You walked past three guys and tried to walk away as quickly as possible. You didn’t feel comfortable around guys whenever you wore a skirt and right now the dress you were wearing was way too short. You cursed your friend for wanting to dress you up in a way that you weren’t.

            “Hey, nice stripes,” one of them called out and you ignored them. You looked down at your outfit. The skirt was a solid red and your top was also devoid of any patterns. They must not be talking to you. You continued through the cafeteria until a hand touched your shoulder.        

            You turned but the person made sure that you didn’t shift. “Don’t move too much. I’m covering for you,” it was a pleasant voice but you squirmed a little. It was still a male voice. “Your skirt was tucked in your underwear.” He sounded apologetic to be the one to reveal the news to you and your cheeks flamed.

            Your hand went to the back of your skirt and you found that indeed you were touching your underwear. You now understood what the stripes comment meant. You were utterly mortified and angry. You were now officially never going to forgive your friend. Once you were sure the skirt was fixed, you gave the stranger a quick bow. “Thank you,” you muttered and hurried away.

            You balanced the tray of coffee precariously on your forearm and tried to hold your stack of textbooks with the other. You winced as your shoulder bag slipped off and added more weight along with your textbooks. You hated the college life. It was so much effort once finals and exams loomed.

            You tried to maneuver the slippery roads and could feel yourself falling before you actually did. “Damn it,” you cursed as you landed painfully on your . The coffee tilted over and at least two of the four cups lost their lids, discarding their contents onto the floor and turning the snow into a disgusting brown. Your textbooks landed in a messy disarray and you closed your eyes.
            Someone squatted down next to you and helped you pick up your textbooks before holding out a hand for you. “Too bad we can’t do anything about the coffee but be careful.”

            The voice was familiar and you looked up. Standing in front of you was a smiling boy. “Oh thanks.” You were embarrassed. Why were you such a klutz in front of cute people? “I guess I’ll have to buy more. My floormates will kill me when there’s nothing to keep us running when we’re pulling all-nighters.”

            He chuckled a little and offered to walk you into the coffee shop. “You look like you need help.”

            You shook your head. “Thanks a million but I’m afraid if I trip again, I’d simply die of embarrassment.” He shrugged a little and said his farewells.

            You squirmed and held your legs tightly together, unable to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation of your bladder being weighed down by liquid. You took in deep breaths, trying to find a way to keep your mind off of the long line in front of the women’s room. Not for the first time, you grumbled about how long it took for women to use the restroom.

            You peered in front of you and saw ladies with just as irritated faces and hopped a little. That was a bad choice. You felt the pressure on your bladder all the more once you moved and you decided that nothing could be more humiliating than a stain on your pants.

            You pounded on the adjacent room to check if anyone was in there. The women on line gave you weird looks as if you were confused and couldn’t recognize the universal symbol for the male’s bathroom. At the moment you could care less.

            When you didn’t get a response, you pushed the door open only to have it pull away from you at the same time. You stumbled forward and saw someone who you may have seen before stand before you.

            “Uh, this is the man’s room.” His voice was only a little bit confused.

            Your cheeks flamed but your bladder was calling. You pushed past him and ran for one of the stalls, praying that he wouldn’t give anymore thought to it. You just wanted to live a happy life. What was so difficult about it?

            There could not be anything that could go wrong with going on a blind date. The sarcasm in your thoughts was absolutely dripping. You shuddered as you pushed open the door to the café. As your friends put it, the whole experience of being in college was to meet people, get a boyfriend. You walked to the table they had reserved for you and ordered a latte with a lot of whipped cream.

            You tapped your foot and looked around idly. The boy was late. You glanced at your watch. This wasn’t a very good impression. You checked your skirt to make sure that everything was all in one piece and then you made sure there was nothing that could embarrass you on this date.

            You took a sip of your drink and dug into the whipped cream. You glanced at the clock. He was still not here. Now he was really, really late. You pouted and took another sip, feeling the whipped cream settle around your lips.

            “Oh there you are.”

            You looked up and saw someone that you have definitely seen before and he looked at you in shock. “Stripes,” he blurted out and you blushed. He slid into the bench across from you and then burst into laughter. You remembered his smile and you definitely remembered his voice. All the times that you have embarrassed yourself in front of him and not realized hit you and you wanted to disappear.

            “Y-you were the boy outside the coffee shop,” you whispered. “And the bathroom.” Your voice was hoarse; you were so mortified.

            He was still laughing, preciously if you must say, and then he leaned forward with a napkin. “I’m Jongup and you have a nice whipped cream ‘stache.” Your hands flew up to where he had wiped with the napkin and Jongup’s eyes crinkled. “I guess we were meant to date because I seem to be the one covering for you anyway.” And when you let out a groan of embarrassment, he laughed and formed a heart with his hands. 

Jongpuppy ♥