It didn't take long before Lee Taeyeon's first semi-serious relationship disintegrated, crumbling under the weight of adult problems. It qualified for the label of 'semi-serious', because her then-boyfriend had technically met her parents – even though it had only happened thanks to the fact that she had gotten blisters on her feet that day, and he had to wait at the front door as she put bandaids on her heels, for about ten minutes. The 'adult problems' here stood partly for the approaching exams, and partly for no longer enjoying each other's company because they had truly nothing to talk about when not kissing. And even the kissing, which Taeyeon found 'unimaginative' and 'repetitive', had become dull. Splitting was the only natural outcome.

Just when she found herself single, Han Youngjae found himself taken – by a different girl, whom Taeyeon realized she knew from that time in the bathroom when the girl had approached her and asked her if she had a sanitary pad to spare. Tae had saved her from a potential catastrophe that day, and this is where they were now.

She sighed, seeing Youngjae sitting on the stairs with his new flame, his arm thrown around her as they laughed, but she didn't make a whole deal out of it.

Kibum had expected her to be more upset about their unlucky timing.

"Aren't you a little pissed?" he asked her as they walked down the sun-lit main hall on the first floor.

"A bit, yeah," Tae shrugged, her attitude bordering on peaceful. "But it's not like it's forever. They'll break up, and then I'll have my turn. Or maybe not. Who knows."

Kibum almost felt like he could no longer recognize his friend. She had walked too many anxious circles around his room for him to believe that she had somehow found inner peace in the last couple of weeks.

"How can you be so sure that they'll break up?"

Kibum was used to seeing negative things as more permanent, and positive as less so – he found that there was less disappointment that way. If he were in Tae's shoes, he would be imagining Youngjae marrying that girl by now.

"Because everybody breaks up. It's not serious."

"They could fall in love," Kibum insisted.

The girl gave a light, wry laugh.

"Such a romantic," she . "Everybody's just playing around. It's honestly not that deep, dude."

Youngjae and the sanitary pad girl lasted for over a month, and Kibum got to benefit from their relationship in a peculiar way: Youngjae, whose pheromones kept him too busy to be academically motivated, regularly sought Kibum's assistance in doing homework in those weeks. Kibum even gave him a discount, and let his classmate buy him modest supermarket lunches a few times as a thanks.

He enjoyed those lunches. Youngjae was responsive to his dry humor and never alluded to his lack of popularity at school. Now, when he wasn't using Kibum to dig up information on Taeyeon, he was easy and surprisingly fun to talk to. It was even a bit disappointing when a phone call from the girlfriend would snatch him away: even though Youngjae was aware of their difference in status enough to seek out supermarkets way off the main street for them to have lunch at, lest they were seen together, those lunches quickly became something to look forward to.

Tae was happy when Youngjae was finally single again, and Kibum was not – he had become addicted to being called 'bro' by a male-sounding voice. That and getting free lunches.

He had almost felt accepted.

Jinki was not late to classes on Monday. In fact, he set out for school early enough to be right ahead of Kibum when he reached the school gates. He had Arisa walking by his side, and they had a pleasant conversation while Kibum glowered at their backs. Trailing behind while they held hands was something he had predicted with upsetting accuracy.

'It's not like it's forever. They'll break up.'

They had to break up.

Not that Kibum wanted anything from either of them at this point. In his mind, they were allowed to date – just not each other. Not now. He was against their union on principle.

The couple stopped by a tall tree and Kibum had to slow down too: he didn't want them to know that he had witnessed their happiness, again.

It felt like his insides contracted for a moment when Arisa stood on her toes to put a smooch on Jinki's cheek. She then turned around and ran up the stairs first. The boy followed her slowly, pressing his hand to his stomach.

Kibum clicked his tongue.

Gets kissed by the girl half of the guys are crushing on, and still finds the time to be hungry.

How wasn't he a waste of space?

