INT. ART BLOCK. WEDNESDAY. AFTERNOON.

Seungcheol has not been stalking. He has not been lurking awkwardly around Wonwoo's cynical literary figure in an attempt to spot the Beautiful Art Encounter From Monday. He has also, quite firmly, not been texting Vernon from Photography in an attempt to ask about Beautiful Art Students with cute distressed jeans and a smile to die for.

HANsos [2:46pm]: so

HANsos [2:46pm]: jusst checking, what did u say he was wearing again

HANsos [2:46pm]: ?

SCOUPS [2:46pm]: UHHHH this white and blue striped shirt, button up, baby blue distressed jeans, 

white sneakers and white cap. like not cream but bright white. also a sketchbook

so im guessing art student??? maybe i coud be wrong or sth it was jut a glance

HANsos [2:48pm]: jesus. wow. ok. 

HANsos [2:48pm]:  but, "i could be wrong"?????

HANsos [2:48pm]: "glance"

SCOUPS [2:48pm]: respect ur elders

HANsos [2:49pm]: k

HANsos [2:49pm]: aaaaaaaaaand u gave him a naruto plaster.

HANsos [2:50pm]: im no art major but. it was orange u say?

SCOUPS [2:51pm]: to err is human

SCOUPS [2:51pm]: "to utterly screw up is seungcheol" -wonwoo

HANsos [2:51pm]: ill ask boo 

HANsos [2:51pm]: he knows everyone in art

SCOUPS [2:51pm]: right when r u asking him out properly

HANsos [2:52pm]: sorry, did someone say something???

HANsos [2:52pm]: HM guess ill conveniently forget to a s k. 

SCOUPS [2:53pm]: fine i said nothing

HANsos [2:53pm]: :))))))))

Seungcheol puts his phone down and picks up his Physics textbook instead. It's a totally new language, and there's an unorthodox combination of numbers and letters and hangman-esque symbols. Nothing fills in the blank spaces in his head, and Seungcheol wonders if they'll refund his college tuition fees if he drops out now. Beside him, Wonwoo is sighing into his collection of e.e s. 

"What time are you staying until?" Wonwoo says, barely irate. 

"Am I bothering you," Seungcheol says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"No, but you are attracting a lot of attention," Wonwoo says, and vaguely gestures in the direction of a group of dancers tittering enthusiastically by the door. "They've been looking at you for the past twenty minutes."

Seungcheol looks up at that, staring blankly at a sea of fashion-forward students. At his gaze, the giggles increase in volume and pitch. Wonwoo exhales softly. 

"Sorry, I'll just go back then," Seungcheol says, closing his textbook and getting up.

"Nah," Wonwoo says. "Mingyu's coming to pick me up in ten. We can get dinner together."

Seungcheol nods, but is stuck in the awkward position of half rising from his seat. It would look stupid to sit back down, especially in front of a crowd that's been admiring him, according to Wonwoo. So he jerks his head in the vague direction of the hallway. 

"I'll go get something to drink. You want anything?"

Wonwoo tosses him his wallet. "Tea would be nice. The vending machine's on the first right."

INT. VENDING MACHINE VENDETTA. WEDNESDAY. AFTERNOON.

Seungcheol begins to wonder if the rumours surrounding the Art Block are true: ghost sightings, spiritual reckonings and unstately technologies. Because right now, the vending machine is a giant looming case of inadequacy. It cannot, will not, and will probably never spit out Seungcheol's choice of drinks, nor bother returning the grand total of 2.20 bucks that he fed it. 

(He's a college student. He'll kill for less.)

"Are you kidding me," Seungcheol says, and immediately his anger subsides as he remembers what Seungkwan had shouted once when he and Vernon were found looking at him.

Behind a wall. For an extended period of time. For maybe, like, thirty minutes while Seungkwan struggles with his vocal assignment. Not cool - especially because Vernon was grudgingly allowed to stay but he was immediately kicked out and banished from the music room for an eternity. The walk of shame back to his dorm is one of the biggest sacrifices he's had to make for his friend's love life.

Seungcheol bites down hard on his lip and tries to force a chuckle back down. Right now, his feud is with the vending machine. And he's not about to spend the week regretting the sandwich he could have gotten for that meagre 2.20 bucks. He's a college student - a native to the land of the wild. What moral compass? He'll unscrew the machine if he has to.

"Look," he says, hands up in a show of diplomacy. "I just want either your drinks, or my money back."

The vending machine sputters some lousy excuse - its lights flicker on and off dramatically. A diversion tactic - Seungcheol will not fall prey to that.

