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For most of the day, Han Jisung was a walking disaster.
Just that morning, he’d somehow managed to stub his toe getting out of bed (he swears there’s a ghost haunting his bedframe, his foot was definitely a good ten centimetres clear), then proceeded to miss his mug—spilling half the coffee granules across the kitchen counter—and rip yet another tea towel trying to dry a knife, all within the span of fifteen minutes.
And now, sitting in the back of a music theory lecture, he’s just realised his socks don’t match. In his defense, he thinks, twisting his ankles to get a better look, he was preoccupied with checking his toe wasn’t broken. And Pusheen looks like a sideways Totoro anyway.
Still, Jisung discreetly tucks his feet further under the chair. Nobody’s looking at you, he tries to remind himself. But his brain is still convinced that everyone is judging him and they can tell he’s a mess and he should just wear plain black socks for the rest of his life and—okay. Deep breaths. Just don’t think about it. He focuses instead on the only good thing about this lecture: the fact that from his position huddled in the back corner, he has a perfect view of the back of Lee Minho’s head.
From here, he can trace the elegant lines of Minho’s shoulders and jaw, can see the way he’s lounging back in his chair and spinning a pen lazily between two fingers, worlds apart from Jisung who probably looks like a gremlin hunched over his laptop. Minho even makes stretching look graceful, and Jisung definitely doesn’t stare at the way it makes the muscles in his back shift under his thin t-shirt.
It’s just not fair. Minho is a dance major who looks like he walked straight out of a manhwa, waltzing into a compulsory music theory class like it’s a minor inconvenience with absolutely no regard for his effect on Jisung’s already frayed concentration. Hell, he probably doesn’t even know Jisung’s name. Or that he even exists. Jisung is fully aware of how pathetic he is, thank you very much, but he can’t help it. Not with Minho sitting right there, looking like that.
Minho whispers something to the person beside him, and as he turns his head, Jisung sees the corner of his mouth lift in a confident smirk. His heart does another pathetic little flip-flop. He’s sucked so deep in the black hole of gay yearning that’s opened up in row C that he doesn’t register the person next to him until they tap his shoulder.
“Hey man, you got a spare pen?”
Jisung jolts so violently he nearly launches himself out of his seat. His elbow flies sideways, connecting squarely with his metal water bottle.
No, no, nonono—
He watches in horror as the bottle wobbles for a heart-stopping second, then tips right off the edge.
CLANG-G-G
Silence.
Every single head in the lecture hall turns. Great. Just great. Now they’re definitely all judging him. He ducks to recover the offending water bottle, but manages to whack the back of his head on the underside of the desk in the process. The impact sends his entire pencil case—open, by the way—crashing to the floor.
The clatter of a dozen pens skidding in every conceivable direction might as well be Jisung’s death knell. He can hear people giggling through the frantic heartbeat in his ears as he scrambles around on all fours under his desk. The professor has started talking again, but all Jisung can focus on is not dropping everything again with how hard his hands are shaking.
Okay. Breathe. In for four. Hold. Out for four.
He just needs to pick it all up, pretend he doesn’t exist, and wait for the sweet release of death. This is how he dies.
Then, a pair of worn black trainers enters his field of vision. Jisung freezes, one hand hovering over a mechanical pencil, and forces himself to look up.
Right into Minho’s eyes.
Minho is right there, crouching directly in front of him, holding out two ballpoints and—oh, god, no—the fluffy yellow chick pen topper that Felix had gotten him as a joke, and the cat-patterned plastic ruler he’s had since elementary school.
“Here,” Minho says. The corner of his lip twitches as he adds, “You have cute stationary.”
Cute.
Forget death, Jisung suddenly wants to melt through the floorboards, shrivel into the foundations, and cease to exist as a corporeal being.
“Oh. Um, thanks?” he manages.
Minho drops them into Jisung’s outstretched hand with a small smile, and then he’s gone, settling back in his seat like he didn’t just induce a minor crisis.
His eyes were pretty, Jisung’s dazed brain supplies unhelpfully.
Of all the ways Lee Minho could have finally registered his existence, this had to be it. Not as ‘fellow music student’ or ‘guy with decent taste in hoodies’, but as ‘uncoordinated disaster with childish stationery’. Which is fantastic. It’s not like any microscopic chance he might've had at making a cool first impression just got nuked or anything. He should probably never talk to him ever again. Or anyone else for that matter. It’s for the good of society.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
“You’re being dramatic,” Hyunjin says, pointing his chopsticks at Jisung across their lunch table. “Okay, granted, you made yourself look like a total dork—”
“Hey!”
“—but maybe he's into that! You never know.”
Next to him, Seungmin snorts. “Nobody is ‘into’ second-hand embarrassment, Hyunjin. He probably just felt bad for him. Like watching a squirrel lose all its acorns.”
Jisung drops his face into his hands with a groan. “Thank you, Seungmin. That’s so much better.”