"Now, let's take a look at the text again," Mr. Kim said patiently, enunciating every word. "The girl complains that her brother never apologizes when he's done something wrong." He gave a pointed, increasingly pleading look to the boy who was currently standing by the blackboard with a marker in hand and having an air of uncertainty about him, like he had no idea how he had gotten there in the first place.

The boy nodded gingerly when he realised that the teacher was waiting for something.

"She says 'you never say sorry', right? Now, let's go back to the question I asked. How can we describe the personality of the brother based on her accusation? What kind of person doesn't say sorry?"

The boy by the blackboard shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but his countenance remained hopelessly unfocused.

"There's no correct answer," Mr. Kim reminded him, practically begging him to say something, anything at this point. "Use your own thinking."

Kibum snorted louder than he had intended to, but most of the class had dissociated at this point and no one seemed to be bothered. He straightened his face just in case.

"What kind of person doesn't say 'sorry'? In your opinion?"

Mr. Kim was leaning in the direction of the blackboard like he was ready to switch bodies with the student and just speak with his mouth.

"Not sorry?" the boy managed.

The man blinked a few times.

"Pardon?"

"The person who doesn't say sorry. Is not sorry," the student elaborated.

At that, Mr. Kim turned around on his heels and on the same breath repeated the question to the class. It was met by the sound of the ticking clock on the wall. It didn't seem to be ticking fast enough.

"Kibum."

Kibum closed the back cover of his copybook: he had been drawing an angry chibi on the last page.

"When a person never apologizes, we may assume that they are…"

He could see that Mr. Kim had high hopes for his answer, but having to listen to his classmate's fumbling had turned his brain into mush. There was no room for quality ideas.

"Innocent," he said, twisting a pencil in his fingers. "Independent. Honest."

If, contrary to Mr. Kim's words, there was a correct answer to the question, this wasn't it. But at least he knew his way around an adjective or two.

"Why so?"

"If he doesn't feel that he's done anything wrong, then he won't feel the need to apologize. And he won't do it just because she wants him to."

The teacher looked into the textbook again.

"He broke her bicycle and said that someone else did it."

Kibum had been too immersed in his drawing to pay attention to the text they had been asked to read. There was no graceful way out of it. He was about to start his Devil's advocate routine, and was relieved when Mr. Kim gave up on him:

"Anybody else?" He pointed the book at the student who had raised his hand. "Yes, Jinki."

The boy lowered his hand and fixed his glasses.

"He is arrogant, selfish and irresponsible," he replied calmly. "He thinks he can do whatever he likes and doesn't care who gets hurt."

Kibum turned his face to the side for a secretive eye-roll. Dramatic much?

Mr. Kim pressed his lips firmly.

"Thank you, Jinki. But…" he raised the textbook up. He was still hopeful that somebody cared about any of its contents. "He is seven. A child."

Jinki was at a loss of words, too.

After another miserable attempt with a different classmate, Mr. Kim gave the room a despondent look.

"'Naughty,'" he sighed. "Naughty is a good English word. Because… because it's a children's story."

The bell rang, and it had never been as welcome for everyone involved.

Kibum had obviously made a boo-boo by sending Jinki that text, accident or not. Even if he were kind of wasting space and it was kind of gross that he had sullied Kibum's favorite smoothie place by taking Arisa there (Zero imagination. Ha!), was it Kibum's place to tell him? Life's going to sort him out, grandma Kim would have said.

There was a possibility that he needed to apologize. No: had to. No. He… he needed to show himself to be the bigger guy and rub it in Jinki's (recently kissed) face. So, he was hinting that Kibum didn't like to say sorry? That 'sorry' coming his way would hit him like a blast of Arctic wind.

Look how awesome and mature I am. I'm 'sorry'. Which is more than you'll ever be. But if he thought about it now, apologizing right away would look weak-hearted and too much on the nose after Mr. Kim's class. He could wait until tomorrow.

But tomorrow was not good enough. Jinki was both aloof and friendly, which was a combination that Kibum found he disliked the most. It made him doubt his own truth. Made him forget that the conversation by the vending machine had really happened and he had almost thought that for a minute he had encountered a similar bitter soul who understood that gnawing feeling inside of him that he didn't know a name for.

