I can't decide if I need a hug, a venti coffee, six shots of tequila, or two weeks of uninterrupted sleep.

I’d fit in perfectly at the panda sanctuary because my under eyes are atrocious, and my anxiety is so loud, I want to swallow a bowl of thumbtacks to end my suffering.

“Hey, what’s up?” 

“My stress levels,” I deadpan, tightening the strings of my hoodie and slumping deeper into my seat. 

Frustrated groans and muffled prayers echo throughout the packed study cafe. The air reeks of tired tears and textbook paper, and if it weren’t for the dread of becoming jobless, I swear I would drop out. But, knowing I’m not the only hopeless college student high on cortisol, gives me a sense of comfort and a push to stay on track.

The waiter ignores my comment, sliding a coaster under my latte and scurrying away. Taking a sip of the iced coffee, I smooth my hands over my handwritten notes and attempt to commit it to memory. 

After five minutes, I conclude that it’s useless. 

I should just become a stripper. But damn, I don’t think I have the curves for it. I also can’t dance. The best I can do is the Macarena, but even for that to happen, I need to be ugly drunk.

Laying my forehead on the rim of the table, I shut my eyes and take ten deep breaths. 

My exhales are ragged, but I stop breathing altogether when I hear voices whisper my name. Through my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of the girls sitting to my left. Their manicured nails are long and tacky, I wonder how they wipe their asses. They probably never need to go number two, considering how much they already talk . 

“She’s Lee Jeno’s new toy,” the girl in a high ponytail whispers aggressively, glancing over at me. My heart drops to my stomach but I remain still, staring at my dirty sneakers. They must think I’m asleep.

“I thought they’re together. Like, actually together,” her bestie squeaks and my jaw tightens. 

“Oh c’mon, you know Jeno doesn’t date. He’s a boy,” the girl replies, and her friend snickers.

“True. He’s slept with every living thing that has a on this campus.

“Yeah, he’ll grow bored of her after a few weeks, or until she finally spreads her legs for him and-.”

Oh, these es. 

“We’re literally sitting four feet apart. Do you think I’m deaf?” I snap, slamming my palm on the wood and straightening up. 

The girls flinch, avoiding my death glare. I hope they choke on soap to clean their foul mouths.

Ms. Ariana Grande Wannabe twirls a strand of her ponytail and in air between her teeth. 

“No,” she finally replies haughtily, chin tilted up. “I just think you’re daft. You should know who you’re involved with.”

My chest burns, a scoff falling from my lips. “Thanks for the tip, but you should keep your plastic noses out of other people’s business.

The way her gasp slices the air and her face reddens is enough to satiate my pettiness, and the two scramble for their fake designer purses and stomp away. 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out! Your asses are flat enough!” I call out after them, watching them sashay and curse at me under their breaths. 

Am I being petty, inappropriate, overly dramatic, and mean? God, yes. Am I enjoying it? Yup with a popped p. 

Even though they’re gone, my irritation flares, because a part of me knows they speak some truth. But calling me a toy? That’s low. Jeno and I are…

Friends? Friends that cuddle, give each other forehead kisses, and text everyday? Sure. 

Just friends. 

Grumbling to myself, I start to pack up, deciding I need a long nap on a proper bed. Chugging my latte, I almost spit it out when a female voice shrieks. 

“Oh my god! Unnie!” 

A vibrant flash of color zips towards me and a body crushes me in a tight hug. I gasp like a fish out of water, overwhelmed by the scent of peppermint and vanilla.

The thin arms that are unexpectedly superhuman strong tighten around my upper body, and my attacker draws back to flash me a giddy smile.

Bona has glitter under her eyes and impressive pearly whites. And she’s much, much, more intimidating in real life.

“Oh my god, you’re so pretty!” She chirps, tweaking a strand of my hair and bouncing up and down. She wiggles her hips, her knee length flowy skirt ruffling violently. “Unnie, what a coincidence! Yesterday, I was just telling my handsome Mark that I really really really want to meet you-.”

First of all, Bona does not speak. She raps. Like a bullet train gone wild, her saliva lands on the tip of my nose. Tightening my face muscles to refrain from cringing, I blink at her blanky as she rambles and squeezes me like a tube of toothpaste.

Second of all, my handsome Mark? How cute.

“BONA!” A voice thunders, the glass entrance doors swinging open. Mark stumbles inside, ignoring the dirty looks he’s receiving from studious customers and jabbing a finger at his girlfriend. He’s panting, chest heaving and sweat dripping down the side of his face. 

“Bona, why?” He wails, strangling the air.

Bona tilts her head to the side. “Why what?” She asks, batting her lashes innocently.

