Woo Jiho || Zico

Jiho hated the butterflies he would get every time he saw her.

“This is stupid,” he would say each time his cheeks flushed a bright red as she walked past him in the hallways. He hated the fact that he couldn’t tear his eyes off her as she gracefully floated by him. He recalled the scent of white sandalwood and antique books wafting from her as she brushed by him to get into their classroom.

“This isn’t cool,” he would insist to no one in particular. Jiho hated the gut-wrenching feeling he would get every time she glanced at him - and on the rare occassion smile at him like an angel sent from above - and he would often regret smiling back at her like a complete doofus, as if out of his mind or high on some sort of illicit drug.

But Jiho didn’t take drugs - he was completely against them. Yet, every time he saw her, he felt as high as the sky above him, and he hated that. He hated how she was his own drug, as potent and as dangerous as any other substance in existence. He hated the feeling he would get when he was near her, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. She was like a celestial body in a vast, empty expanse of space, and he had somehow found her, been drawn to her magnetic pull, orbiting her like a lone moon with no course or sense of direction.

That didn’t matter.

Because Jiho was in love with her.

And no matter how much he convinced himself that it was nothing more than a “stupid schoolboy crush”, he knew that he was in love with her very being.

And he couldn’t hate that.