Archive of Our Own

"So, what's the plan for prom this year?" Ella asks towards you and Wonhee.

She always asks every year and she always knows who's going with who to prom, even before they do. When you try to ask her the same question, she never tells, keeping it a surprise for the night.

"I think I'm going to go out with one of the boys from the Mathletes," Wonhee responds.

You take a glance at her then at Ella, then back to her.

The chemistry class the three of you are currently sitting in is bustling with chatters from your fellow classmates thankfully. If you were supposed to be doing homework questions while the teacher stepped out of the room, you had no idea. No one seems to be working anyway.

"You know that's like social suicide, right?" Ella remarks.

Wonhee shrugs and you decide not to share your opinions on the matter.

"So…" Ella shifts her gaze back to you "Who do you think you'll go with this year—A little birdie told me Ahn Keonho was going to ask you out."

"He asks me out every year." You roll your eyes at her.

"And don't you say yes every year?" Wonhee adds, smiling while poking at your shoulder.

–wack

You feel something sharp land into your side that doesn't feel like Wonhee's small fingers.

It annoys you, you scoff at the sudden impact. The boys in the class we're probably throwing something across the class again since the concept of passing things didn't exist to them.

When you look down you see a small orange beside you. It looks like its hard shell is the only thing protecting it from its now delicate and mushy inside. You ignore it and look back up to your friends.

"Why do they have to be so uncivilized?" you snark.

"It's so stupid right?" Ella starts. "I got a NeeDoh cube thrown at me in the middle of math yesterday—those things are hard," she whines, rubbing a spot on her forehead.

"Are you going out with Keonho?" Wonhee asks.

"What?" Ella's usually the one to ask the follow up questions and this one you particularly didn't want to answer.

The truth was that things between you and Keonho had been getting rocky. He's been focusing so much on his swimming training since he's trying to get a full-ride at a D1 school, he barely has (or makes) time for you anymore. You still think that you're interested in him though, he's just been so frustrating lately.

You reach into your bag to grab some of your Summer Fridays lip balm instead, evading her question temporarily. You quietly say 'what' again under your breath as you dig amongst your bag.

—wack

Again, a firm object omitting a citrusy scent hits you in the head. You go to feel the spot where the impact occurred. Only now feeling more frustrated when you feel a slightly damp spot of orange juice on your hair.

"Can you guys stop throwing shit?" you say, turning around abruptly.

You see a group of boys huddled in the back of class, all of them looking unfamilar—did they even go to this school? When you spoke they all closed their mouths, and so did everyone else. Everyone was always curious about what you had to say.

The group of boys proceeds to blame each other for the rain of oranges, acting sincere in their apologies when you are positive they aren't. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, guys tend to do stupid things for your attention, or just in general.

Just as your about to turn around and continue your mini debrief session one of the boys says something louder than the rest—

"It's because he's got a crush on you," he says, pointing to his friend. Which causes the rest of the class to whisper and laugh.

Ironically, it's the one that is the most quiet amongst them, he's scrolling on his phone while his long legs stretch past his desk. When he looks up in confusion, your eyes meet.

You've seen him before.

As much as you try, you can't seem to remember his name. You've always associated him with a wannabe rockstar at lunch, it's none of your concern.

You turn back to your friends, trying to ignore the exclamation of 'Did you throw my oranges?' in the background.

As you and the others in the class continue their conversations. Footsteps approaching the table you're sitting at can be heard. It's the wannabe rockstar kid from earlier—he's holding what seems to be an iced americano in his left hand.

The three of you look up towards him, way up. You don't remember him being that tall but, you haven't really seen him standing since freshman year. Your conversation stops and now silence encompasses your space.

It seems like he's waiting for one of you to say something while vice versa is happening in your perspective. None of you tend to start conversations first, especially with those out of their circle. He sighs before giving in—

"Can I have my oranges please?"

"What?" you blurt, unusually appalled at the bluntness of his request.

"If you could hand the one under the chair to me that would be great," he says while facing you.

You try looking at your so-called friends for help, giving them a look basically saying 'what is his deal?' but they shrug at you instead, acting like they are doing homework questions.

"Get it yourself," you respond, unscrewing the cap off your lip balm tube as you're finally about to apply it.

Before you know it, the tube disappears from your hand and when you look up, you almost want to cry.

"But, it's so far," he says with a pout while applying the product to his lips. "Hey, this smells like candy—it's pretty nice," he remarks.

