03.

Days were sluggish when you were lonely.

Waking up in the mornings, to my lonely apartment - clearly too big for one person, not that my parents seemed to care (maybe they hoped I’d wake up from my solo spell and bring home a nice girl one day) - I’d made a habit of crawling out to the living room, where the wall calendar would hang, waiting for me. Each day, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I would take my pink marker - my highlight of the day (pun fully intended) - and draw an ‘x’ over the passed date.

In the past, whereas the marks seemed to multiply and breed over the night (like little bunnies), these days they seemed to be disappearing, going back dates. As if they were teasing me.

Exactly four months, two weeks, one day and twenty one hours (and maybe a few minutes and seconds, but who was counting?) had passed since the day I’d first again run into (ex) barista Yongguk at the coffee shop. And it was to those exact ticks of the clock that I’d learned that my life I’d worked so hard to perfect was anything but perfect.

I realized I was lonely.

(To put blunt, I needed desperately to get laid.)

That first day, Yongguk had seemed so pleased, happy with himself. Sure, circumstances had changed, and his lips were no longer glued into an upcurl, but that special shine in his eyes whenever he spoke to Junhong (whenever he spoke about Junhong) never changed. Despite everything, he could still truly call himself happy.

And what did that make me?

I was just about as sociable as chopped liver. The longest I’d ever talked with anyone for that matter past my given high school career (where talking to classmates was a necessity) had been with Kyuhyun. He didn’t really even count, since he was paid to talk to me.

The only reason I could up with my days passing by so slowly, I figured, was because I was lonely.

“Do you think I’m lame?”

When I asked the question, I’d wanted Kyuhyun to smile and say that I wasn’t. After all, wasn’t that what counselors were supposed to do? Make you feel good about yourself?

Apparently though, Kyuhyun wasn’t your average counselor. “Do you want me to tell you the truth?”

I glared at him, hard, baring my teeth and hissing. If I had cat ears, they’d be flatted along my skull in all predatory annoyance. Sometimes, I wondered why I hadn’t fired him yet for all the times he made me feel worse about myself.

He was laughing through, as per usual, amused at my held back urge to sock him in the nose. “You’re not lame, Himchan, and that’s me being honest.” Smirking, he reached over his desk to pat me on the head, ruffling my styled hair without a single care in the world. He didn’t realize that I took exactly forty three minutes this morning to get it that way. “You’re just … …” he paused, rolling his tongue over his lips in thought.

“Just call me lame, don’t kill me a second time!” I was flailing, gathering my things and shoving them in my bag. No longer, did I feel the need to endure myself through Kyuhyun mocking me. He could save it for tomorrow, when my patience refreshed.

“Oh shut up and listen,” Kyuhyun laughed, reaching to grab one of my textbooks and holding it just out of my arm’s reach. “You’re special is what you are. Different. It takes someone unique to actually get and understand you.”

“That doesn’t much sound like a good thing.”

“It’s not, in one direction; but look at it another way, you’re not just some random off the streets. It’s better to be unique than just blend in with the rest of the crowd. At least you have identity.”

“And look where that said identity’s gotten me. Lonely and single. Big whoop.”

Standing up on my tip toes, reaching half way across the desk, I snatched my text back from the bully, shoving it in my bag and leaving his silly little office with a grunt and huff. Kyuhyun was such a huge .

Running away from my counselor led me to literally nothing to do. Usually, my meetings with Kyuhyun lasted through the afternoon and ended just minutes before class started, giving me just enough time if I ran like standing on hot coals. Unfortunately though, ditching him gave me a giant gap in my schedule filled with nothing but brooding and self hatred.

It also left me to sit alone, head crashing repeatedly against the hard table in the cafeteria from pure boredom. Again, I was utterly alone. Not even the workers were around at this time of day.

Too late, I was coming to realize that my life revolved too much around coffee, Kyuhyun and college.

“You look like you’re having a chipper day.” The rolling sarcasm of his voice was unmistakable. “Contain your excitement. Come on, share some of that joy with us.”

Peeking up from my mushed cheek against the table, I found someone, two someones, just by the cafeteria bench I’d seated myself. “Mine. My happiness, I need as much of as I goddamn have.” And at that, Hyungjun simply laughed at me, sliding into the seat next to me, Suhoon following in step on my other side.