“Why did you run?” Mark demands, yanking off his beanie and tugging at his sweat slicked hair. My fear ridden eyes silently plead for him to take her away. 

Grabbing Bona by her space buns, Mark steers her like a ship and traps her by stuffing her in his jacket. 

Zipping up, all that’s visible of Bona is her head and her legs. 

She squirms violently, but Mark flicks her forehead. “Don’t,” he warns and she simmers down, beady eyes still glued on my body.

“Unnie, you’re so pretty,” she mouths, as Mark pulls a bottle of pills from his back pocket. Shaking one onto his palm, he grabs his 5’2 hyper girlfriend by the jaw and pops it into . 

Yellow pill. ADHD. The explosive behavior, excessive talking and fidgeting, it all makes sense now.

“Swallow.”

“That’s what you made me do last night,” Bona chirps and Mark’s cheeks flush crimson. 

“Bona,” he sighs, and she looks awfully proud of herself for making a dirty joke. 

Pill ingested, Bona is released and much more tame. She sways a little as she approaches me and claims the empty space beside me. The pill made her significantly less aggressive, but she’s still touchy as ever. 

While she stares at me with wide sparkly eyes, I study her. My judgmental gaze washes over her poofy rainbow outfit, her nails painted fuschia, and the ungodly amount of glittery eyeshadow she has on.

“Hi,” I finally squeak, backing away slightly as she leans in closer and tugs on my arm.

“Hi,” she sings. “Unnie, we’re going to be best friends!”

She beams, laying her head on my shoulder. Mark’s expression is half-apologetic, half just go with it please!

“S-sure,” I stutter.

“Oh my god!” She suddenly gasps, a lightbulb above her head. “There’s a party tonight! At Jung’s place! We have to go! Unnie, let’s go!”

“Inside voice, please, darling,” Mark reminds her, elbows on his knees.

“There’s a party!” Bona emphasizes, shaking my shoulders. “Unnie, let’s go together. We can get our hair and nails done right now, then I can do your makeup. Sparkly, glittery, rainbow makeup! You’re going to be the belle of the ball!”

I can’t contain my nervous laugh. “Thanks, Bona, but I-.”

“Why not?” Bona whines, her features saddening and her bottom lip quivering at my rejection. “Is it because you don’t like me? Is it because you think I’m weird? Is it because-.”

“Okay, who wants boba?” Mark slaps his thigh and stands from his chair, arms open to accept Bona, who catapults herself to him. 

“Me!”

Mark’s timely interruption to save her from destructive thoughts, makes me realize this relationship is based on need. Bona needs him in her life. God forbid they’re ever separated. 

“Extra sweet! With the caramel drizzle!” Bona demands, stepping on Mark’s feet as he guides them towards the counter. I swing my backpack on and trail after them. 

“No and no. You’re getting only five percent sugar and no extra drizzle,” Mark says, and Bona stomps in her knee-high boots. 

“But you said, I could get the extra caramel drizzle if I passed my math quiz!” 

“And did you pass?” Mark raises an eyebrow. 

Bona smacks her cherry lips. “Oppa, you know numbers make my head all dizzy!” She whines, kicking her legs like a child denied candy. 

Mark sighs, but his smile is endearing, so much love in his tired eyes as he pinches her lips shut. 

“Enough, Bona. Enough,” he says gently, and that’s all it takes for her to quiet down. 

Nose buried in his neck, I hear her fall victim to intrusive thoughts, mumbling to herself over and over. “You don’t love me. You don’t want me to be happy. You don’t love me.”

“I love you. I want you to be happy. I also want you to be healthy,” Mark counters her repetitive phrases with his own, patiently her hair and rubbing her back. When they get to the top of the line, I fade into the crowd and leave. 

Good luck, Mark Lee. God knows he needs it. 

A party doesn’t sound appealing, but the alcohol that comes with it does. 

Bona’s invitation does tickle my fancy, but I’m trying to be a responsible college student. I have a thousand assignments and- oh you know what, it.

Jang-mi: Heard there’s a party at the Jung’s. Interested?

I stare at my text for a solid thirty seconds, and just as I’m about to unsend it, a reply pops up.

Jeno: Sorry, Princess. Got to study for a test 

Jang-mi: Another test? 

Jeno: There are 78 organs in the human body. I’m expected to know how they all function in excruciating detail

Jeno: So yes. Another test. 

Jang-mi: :( 

Jeno: Miss me?

Jang-mi: Maybe

Jeno: :)

Smiley face? What’s that supposed to mean? 

Jang-mi: Stop smirking. I feel you smirking 

Jeno: I’m actually brushing my teeth

Jang-mi: At 5pm? Did you even have dinner yet?

