“Good morning ~” I sing-songed jumping up and down like a child as I walk towards Jongin, who as usual, is leaning lazily on the gate of his house.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” He commented dryly, turning his back from me without even greeting me back.

“Why not? The weather is nice.”

Without looking back, he continues walking and I mutter a silent, “Aren’t you even going to get your lunch from me?” Though I know it’s pretty much useless because he’s two hundred giant footsteps away from me, that even someone with the biggest ear in the world couldn’t possibly hear me at this distance.

He’s ignoring me. Again. And acting like the pompous jerk I’d met him to a week ago.

All of a sudden, all the nice things he did for me these past few days had been replaced with the usual nasty things that never fail to scar my mind for the eternity in the history of world.

His good image is drained into nothingness again. Back to zero. Nada. Zilch.

Kim Jongin –you up. Big time.

***

Something, really, is wrong.

I came to that decision when the second period of classes arrived and there’s a short exam on History and Kim Jongin is not looking my way to ask for answers or clue or anything about the test. Not being proud and arrogant, okay but I know he couldn’t possibly have anything in mind that can answer Mrs. Bang’s questions because we haven’t studied last Friday and our minds are only filled with the things we did yesterday (and got emptied when our heads hit that stupid bump cars). I know how much he hates History (well he hates all the subject, but History is his national pet peeve) and he couldn’t possibly extend extra effort into studying this damn subject during his free time. Therefore, he should be frantically asking for answers to me now.

I looked at him from my seat, begging the insects flying out there to bite him on his left cheek just so his eyes will look this way –towards my direction. Any attempt on getting his attention proved to be futile since the examinations started without him even sparing a glance at me.

I sighed in defeat and concentrated on the sheet of paper in front of me. Well, I tried.

***

“What’s wrong with Jongin?” I complained to Baekhyun once Jongin was done eating his lunch (which is oddly fast) and is out of earshot.

Baekhyun looked like he just wanted to smack me in the head, which he probably does and shrugged. “Well I was about to ask that question to you.”

“He’s been out of it since this morning,” I grumbled. I can’t help but think that he’s probably in such a horribly foul mood because of what happened yesterday and what the crazy lady said.

“But he was fine yesterday…” I muttered to myself.

“Huh?” Baekhyun asked, turning his attention towards me.

Like what Jongin did earlier this morning, I turned my back without bothering to answer his question.

It’s not fair that I’m doing what he always does to me just to exact my revenge to a different person. But they’re friends. If they can’t catch the wrath of their friends’ enemy, then what are friends for, right?

***

“What’s wrong with you?” I finally ask when the silence as we walk towards his house threatens to shatter away the miniscule sanity left inside of me.

“Why won’t you answer me?” I continued. For the last thirty minutes, I’ve been bombarding him with questions and he hasn’t answered even one of them.

I grabbed his backpack that immediately stopped him from his tracks. “Yah Jongin, what is wrong with you?!”

“What?” He spun around, the tone of his voice turning an octave higher.

I took a step back, preparing for him to lash out. I was surprised when the creases on his forehead disappeared as he grabbed my arms and said, “You ask too many questions.” softly.

“My questions doesn’t have to be that many if you just answered me beforehand,” I shot back, not exactly spiteful.

He chuckled, a low rumbling one but  otherwise continues to walk, resuming the complete silence he mustered this morning until we finally reached his house.

Sometimes, Kim Jongin’s mood swings are just un-ing-believable.

***

Thirty minutes of rambling about why Paris chose Aphrodite over Athena and Hera and the blank expression of Kim Jongin tells me I’m not making sense in any single .

Why? Because he is always mysteriously giddy when it comes to the topic of Paris, who is adequately someone entitled to choose the prettiest woman ever existed during Greek times, probably weighing his decision if he’ll do the same if he was Paris.

“So why Paris did chose Aphrodite?” I snapped, throwing my pen in front of a startled tan-skinned boy, eyes now squinted in front of me.

“You just explained it a while ago,” He mumbled though it is clear Kim Jongin is not back on Earth yet. Not yet.

I slammed my fist on the table, a few inches away from his slender fingers. “Exactly!”

“Earth to Kim Jongin, hello? You’ve been spacing out even before my landed on the floor and every ing detail I’m trying to cram inside your head isn’t getting inside simply because you’re not letting the information in!”

In fury, I continued ranting about if a quiz is to pop out tomorrow that I’m not letting him peek at my test paper when it dawned to me that nobody’s giving his occasional snickers, or snorts, or nasty comebacks and it made me look up at the figure in front of me whose eyes seemed to be dropping dangerously low, along with his body slightly inching forward.

“Okay, Jongin, that won’t work on me! You have to study!”

All attempts to wake him up with my annoying voice proved to be