“Ignore him,” Hyunjin insists, leaning forward and dropping his voice. “This is a good thing! Now you have an in. You can go up to him and thank him for helping! It's a perfect conversation starter.”
Jisung peeks through his fingers in horror. “Absolutely not. I am not talking to him ever again.”
“What would he say anyway?” Seungmin adds. He pitches his voice in a terrible imitation of Jisung’s. “‘Hey, thanks for witnessing my complete social implosion and not laughing in my face. I’m Han Jisung by the way, nice to meet you.’”
“Okay, maybe not,” Hyunjin admits and sits back down.
“I am going to move countries,” Jisung mumbles, stabbing his beef aggressively. “I’m going to take an online class on a deserted island where my only classmate is a coconut.”
“Well, if you look on the bright side, at least he definitely knows you exist now,” Seungmin shrugs. “Pass me a tissue.”
For ten blissful minutes, Jisung almost forgets about his tragedy of a morning as he eats his bulgogi and listens to Hyunjin excitedly describe the new art project he’s been assigned. He has no clue what the heck an impasto or a diptych is, but he's glad at least one of them had a good class. Seungmin doesn't count—he's a weirdo who actually enjoys work.
Jisung is about to get up for more water, when Hyunjin’s eyes go wide. He stops mid-sentence and whispers, “Dude, whatever you do, don't look behind you.”
Jisung, of course, looks immediately.
There, by the cafeteria entrance, is Lee Minho. He’s laughing at something with his head tilted back, leaning against the wall and looking effortlessly, unfairly cool. Jisung needs to look away now. He's staring. But he's frozen.
As if sensing he's being watched, Minho’s gaze sweeps the crowded room, and then… it lands. On their table. On him. Twisted in his seat like an idiot.
For a split second, Jisung is sure Minho’s mouth quirks in recognition. Then, in some kind of cruel cosmic joke, Minho takes a single, casual step in their direction. That’s it. That’s his cue to get the fuck out now.
Jisung’s chair scrapes loudly as he shoots up, his chest tightening with a horribly familiar flutter of panic. No, dammit, not now. “I—just remembered I have to return a book.”
“Wait, Sungie—”
“You’ve literally never been to the library in your—”
Jisung ignores both of them, practically bolting from the table. He doesn’t dare look back as he starts speed-walking—he’s not running away, it’s just a tactical retreat—through the maze of tables and chairs.
He’s almost free. Just a few more steps and he’ll be out the double doors to the main hallway. He can find a dark corner to wither in, and maybe start researching that coconut. He shoves one of the doors open, ready to disappear into the anonymity of the crowd, when a voice rings out behind him.
“Hey, wait!”
Oh god, that’s his voice. Shitshitshit just keep walking—
“Hey, Pen Guy!”
Jisung freezes for a horrifying nanosecond before his survival instincts kick into overdrive. He doesn’t turn. He cannot turn. Turning around would be an acknowledgement that he is, in fact, Pen Guy.
He shoves himself through the door and breaks into a real, honest-to-god sprint, powered by the anxiety buzzing under his skin. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t care that everyone he passes stops to stare. His world has narrowed to the feeling of his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest and the two words echoing in his skull on a torturous loop.
Pen Guy. He called me Pen Guy.
He doesn’t stop running until he’s crossed the courtyard to the opposite buildings, finally ducking into the quiet halls of the music department. He slips inside the nearest empty room and slides down the door, gasping for air.
It’s official. He can never show his face in public again.
Jisung lets out a long, shuddering breath, and presses his forehead against his knees, the adrenaline crash leaving him shaky. This is a new rock bottom. He’s pretty sure he can see the Earth’s inner core from here.
After a few more minutes of dedicated wallowing, he pulls himself together enough to fish his phone out his pocket. Time to disconnect from the mortifying reality of being Han Jisung. Because god knows he needs it.
He opens SoundCloud.
Here, hidden behind a generic profile picture and a pseudonym, he isn’t a walking disaster. He’s J.One, an anonymous producer with a follower count in the thousands, who composes dramatic tracks and writes witty lyrics with a confidence that the real-life Jisung can only dream of.
The panicked thumping in his ears slows as he taps on his profile. The play counts on his latest track are already ticking steadily upwards. For what feels like the first time that day, a genuine smile touches his lips as he scrolls through the comments.
MusicIsMyLife2: YOOOO THIS BEAT IS INSANE 🔥🔥🔥
Prod_Legend: J.One casually dropping another BANGER i see
FishSticks_43: Lyrics ripped my heart out and served it back to me 10/10
Something warm—dare he call it pride?—creeps into Jisung’s chest. For now, at least, he can pretend to be the cool guy these people think he is. That brief hit of validation will be enough to sustain him for another few hours. He’s about to start replying to comments when he notices the little red ‘1’ next to his inbox. A new message.
