"Kim Jongin, you give me the butterflies, the kind of cliche I read in novels. I hated to be a cliche myself, I hate it when we come in contact, skin on skin, and I would get the goosebumps on my arms. You were the sole purpose for me to get up out of my bed, stare in the mirror and try to make myself look prettier. You were the push that had me skipping on the pavement on my way to school because I couldn't wait to see you. I take longer strides in the hallway because I want to reach you faster.

Kim Jongin, there you are, leaning against your locker, looking right past me, at the girl who's birthday is on the twentieth."

Author's Note:  I'm back again with another one shot on top of my pile of unfinished stories. This time, featuring the adorable and hot Kai. Please give this story a chance, I try.