Jeno: No time to eat. Long night of studying. 

Jeno: I’m brushing my teeth to trick my brain into thinking I’m full 

Jang-mi: That’s terrible 

Jeno: Terribly smart, yes. 

Jeno: Anyways, ttyl Princess. Gotta memorize the endocrine system. 

Brows knitted, I throw myself off my bed and slip on clean clothes. Jeno’s not allowed to skip dinner. Not when he doesn’t allow me to skip breakfast. 

Surprises are fifty-fifty. People either hate them or love them. No in between. 

I happen to like giving surprises, but hate receiving them. I really hope Jeno likes surprises. 

The elevator to his apartment is packed with people, and I squeeze through an old couple, hugging the heavy paper bag of goodies to my chest. I almost trip over my own feet as I travel down the dimly lit hallway, regaining proper balance the moment I stop in front of Jeno’s door.

Arms full, I attempt to press the doorbell with my elbows, balancing the package on one knee. I start to sway like one of those inflatable balloons in front of gas stations, the bag threatening to slip from my grip when the door conveniently flies open.  

Jeno grabs my hips, holding me steady. “What are you doing her-.”

“Surprise!” I squeak, anticipating his crescent moon eye smile and a peck on the cheek. 

Instead, his Adam’s apple bops and his obsidian pupils waver. Jeno clears his throat, retreating back into his apartment. He’s holding a bottle of whiskey that’s a third empty. 

I waddle inside and head straight to the kitchen, discarding the heavy paper bag on his marble counter. I haven’t been here since the night we first met, but nothing has changed. Still lacking in decor and smells suspiciously sterile, Jeno’s apartment is rather bleak.

“What are you doing here?” Jeno repeats, and I notice that he’s dressed for a night out, leather jacket, jeans, turtle neck, the whole shabang. He even has his biker gloves on, keys dangling from his belt loop.

What happened to his late night study session? 

“What part of surprise do you not understand?” I quip, eyeing his getup. A long night of studying calls for sweatpants and a hoodie, not what he’s wearing. “Were you on your way out?” I inquire, hating how my stomach coils. 

Jeno lingers by his bedroom door, scratching the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, I was going to head to the library. Needed a change of scenery.” 

“Oh.” I nibble on my bottom lip and force a smile. “Is there a party at the library?” 

Jeno trails my gaze to his whiskey bottle, and he sets it down on the glass dining table. Shaking his head, he replies flatly. “Calms my nerves. Helps me study better.”

“Oh.”

Liar. 

“Mhm,” Jeno hums, arms crossed over his chest, his stance awfully defensive. 

Liar. 

I run my tongue across my teeth and bow my head. “I-uh. Thought I’d make you dinner. Y’know, to say thank you.”

Warmth bleeds back into him, his features softening and his lips curling into a smirk. “I don’t trust you in my kitchen, Princess.”

“Well, too bad,” I croak, and he chuckles. 

He’s back. 

The Jeno that cooks me breakfast and took care of me when I was sick is in the spotlight, but I know- I’m well aware that the Jeno people gossip about, the Jeno people call a boy, the Jeno that lies and has secrets, lurks in the shadows. 

He knows how to wear masks like a second skin, and I’m a victim. Maybe those girls were right. Am I daft? 

Doubt consumes me as Jeno shrugs off his jacket and hangs his keys up, joining me in the kitchen. Our elbows brush as he digs into my haul, oohing and ahhing at my choice of ingredients.

“I splurged on the expensive cheese,” I inform him softly, hugging myself around the stomach. Jeno slides closer and I shuffle an inch away. 

My eyes scour his body, searching desperately for answers I’m not sure I want to know. Ignorance is bliss, after all. 

Tugging at the hem of my sleeves, I abandon the space beside him and travel towards his fridge. I distract myself from the growing inkling of uncertainty by studying the collage of post-it notes stuck on the metal door. 

Drink protein shake. 

Load laundry.

Call home.

I’m quick to unscramble his organization method. The yellow notes are his daily reminders. 

Lemons.

Bananas.

Shampoo.

The green are grocery lists. 

Lab report due Tuesday, midnight.

Request a new lab coat

Buy a clipboard. 

The blue are all school related.

Text her good morning.

Make sure she takes iron pills. 

Buy her a Christmas present.

My head tilts to the side, my fingers hovering over his messy handwriting, above the word her.

I’m her. The pink post-its are all about me.

“Excuse me, Princess.” Jeno wraps an arm around my waist from behind, his other hand pulling open the fridge. He tosses the cheese inside and I nibble on my bottom lip, fighting the tender smile. 