There was another reason why Tuesday was not enough.

Their eyes had met in the locker room. The golden rule of never straying anywhere past the face, which had served him well in numerous situations in the especially confusing last few years was not completely violated. But still, Kibum glimpsed the general outline of the bare shoulders, the sheen of sweat, the wet hair sticking to the neck, and thought nevertheless that he had seen too much.

There was a new thought there too. Even if they both felt weird to stand within the same four walls, Kibum distinctly sensed that he would be the weirder one for an accidental act of looking. He was the one who had to be minding himself. He was the one who had to be more careful.

Tuesday was no good after all.

And on Wednesday, the presentation day that had used to occupy so much of his thoughts before, it was no longer relevant. The presentation itself was now a pointless memento that he would rather erase from his memories… It was annoying that he had to live it through once again.

Last night, he had dreamt a dream he didn't like. Kibum had awoken with his heart pounding in his throat and a fragmented picture in his mind: Jinki walking into class, making his way toward him and stopping by his desk, frowning and way more good-looking than he was in reality. In the dream, he had taken Kibum's face in his hands, in front of everyone, and said in a low voice: "You are my person, and I am yours. Everything else is a lie," and then he had touched their foreheads.

Kibum had found that he had fallen asleep with his phone lying on his stomach, a historical manga about a time-traveling girl paused mid-chapter. The same words that the fake Jinki had said to him in a dream, addressed to the main heroine by her sullen and longhaired love interest.

Sleep wouldn't come to him till morning, and then it was over too soon. Crushed and bent out of shape, he was cranky to his mom and inattentive at school.

Kibum was in critical need of a nap.

"I know!" he snapped at Jinki who, after fighting with himself for a minute, had reminded his project partner of their appointment. "You think I forgot?"

Jinki's eyes slipped off his face and stared at the floor like they always did nowadays.

Kibum remembered calling him "gross" and adjusted his bag.

"I'll be here by then," he said in a more composed tone of voice. "I need a nap."

He left Jinki standing in the classroom by his lonesome. Soon, they might have no reason to speak to each other at all outside of class anymore, and perhaps it was for the better. Soon, it would be all over, and neither of them would have to apologize for anything.

At home, Kibum set an alarm on his phone and fell asleep instantly.

He woke up to the alarm ringing frantically – his head was ringing too. He yawned. He had been dreaming of their presentation, of Jinki calling him 'Bum' and giving his back a jovial punch.

How could twenty five minutes be over so soon?

Kibum reached for his phone and his heart jumped all the way to his throat. He must have skipped the alarm in his sleep. A couple of times. Maybe three.

The door opened, and grandma Kim pursed her lips at him.

"Weren't you supposed to have left twenty minutes ago?"

Kibum gulped.

"I sure was."

If his grandmother hadn't handed him his cellphone last minute, he would have run out through the front door without it. If she hadn't reminded him to grab his folder, he would have left it behind, too. He only noticed his untied shoelaces when the elevator was halfway down.

He's gonna kill me. This time, he will.

As he ran out of the apartment complex and dashed in the direction of the bus stop, he almost halted when he remembered their artwork. Wasn't he supposed to bring it? Who was supposed to bring it?

Kibum realized that it had been at Jinki's house all this time. It had stood propped against some wall and gathered dust, of no use to anyone. He hadn't thought about it before: how Jinki had had to pass by those happy Polaroids everyday, how they must have caught his eye involuntarily on his way to the bathroom or kitchen. He had had to live with the last thing they had done together, all this time. Probably flipped it so that it faced the wall.

It usually took a couple minutes for a usable bus to arrive – but no, not today. He waited for four minutes, seven, eight, and not a single familiar number appeared on the screen.

How mad is he gonna be, though?