When he hands back the tube to you, your expression reflects disgust as you screw the lid back on, throwing it back into your bag with the tips of your fingers. You hear the girls trying to suppress their giggles which immediately stops when you dart your eyes towards them.

You make note to buy another one of those the next time you go to the mall.

He's still hovering over the table, which is increasingly making you more and more annoyed. You try to make it clear to him—

"I'm not grabbing your stupid orange for you."

"Well I'm hungry and I want to eat that stupid orange."

"Off the ground?"

"Please," he furrows his brows in disbelief "It's not like I'm eating the skin."

"You might as well," you say under your breath.

"Look." He leans in closer.

You hate the way his larger frame is making you feel intimidated, it wasn't supposed to be like that. You were always the one to unintentionally or intentionally make people feel small.

"I know that since you're popular and pretty your ego is inflated, but you're not above picking an orange off the ground."

"Could you repeat that?," you say in a passive aggressive manner. No one has ever spoken to you in that way, even the people who never really liked you always acted nice to your face.

"Sure, grab the orange." He looks you square in the eye. "Please," he says with a hint of malice.

"That's it," you say while standing up suddenly from your chair. Unfortunately causing him to lose grip of the drink in his hand.

The coldness of the drink is a shock. You hold back the urge to scream at the temperature as well as the unfortunate stains the coffee will leave.

"Oh, shit," he says.

"Is that all that you have to say for yourself, oh shit? Really? When you threw your drink on me on purpose."

"Guess you're a drama queen too," he chuckles. "You know I didn't do anything on purpose."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"Shut up."

When you said that, it was directed at him but the entire class got the memo, everyone is silent now, listening in on your encounter. You couldn't care less though, the situation at hand almost has you fuming.

"You did that on purpose and who the fuck drinks coffee without sugar in it?"

"Maybe people who aren't pussies."

"Well maybe you could take a lesson and be more passive like one—"

"What is going on here?" The voice is unfortunately familiar

"Hello Miss Kim," you say as you turn around, greeted by your teacher's inevitable return.

"Nothing's wrong," he says, giving an awkward smile while holding his hands behind his back.

"Yup! Nothing except the fact that I got a cold drink poured all over me," you add, feigning a sweet tone in your voice."

"It wasn't on purpose."

"Yes it was."

"No it wasn't—

"Thats enough from both of you! You can sort this out in the principals office, not in my classroom."

You try to defend yourself, if you play your cards right you could evade this situation.

"But Miss please—

"No buts, make your way now unless you would like an escort."

"No," the two of you say simultaneously. That fact somewhat irritates you.

You grab your backpack and swiftly swing it over your shoulder as you walk out of class ahead of him. You turn around to make an expression of disbelief to your friends. Wonhee points at her phone and mouths 'call me'.

You definitely will be doing that.

❀❀❀

"Is Martin on his way?"

"Who?"

"The guy who Miss Kim sent you here with."

Oh, so Martin is his name.

Now suddenly you are more upset with Martin for having seemingly dipped on you. You've been sitting in the principals office for at least five minutes and since Martin isn't here you've been forced to create small talk with your prinicpal—it could be worse though.

"Sorry I'm late." The door opens suddenly.

Martin.

"I had to make a stop by my locker," he says, holding up a red striped sweater, tossing it in your direction. "I hope you like colour."

The sweater lands directly in your face, you want to get upset but the scent hits you just in time.

It's kind of nice. You think he smells almost like an herbal, blackberry tea. Not too sweet but not too earthy—along with the scent of a boy of course.

"Stop throwing shit on me." It comes out naturally as you remove the sweater from your face. You're grateful that his scent didn't hypnotize you for long.

"Ah ah ah, language young lady," the principal remarks.

"Sorry Ma'am." You smile kindly at her, forgetting your composure in his annoying presence.

"Martin!" She claps her hands together. "Please take a seat, I was just explaining to your classmate here that we will be having a quick discussion."

"Of course," he smiles, pulling out the chair beside you.

You sigh under your breath.

"So, what seems to be the issue today."

"Hes completely tormenting me Mrs. Jeung," you reply quickly.

"Are you still playing that card?" He not-so-quietly whispers towards you. "There was a misunderstanding basically," he says, now towards the principal.

"Oh so now, you want to be the reasonable one."

"I always have been?"

"Quit lying."

"Okay, okay." Mrs. Jeung interrupts "It seems to me that there are some tensions between you that need to be resolved."

"I think we're doing pretty well, actually."