They were friends - or, at least, I considered them friends - from class. Hyungjun, actually, I’d known since I was ten; he was that annoying upstairs neighbor who took fun out annoying me by stomping at crack of dawn the night before an important test. Let’s be honest, I hadn’t a single clue why I’d decided to put up with him all these years, he was a brat. On the other hand, Suhoon was by far more peaceful to have around. Unlike Hyungjun, who thought me going red in the face meant I was having fun, he was a calming friend and seat partner. I’d done several group projects with him willingly - the key word here being willingly - and had yet to want to bash his head into the nearest desk. The only bad thing about him was his silence.

Still, being at a lonely hour like this, both of them were pleasant company.

(On a regular basis, neither of them were too great to be around. Suhoon was too quiet and Hyungjun was too loud. Why couldn’t I have a happy medium?)

Upon sitting down, Hyungjun automatically produced a lollipop, sticking it in his mouth with a satisfied clank against his lower set of teeth. I hoped all his goddamn teeth rot off someday. He would deserve it.

“So Sunshine, what’re you doing around here at this hour? Aren’t you usually with mister I’m-such-a-ing-British-priss at this point of day?”

I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t even have a British accent. And just because he’s smarter than you does not make his a priss,” whatever the hell Hyungjun had meant by that anyways.

“Don’t defend him, you’ll turn into him at this rate.”

I can’t say I particularly liked the idea of that. Not that I could particularly point out what was wrong with him, I didn’t want to turn into a Jo Kyuhyun junior; the world was already screwed as it was with just one of him. “Shut up, I’m not turning into him.” But just because, I didn’t complain as Hyungjun changed the topic, going off about some drama he’d seen the other night (though, I can’t say I was particularly listening), didn’t mean I agreed I was turning into a demon replica.

Lucky for me though, Hyungjun didn’t mind the silence Suhoon(not much of a surprise here) and I offered him, going off, with or without us following, about how the female lead was a babe. And he just kept talking (realization: he talked a lot) until Suhoon cut him off with a curt clearing of his throat.

“As much as I’d like to listen to you about how able she looks,” (looks like at least one of us were listening), “you two have class and I have a part time job to get to.” Waving, Suhoon was the first one of us off, disappearing around the corner without as much as once looking back.

“Brr.”

And for once, I agreed. Brr indeed.

Running to make it into class on time, Hyungjun and I were the last ones in, just barely stumbling into our seats as our performance professor stepped into the class (and blinding us with his flashy clothes; didn’t he know that his bright red jacket had gone out of trend back in the 80’s?). Had we arrived a second later, Professor Park may have just decided to mark us absent.

But this wasn’t anything new for us. I was used to arriving seconds before the teacher and Hyungjun was a familiar name to the tardy list.

A snicker playing on his lips, Kwangseok greeted me with a discreet thump on the back as I held a hand up to my chest, swallowing back the bitter irony taste burning my throat. No matter how many times I’d do that, arrive literally just on time, I’d never get fully used to it. He offered me a swish from his water bottle and I accepted it thankfully. These days, I’d come to the conclusion that he prepared the bottle purely for me.

“Class, we’re going to be starting a new project today!”

We groaned; we all groaned.

See, if there was a thing about our performance class, it was that Professor Park adored assigning us projects. Kwangseok and I’d come to the conclusion that he did it just so he didn’t have to teach (the supposed rumor going between us though scribbled and passed notes under the desk). It wasn’t a secret that none of us - repeat, no one - liked his silly projects. They were time consuming and no where worth the effort.

Too late, I could see why a number of the upper classmen dropped the class upon seeing Professor Park’s face.

The class bit back a groan - not too well, seeing as the rest who couldn’t bother care for Professor Park’s feelings grumbled extra loudly for those who didn’t - passing back the pale sheet of paper handed out.

Should’ve dropped the class while I still could.

February! The month of love and all things sweet; a month of togetherness. On the fourteenth of February, in Western countries, chocolates, flowers, and sweets are traded by families and loved ones. In spirit of this beautiful month you and your group are to film a musical performance and upload it on nate pann. The scores will depend on how much views, comments you can gather from citizens around the country.

Happy filming. And remember: think lovely!

You have until the fourteenth and this project will consist of 30% of your final grade.

I’d always known my professor was a bit insane (with all due respect), but to this extent?

Groans were again shot throughout class, but this time, dominated by the lower bass section of we the males. This was a stupid project, created just purely to have the girls fawn over all things (I quote) lovely and sweet.

The chances of getting a proper grade on this was slim to none.

From the other end of the class, I could make out a squirming Hyungjun (he looked red, about to blow into at least a million different pieces) with his hand raised, waving in the air with a question hanging off the tip of his tongue. Not that he waited until he was called on, “Do we at least get to choose our partners?”

