University was a word you’d long yearned for. It had always been said that, for those who did not thrive in their teen years of school, higher education would be the opportunity, indeed, the true time for them to bloom and, considering the shadow in which you’d coasted through your last four years of life, you were hoping you were one of those poor souls. However, University, as you’d quickly come to learn, was far more than television and second-grade romantic comedies made it out to be.

Of the whole hypothetical pie chart that was the college experience, parties, one night flings and journeys of self-discovery made up a grand total of about 25%. The other three-fourths of said chart was constructed of things far less likely to find a place in the world of straight-to-DVD cinema, such as (but certainly not limited to) three hour bio labs, failed study groups, copious amounts of dollar menu meals, and exams meticulously designed to the very souls of students out through the tip of their pencils. However, far exceeding such trivial factors was one detail which, in your own personal pie chart, occupied at least 50% of your university-centered frustration; parking.

While the poorly calculated student-to-parking spot ratio of your campus did not do much in the way of helping, the main source of your aggravation could have been linked directly to a single, obnoxiously decorated, much-too-expensive-for-a-student-at-this-college matte black Mercedes, which happened to decide sometime in the middle of last semester that its new favorite parking spot was the very same one you’d managed to mark as your territory between the hours of 9:30 and 12:45 every Tuesday and Thursday morning.

It had started out as tiny nuisance; a blameless coincidence of which there was very little that could be done. However, as the parking thief increased his criminal activity, the nuisance slowly grew into an irritation, one which somehow ruined your mornings in the most particular sort of way, but, nonetheless, seemed to fade to a dull bitterness by the end of the day. Then, it became a regular routine, at which point you’d all but convinced yourself the arrogant jock you’d conjured in your mind as the driver was out to get you, purposefully stealing your most coveted spot as a sick, sadistic form of pleasure. Every morning, the sight of his coupe mocked you, his very taillights narrowed in cocky pride at your sorry old civic parked three rows away in the waste land of the lot. It was infuriating. It was aggravating. And it was the final nerve in the bundle of essay-induced stress that you’d become.

Following a month’s worth of frustration, you’d decided to take action. Leaning your notebook upon your steering wheel, you scribbled furiously, jotting down every last insult your frenzied mind could recollect, the harsh of your pen nearly ripping the paper in half. Once both sides had been thoroughly filled up, you ripped the sheet from your notebook, pushing yourself out of the car.

The parking lot was relatively empty now, as most morning classes had finished by noon. With determined steps, you strutted across the lot, your gaze focused on the taunting red light at the back of the car. With each approaching step, your anger boiled within you, rising to the surface. Upon reaching the vehicle, you lifted the windshield wiper from its place beneath the glass, slamming it down harshly to hold your threateningly harsh letter in place. A twisted glee lifted your spirits at the thought of the parking thief returning to read the note, hoping he might take each and every syllable to heart. With a satisfied smirk, you kicked the tire of the car, muttering a short “ing douchebag” before turning to leave. Your heart nearly caved in when a voice held you back.

“Hey!” he called out, “What the are you doing?”

Before you could even think to make an escape, a large hand gripped onto your shoulder, flinging your body around with such force, you nearly toppled over. A whimper fell from your lips as you frowned up at the boy, your fowl expression immediately melting into one of shock as your eyes met his own.

To say that the boy was handsome would have been an understatement. He towered over you by almost a foot, his perfectly shaped almond eyes glinting a wonderful tawny in the sunlight as they glared down at you. His small, pouting pink lips turn down in a grimace as he waited for your response, his eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“Are you listening to me?” he scoffed, “What the were you just kicking my car for, huh?”

You blinked quickly, the mention of his car drawing you back to reality. Your features contorted in a similar expression of rage, your mouth hanging open slightly in disbelief. “As if you didn’t know!”

“What?” he narrowed his eyes, “What are you-“

His gaze traveled from your figure to the windshield, the crinkled note flapping in the wind. He arched a brow, glancing back at you before reaching past your arm to retrieve the paper.

“Wait-“ you instinctively grabbed his arm, a sudden surge of nervousness forcing you into action, “Don’t-“

“Let go.” He pulled himself from your grasp, tugging the paper along with him. Immediately you reached out for the sheet, narrowly missing it as he raised his arm. You jumped to reach it, huffing in frustration as he only held it higher, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you struggle.

“Did you write this?” he tilted his head, waving the paper overhead.

“No!”

“Then what do you want it for, hm?” he moved the paper to his other hand, taking a step back.

“I- just- want – it” you breathed between leaps, your face growing hot as he chuckled.

“It was on my windshield. Clearly it’s meant for me.”

“No, it’s not!” you jumped one last time, your knees nearly collapsing beneath you as you landed, “Just give it back!”

The boy shook his head, taking another step back as he lowered his hand just enough to make out the words. His sharp eyes skimmed over the first few lines, your heart dropping to your stomach as his lips curved into a malicious smile.

“To the douchebag jock in the Mercedes?” he scoffed, glancing down at you, his gaze sending a short shiver down your spine. The blush crept up your neck, burning your cheeks. “Is this seriously for me?”