“So what’d you get me for Christmas?” I ask, and Jeno pauses. Angling my head back to show him the twinkle in my eyes, I knock a knuckle on the pink note.

Jeno simpers, cheeks blushing red. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he mumbles. 

“So what is it?” I demand, and he pinches my cheek. 

“A surprise.”

“Boo,” I shake my head disapprovingly and Jeno leaves my side to resume cooking.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll love it,” he replies confidently.

“I hope it wasn’t expensive,” I say absentmindedly, gaze trained on the purple post-it notes. “You really don’t have to spend money on me.”

“Oh my, you should have told me that before I spent my life savings on you, Jang-mi,” Jeno gasps dramatically, and I roll my eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah- you have an older sister?” I blurt, smoothing my thumb over the purple paper.

Call me tomorrow, kiddo. 

Noona loves you. 

Be good, Jenojam.

“Sisters?” I breathe, noticing two different styles of handwriting. One is boxy, sharp and straight lines. The other is slanted, cursive and sloppy, much like Jeno’s.

“Two,” Jeno reveals, and I look over to see him mincing garlic. He dumps the pieces onto a clean plate. “I’m the youngest in my family. My eldest sister is eight years older, and my other Noona is five years older.”

“Wow.”

“Wow?” Jeno chuckles, washing his curved eyes over my body. “Is it so hard to believe that I have sisters? Did this information fry your brain?”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?” I inquire, skipping to his side and stealing the knife from his grip. Surprisingly, he lets me take it, and I gingerly chop the onions into uniform pieces.

“You never asked,” Jeno replies simply and my lips twitch, itching with questions.

Jeno brushes my hair over one shoulder, hugging me from behind. Our cheeks are pressed together and I find it difficult to focus on my task, so much so that my fingers quiver. Setting down the knife before I chop off my hand, I lean into him.

“You can talk,” is all that leaves my mouth. He raises an eyebrow and I take a moment to wet my dry lips. “You don’t have to keep things from me,” I add slowly. “You can tell me things. Good, bad, anything you want.”

His blinks significantly slow down, and his Adam’s apple trembles with a thick swallow. “Talking is useless when people don’t understand what you say,” Jeno sighs, picking up the knife and getting back to work. 

My forehead puckers. I don’t have a proper response to that, so I watch silently as he chops up all the ingredients and turns on the stove. 

While we work, we always touch. Fingers laced, arm around my waist, hand gripping his bicep, or chin on each other’s shoulder. As much as I enjoy our comfortable skinship, I can’t help but drown in a pool of insecurity.

The emotional barrier between us is a wall. With flat bricks, no groove to grip, no way to climb over. With thick concrete, double layered, no way to burst through. I’ll have to chip at it with my nails. 

“So what exactly does your family do?” I ask, pouring flour into a big bowl.

“Healthcare industry,” Jeno replies flatly, his jaw ticking.

I don’t make any further comments on his vague response. He doesn’t like my prying. 

Instead, I clear my throat and say with a half smile. “You’re a hot gossip topic,” I inform him. “I overheard some girls discussing your…promiscuity.”

Jeno snorts, pouring wine into the pot and stirring it into the red sauce. “Whatever you heard, it’s probably true. People just like to shame me for liking .”

True? I bite the inside of my cheek. 

“People like to judge things they don’t understand,” I say, and Jeno makes a face, adding salt to the pot.

“What’s so difficult to understand? I like getting my , that’s about it.

“Jesus, Jeno!” I toss a tomato slice at him and he chortles.

“Apologies. Forgot that your ears were sensitive,” he teases, and I grimace, adding eggs to the flour and kneading it into a lump of dough.

He laughs breathily, tone turning strict. “Whatever you heard today, forget about it. I don’t want you to judge my character based on other’s words. If you want to make a conclusion about me, it should be only from you and our shared experiences.”

It takes a couple seconds for my brain to soak in his words, and when they do, my cheeks lift into an aching grin. 

“If you say so,” I hum. 

We share a small look, his pensive gaze falling to my lips, and for a moment time stops. We gravitate closer, leaning in, inch by inch, until I feel his breath fan my face, and my eyes map every wrinkle on his skin. 

Closer, my mind wishes, prays, begs. 

Closer, Jeno. 

My lips naturally part, his hand starts to raise, and- the air sings. 

The blaring ringtone resumes time, and we simultaneously take a step back. in a breath, Jeno pulls his phone from his back pocket. 

His expression is obscure, dull yet troubled. He flashes me an apologetic look, walking backwards out the kitchen. 

“I have to take this,” he tells me, then disappears into his bedroo