"I'm asking nicely now, so," Seungcheol tries to think of an appropriate clause. "Don't make me-"

"Kick you?" a voice, lithe and amused, asks. 

Seungcheol spins around to see her. Shoulder-length black hair, a dark red lip, and a casual, careful arrangement of sharp, narrowed eyes and a devious smirk. What is this, why are there suddenly so many attractive people on campus? Granted, it's the art block we're talking here, but.

"Nah, disassemble it," Seungcheol says. 

"What are you, a mechanic?" the girl says, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder. "Oh. Oh no, don't tell me you're an engineering student."

"No, I'm in physics," Seungcheol says, feeling a sudden wave of guilt. 

She wrinkles her nose, and seems to consider him for a few moments. "Okay. I can let physics pass. Astro or Quantum?"

"Quantum," he says, and her eyes light up.

"Right. Well, I'm in Art. Generic, but fun," she says, and then turns her attention to the vending machine. "Hm, what do we do about this."

Seungcheol's about to tell her that he'll be the bigger man and let this monster off, but as soon as he opens his mouth, the girl's aimed a roundhouse kick at its metal armour. The machine stutters to life, vigorously beeping and echoing the aftereffects of that kick. Wow. For a moment, there's nothing. The girl's mouth twists down into a frown. 

But then, miraculously, two bottles of green tea are pushed off their shelves and roll obediently into the slot. Seungcheol swears he must have done something brilliant in his past life - there's no other way to explain it. His benefactor leans down and takes the two bottles before giving them to him.

"Is your leg okay," he asks awkwardly, nodding in gratitude.

Her eyes seem to sparkle again, "Dummy, it was the other leg. But yeah, thanks for asking."

Seungcheol tilts his head, lost. For a moment, the girl seems to be hesitating over something, eyes darting upwards every few seconds to look at Seungcheol. Which is when he realises that: she's really, really pretty too. And funny. And.

"Oh right, what's your name?" Seungcheol hastily asks. "I'm Seungcheol."

The girl smiles, "I'm Jeong- ah!"

A smaller boy has rushed over to Jeongah's side, and twists her into a shield for the hallway behind her. "HELP HE'S TRYING TO KILL ME."

The mysterious pronoun is quickly unveiled in the shape of a man in a horsemask giggling maniacally. At the sight of Jeongah, however, he slows to a halt and rips his mask off. 

"DK, what are you trying to do to my baby?"

"I'm just fooling around," the horse-man says, demeanour changing at Jeongah's serious intonation. 

Jeongah sighs, but turns around to face Seungcheol while the small boy is still clinging onto her back. "Hey, Seungcheol, sorry but I gotta go. If these kids are out here, it means the art room's in havoc."

"No problem," Seungcheol says, and then adds hopefully, "I'll see you around?"

Jeongah smirks again, and the sight makes Seungcheol's heart stop a little. "Yeah, we will."

INT. DORM ROOM. WEDNESDAY. NIGHT.

"Wow," Vernon says, glancing up from his book. "Really?"

Seungcheol's who's had his heart spent on a proper 25k marathon, pining after two ridiculously goodlooking art students, barely shifts his head. The ceiling lights are starting to blur tiny crystalline figures into the corner of his vision. 

"Yeah, she was so, so quirky and pretty," he says, lips lifting up in a show of dizzy infatuation. 

"I think," Wonwoo says calmly, cautiously avoiding a repeat of Beautiful Art Encounter From Monday. "What Vernon means is, at least you got her name this time."

"Yeah!" Mingyu exclaims cheerfully, lunging at Seungcheol. "You got her name!"

Seungcheol smiles triumphantly, but the extended silent gaze at Vernon and Wonwoo share starts to unravel an understanding in Seungcheol's disoriented mind. 

"Oh," Seungcheol says. 

Mingyu looks at him, confused. "What?"

"Oh," is all Seungcheol can repeat. "Monday."

Vernon has switched his book in favour of his phone. His fingers blur over its keypad. Wonwoo walks over to the side of the room that is not marred by Seungcheol's dirty laundry, and picks up his tumbler.

Mingyu nods slowly to realisation, "Oh."

"Do we still not have a name for Man Crush Monday?" Wonwoo quips.

Vernon shrugs, "Boo's not replying."

"Trouble in paradise?" Seungcheol shoots back, only to have Wonwoo and Vernon stare back unflinchingly. "Right, sorry. I'm in a bigger mess."

Mingyu frowns. "But who do you like more, coups?"

Seungcheol shrugs. "It'll be alright - it's just a crush. Besides, they're, like, in the art department. Nothing's gonna happen."

Wonwoo takes a long sip from his tumbler. "Right."