“I-I d-don’t”

“Have we even met before?” he smirked, reading over the line again, “Do I look like a jock to you?”

You bit your lip, refusing to respond. Your eyes ran over his body shortly before drifting off to the floor. Indeed, he was no jock, although his tall, lean figure did suggest some form of strenuous exercise. The firm muscles of his forearms shown from the rolled up sleeves of his pullover, the veins of his arms dancing beneath his pale skin as he clutched onto the letter. You frowned at the ground, cursing the fates for making what might have been your arch nemesis so unjustly attractive.

“’I know this might be difficult for someone of your unfortunately low IQ to comprehend, but there were other people in the world before you showed up-‘”

“Will you stop reading it?!” you shrieked, lunging for the paper, nearly grabbing it before he slipped away from you, reaching his hand out to hold you back by the shoulder as he continued to read.

“’Just because you have a ing gaudy sports car doesn’t give you the ing right to take my ing parking spot-‘’ he laughed, “What? Is that what this is about?”

You huffed a sigh, wishing the wind would slip the paper from his hands and spare you the embarrassment of hearing your words read aloud any longer. He turned to meet your gaze, his hand still holding onto your shoulder.

“’Unfortunately low IQ’? Are you trying to say I’m stupid?”

“Seriously?” you scoffed, swatting his hand away from you, “That’s all you have to say?”

“And you think my car is ‘gaudy’?” he arched a brow, clearly displeased, “I’d like to see the garbage can you drive around campus, princess.”

“Excuse me?” you fumed, pushing his (obnoxiously firm) chest in rage, “Did you even read what the letter said?”

“Look, I didn’t steal anyone’s parking spot, ok?” he rolled his eyes, taking a hold of your wrists as you tried to push him once more, “I don’t see your name on it.”

“It’s mine! I’ve had that spot since last semester you-“

“It’s a free country, princess,” he glared, although the smirk on his lips suggested something more along the lines of amusement, “You’ll just have to deal.”

You stammered, your mind racing for a response as he waited almost happily, his fingers still curled around your wrists. You bit your lip, attempting to pull yourself away, only to have him tug you closer, the corners of his lips curling mischievously.

“You’re not gonna say anything now?” he tilted his head, his caramel eyes dancing over your features. The blush upon your cheeks burned under his gaze, your knees suddenly too weak to support your body.

“You know, for someone with such a creative range of swear words in their vocabulary you’re awful quiet when it comes down to it.”

“ you” you muttered, tugging your wrists in vain, “Let me go.”

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips together, “I don’t think I want to.”

“You can keep the stupid parking spot, ok? Just- let me go!”

“No.” he stuck his tongue out petulantly.

“Will you-“

“You kicked my car.” He pulled at your wrists, forcing you that much closer, “And you called me stupid. And a douchebag. And a lot of other things.”

“Please-“you rolled your eyes, “As if you-“

“It hurt my feelings, princess.” He frowned dramatically, “Shouldn’t you make up for it now?”

“H-how?”

He shrugged, his fingers tapping against your wrist teasingly, “You could apologize, for starters.”

“Never!”

“Then buy me lunch.”

You gaped at the boy, your aggravation boiling to the surface once again.

“You have the goddamn to nerve to ask me-“

“Fine!” he groaned, letting go of one wrist, “You’re so difficult.”

“Will you-“

“I’ll just have to take an IOU then.” He sighed, reaching around your waist to pull you closer, your chest colliding with his torso as you felt his hands slip into the back pockets of your jeans. You stuttered in response, your face nearly melting from the heat of your blush.

“W-what are you-“ you managed to choke out before he interrupted with a loud “A-ha!”

His hands left your body as he grinned, holding a phone, your phone, in the air.

“Hey!” you shouted, “Give that back!”

He quickly unlocked the device, his fingers pressing here and there upon the glass screen as he held his own phone out beside him. Within seconds, he tossed the phone back to you, slipping his own back into his pocket.

“I’ve got your number now.” He smirked, pulling his keys out from his back pocket. The car beeped quickly as the door unlocked. “I’ll call you tonight, ok princess?”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief, following his figure as he reached for the front door. He turned to glance you over one last time, his eyes traveling up and down your figure in a way that sent chills through your skin. He bit his lip, fighting back a smile as he opened the door.

“We’ll have breakfast tomorrow. I like blueberry pancakes, so find a diner that makes those.” He declared, “I mean, it’s the least you can do to make up for that letter, don’t you think?”

Before you could respond, he leaned forward, placing a small kiss upon your cheek, the scent of his cologne sending you into daze. His breath lingered against your skin as he spoke into your ear, “If you show up, you can have the parking spot.”  

You nodded despite yourself, immediately regretting the action as he breathed a laugh, sliding into the driver seat of the coupe. You watched absentmindedly as he revved the engine, speeding away from the parking lot. Slowly, you began to walk back to your car, staring down at the phone clutched in your palm as you replayed his words in your head, the sensation of his lips still tingling against your skin. You slid your thumb across the screen of the phone, the display instantly opening up to a newly added contact.

You skimmed over the number, your lips turning up in a smile as you read the name under which the new phone number had been saved.

“Sehun, the douchebag jock.