SoonDoongDori: If a beat drops in a forest and no one is around to hear it, is it still fire?
Jisung’s smile widens uncontrollably. Trust SoonDoongDori to message him with the most out-of-pocket things. Ever since they’d bonded over a shared love for an obscure indie artist a few months back, their chats have quickly become a highlight of Jisung’s day.
J.One: if its MY beat the trees will start headbanging.
SoonDoongDori: Fair. And no one will be around to say they’re not 🤷
J.One: YEAAAAAH YOURE SO RIGHT
SoonDoongDori: Wyd rn?
J.One: crying in a corner (╥﹏╥)
J.One: jk
J.One: BUT ONLY HALF JOKING my day has been a trainwreck. a dumpster fire.
J.One: a trainwreck CARRYING a dumpster fire. i have completely and irrevocably destroyed any chance i ever had with my crush.
SoongDoongDori: LMAO WHAT
SoongDoongDori: SPILL
J.One: I EMBARASSED THE SHIT OUT OF MYSELF IN A DEAD SILENT ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE INCLUDING HIM THATS WHAT
SoonDoongDori: 🍿
J.One: >:(((
J.One: HEY my pain isnt for your entertainment youre supposed to be on my side.
SoonDoongDori: I am. I’m here for you.
SoonDoongDori: …r drama :)
J.One: EXCUSE YOU.
J.One: anyway enough about me lets not talk about that ever again. hows your love life going?
SoonDoongDori: Admittedly not much better. I think the guy I like actually just doesn’t like me.
J.One: oh?
SoonDoongDori: I finally get the courage to talk to him and he just ignores me :/
J.One: O-O that’s kinda rude of him tho ngl
SoonDoongDori: No he didn’t blank me or anything he kinda just looked at me for a second and ran off.
SoonDoongDori: Am I that scary??
J.One: BRO LMAO UR NOT
SoonDoongDori: THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT UNTIL TODAY
J.One: maybe hes just shy? or super awkward? im sure if you keep trying to talk to him he’ll realise youre really sweet
SoonDoongDori: Awww you think I’m sweet 😇? I’m screenshotting this moment.
J.One: I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE NICE ASDFGHJK DONT USE IT FOR BLACKMAIL
SoonDoongDori: 😇😇😇
J.One: I TAKE IT BACK YOURE THE WORST
Jisung pockets his phone, feeling a hundred times lighter after that ridiculous conversation. If only talking to people in real life was as easy and fun as talking to SoonDoongDori. He can survive this. He just has to be tactical.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
For three days, Jisung practically became a military strategist. He mentally mapped out the campus, identifying high-risk zones (the cafeteria), potential ambush points (the main courtyard), and safe houses (the studio with the broken air con nobody uses). A miserable, paranoid existence perhaps, but a necessary one.
And now, tucked away in a dusty corner of the library with Hyunjin and Felix—playing hangman instead of studying, obviously, who do you think they are—Jisung almost feels normal.
Until a shadow falls over their table.
Jisung’s entire body goes rigid. What is HE doing here? The library was supposed to be safe goddammit. He’s halfway to shoving his books in his bag and making a run for it when a hand clamps around his forearm under the table, pinning him in place.
“Don’t you dare,” Hyunjin hisses in his ear like absolute the traitor he is. Jisung’s trapped. All he can do is sit there in despair, and will himself not to have a heart attack.
Minho, thank all the gods, doesn’t look at him. He faces Felix as he says, “Hey, you have contemporary with Yeonjun next, right? He left his charger in the studio earlier. Mind passing it on to him?”
“Oh, yeah, no problem!” Felix tucks it in his bag with a bright smile, unaware that Jisung is having a near-death experience next to him. “I’ll make sure it gets to him.”
“Thanks, I owe you one.”
Minho’s own smile is easy and charming, and the way his two front teeth stick out just slightly like—no, bad Jisung. Stop staring. Don’t think about how much you want him to smile at you like that.
Minho nods, and turns. He’s leaving. He’s actually leaving. A wave of dizzying relief crashes over Jisung. He’s survived.
But then, Minho stops. He looks back over his shoulder.
Right. The universe hates Jisung. Excuse him for forgetting.
Minho’s gaze drops lower. To his chest. Jisung’s own eyes flicker down.
Oh.
His hoodie. Of all the hoodies in his wardrobe, of course he had to wear this one today. His old, faded Turnip Head hoodie from Howl’s Moving Castle. To someone unfamiliar with Ghibli, it's just a ridiculous grinning cartoon scarecrow.
Jisung feels his face burn hotter the longer Minho looks at him. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll just pass out.
Minho’s lips part slightly, and Jisung braces for the inevitable sequel to Pen Guy: ‘loser who buys clothes from the kids section.’ He mentally salutes his will to live. It’s been a good two decades together.
But nothing happens.
Minho simply closes his mouth, nods again, and walks off. Jisung blinks. What?