Kibum hadn't wanted this to happen, it wasn't an act of defiance, revenge or anything like that. It was an honest mistake. Yet, he knew there was something very wrong with him. Because he would still rather see his former friend angry with him than not. If he was fine, that was not fine.

It was seventeen minutes past three when Kibum hurtled up the stairs to the second floor of the school, skipping every other step. He only stopped once to catch his breath – he had been running all the way from the bus stop. Last time he had gotten that much movement was on the day when he and Jinki completed their presentation.

His abrupt entrance caught Choi Minho mid-sentence, which, to Kibum, was something of an upside. He mouthed an apology, both to be polite and because he had temporarily lost the ability to speak, and sidled over to the empty chair beside Jinki – one last time.

Fanning himself with his folder, Kibum felt like his entire back was wet with perspiration. He feared that he had the same giant dark stain spreading over his shirt that he had seen on the jocks on hot summer days, and he hoped that it would dry off by the time their turn came up. Unless their turn had come and gone already, that is.

He his dry lips and leaned closer to Jinki, who smelled of the same olive-scented shower gel Kibum had discovered back at the Lees' house.

"Not yet," the boy whispered before he could say anything. He didn't turn to Kibum.

His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on Minho, who was at that moment accompanying his passionate love letter to the homeland with dramatic gestures. Jinki was trying to look very interested in the presentation and very disinterested in his partner, who had broken his trust yet again. But Kibum was certain that Jinki's eyes were glazed over – the poster that Minho's partner had made was mediocre at best – and also that instead of the poster he could probably see only a vague blob of red and blue: his glasses were off. Jinki certainly didn't want to make eye contact with the judges, because he feared public speaking outside of lessons as much as he feared being kissed on the mouth by his male best friends.

Jinki's hair was smooth and clean, his shirt fully tucked in, buttons all done and glossy, while Kibum hadn't had the time to stand in front of a mirror since morning, and felt crumpled, musty and washed up. "Your gross." The irony.

The stuffy air in the room made his throat itch and he coughed. Just as he turned away trying to make less noise, he felt a touch on his elbow: while still avoiding to look at him, Jinki offered him a bottle of water.

"Nice," Kibum whispered, wiping his lips after he drank. He returned the bottle and Jinki seemed to clench his jaw even harder.

He really is mad.

But why? Kibum was here. He had brought his papers with him. He hadn't missed their turn. He…

Arisa waved to Kibum from the side with an ecstatic smile. Of course: she was rooting for her boyfriend, and her boyfriend couldn't do this alone. She mimicked patting down her hair, signalling to Kibum to do the same. So, he did look crumpled.

When Minho was finally done he was met by a round of applause, which sounded especially enthusiastic coming from the female audience members. His partner, a rather small guy with braces, flashed a complacent grin: he certainly believed that the warm reaction had at least as much to do with his artistic skills as it did with Minho's fabulous bone structure – an unfounded belief.

That was a hilarious sight, and Kibum was even going to give Jinki a nudge to share a tiny malicious smirk for the old times' sake, but changed his mind. Because of the s-word. Because at first it had been Jinki who owed him an apology and never said anything, and now Kibum had messed up – what, twice, thrice? – and was supposed to apologize, but wasn't saying anything either. It was all just too confusing now. Too many unsaid s-words, clouding and polluting the atmosphere.

He noticed that Jinki's fingers curled into a shaky fist on his knee. Scared? Of this bunch of losers? This guy was committed to being ridiculous.

Their names were called next. As he followed Jinki to the blackboard, Kibum became aware of the papers he held in his hand: he should have looked over them once again before their actual presentation. But he'd been too busy figuring out which of the two of them was the worse person to remember them at all.

They placed their poster on the stand, Jinki cleared his throat, but then took a long pause. He shuffled and reshuffled his papers in a fretful way, and didn't start speaking until he made eye contact with Arisa, who raised two fists in the air and nodded at him with an encouraging smile, like a parent cheering for their child.

Kibum felt again a twinge of alienation, but swatted it away.