The answer was an automatic no. “What fun would it be if you worked with the same people every project?” The grin on Professor Park’s face was scary, again, insane. “If you look to the back of your papers, you’ll see a number on the bottom left corner. You all will be placed into six groups of five. No, Hyungjun, you’re holding the paper upside down, that’s a six not a nine. You’re in group six.”

That’s how we were separated into groups. Not by our interest and most definitely not considering who we worked best with. I can’t say I expected much though.

“I don’t want to work with her.”

So with that said, I guess I should have expected something like this to happen. More or less, I would have been more scared if this hadn’t happened

They were like water and fire (being specific, Yehyanggi being the prior and Wooram the latter); put them together, and you get something great, but whenever they came together, everything went wrong.

Maybe, put enough work and time, we could get them to at least put up with each other, but given perhaps a little over two weeks, there clearly wasn’t enough time.

The only good point of team I could see, was that I had Kwangseok with me. Without Kwangseok, I wasn’t sure just how long my sanity would hold - not long for sure. The other, last member was useless to the situation: sweet, innocent Jeon Yuri.

As it was, we only had two actively functional members contributing to the team: me and Kwangseok.

Officially, we were screwed. Or, we might as well as be.

“Uh, professor?” It was, unexpectedly, Yuri to make the first move, raising her hand in a slight wave toward or wandering professor. “I … uh … we …” Her eyes scrunched together, lips pressing together to a thin line. What she wanted to say was that we had a problem; but this was sweet Yuri we were talking about, she couldn’t say something bad about someone, ever (she was just that sweet).

But Professor Park didn’t seem to see a problem with his so called brilliant team splitting strategy. He smiled, waved and completely sealed our doom. We were screwed.

By the end of the class period, we’d gotten absolutely nothing done. To be specific (and dreadfully honest - I wish I was lying) we had a whole hour and half of watching Yehyanggi and Wooram fight before the class was closed. And to make matters worse, Wooram was the first one to leave class, huffing and her heels practically on fire.

“Lord have mercy,” Kwangseok groaned, dropping his head onto his desk, just as Yehyanggi took off, growling under his breath. “We’d be lucky to get just a fifty on this danged project.”

Sadly, I had to agree.

“Lets … … Lets meet up next week then.” Yuri was trying to be helpful, trying being the key word here (because nothing any of us did, seemed like it would help). “Maybe we can try and think of something so that we all can agree on.”

Yuri was optimist. She was always smiling and trying to think of the best possible outcome and the correct pep talk to put everything straight. But in our situation now, even she seemed to have trouble picking the correct word. Frankly, Kwangseok and I couldn’t blame her.

“Next week it is then.”

Not that next week was going to change anything.

The best possible outcome of this particular scenario was that Yehyanggi (or Wooram, at this point, it didn’t matter who exactly) fell ill and couldn’t participate at all in the project; as wrong as that was, it was the only way out.

And the whole way to our apartment, Hyungjun decided to tease about that said problem. “Sheesh, I thought my group was , but you?” He laughed, earning an elbow jab and glare on my part. But even wheezing, he didn’t drop the subject. (I really hoped all his candy intake would rot off all his teeth.) “You’re screwed, my brother. Good luck repeating this class next semester ~”

“I can pass with a seventy, shut it.”

“But you won’t.” it all, he knew me too well. “You’ll screw up your grades on purpose so you’ll be dropped from class. That way, your GPA won’t be affected.” He smirked. I wanted to smash his head onto the floor.

“Whatever.” Unfortunately, that was my best and only comeback manageable comeback for the moment.

I don’t know why I bothered put up with his sometimes (someday, he’ll really test my patience and I will end up slaughtering him).

Getting off at the appropriate stop, I shoved Hyungjun a last time, getting off the bus before he could a chance to swipe back at me. It was, in a way, childish, but I considered this argument my win; I had gotten the last swipe after all.

Sticking a tongue out in the disappearing distance of the blue bus, I shoved my hands into jacket pockets. It was February and the weather was still yet cruel. What exactly about this month was lovely?

(Nothing, I wanted to answer. February was all about thick jackets and trying not to freeze our toes off.)

The walk from the bus stop to my apartment wasn’t long. A good fifteen minutes if I took my time, ten if I ran. But with nothing better to do at home - other than maybe groan over my predetermined fail and the bitter weather - I decided to take my jolly good time, stopping by the coffee shop and purchasing a cup of hot chocolate (Kyuhyun still had me on my ban, him).