Hyunjin finally releases his vice grip on Jisung's arm. “Dude,” he breathes. “He was totally checking you out.”
Jisung turns to him slowly and chokes out, “Excuse me? Did you miss the part where he was judging my hoodie like there was ramyun spilled all over it?”
“Judging? Sungie, nobody looks at a scarecrow for that long unless they're interested in the guy wearing it.”
“Or,” Felix chimes in, eyes shining. “Maybe he recognised it! Maybe he’s a Ghibli fan!”
“Yeah, exactly! You should go ask him.”
“You're both delusional,” Jisung groans. “I am not volunteering myself to be embarrassed again. I’ll just… keep admiring him from afar.”
“But Sungie, what if he’s meant to be your soulmate?” Felix insists. “You can’t let a little anxiety get in the way of destiny!”
“Watch me,” Jisung mutters, already shoving his laptop unceremoniously into his bag. “I’m going to find Seungmin.”
Hyunjin wrinkles his nose. “Why? He’s just going to tell you you’re being an idiot.”
“It’ll have to be worth it,” Jisung says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “There’s no way I’m staying anywhere remotely public while he’s still walking around. See you guys at lunch.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
“My life is a tragedy, Minnie,” Jisung moans from where he’s sprawled across Seungmin’s neatly made bed. “I’m going to die alone, and my ghost won’t even be able to haunt anyone because it’s my own fault for being a mess.”
From the desk, the only response is the steady, unimpressed clack-clack-clack of Seungmin’s keyboard.
“Are you even listening?” Jisung whines, rolling over to pout at Seungmin’s back. “I’m pouring my soul out here.”
“Fascinating,” Seungmin says without turning around. “I’m learning about the procedures of criminal law. Your soul will have to wait its turn.”
Jisung sighs. “Remember the winter dance showcase? Apparently he had to fill in for a guy in one of the hip-hop dances, and he learnt the entire thing in the half hour before the performance. Like, who does that?” He buries his face in a pillow and mumbles, “He’s just so… talented and popular and confident, you know? And I’m… not.”
“I already told you. You need to find someone who appreciates you as you are. If this Minho guy doesn't, then he doesn't deserve you anyway.”
Jisung rolls off the bed and throws himself over Seungmin’s back. “Aw, Minnie! You do love me!” He sniffs dramatically.
Seungmin yelps and shoves him off. “Yah, don't get the wrong idea,” he grumbles. “I’m just trying to make sure you don't suffocate yourself in my pillow. I need to sleep there tonight.”
Before Jisung can form a retort, his phone buzzes on the duvet beside him. He glances down, and there it is: a beacon of light in the depths of his wallowing.
[SoongDoongDori sent you a message.]
He snatches it up.
SoonDoongDori: I come bearing news.
J.One: oooooh what happened 👀
SoonDoongDori: It’s about the guy I like.
J.One: OOOOH
J.One: DID YOU TRY AND TALK TO HIM AGAIN??
SoonDoongDori: Well I tried. And failed horrendously.
SoonDoongDori: 🫠<------------ Me right now
J.One: noooo ;___; did he run away this time too?
SoongDoongDori: Nah it was me. I had a whole plan to talk to him and just blanked :/
J.One: ASFJGDSKFHSADJF
J.One: at least you tried!!! doing better than me so far
SoonDoongDori: That’s not a very high bar.
J.One: HEYYY >:(
SoonDoongDori: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
J.One: i feel very attacked rn by the fact that youre right
SoonDoongDori: That’s what I thought 😼
SoonDoongDori: Tbh it was probably for the best that I blanked. I would’ve just said something stupid and put him off for good.
J.One: nahhhhh i doubt you could say anything that bad
J.One: unless you like straight up insult him
SoonDoongDori: True
SoonDoongDori: It’s just like, I’ve been told people see my face and they expect me to be a certain way. Cool, or aloof, or whatever, and then they’re disappointed when they talk to me and I’m not.
J.One: but you ARE cool?? (dont screenshot that im watching)
SoonDoongDori: Why thank you!
SoonDoongDori: Obviously I don’t care what other people think and it’s hilarious to mess with them by saying random shit
J.One: why am i not surprised
SoonDoongDori: But ugh the guy I like is really cute and the stuff he makes for even just class assignments is genuinely insane.
SoonDoongDori: Whatever impression he has of me I’m glad I didn't spoil it by blurting hey I used to have the same hoodie until my cat peed on it and I couldn't get the stain out.
J.One: LMAO
J.One: bro im sorry but thats so funny
J.One: if thats the thing that puts him off then he is Not The One.
J.One: or as you could say
J.One: he is not The J.One 😎
SoonDoongDori: …
J.One: :D
SoonDoongDori: I am going to block you.
J.One: WAIT NO I WAS JUST JOKING I PROMISE IM HELPING
J.One: you said his classwork is insane right??? tell him that next time you see him!
