper into the depths of my soul, his lips curved into a smile.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow… noona.”