"Nothing needs to be resolved, I didn't even know his name until two minutes ago."

"Ouch," he remarks.

"Proving my point further, it would be really good to have you too sort out your differences."

You stay silent, waiting for her to continue but you already know you aren't going to like the outcome, it's probably going to be related to school spirit though.

"As you know, our annual prom is coming up shortly."

No.

"And the prom committee could use a couple extra helpers."

No.

"The two of you could help out the decorating and planning after school until the dance."

"No." You accidentally say that one out loud that time, you try to save it. " I meant, thank you so much for the opportunity Mrs Jeung but really, I already have so many commitments within and outside of school, I don't know if this is possible for me."

"It's the committee or after school detention unfortunately."

"No."

Martin hasn't said anything up to the point but you can hear him giggle—probably because you've said no twice in a row. From the corner of your eye, you can see him peeling back the layers of his floor orange. You're kind of hating your peripheral vision right now.

"Sorry." You clear your throat. "I will find space in my schedule."

"Sounds amazing!" She smiles at you "And you, Martin?"

"Yeah, I'm cool with it—twice a week right?"

Look at him, prom committee expert.

"Exactly! This is so perfect, you guys will make a great addition to the team."

Right.

The two of you scoot back your chairs, preparing to leave.

"Not so fast" She interrupts "As a school community we are trying to spread kindness among our students."

You both look at her in confusion, where is she going with this? You both take a glance at each other, but quickly look away when it gets awkward.

"Say one nice thing about each other before you leave," she says lightly.

You almost let out an annoyed groan.

"Fine I'll start," you say. "Your sister is pretty cool—too bad she graduated."

"Well, I was going to say that your hair looks pretty—and you know what, I still will." He gives you a smile that you can't tell if it's fake or not.

Now Mrs Jeung is giving you a look that is essentially saying 'try again'. You try to hide your hesitation and exhale—

"You don't smell awful, I guess."

"Thank you," he looks towards Mrs jeung and smiles "I think that's the best I'll get out of her."

"Alright," she laughs. "The two of you can get going now, the next committee meeting is tomorrow after school—there is a mandatory attendance!"

…

"That could have been an email," you mutter under your breath walking down the hallway of the office.

"Real shit," he replies.

"I wasn't talking to you and I didn't need your stupid sweater."

"Well between the fact that your shirt is completely stained and I can see the outline of your bra, I think maybe you did need it."

"I could cut two holes in the middle of my tank and it would become a trend," you say annoyed and slightly flustered, walking faster.

"I'm sure you could."

You hate the way that you can hear the smile in his voice.

❀❀❀

It's still quite busy after school, most extracurriculars occur at that time anyway.

You don't mind the prom committee so far, most of the people just look at you in awe and quickly agree to any ideas or suggestions you have.

You find that—whatever.

The first meeting consisted strictly of planning. The theme of the dance has something to do with the concept of 'breaking the crown,' you don't really get it but play along anyway.

You and Martin didn't speak during the first meeting since you were sitting opposite to each other, you did however find it very annoying when he would take occasional glances at you.

Having people stare or gawk whenever they saw you was nothing new, but his gaze in particular felt intimidating.

Intimidating.

You don't like the connotations of that word, you were always the one to intimidate, purposefully or not.

When you got home after the initial encounter, you remembered to call your friends and explain the situation. They both expressed your same discontent and unhappiness with the situation.

"So, now when we are able to go shopping after school?" Wonhee asked worriedly.

"It's not like she's abandoning us—It's only twice a week," Ella chimed in.

You found their reactions amusing, especially when they continued to ask when you'd get your next break. At least when prom was over you'd get some of your evenings back.

You knew that for the next meeting you'd actually be doing something. Some people explained that you'd be paired up with another member and assigned one of the various tasks that needed to be completed,

And, of course you were paired up with him. When you tried to gently protest it, it was explained to you that the decisions were made by the principal and could not be overturned.

Great.

It's quiet, it doesn't need to be loud. All you were assigned to do was put up promotional prom posters along the school walls. You only had to hand him strips of tape since he had the better reach for putting up the posters.

"Seems like you've taken ownership of my sweater now," he starts.

Right, you still hadn't returned his red-stripped sweater from the other day. It wasn't on purpose though, you completely forgot that you even had it. You don't like the thought of how familiar you've gotten with its scent as it sits in the corner of your room.

"I'll give it back—Can I wash it first?" you say, pinged by annoyance.

