You’re a failure.

You’ve never actually heard those words said straight to your face, but they hang close behind every other.

It’s your fault that you’re not slim and pretty and demure and smiley.

It’s your fault that you’re not smart.

It’s your fault that you’re not what you’re supposed to be.

It’s your fault that you’re not perfect, when everyone expects you to be.

You’re usually good at keeping things to yourself—to the point where your best friend often wonders what you’re thinking.

(The feelings are mutual, though, so you suppose that makes everything equal.)

Jongup is perfect.

He’s nice and happy and helpful, with a toned body and impeccable manners.

He might not be the smartest kid, but he’s a dance prodigy, second to none.

He’s what everyone strives to be.

So you always wonder how he got stuck with a up like you as a best friend.

Now, you’re not complaining—he’s the best best friend that anyone could ever hope for.

But you often wonder, when he’s holding you while you cry because you failed another test (89% isn’t perfect), or when your weight changes and you feel like , when he’s your hair and telling you that everything will be ok when clearly everything is crashing down around you and things are not ok, why he doesn’t just up and leave. You know he’s popular with the girls, and the moment one of them catches his eye, he’ll be gone beca