SoonDoongDori: What, just ‘hey i heard that track you made and it was really cool’? That kinda makes me sound like an npc.
J.One: nahhhh people like having their work recognised! it shows you appreciate him for his big sexy brain and not just his face :P
J.One: and i can tell you a bunch of fancy music jargon so you sound super extra smart and interested
J.One: am i a genius or am i a Genius.
SoonDoongDori: You know what, it’s not a bad idea for someone who claims they’re doomed to be single.
J.One: my advice is solid when it applies to other people
SoonDoongDori: …That makes no sense.
J.One: welcome to my life
SoonDoongDori: But still, what if he actually starts trying to talk to me more about it? My knowledge of music theory ends at ‘I need to pass this class for my dance degree.’
J.One: hmmmm
J.One: i could run you through all the basics of equalisation and arrangement?
SoonDoongDori: I take it back. I need something with less ways to mess up.
J.One: NOOO MY GENIUS PLAN
J.One: but ok ok ok what if we go for a less direct approach.
J.One: like you can leave something on his desk. so he knows you exist and have good intentions but its low pressure.
SoonDoongDori: What am I supposed to leave? My business card? I’m not a CEO.
J.One: NO you leave a snack!! do you not know that food is the universal language???
SoonDoongDori: And I suppose you want me to attach a note that says I find you a-peel-ing?
J.One: EXACTLY!!!!!
SoonDoongDori: …That was a joke.
J.One: NO LISTEN ITS PERFECT
J.One: he’ll think youre FUNNY and CONFIDENT and someone who doesnt take themselves too seriously
SoonDoongDori: I guess I can always pretend it was a dare or something if it goes terribly.
J.One: YEAHHHH
J.One: leave him a mocha kitkat and write ‘I like you a latte, can we get coffee sometime?’
SoonDoongDori: Or what about a chocolate covered marshmallow.
SoonDoongDori: ‘I’d love to get to know you s’more.’
“Why are you smiling like that? Have you finally lost it?”
Jisung’s phone slips from his fingers and smacks him squarely on the nose.
“Ow—fuck!” he yelps, clutching his face and glaring at Seungmin through watery eyes. “I was busy talking to someone!”
Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “Oh?
“What do you mean, oh?”
“Is this your online boyfriend again? Scooby-dooby something or other?”
“He is not my boyfriend,” Jisung scowls, rubbing at his throbbing nose. “My heart is loyal to Minho. And for your information, I was actually trying to help him get a boyfriend.”
“Right,” Seungmin says. “Well, I pity his chances if you’re the best wingman he’s got.” He swivels back to his desk. “Have fun with that. Just don't giggle so much while you do it. It’s distracting.”
“Don't giggle—” Jisung splutters. “What, am I not allowed to express joy anymore?”
“Express it more quietly. Some of us have work to do.”
Jisung rolls over with a huff, picking his phone back up and propping it on th. At least someone in this cold, cruel world appreciates his loud existence.
SoonDoongDori: A really overstuffed kimbap roll. ‘I have fillings for you.’
A snort of laughter escapes Jisung before he can stop it. He hears Seungmin let out an exaggerated sigh from the desk and mumble something about kicking him out, but Jisung’s having way too much fun to care.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Two days later, the universe finally takes Jisung’s side for once. Afternoon lecture cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances. He could kiss his laptop screen. Two glorious hours of freedom means he has time to ambush Felix for lunch somewhere more exciting than the cafeteria.
He heads for the dance department, practically skipping down the hallway towards Studio 3C. But as he passes 3A, a familiar flash of dark brown hair inside makes him pause.
Is it sad that Jisung has stared at the back of Lee Minho’s head in class enough to memorise the exact shade of his hair? Yes. Is he going to ignore that and watch Minho dance while he waits for Felix anyway? Also yes.
Jisung triple checks there’s nobody coming down the hallway, then risks a peek through the narrow vertical window in the door. His brain simply bluescreens. Minho is there, his usual lazy grace and confident smirks replaced with an intensity that roots Jisung to the spot and makes his brain feel fuzzy. Every movement is so sharp, so powerful, that he can almost hear the beat Minho’s dancing to despite the studio’s soundproofing making it impossible. He watches, mesmerised, as the muscles in Minho’s back shift under his sweat-soaked black shirt. He should not be seeing this. This feels illegal. Who gave him permission to look so stupidly good drenched in sweat when Jisung barely looks passable after a shower?
“Ooooh, whatcha looking at?”
Jisung squeaks. He actually squeaks, stumbling back from the door and whipping around to find Felix standing right behind him. His gym bag is slung over his shoulder, and he’s wearing the most offensively smug grin Jisung has ever seen.
“I wasn’t looking at anything! I was just… looking for you!” Jisung hisses. Stupid. Why didn’t he hear Felix coming?