Jinki's voice was uncharacteristically flat. He misread some of the words, but the bigger issue was that he was reading at all – a rookie presenter blunder. But he wasn't a rookie. 

Jinki always got A's for his presentations, they were kind of his thing. He was a coherent, fast-thinking talker at the debates, always showing up with his research done and his diplomatic vocabulary at the ready.

Kibum saw himself more as a talented "bullter", which meant that he could ramble about things he knew little about with a confident attitude and some quality guesswork. He could do research when he wanted to. He could do some advance reading. He just didn't care to do any of that.

Jinki finished the first part of his speech and turned to Kibum in a wooden, constipated way without meeting his eyes. A vein popped up on his neck.

After a moment of sheer blankness Kibum slipped into his bullting mode. Some of the points he had written what now felt like years ago came back to him vaguely while he talked. Between them were scattered random moments from that night, rain, a hot dog T-shirt, a ruined friendship. He threw all of that out and threw in some dates (to show the teachers that he was aware of major historical points), a quote (so that their literature teacher, who was definitely on the verge of drifting off to sleep, could put a mark in his checklist or whatever they all had on their clipboards) and an apt rhetorical question (because he had talked himself into a corner and couldn't see a way out).

When it was time to introduce the poster and Kibum turned around to look at it, he had to do a double take. It was actually… really good?

Despite being the result of just a few hours of labor and not too complicated in its design it didn't look like it had been haphazardly thrown together for the sake of meeting a deadline. It worked. It lived. It radiated joy.

How could Kibum have abandoned it at Jinki's house? His child.

He gulped and used his printed out speech that he had rolled into a tube to point at the various parts of the poster he was describing.

Even those stupid Polaroid pictures breathed. While their connection didn't.

It was embarrassing that they had once dared to fool around together. And yet he felt like something was pulling on his throat, a longing of some sort. Why couldn't he have the grass and the smoothies, and shoulder pats anymore?

Jinki, who smiled all the time, wasn't smiling now, of all times. His voice was bland to the point of bleakness when he read out that last passage that had stirred something in Kibum on that rainy night:

“‘...At the end of the day, our differences do matter, as we can’t understand each other’s points of view without examining our common history, and also the separate histories that stemmed from it, without understanding the changes that took place on both sides of the barbed wire fence. But, while important, what makes us different is just a small part of it. It pales in comparison to what makes us same: our youth, our friendships, our tears and smiles, our beating hearts.’”

Yet Jinki sounded like he was unfamiliar with any of those concepts – and in need of a whole kick in the pants.

Kibum turned to the jury, wondering just how bad it was that he had strayed very far from the script that had been pre-approved by their homeclass teacher, but also feeling that it didn't matter anymore because listening to Jinki's monotone sermon must have shortened everyone's life span.

A teacher whose name he didn't know was dabbing at her eyes with a paper tissue and somebody nodded when they (well, Kibum) answered the follow up questions about how much fun they had had while working on the project as a team. He picked up his beautiful poster to move it out of the way for the next team with an internal shrug: that alone couldn't be enough to make up for their disjointed disaster of a presentation. People must have clapped out of pity.

Arisa and her partner's presentation was quite neat and well-received. They covered every major industry in Korea, their digital poster was incredible and nobody read off their papers.

So it was over.

It's not that Kibum had thought of nothing else but the project ever since they had been partnered together, but it had still hung around, sometimes a cloud, sometimes a friendly fire and a confidence booster. While technically it still went on, as they had to wait now while their collective work's fate was being decided, the really important part was over.

Months ago he'd thought that winning was the important part. Now that they weren't winning anyway, he was sentimental for their exciting little adventure. Minus the horrendous end.

It was a moment of loosening and Kibum felt like getting over his feelings a little and just sharing this quick sentimental moment with his partner from the trenches. It was an equivalent of two soldiers, their faces caked in mud and sweat, lighting a cigarette and sharing a comment like, "That was a rough one, eh?" and a look of silent understanding. Kibum, who had never lighted a cigarette for himself (but had once lighted it for Taeyeon, who'd coughed up smoke and never touched another again) or fought in a war, blamed Minho's passionate speech. Not only his jawline had been impactful, then.