"Of course, take your time," he says, extending his hand out for a piece of tape. "I know you like the way I smell anyway."

"I never said that."

"But you did."

Instead of continuing with the banter, you opt to roll your eyes instead. You continue to quietly hand pieces of tape to him as your pile of posters begins to reduce in size.

In the silence some thoughts pop into your head, one's you aren't particularly proud of. You find yourself wanting to ask him a question.

You don't like the fact that you are 'interested' in him enough to ask a question. But still, you decide to ask anyway, albeit blunt.

"I don't think I've ever seen you at prom before, but then again I barely notice you."

"So, you do notice me?" he asks. "Wow, that's such a big honour. You barely notice other people."

"That's not true," you retaliate.

It's not that you don't notice people per say, but it is always easier to keep your circle small and focus on the people closest to you.

"Yeah, whatever," he scoffs.

Which makes you feel slightly annoyed—why did he think he knew everything about you? Before you continue to dwell on his words, he continues speaking—

"I've always wanted to go to prom."

The look on your face reflects confusion—it's pretty straightforward isn't it? You refuse to let him see your reaction to his sincere yet blunt confession. That's not what you expected from him.

"Then just go? Even if you wanted to find a date I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard." You go to grab some tape. "People really seem to be into the band loser punk type."

"So you think I'm attractive?" he asks with a cheeky smile across his face.

"I didn't say that." It came off slightly more defensive than you would have liked.

"But you insinuated it," he starts, "You don't have to deny yourself of me, okay?" he continues to tease.

You know it was a joke, but something particular about it might be true. Maybe that's why you feel so on edge and defensive.

No, no way. You don't even want to think of that possibility.

"Ew, gross." You are really hoping that he didn't hear the way your voice faltered. "Also your lips are dry."

"Staring at my lips, huh?" he begins "Didn't think you wanted to kiss me so bad."

You let out a scoff before reaching into your bag, looking for the lip balm he every so graciously used the other day.

"No, It's because I'm getting peeved," you say, tossing the tube at him.

'Thanks—oh yay, I like this one," he smiles when he recognizes the tube.

You can't help but roll your eyes.

"Just keep it." Is your answer when he attempts to hand it back over to you. "This is our last poster, could you hurry up please?"

"Wow, I never expected a please from you," he starts. "Why? Do you have a hot date or something."

Your lips press into a thin line. You did have some plans with Keonho after his swim practice ended. He has a good intuition, you'd never admit that to him though.

When the last poster is up, you quickly gather your items in your bag and sling it across your shoulder, walking to the direction of the athletics center.

"See you tomorrow!" he exclaims from a distance.

You manage to muster out a 'yeah, whatever' under your breath.

❀❀❀

You catch Keonho just as he leaves the swimming arena.

His hair is still damp and he's wearing his team tracksuit. You're disappointed in his outfit choice—shouldn't he be wearing something less casual for following event?

You have to call out to him a couple of times before you catch his attention since he's always wearing his AirPods. You can see him mumble something under his breath before he approaches you.

"Hi!" you say with a smile—you've been anticipating this moment for a while. "Are you ready to go?"

"Oh hey—didn't expect to see you here." He takes an AirPod out of his ear. "But go where exactly?"

"Keonho." You give him a look that tells him he's forgetting something important.

"Sorry, I forgot whatever this is but can you make it quick? I'm having dinner with the guys soon."

"What do you mean soon? Didn't you say we'd celebrate our pseudo-anniversary together?"

It sounds silly but you call it a pseudo-anniversary since the two of you aren't really dating and you find that anniversary is too on the nose.

"Oh right," he mutters under his breath. "Can we rearrange that? I promise I'll make it up to you but it's our first team dinner in a while."

"But, I asked you first!"

"Chill, It's not like you're my actual girlfiend." You resist the urge to scoff at his words, that didn't mean that he could go back on his words like that. He takes a deep breath before he continues—

"I promise I'll make it up to you okay? How does Friday evening sound?"

Three days from now.

It's not the first time he's done something like that but you never put much thought into it. It was nice having him around and you benefited from the privileges of 'dating' the captain of the swim team.

But, it's getting tiring—the popularity in general. It seems nice to not have to worry about how you present to other people, kind of like that Martin guy. How does he even do it?

You comply with Keonho's solution though, once again.

"Sure—pick me up after my committee meeting?"

"Yup, I'll see you then." He waves you goodbye while continuing to eagerly walk in the direction of his teammates.

Something about that almost makes your blood boil.