“I told you my practice was in 3C, Sungie,” Felix chirps, craning his neck to look past Jisung. “Aha! I knew it! You were spying on Minho. I still think you should just talk to him. He’s really nice.”
“Absolutely not.” Jisung grabs Felix’s arm and tries to drag him away. “We are going for lunch. Right now.”
“But you like him!”
“That’s exactly why we’re leaving!”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine! I’ll do the talking,” Felix says, wiggling out of his grip with a wink because he’s a monster made of dance muscles and pure evil.
“Felix, NO, don’t you dare—”
Too late. Felix pushes the door open and sticks his head through.
“Hey, Minho! We’re heading to the vending machines. You want anything?”
Jisung stops breathing. He can feel Minho’s gaze flick from Felix and land on him, and he has the sudden, violent urge to throw himself out the nearest window.
“Oh, hey Felix,” Minho says a little breathlessly. He runs a hand through his damp hair and Jisung does not notice how the motion makes his shirt briefly ride up. “I’m good, thanks. But would you guys mind refilling my water on the way?”
Minho tips his head back and downs the last of his water, then walks over and holds out the empty bottle. Felix nudges Jisung forward (harder than necessary, ow), and says, “Yeah, no problem! This is my friend Jisung, by the way.”
“I know,” Minho nods as he hands Felix the bottle. “We have music theory together.”
He knows? Jisung’s internal monologue is a high-pitched scream. Oh my god, does he actually only know me as Pen Guy with the weird hoodie?
“Thanks, guys,” Minho says. He flashes Jisung an easy smile and adds, “See you tomorrow, Jisung.”
Jisung panics.
“Thanks. I mean—you too!”
The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to evaporate. Thanks?? Who says ‘thanks’ to ‘see you tomorrow’? Smooth, Jisung, real smooth.
He doesn’t wait for a reaction, just grabs Felix’s arm and power-walks them down the hallway.
“Dude, you were so obvious,” Felix giggles once they’re out of earshot.
“This is all your fault,” Jisung complains. “How am I supposed to talk when he’s smiling at me like that?”
“No, it was good!” Felix insists. “He was friendly, see? And he knows you!”
“Knows my most uncool moments,” Jisung groans miserably.
As they walk away, he glances across at the bottle clutched in Felix’s hand. It’s a sleek black cylinder, but near the bottom, there’s a small sticker of a cartoon cat holding a knife. And another one next to it, dressed as a potato.
What, Jisung’s brain fizzles faintly, the actual fuck.
This is officially too much for one day. He needs a nap.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Jisung’s favourite place on campus—minus his bed—is the computer wedged in the far back corner of the second-floor lab. If he shifts his chair to hide the rest of the room from view and plugs in his noise-cancelling headphones, it almost feels like he’s in a private studio.
Okay, maybe not quite. But it’s not like he has many options when the actual studios are all booked up, and he’s still safely shielded from all potential human interaction.
All forms of real life interaction, that is.
J.One: sea snails are WAY cooler
SoonDoongDori: I KNOW RIGHT land snails are so lame :/
SoonDoongDori: Do you think snails get jealous of turtles for having better houses?
J.One: tbf some snails have reaaaally pretty shells tho
SoonDoongDori: Yeah but they’re much worse structurally. Nobody’s gonna trip and crush a turtle shell 🤷
J.One: but would u call a stone bunker a ‘better house’ than a rlly fancy nice japanese bamboo house?
Jisung stretches in his chair and smiles to himself.
No—J.One smiles to himself. Here, he doesn’t have to worry that seriously discussing the merits of snail shells is weird. Talking to SoonDoongDori as J.One, it would honestly be weirder if their conversations started with ‘how are you’.
He plugs his headphones in, opens SoundCloud, and lets the familiar interface cement his borrowed identity. Hell yeah. Time to be cool.
He navigates to his drafts and loads up a half-finished track. It’s all dramatic dynamics and hard-hitting beats, the kind of music that makes him feel a billion feet tall and fucking invincible. He closes his eyes and bops his head along, already imagining the lyrics he’ll write for it later. He gets so lost in the fantasy of being cool and competent that he leans back a little too far in his chair.
The chair wobbles. Jisung flails. He manages to not tumble backwards, but his arm catches the headphone cord. Shit no not the cord—
The jack pops clean out of the computer.
BOOM-TSS-BOOM-BOOM-TSS—
The track blasts out of the tinny speakers at max volume, an obscene assault on the ambient chatter of the computer lab. Jisung frantically fumbles to jam the plug back in but the dead silence is somehow even more mortifying than the noise. He can feel at least ten pairs of eyes drilling into the back of his head, and his face is on fire. No, forget fire, he’s the molten core of the Earth that he’s suddenly face to face with again. This is it. This is his villain origin story.
He turns to the person next to him, ready to apologise for every event in his existence leading up to this moment.
“I am so sorry I swear I just lost balance and—”
“Hey,” a voice interrupts calmly.
Wait.
