Tiffany had never been a studious notetaker. She had a habit of zoning out completely whenever she was faced with a dry lecturer, and her biology teacher was a classic example of such. Flat, monotone voice, slow movements, little student involvement; it was the perfect storm of blandness. The black-haired girl lolled against her palm, stealing furtive, tiny peeks over at the girl sitting beside her whenever she was afforded the chance. Luckily, Taeyeon was a very studious individual, buried in her work and writing so fast that it appeared as though her hand would cramp up at any moment. And it’s not like Tiffany meant to stare, but she just couldn’t help it. It was different from how she’d stared at Irene (who was now sitting forlornly on the other side of the room, no doubt seething over the new girl’s absolute audacity to take her seat). No, her glances at Irene were purely physical in nature. She was just enjoying the show, in those cases, similar to watching dirty movies. There was no connection, no spark, only lust and the pursuit of satisfaction.

When Tiffany looked at Taeyeon, it was different. She wasn’t just looking at the older girl’s perky, enticing chest, barely contained by the modest shirt she wore, or her delicate, spotless feet all wrapped up in those beige sandals of hers. The black-haired girl wasn’t just imagining how soft and smooth those soles would feel beneath her palms, or how those moist lips must feel being locked between her own. Of course Tiffany appreciated these things greatly, but they weren’t the main event. The main event was everything else about Taeyeon. Her mannerisms, mostly. They were reserved and casually adorable in a way that left Tiffany always coming back for more. It appeared as though Taeyeon was drawing her limbs as close to her body as she could, as if sheltering herself from the world, like a turtle hiding away in its shell. The way the blonde ran her fingers over her own bare arms as she listened to the lecture, alertly enraptured by the words of their teacher, absentmindedly chewing on her lower lip or her top lip in such a naively y way… it drove the younger girl insane. She found herself staring for longer and longer periods of time, wishing she could reach out and wrap herself around that tiny fairy, hold her in a warm embrace and kiss the top of her head, shelter her from everything bad and make her feel safe and sound. The thought of holding Taeyeon caused a light sweat to break out on Tiffany’s temples, her heart rate increasing; she began to wonder what Taeyeon’s hair smelled like, what it would be like to shift her hands down over the blonde’s torso, to cup those supple s as her sheepish angel let out a short gasp of both surprise and pleasure-

And then, those brown eyes flitted over to her, settling on her own and widening slightly as they realized that Tiffany was staring at her. The black-haired girl internally yelped in astonishment, though she managed to outwardly keep her cool, offering a friendly smile and nod before turning away back to the board. She didn’t even bother to check if Taeyeon had responded at all.

. . . . She saw me. Did she notice beforehand and just not react? At least I wasn’t my lips or anything… wait. Was I my lips? , I can’t remember. . . .

Tiffany silently berated herself, putting genuine effort into staving off the urge to put her head down and scream. She hadn’t realized how intensely she’d been staring, and an errant, disturbing thought slipped in her mind: had any of the other students noticed?

Subtly, carefully, Tiffany stretched herself out, scanning the room with her eyes in order to incorporate as minimal head movement as possible. To her relief, the students near her were paying absolutely no attention to her, either lost in their own papers or falling asleep. All except Chanyeol Park, who pretty much always stared at her anyway.

Tiffany sighed and returned to her original seating position, taking out her phone for a moment in order to check the time. Class was almost over, thankfully. Once second period ended, she could try speaking to Taeyeon and gauge whether the older girl thought she was a complete freak or not.

And that’s she was, wasn’t she? A seedy freak who stared at girls changing in the locker room, who pretended to be this kind, likable student who was smart and athletic and loved by all, who calculated out each interaction in order to try and seduce innocent new students who didn’t know any better. A freak who had had just one taste before, one short yet blissful drink from the fountain of unholy ecstasy that was womanhood, a flavor that left her practically begging for more afterwards, but too ashamed and frightened to pursue anything beyond strong friendship, content, but simultaneously tired of, ogling her beautiful muses from afar. Was that all Taeyeon was to her? Another one of her imaginary harem members, another woman she’d keep close, steal touches from, admire with her erted, wicked eyes? But what if it was more? What if her magnetic attraction to the older girl was a product of her novelty, a kind of safe bubble created by Taeyeon’s relative anonymity among the other students? A dark, evil part of Tiffany’s mind knew that this was part of it, no matter how small. If Taeyeon rejected her advances, what did it matter? Who would believe her? There would be no real consequences.

Bitter self-hatred rose within Tiffany’s gut. It was a familiar sensation, one that usually was associated with late, unsober nights after she’d returned from a party, lying in bed and thinking of all the gorgeous girls she’d seen there, fantasizing about how perfectly her head would fit between their thighs as she resisted the ever-growing urge to slip her hand beneath her waistband…

The bell rung, and the class came alive. Bookbags were scooped up, chairs were pushed out, and voices filled the room as the students began to file out. Taeyeon was absorbed in gathering the plethora of papers that she’d accumulated on her desk. Tiffany, who had no such issue, stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and started scrolling through her phone as she waited for the older girl to finish.

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” Taeyeon said, visibly hurrying to get her things in her bag, “I don’t want you to be late for your next class…”

“It’s okay, unnie,” Tiffany said smoothly, looking up from her phone, “I don’t mind.”

“Hey,” an audibly annoyed voice interrupted, causing Taeyeon to bolt her head up in response, though Tiffany was unsurprised, “You stole my seat.”

It was Irene. She stood, towering above Taeyeon and glowering down at her with a deep scowl on her face.

She’s so hot when she’s mad.

Tiffany almost laughed at how absurd the timing of that thought was.

“I… I… uhhh…” Taeyeon stammered helplessly.

“I told her to sit here,” Tiffany said solidly, placing a hand on Taeyeon’s delicate, warm, lovely shoulder, even going so far as to rub it for good measure.

“You- what? Why?” Irene asked, her tone shifting from one of frustration to one of betrayal. Tiffany had to admit that she didn’t expect Irene to actually be this effected by it.

“Taeyeon’s new, and I figured she should sit with me, since I’m her first friend here. I thought you’d be fine. You’ve got plenty of friends. Pretty much everyone here knows you.”

Good thinking.

Tiffany almost laughed ag