❀❀❀

Today for the prom committee you've been assigned to make a playlist—thank god. You didn't know if you could handle more of the school's generic hot 100 playlists.

Once again you've been paired with Martin. Apparently the two of you 'work well together' and he's in a band which in some twisted logic means he has good music taste.

You've heard of him being in a band but you don't care to explore it. He gives you the same impression of all the other thousands of rockstar wannabes who have no aspiration for music.

While you tally up the most requested songs on the survey the school sent out, he begins to create a playlist. He's typing up a couple things on the keyboard but you can't see what since you are sitting across from him.

His chipped black nail polish shouldn't be bothering you as much as it is. You have the urge to tell him to repaint it or just take it off. You decide on neither, not wanting to start something when things have been relatively peaceful.

"Can people be serious? Why is everyone recommending abcdefu?" you say in disappointment.

"That's what you get when you open up school polls," he chuckles.

"Probably not far off from what you listen to," you say while finishing your stats. "Seems like everyone's into Drake, as always."

"Woah, did you just insult my music taste?" he says while making an expression that is a mixture of surprise and offensive.

"I've been insulting you all week."

"Yeah but just petty things—I know you don't mean it, you never do." he smiles cheekily.

That catches you off guard and your eyebrows furrow with surprise. You don't like the way that he's trying to pry into your facade. You especially don't like the way he says it—it's like he knows something that he shouldn't. Going back to the original topic seems like the best choice—well that or going to the bathrooms.

"Okay then—who's your favourite artist?"

He lets out a couple of low chuckles before he answers. He's definitely feeling satisfied in the way that he flustered you.

"Well I've always been into A$AP Rocky—his sound is just so raw and unique. He's made some of the most influential songs in hip hop which on top of his lyricism adds to his greatness"

Oddly insightful.

"Okay wikipedia fanboy," you start. "Not a bad answer though, his new album was good."

"No way you listen to Rocky too?" His tone is riddled with disbelief.

"What? You think I'd only listen to Sabrina, Tate, and Taylor?"

"Yeah," he admits "But it's cool, I like those artists too."

"Didn't know you had range."

"I could say the thing to you—lots of things we don't know about each other," he says while seemingly adding a couple of songs to the playlist.

He's right.

You don't want to think about it though. As time passes you continue to make small conversations with him. Your responses are still sarcastic yet honest and you begin to feel slightly upset at the fact that you feel like you're having fun discussing music with him. At ease for once.

You're jolted out of this state when your phone starts ringing, right. You were supposed to be going out with Keonho tonight, he should be picking you up any minute now.

You quickly excuse yourself from the classroom you're in and stand outside in an empty hallway.

"Hey Keonho? Are you on your way?"

It's silent for a moment—can he not hear you?

"Hello?" You try again.

"Hi, yeah I heard you. It's just that I have some bad news."

He has to cancel, of course, he always does.

"What happened this time?"

"Someone slashed my tire?"

You don't like the way he hesitates when he says that. It's especially upsetting since you know he's lying to you. You can hear the dumb music that jocks love to play at their friday night parties in the background.

"Could you just be a man and tell me the truth instead of lying to me every single time? You can't just hide out in the bathroom at a party and expect me not to hear anything in the background. Fucking amateur."

"Yeah I don't think this is work—

"No, I'll be the one who says it," you interrupt. "Don't contact me again or ask me to go to prom so that you can show me off like a stupid prize."

It comes out a little hypocritical, you were also using him for the same benefits but you never lied to him.

It doesn't matter though, you hang up the call. Not caring what he has to say—you already had a guess of the avoidant reaction he was going to give you.

It feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder but, at the same time it feels like everything else is shattering.

To you he was more than just a guy—but not in the traditional sense, romance didn't blossom amongst the two of you. Instead, he represented everything your carefully curated image stood for.

Admiration.

Naturally people have always admired you, secretly wishing for what you had and wanting to be more like you. That's when you began to lean into it, hard. Always making sure that you would be perceived perfectly, without an ounce of flaw.

Now, you're beginning to realize that the so-called perfect life you've curated is no longer viable.

Maybe love is closer to what you really want.

You can't help but let the tears fall. You place your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that escape you.

You sit like that for a moment, wishing now more than ever to just disappear from it all.

"I don't mean to pry but, is everything okay?"

Now he has to see you cry, great.

"What do you think?"

"Sorry," he softens his tone. "I was just getting worried, you were out for a bit."

You don't say anything.

