“J-Jisung-ah… I don’t feel comfortable about this,”

You were in the boy’s changing room alone with the aforementioned lad, after an hour of the football match event ended. The victory belonged to Jisung’s team, but you were feeling somehow unfortunate. His team had won, which meant he also had won the deal. Well, it was just a kiss, and it was for none other than your boyfriend, which should be completely okay for you. But, what was the camera for?

“You’ve promised me, y/n. Why are you making a kiss such a big deal?” sheer frustration was evident in his tone, and his voice being raised a little managed to intimidate you. It’s funny how Jisung had this effect to you, overbearing and menacing. You had never ever thought a boyfriend could make you feel so little and threatened most of the time.

“A kiss isn’t the problem here. But, what’s the camera even for?”

Jisung just kept his head hung low, hands on his hips with only his heavy breathing audible in the lowly occupied room, not sure if that was from his current match or because he was fuming. You didn’t wait for his reply, ignoring the odd behaviour of his and proceeded battering him with disputes.

“I’ve told you I don’t like cameras much but you keep on pushing me, taking photos of us like almost every minute, not to mention for every kiss, hug and whatsoever. You know how much I hate PDAs,”

You weren’t sure if the guy was even listening to you as he opened his locker, discarding his jersey, leaving him only with his tank top. His eyes weren’t even on you, brows furrowing intensely and lips displaying an angry frown. At this point, you didn’t even care about what he would react and what he would feel. You never got the chance to voice out your discomfort anyway, and when you were given the opportunity, you won’t throw it to a waste. This was the only time, and you would use it to the fullest.

“And now you want to- I don’t know- ing film us having a making out session? For fun? Especially in this private room?”

And that was when Jisung finally snapped. His gaze was sharply shifted towards you, a hint of betrayal- how ironic- flashed across his features as he stepped closer to you in a scarily slow pace.

“You don’t believe me?” the words elicited from his mouth, laced with utter wrath and incredulity. His gaze could burn a hole inside of you, but no matter how inferior he made you feel, you decided to not to tear your gaze of him, not again, not today. You’ve had enough, you’ve been pretentious enough and you couldn’t bare acting like this whole crap was fun anymore. You wanted to quit this stupid act and search the piece of you that you’ve lost.

“Yes. I don’t,” your voice came out a little shaky, yet you were proud the words came out of your lips since you had never had the courage to be vocal. You needed to be bold, you needed to be strong. You’ve let other people had control on your life enough, and this was the time you had to take actions and put everything to a halt.

With that, you lifted your foot to step away from the room, to step away from him, to step away from this ostentatious life you trapped in. This all glamorous and hormonal phase you were having, it just dawned into you that they were all dumb. They brought you no good, and you were wondering if all these years, living in a mask of someone that you were not were totally worth or not. You should have taken an action sooner, you should have realized that you were never happy all this time, but it was better late than never. Here you were, proving that you could achieve a more joyful life after getting out of all of these bullcraps.

When suddenly, a hand stopped you to do so.

You were an arm away from the doorknob when you could feel a firm grip around your wrist, hauling you roughly just to slam you against the lockers hard, making you whimpered in agony. Your head was pounded in contact with the hard metal door of the locker, the painful sensation on your skull was burning excruciatingly, but you didn’t showcase the pain much. The silent hiss was nothing compared to the real ache you were feeling at the back of your head.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his voice was hoarse, eyes glaring deathly into you with his lips flashing a disgusting smirk.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you retaliated without missing a beat, struggling to free out of the cliched male muscle cage you were trapped in, but to no avail. His hand effortlessly pinned both of your wrists above of your head, and a sudden feel of fear gushed into you. You were panicked, you were horrified, you felt disgusted. When the lense of the camera came into your view, color instantly drained out of your face, traumatized.

“We have a deal, don’t we?”

…

Your body springs out of the blanket as heavy air puffing out of your mouth rapidly. Beads of sweat roll down from your forehead, and you quickly bring your palm to wipe them off. It’s unusual for you to have a bad dream, especially when it isn’t a dream, but specifically a bad throwback. Cupping your face with both of your palms, you inhale and exhale deeply, trying to stabilize your heartbeat and your breathing rate, also to dwindle the overwhelming emotions you’re having. Why would your dumb brain play a tragic past as your dream? You’d rather have Pennywise strangles you to death as your nightmare.

Your hand snakes around the nightstand to search for your phone. You hiss a little when the intense brightness illuminates the dark room, so you lower down the brightness and let your corneas adapt with the more acceptable amount of light. 5:17 a.m., the clock on your phone says. It’s too early, either for you to get ready with your morning routine or for you to get ready for school. Thanks to the terrifying ‘nightmare’ you had just now, you completely lost your mood to sleep. Instead of forcing yourself to doze off, you decide to check your schedules for the month on the calendar on your phone.

Daily meet with Soyeon, classes and extra classes with the teachers, meetings for the prom night preparation, assignments deadline, and…

Oh.

Jimin’s birthday.

It’s five days before d-day, and how could you actually forget about it?

Somehow, you once again feel helpless, drowning in your incessant thoughts on how not to be a useless girlfriend that can make her boyfriend happy. You toss your phone on your bed, slumping your body back onto the mattress, pivoting your gaze on the ceiling with mind getting distraught. You wish your smart brain could orchestrate something brilliant, as brilliant as your grades and stop reminding you about that conversation you overheard…

Unless your brain is actually trying to make up something brilliant from that.