Jisung’s blood turns to ice. Hoping against all hope like he’s never hoped before, he lifts his eyes from the desk and looks at the person next to him.
It’s Minho. Of course it’s Minho. Who else would the cosmos assign to witness this fresh new hell? Jisung opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a strangled squeak.
“It’s cool,” Minho continues, setting his phone upside-down on the table. He leans in a little closer. “Honestly? If you were gonna play something out loud, I wouldn’t mind if it was that. That sounded sick.”
Jisung just blinks. What? The words simply don’t compute.
“You… you think so?” he stammers.
Minho nods, his expression completely serious. “Yeah, for real. Is that yours?”
This is a trick, Jisung’s brain screams. He’s luring you into a false sense of security before he brands you Obnoxious Loud Guy for all eternity.
“Um, yeah,” Jisung coughs anyway, because his heart is a filthy traitor. “Just a thing I’m working on.”
“It’s good,” Minho says again. “Like, really good.” He gives Jisung a small smile—something softer and warmer than his usual smirk—and turns back to his own screen, leaving Jisung reeling with the world-altering realisation.
He actually doesn’t hate me.
And more importantly, he likes my music.
Jisung can’t see Minho’s face from the way his head is angled away, but he can just about make out the pink flush staining Minho’s ears.
Was he… nervous? Jisung thinks dumbly. No way. He’s probably just embarrassed that someone will see him associating with me.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The next morning, Jisung arrives to music theory exactly seven minutes early—a personal record he’s actually rather proud of—and makes a beeline to secure his usual seat in the back. He’s seriously got his life together today with matching socks (he checked twice), a travel mug with a sealed lid (no spillage potential), and a fully charged laptop.
All he needs to do is survive ninety minutes without being perceived by any lifeform—especially not one with unfairly pretty eyes and a habit of sending him into cardiac arrest. God knows his nerves are already frayed raw from spending all night mentally dissecting yesterday’s conversation in the lab.
He’s about to set his pencil case in the centre of the desk—safely away from the edges—when he notices it: a small rectangular bar sitting there on the table, wrapped in red and brown paper. It’s a KitKat. A mocha flavoured KitKat, to be specific.
Jisung glances around the lecture hall, but it’s still mostly empty. Maybe someone left it by accident? But we’re the first class here today. The cleaners would’ve taken it overnight.
He looks back at the chocolate, and notices the corner of something white tucked underneath it. A small piece of lined paper.
Okay, weird. A note for a friend? It wouldn't hurt to check, right?
Jisung picks up the note, his curiosity admittedly very much piqued. It’s obviously torn from a spiral notebook, the frayed edge still attached, and he can make out a scrawled line of writing as he unfolds it.
I like you a latte, let me take you out for coffee sometime?
Minho
What. The. Fuck?
Jisung rereads the note. And again. He turns it upside down and holds it up to the light like the words might rearrange themselves to make sense. But nothing happens.
I like you a latte.
The phrase makes Jisung feel a bizarre sense of deja vu. Where has he heard that before? His mind scrambles to connect the dots but everything is static. His brain is static. Just… completely shut down. All systems offline. Tumbleweed flying across the desert.
Minho likes him? He wants to get coffee? With Jisung?
Impossible. It has to be a joke.
And then, another memory surfaces, crashing through the static. A joke. A pun from a conversation he had just a few days ago.
leave him a mocha kitkat and write ‘I like you a latte, can we get coffee sometime?’
Jisung’s own words. The advice he’d given to—
Oh.
Oh.
SoonDoongDori.
His online friend SoonDoongDori, the guy who unironically wonders whether crabs think fish are flying, who stays up at ungodly hours with Jisung when insomnia hits, who messages him with the dumbest memes and sweetest encouragement.
That guy… is Lee Minho?
Jisung’s hands start shaking, and the note crinkles in his grip. His mind suddenly powers back on and goes into overdrive.
CODE RED. I REPEAT: THAT GUY IS LEE MINHO??? Who what why when HUH?? Does that mean… the crush—the cute guy—is HIM? What in the everloving FUCK?!
Minho had been trying to talk to him. Multiple times. And every single time, Jisung had either frozen up, said something monumentally stupid, or literally sprinted away. And like the absolute fucking genius he is, he’d been immediately turning around to give Minho—as SoonDoongDori—advice on what next.
He’s essentially been Minho’s hype man for asking himself out, and he’s done such a good job that Minho actually went through with it, and now there’s a KitKat and a note on his desk that’s a confession and—
His spiraling is cut short by the sound of footsteps. He looks up, and his heart violently tries to launch itself out his throat.
Minho is walking through the door.
