There is absolutely no reason for a person to lose sleep over someone who doesn't give two craps about them, but I still thought of Min Yoongi every night. I shut my eyes and think of him, trying to commit his face to memory, but as the days pass, the image of him in my mind gets blurrier and blurrier. I worked slower on the mural in hopes that he'll come the next day, but he never did. I stared at his contact number, but the paranoia of him not replying poisoned me... Until one day I told myself that he wasn't important... but even now it's hard for me to believe in that.

"Thanks for doing this," the shopkeeper handed me an envelope on the day I (grudgingly) finished the mural. I opened it and counted each note, making sure he made full payment as he watched disapprovingly.

I grinned and shoved the money into my pocket after I was done. "I hope it attracts more customers."

"It better." he sighed.

"Dad," his son peeked out from the door, making absolutely no eye contact with me. "Someone on the phone wants to know if you would be willing to sell her products."

The shopkeeper gave me one last obligated smile and went back inside. His son lingered at the door frame, shuffling his shoes before finally looking up. "You're welcome to visit any time. Your mural might need retouching."

"I use high quality paint so I highly doubt that. It might need fresh coats after five years." I laughed. .

"Five years? I can wait." his cheeks tinged pink before slamming the door on me.

"Rascal," I muttered, and stood back to appreciate what I've done for the past month diligently. Taking my phone out, I snapped a photo of the huge butterfly I had painted. The butterfly was in mid-flight, the wings golden and vibrant orange with wisps the colour of healthy sunflowers, making it look like it was on fire. The scenery in front of me was bursting with life, and I on the other hand was not. My feet felt like lead. I stayed on the same spot for ten minutes like a statue, silently hoping that he would come. But of course he didn't.

The summer holidays ended, but no one in class was talking about how they spent it- because everyone was too busy slaving over their textbooks.

"Hana, hey," my classmate Jungkook slid into the seat in front of me. I tried not to look at him too warmly as I saw the other girls start to whisper to each other from my peripheral vision. Jungkook wasn't exactly worshipped in school, but he was certainly popular with the girls.

"That's not your seat," I pretended to read from my notebook, but to my dismay, the page was mostly consisted of doodles.

"Sejin's not here yet. She wouldn't mind."

If she was, she would, I thought. Sejin was a girl who despised me even before Jungkook started talking to me, so once he knew that I existed, she started to hate me even more.

Jungkook snatched my pencil case and rustled through the stationery, pulling out the different pencils I had in each graphite scale. He always did this. "Why didn't you reply my messages?"

I thought of the times my phone buzzed, my heart doing a backflip each time because there was a possibility that Yoongi might have texted.

"I was too tired. You always text me during the night, you should have texted in the mornings."

He started rearranging my pencils. "I'm... asleep in the mornings."

"When unlike you, I'm not nocturnal." I huffed.

"Teenagers like us should be noc-" his eyebrows burrowed. "Hana, you lost your 5H pencil!"

"It's in my bag somewhere."

"Well take it out," his lips were set in a straight line, eyes completely serious. As I turned back to rummage through my school bag, I puzzled over Jungkook. The only things I knew about him were his social standing in school and how he, like me, draws well. The latter was the reason for us to have such a close relationship, after all... but then again, how can I claim to be his friend when I barely knew him?

I found my 5H pencil stuck in the spine of yet another notebook that should be full of school work and not small drawings that didn't make sense. His expression finally eased when he arranged the full set of pencils perfectly on my desk.

"Jungkook," a pitched tone that I was all too familiar with came from behind me. "Which university are you aiming for?"

Sejin's hips swayed past me and stopped right at the edge of my desk, Jungkook freezing in place. He was never talkative around other people- just me. I stayed silent, mostly because I was curious to know the answer as well.

"I uh... I haven't decided yet." he said in a low tone. His eyes darted to me. "What about you?"

"Hana isn't going to a university," Sejin said before I could even open my mouth. "She's not qualified enough."

I looked up at her, my tongue ready to lash, but then her eyes landed on my notebook, on my doodles, and she smirked.

I snapped it shut immediately. It was no secret: my grades were tragic. I would go for a degree in art, but my parents would never allow it. I shouldn't be any less than an office worker. Jungkook stood up, hands in his pockets.

"Sorry for taking your seat. Class is starting." Sejin sweetly smiled at him and sat down, but not before sending me a cold glare behind Jungkook's back. I stared daggers into her back, but the fire soon died down.

I am worried. This is my senior year and time is ticking. Do I buckle down and study hard, or do I focus on my art career from doing commission work?

Again, Min Yoongi's name flashed in my mind. So much for being my only support.