With warm cup of cocoa in my hands, I jabbed at my floor with a sigh. Weird as it might sound, it would have been nice to wake up now, to find that of this hell-ish day had been nothing but a horrible nightmare. For once, I wouldn’t have minded going through the day again. If only.

A low ping alerting my floor, I rolled my shoulders, feeling the tension stretch across my back with an eerie groan. Today, today I’d go home and roll over the living room floor before going to sleep. I wasn’t going to do anything today, so help me.

Then again, nothing seemed quite to be going at all my way today.

Before I even got a chance to step outside the lift, I found my feet frozen to the ground, jaw dropped and mind running a thousand miles (plus) a second.

You’d never guess who I found sitting outside my apartment door.

Back hunched, a low stream of his breath parting the air around him, the figure cradled gently a bundle into his chest, seemingly mumbling something low under his breath. Something I couldn’t make out from the inside of the lift. No way was he dressed for the disaster of a weather we were having, his outer tucked in a wrap in his arms. If I had to guess, I might have as well assumed there to be a stray puppy tucked into his arms.

“Yongguk?”

His head shot up, eyes dark and narrowed, just as I spoke up, pouncing forward to squeeze out the elevator before it shut me out.

I was surprised (for sure) to see him there, especially after he’d made so certain he couldn’t accept my help.

But the look in his eyes told me against questioning his change of heart. Pain; I’m sure that’s what his eyes read. It was a sad mix between surrender and pain.

“Junhong’s sick.”

It took me the all of two seconds to understand what (or in this case, who) the bundle in his arms was, surging forward to punch in the combination to my apartment and holding for the duo.

Junhong was five (just barely); how he’d managed to survive the cruel winter seasons of Seoul until now was a mystery. He was strong, as strong as his dad was (but a child could only be so strong).

Toeing off my shoes, leaving them tossed awkwardly in the doorway, I nudged Yongguk toward the extra guest room (the room my older sister would often occupy whenever she was coming to visit - or Hyungjun, whenever he was drunk and too out of it to remember his address) closest to the front door.

I watched him uncurl Junhong from his clothes, digging the tiny boy out of heavy winter coats, and under my cleaned sheets. It was only then, that he could lower his guard, releasing a low sigh of relief. “Thanks.” It was only after Junhon was safe and warm under the sheets that the coated worry in his eyes melted, “He was running a fever and the car ran out of gas. I didn’t have enough money to fill up the gas again and the hospital wasn’t an option.”

After being with my friend, childish Hyungjun and unemotional Suhoon, watching Yongguk, a father, was almost weird. Queer enough, in my own home, I felt like the third wheel to their happy little (emphasis on little) family.

Again, I felt alone.

“It’s fine,” I nodded, crossing my arms across my chest, knowing clear well that Yongguk wasn’t listening. No, his attention had already filed towards his kid, the worry creasing over his depleted face. Whatever it was that Junhong had caught, it didn’t sound at all too good. “You should go to the doctor and check that out.”

He hummed, taking Junhong’s hand his own, gingerly pressing his lips against the tiny digits. “Sorry for bothering you. Just for tonight-”

“Don’t you dare.” Yongguk’s eyes were wide on me as I kicked lightly at his crouched form. “If you take Junhong out there in that weather like he is now, I swear I’m going to murder you and take him for myself.” I didn’t bother include in the fact that he looked pretty close to death himself; I wouldn’t need to murder him, the winter winds would have done the job just as easily with less effort. He looked exhausted.

His smile was faint as he made a low thank you, returning back to a whimpering Junhong as the kid blinked awake, frowning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Confused couldn’t well enough describe the look in his eyes, but it was too soon exchanged for a flash of recognition. To put blunt, it was adorable; endearing.

“It’s Pororo ajusshi.”

Okay, so maybe not too adorable.

Yongguk laughed, masking his amusement behind his hand as he peeked up at me frowning.

(God damn it, I was not an ajusshi.)

“No, no, no,” I corrected, shaking my head and ducking to crouch at Junhong’s eye level on bed, “I’m not an ajusshi. Hyung. Call me Himchan hyung.”

He contemplated this for a minute - I could see the gears in his head running (the steam pumping from his ears) - before deciding, placing a boyish smile on chapped lips. “Ajusshi.” If he wasn’t sick, I might have wailed and shook him up a little. Just wait until he got better.

I glared at the shaking lump of laughter beside me, shooting him mentally with my eyes. “I’m blaming you for this.”

Everything was always his fault.

Stupid Bang Yongguk.