Their eyes meet across the room. Jisung watches in real time as Minho’s steps falter when he sees the chocolate and paper clutched in Jisung’s hands. Jisung is dimly aware that his mouth is hanging open. He should say something. Literally anything. But his entire vocabulary has been replaced with a repeating loop of oh my god oh my god oh my god—
Minho quickly ducks his head, breaking eye contact first. In a move that would be smooth if Jisung hadn’t spent way too much time goggling at him to notice the tension in his shoulders, he heads to his spot near the middle of the hall and sits with his back to Jisung.
Jisung stares at the back of Minho’s head. The same head he’s been staring at for weeks, except now he knows. Now he knows that Minho had confessed to J.One he was worried Jisung would find his personality weird. Now he knows that every reassurance he’d given his friend, every ‘he’s probably just shy’ and ‘keep trying!’ had been about himself.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Jisung pulls it out with trembling hands, and nearly drops it when he sees the notification.
[SoonDoongDori sent you a message.]
Three rows ahead, he sees Minho hunched over his desk. Jisung might actually pass out right here right now.
SoongDoongDori: So I did the thing.
SoongDoongDori: The leave-a-snack-and-a-message thing.
SoongDoongDori: He definitely found it please send help.
SoongDoongDori: He stared at ME when I came in and I think my soul left via my nostrils or smth idk what exits are in my face.
SoongDoongDori: Why did I listen to you this is a DISASTER.
Jisung chokes back a hysterical sound that’s half-sob, half-laugh. What is he even supposed to say? ‘Hey, funny story, I’m actually the disaster, and also I’ve had a massive crush on you since September?”
The professor walks in and starts powering on the projector. More and more students are filtering into their seats. Jisung has approximately thirty seconds before class starts and he loses his window to do something, anything, because he will actually combust into a pile of dust if he has to sit on this revelation for an hour and a half.
He looks at the mocha KitKat. At the note with his own terrible pun written in Minho’s handwriting. At his phone, where Minho is probably having a simultaneous meltdown and wondering why J.One is leaving him on read.
And then, before his anxiety can convince him this is the worst idea he’s ever had, Jisung stands up.
His chair scrapes loudly. A few people glance over but Jisung forces himself to ignore them.
He walks as casually as he can manage with his heart beating at a rate that has to be unhealthy, and stops right next to Minho’s desk.
Minho’s head snaps up. His phone is still on his lap, the messenger app open. Jisung can see his own username at the top of the screen.
Jisung crosses his fingers, and his toes, and every appendage he can control as tightly as possible. “Hey,” he says. His voice is definitely shaky, but it’s a miracle he’s speaking words at all. “I would introduce myself, but, uh, I think we already know each other. SoonDoongDori, right?”
Minho’s eyes widen in a way that would be comical if Jisung wasn’t currently in real danger of his legs giving out. Minho’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“You—” Minho’s voice cracks. He clears his throat. “You’re… J.One? Promise you’re not messing with me. That’s not funny.”
Jisung nods. A ridiculous smile spreads across his face and he’s sure he looks like an idiot, but he finds that he doesn’t care. Suddenly, he isn’t talking to an intimidatingly cool classmate, he’s just talking to his friend. His friend, who is his crush, who also likes him back.
“I swear, I am,” he says. He holds up the KitKat, feeling his ears burn hot. “And, um, it’s a yes to the coffee. I’d really love to get to know you s’more.”
The smile that lights up Minho’s face is one Jisung has never seen before. It’s bright and helpless and so genuinely happy that Jisung thinks his heart might finally give out.
“Yeah?” Minho breathes.
“Yeah,” Jisung confirms. Then, because he can’t help it, he adds, “I mean, you did take my advice. It would be a waste of a perfectly good pun if I said no.”
Minho laughs—actually laughs—and Jisung decides right then that it’s his new favourite sound in the entire world.
“Sit with me?” Minho asks, nodding at the empty seat beside him.
Jisung almost trips over himself going back to his desk, shoving everything into his bag in record time and hauling it back down. He slides into the chair, and when his knee accidentally bumps against Minho’s under the desk, neither of them pulls away.
The professor starts the lecture, and Jisung opens his laptop even though he knows he isn’t taking any usable notes today. He’s far too busy being hyperaware of Minho’s warmth next to him, of the way Minho’s ears are tinged pink with what Jisung now knows isn’t embarrassment.
After a few minutes of pretending to pay attention, Minho leans over slightly and whispers, “By the way, I need to tell you something important.”
Jisung’s heart skips a beat. “What?” he whispers back.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that snails definitely get jealous of turtles. But not because of the houses,” Minho murmurs in a low voice. “It’s because turtles have sturdy shells and sharp beaks. Snails have zero offensive power. Only grass finds them formidable.”
Jisung stares at his completely straight face.
“You’re actually so weird,” he says, but he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
Minho blinks with a small frown. “You think I’m weird?”
“Yeah. And I like it,” Jisung says softly, his chest feeling warm and full. “I really like it.”
The smile that replaces Minho’s pout is devastating. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve got, like, three other important things I need to talk to you about.”
Jisung grins harder. “I’m listening.”