But the other soldier was as stiff as before when they walked out of the classroom together.

"Finally it's done," Kibum exhaled in an unprecedented attempt at small talk.

Jinki said nothing. His nostrils were widened.

Kibum tried again.

"Went well, didn't it?" He was being sarcastic, which was probably not an ideal choice, but also was more likely to elicit a reaction.

"You know it didn't," Jinki muttered in a darker version of his usual semi-mumble.

At least he said something.

"So I wandered off to a different dimension and you did some in-class reading, but at least the poster was dope. And you even enunciated a couple of words!"

Jinki halted abruptly.

"Being late for this was an asshat thing to do. I wasn't even sure you were coming."

That attempt at name-calling was laughable, but the emotion behind it was not. Lo and behold, Lee Jinki was not in a joking mood.

"Hey, don't put the blame for your nerves on me, okay?" Kibum retorted with a shameless wide-eyed expression. "If you needed a nap too, you were free to go home and get it. Or sleep on your books like you always do."

He didn't feel as shameless inside, though. The memory of the "your gross" text that popped up in his brain again was not helping either.

Jinki did a sharper version of his usual shrug.

"You always blame your everything on everyone, so I can do the same."

"But can you pull that off?" That was a lazy comeback, Kibum knew. But it was in the provocative section of possible options, so he took it.

Jinki's mouth compressed, his eyes flickering from one side of the other boy's face to the other. There was no doubt that on some deep and primitive level his brain contemplated throwing a punch or two.

All Kibum cared about was that the boy from the vending machine incident was still in there. He just needed to nudge him into freedom.

"You said you remembered the time," Jinki said, still in control of himself.

"I slept over, okay?" Kibum threw his hands up. "Like you and your soulmate Taemin do all the time. It happens!"

"But you're different!"

Kibum groaned.

"So I was a little late and arrived when Choi Minho was talking – for which you're welcome, by the way. It was like an hour ago, and you're still so hung up on that? I didn't even miss our turn!"

"You did miss our turn!" For a moment, Jinki seemed to be spooked by the loudness of his own voice.

It was awkward how they were arguing in the middle of the hall with all the teachers passing by. Also it was ironic, considering that the point of their entire presentation had been that the friendship was the greatest gift of all (at least Kibum thought it had, it all had gotten a bit confusing).

"Our names were called first!" Jinki switched to anguished half-whisper. "I had to ask them to let us come out later."

. That was bad.

Kibum crossed his arms.

"It all turned out fine then. Considering that we anyway."

His former partner didn't seem to agree.

"It's just that I thought… I thought we were in this together. I thought that your whole being mad at me thing wouldn't get in the way of the project. And you obviously thought differently."

"You wanna discuss my whole being mad at you thing, then? Now?" Kibum didn't like how his heartbeat sped up a little. This wasn't the direction that he wanted this conversation to go. And yet he was pushing it there himself.

Jinki shook his bangs out of his eyes. His hair grew so fast.

"I would," he said readily. "But I have to go now. Nice deflection, by the way."

He started walking away.

"Off to drink smoothies with your girlfriend?" Kibum belatedly realized that saying things like that made him sound unhinged. Maybe he was unhinged?

Jinki turned around to give him a look that was a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"To the taekwondo class!"

He took the stairs down.

Perhaps annoying someone who was practicing martial arts in his spare time was not the smartest idea. But it was Jinki, and Kibum found out that he still got some kick out of bothering him even after everything that had happened.

"You have to help me with Physics!" Kibum called, leaning down over the railings.

"No, I don't!" Jinki shouted back, slipping into mild fury again.

"Get over yourself!" Kibum returned.

He saw Jinki stop and raise his head.

"You get over yourself!"

And off he ran.

Arisa sauntered over with Choi Minho by her side. On seeing Kibum, his eyes flashed, he lifted his chin and told the girl that he would wait for her downstairs. Kibum was on the verge of laughing.

