It’s about the third time you’ve watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s this week while chowing down on homemade fried rice and ramen, simply because food makes you forget the troublesome issues in life that leads to you thinking you’re getting too fat, which in this case, you did gain two pounds.

But when you think over it, your weight really is the least of your worries because now, fate wants you to deal with people that you’ve never dealt with before in your whole life.

Boys.

Sure, you went to public schools your whole life with loose uniforms and hair rules that were never followed by the school population, but because of thick-lens-and-frames glasses and air of awkwardness surrounding you, you’ve never been approached by anybody really.

Well, not until now.

There’s an adorable boy named Chanyeol who’s in a year above you. He’s bright, just quite inane and silly sometimes as you pass by his lean figure during transition times, and for some reason, he’s taken to giving you hugs in the middle of the hallways. It’s his fault that you feel burning stares into your body because not contrary to popular belief, his base of fangirls is quite large. And by large, you mean it’s almost every single girl in the school, older and younger and the same.

You won’t say you’re ugly, but it’s not like you’re pretty or drop-dead gorgeous. Occasionally at family reunions, the old ladies who might be your great-aunt or great-grandmother repeatedly compliment you on how lovely you look, and you just stand there with an uncomfortable smile and thank them.

Your nose is stuck in a book at all times, whether it be a textbook or study guide or pure reading pleasure, and it’s been rumored by some that it’s a wonder how you don’t bump into anyone as you walk. The halls do get certainly crowded. Nobody sits outside except for you because all the girls and guys just complain about the grass and the wind will either 1) ruin their hair or 2) stain their uniform.

The bench tables are spotless outside.

The outdoors bring you internal and external serenity, the sonorous chatters of students muffled by the thick doors, and you love the smell when it rains. You don’t have to worry about burning your skin on hundred degrees days because there’s a shade creating that shadow from the sun.

But fate likes to step in and take that away from you, all because of this Chanyeol child.

You still don’t understand why. Teachers hate you because you’ll correct them during their lessons, or come up with witty responses that are intelligent enough to not get you sent to the principal’s office for inappropriate speech. You don’t let other classmates copy your work and pass it around, and the only people that you do help are the little children at the tutoring center you work at. They’re not exactly little, ages 10-15, and you’re seventeen, so that gives you reason to playfully whack the fifteen year olds with a rolled up workbook when they’re being rowdy.

In all honesty, your workplace is like your second home, the only other place where you smile besides at home.

People wonder if you even have muscles to smile at school.

But hey, when you’re surrounded by people like that, it’s so much easier to frown. Forget the about how it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown. You could honestly care less.

-

-

“I’m Park Chanyeol. Will you be my girlfriend?”

Those were the first words he ever said to you with an outstretched hand (after stopping you by grabbing your shoulders) right in the middle of the hallway where everybody can hear and see and stick their noses in other people’s business. As for you, you just bent your head down to read from where you left off and walk away.

It’s hard to pass over all the whispers and fake gasps when you weave through the burgeoning crowd, but you went through it.

Suddenly, Chanyeol was almost everywhere. Maybe it’s because you never took the time to notice, but he’ll open doors for you and sit with you outside, talking about random crap and books that he’s read (the only interesting topic yet, but he hasn’t read much.) but the one thing that amazes you about him is his resilience.

He has this thing where whenever you reject him, he’ll just sit back and sing, “No matter what happens, I’ll always smile like an idiot.”

Sometimes, you wish you could be like him.

-

-

But things don’t happen like that. It’s been about a month, and Chanyeol is still pining after you, much to his fangirls’ chagrin, and you start to feel a little delighted whenever he comes up and hugs you and sits with you outside, eating his lunch and simultaneously watch you read.

You’re so used to being free, and honestly, relationships scare you.

Of course, the two of you are in high school, and even though there’s a study that says 90% of the people marry someone from the seventh to twelfth grade, you’ve always thought you were the 10%, picturing your future as an old cat lady.

But the point is, you’re used to being a free spirit, kindly doing as you please without being judged by the likes of society who’s in complete depravity now, and then being in a relationship sounds like being forced to love someone in a jail where you can’t squeal over Lee Minho or Choi Kyuhyun due to boyfriend’s jealousy issues.

That just doesn’t work for you. You’ve read and read and read where the boys eventually change the way their girlfriends act because the girls want to please the boys. You’ve seen it, too, where the innocent girls start rolling up their kilt and wearing makeup just to please the boys. That’s just… Why would you want to please a boy?

The idea just almost seems morbid to you.

Which brings you to Breakfast at Tiffany’s. In simpler words, Holly Golightly is somewhat of your role model, saying how free she is and somehow, Paul manages to get her into a relationship where she’s not “a wild thing.”

That’s where the somewhat comes in because in the end, she does end up with him, but you didn’t want her to. Women can live without men.