Clown.

"Jinki seemed a bit upset just now," Arisa said with a soft look of concern.

Kibum shrugged.

"Too many ham sandwiches for lunch, I bet. He'll be fine."

"He was worried that you weren't coming."

He sighed. Yes, she was crossing the line and no, the fact that she gave Jinki morning pecks on the cheek didn't mean that she could reproach him like that. But getting to have a simple, honest conversation that didn't feel like a two-way grapevine was a welcome change.

"I messed up. Like I always do," Kibum answered after a pause. "I don't know why I do it."

He couldn't say these things out loud to Jinki, to Mr. Kim, to himself, but there was something about Arisa that wouldn't let him be a complete with her too. It's also what made her so frustrating to be around.

If he stood there a little longer he might as well confess that he had mixed feelings for her boyfriend.

Girls.

"No, sorry," she said, patting his arm. That's how easy that word actually was for people who weren't unhinged. "I meant to say that he was more worried and upset than he normally would be. He's been like that lately and… I don't know. I just hope it's nothing serious."

"It's not about you, though, you can be sure…"

Arisa raised her eyebrows.

"Why would it be about me?" Her surprise was genuine and Kibum felt awkward.

"I guess it… wouldn't," he said slowly.

"I…" the girl stammered and paused. She rubbed her hands together, choosing her words. "I just hope you guys can sort things out."

Kibum doubted that, but nodded anyway.

"Ari, are you coming?" Choi Minho's low voice called from the stairs. The question had the same energy as 'Is he bothering you?'. Double clown.

Arisa's face brightened in a flustered way and she added quickly:

"You did really well, though. I'm so jealous of your poster and I'll be rooting for you. Fighting!"

She raised her little fist in the air and fluttered away with her patchwork bag and bouncy hair.

Sure, Arisa was seeing Jinki and not him, but somehow Kibum felt like he was watching their girlfriend walk off with a popular guy who had an obvious crush on her. It just wasn't right.

"I admit I'm a bit obsessed with getting under his skin"

"It's either that or avoiding him altogether"

"Why am I like this?"

Kibum finished typing and rested his head on the desk. He was having trouble falling asleep again. Apparently if there was no presentation at stake his brain just refused to switch off.

A couple of weeks ago he had started messaging his follower from before again. It was a rather one-sided communication: the person patiently helped Kibum untangle his problems, but shared none of their own. Being able to talk about himself freely with someone who knew his dark secret was a gift, but he also felt that it was an unfair proportion of give and take, so he'd tried asking them questions in return, but not to much success. He had a feeling that it was a guy. Even the nickname – "MidnightRadio111" – just had a guy vibe to it.

Why am I like this indeed?

He got a reply.

"For the same reason you kissed him?"

"Because I'm the resident gay kid who wants to have his face pushed into the toilet?"

At least Kibum had been right about something: Jinki wasn't going to babble and put a rainbow-colored target on his back. Ruining his favorite smoothie place and haranguing him for being twenty minutes late to a thing that didn't matter anymore was more of his style.

"No"

"Because you just don't wanna be happy"

"A nice day for you is a day lost"

The boy chuckled.

"I think I might have to fail my Psychics test next week"

"Wish me luck"

"No I won't"

Kibum replied with an eye-roll emoji and shut off the computer.

A/N: Hi readers! Thank you for reading this chapter (and all the ones before it!). My updates have been slow, but I love coming back to the story when I have the energy and time. Hope to hear from you guys, nothing warms an author's heart more than knowing that people care about their story and characters :) I'm feeling the autumn melancholy in the air and my heart goes out to all my fellow SAD sufferers. And congrats on Taemin's comeback, everyone! I hope you and your loved ones are safe, and may September be good to you~ x L

EDIT: I fixed the formatting for the conversation K. has with on his computer after it was brought to my attention that it wasn't clear whose remark belonged to whom. This is one of the reasons why feedback is good:')