As long as there are cats.

Speaking of cats, time to go feed Kyo.

-

-

“Did we have homework in calculus?” Chanyeol randomly asks you over a mouthful of tteokbokki and you look up at him in confusion. “What?” he whines at your raised eyebrow.

“Do we have the same teacher?”

His eyes lose their spark and his back slumps in sadness like his face does and something rips through your chest. It’s physically painful to see him so…down like this.

“_________-ah, we have the same class together.”

Now you are a grade lower than Chanyeol, but you take the same classes he takes, but naturally, you’ve never paid attention to your surroundings but the chalkboard and teacher.

“…we do?” you tentatively ask, and the expression on his face just tells you all.

“Yeah, we have calculus and biology and computer science together. You don’t know?”

You hang your head down and slowly place the bookmark in your book and gently close it, feeling your heart pound. The fire that ripped through gets harder and it’s harder to breathe now. You’ve never made anyone feel so bad before because you’ve never had to deal with anyone outside of family or work. Does it really hurt as bad as his heart does right now?

“Don’t cry.”

You look up in shock as Chanyeol leans across the table to shyly take off your glasses and wipe the dampness from your cheeks and under your eyes. Honestly, you didn’t even notice you were crying.

Crying isn’t anything regular, only when you were little and broke your wrist, which hindered you from playing the violin for a while, and you wailed because you couldn’t play the violin, not because it hurt. The last time you cried was when your mother told you that your grandfather had slipped away from his coma state in the middle of the night and you attended his funeral.

Even your mother wouldn’t let you watch him get cremated.

“I’m sorry I never noticed,” you breathe, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “But no, we didn’t have any.”

“Thanks,” he smiles gently and goes back to finishing his tteokbokki.

-

-

“Why won’t you be my girlfriend?” he lilts with a curious voice in calculus. He’s taken to sitting in front of you now, turning around to talk to you on a rare free day in the class.

Chanyeol’s become so attached to you that you don’t even know how much it would hurt if Chanyeol stopped giving you hugs or talking about spontaneous topics like his little knowledge of the Golden Ratio or why the Fibonacci sequence is the way it is.

You’ve really come to terms with why you don’t want to. In all honesty, you really do like the boy for his personality and never-ending smile, though you do want to shake him and ask him why he’s smiling so much when the world is dark and dismal, but it became something that you looked forward to when your alarm clock wakes you from dreamless sleep.

And maybe it’s time to come to terms with him.

“________?”

You twirl the pen in your hand and place your book down, an English book by John Green called An Abundance of Katherines, and begin.

“I’m just…scared.”

Chanyeol looks confused with the way he tilts his head to the side, which you’ve come to know as his way of trying to process your words.

“What do you mean?”

The pen twirls faster and your feet start bouncing in anticipation and slight fear. “I’m always used to being free to do what I please without being judged. Relationships have always seemed like a jail, a prison for the heart and mind, no longer able to think whatever. It scares me less, and sometimes I feel like trying to prove the books wrong, but…I see it, too.”

He’s quiet, still gazing at you with that processing stare, and you continue.

“I’m not saying that I’m going to go cheat on him if I do get in a relationship because I want to. It’s just…what if I start being someone that I’m not?”

“I would never make that happen,” he comments defiantly, a crease forming between his brows.

“It doesn’t help,” you shake your head, looking away from him.

The fire is back in your chest, but now it sears through your head and stomach, making the blood rush to your head in slight embarrassment, but goes back down in fear.

Your eyes slide back to his figure when his hand takes yours gently and he declares, “I’ll make sure that won’t happen. We’ll be how we are now, and you’re free to think whatever you want to. I won’t try to change you because that’s not who I’ve grown to like. You can still look at pictures of Lee Minho,” his nose scrunches up at this. “I want to help you get over this, ok?”

You think, maybe, just maybe, but find yourself nodding and grasping his hand tighter in a way of telling him that he needs to guide you through this and be there for you when you start to doubt things.

That blinding smile takes over his face once more and he jumps out of his seat to yell, “_____ __________ is my girlfriend now! No one can take her but me!” while clasping your hand and waving it around for the world to see without ripping your arm out of its socket.

And for the first time, you laugh and smile somewhere out of work and home. Maybe, this will be something like Holly Golightly’s ending.

-

-

“Don’t you think you spend more time reading than looking at me?” Chanyeol asks.

The two of you are sitting on his bed after a biology project with one of his books in your hands. He has his arm around your shoulders and combs his fingers through your hair while your head is on his shoulder and his on top of yours.

You simply turn your head and peck him on the cheek, snuggle closer to him, and chuckle. “Maybe, but you know I like you, right?”

He laughs and squeezes your shoulders. “Yes, I like you, too.”