"Can I do anything to help?"

You stay quiet, not because you're purposefully ignoring him but because you're thinking. What could help?

You don't know, you just want to come home

"Could you give me a ride home," you hiccup. "Please?"

"Yeah of course, I'll just pack up my stuff quickly, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," you say between sobs.

…

The drive is relatively silent, you only spoke whenever he needed directions. He's playing upbeat music on the speakers, trying to lift your spirits. He's not sure if it'll work though but he's hoping you'll notice his small gesture.

Just as he arrives at your stop, you reach towards the ground for your bag. Your fingers touch what seems to be a small glass bottle—you pick it up.

"What's this," you say.

You're unsure why you said it outloud, maybe just to feel that the presence of someone wasn't fake. Even if it's dark outside, you'd always recognize the feeling of a nail polish bottle.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to bring that in."

"Let me fix your nails."

"Huh," he says while putting the car in park. "Why?"

"Because I need something to distract myself with and your dumb chipped nails are still bothering me."

"Oh, okay." he extends his right hand out to you "But shouldn't we go inside—like for a table I mean?"

"I'm not letting you into my house."

He'll be able to see the puffiness of your eyes and redness of your face if he sees you in the light, you've had enough of that for today.

As you open the bottle you are hit with the familiar smell of nail polish and proceed to ask Martin to open the window a bit.

"Stop moving," you tell him as you swipe the brush along his nails. Even though it's clear that your hands are the ones trembling.

"Sorry," he says, almost with sincerity.

You must be hearing things.

One layer seems like enough to hide the rugged ridges, you don't feel like doing any more. It looks better than it did before anyway.

"I'm going in now," you say while screwing the lid on and placing it in an empty cup holder.

"And if you tell anyone you saw me cry I swear—"

"Saw you do what?" he interjects. "I think you should get to bed."

"No you," you say, closing the car door behind you.

❀❀❀

His sweater that is still sitting in the corner of your room is bothering you. The red and black stripes clash with the rest of your room and you want it gone.

Especially after yesterday's events. It's still bothering you that essentially a stranger saw you at a low point.

If you recall correctly from your conversation the other day—he hosts band practises on Saturdays. If he's home you'd rather return it to him directly. If you gave it to him at school you would face an abundance of questions that you did not want to answer.

You quickly text Ella for his address since she's neighbours with one of his bandmates. You're unsure how she got Martin's address from that fact alone but you don't question it—she knows a lot of things, somehow.

…

You know the address is correct when you see a familiar car in the driveway. The garage—where you expect him to be is closed since the boys are practicing, you can hear them even behind the closed door.

Hopefully someone would let you in through the front door, you have no way of contacting him otherwise.

Thankfully, someone answers. You do recognize him though, as Ella's neighbour, you can't seem to remember his name though.

"Hi," you start. "I just need to give this back to Martin." Gesturing towards the sweater in your hand.

"Hi—yeah just one second," he says before disappearing towards the direction of the garage.

You peep your head in slightly through the doorway, unsure if you should walk in or not. You see various pairs of shoes in the entryway and know that the ones in the size eleven are definitely Martin's.

"You can come in," the boy from earlier says, gesturing towards you. "You don't have to take your shoes off or anything."

You let out a quick 'okay' in agreement as you follow him to the garage.

The members are sprawled out in various ways along the ground doing different tasks. You see a couple of guys tinkering with their guitars, one taking a sip of water, and then there's Martin.

His long legs outstretch past him on the floor. He's singing some words to himself—something about roses?

He sounds pretty good.

When you make your way downstairs everyone pauses what they are doing for a moment and looks at you, you filter it out as you always do.

"I have your sweater, where should I put it?" you say casually causing some of the boys to look towards Martin in surprise as if to say 'Her? How?'

"Just in my room, It's literally the first door up the stairs—I'll be up there in a second."

"Okay," you say, closing the door behind you which doesn't muffle the sounds of cheers from his friends.

His directions were as literal as they could get. When you open the doors you are greeted with pastel blue walls, on one of them there is an airplane. Upon a closer look, you realize that its hand drawn which you think is impressive.

You snoop around his room for a bit taking in the surroundings and making note of familiar objects that you see him with at school like his headphones and a studded belt.

You hesitate on where you should put his sweater—on his desk or on his bed. It shouldn't matter much since the colour can be spotted easily. You still find yourself walking towards his desk when you notice an open notebook sprawled across it.

You see what you presume to be song lyrics written along it. There are some scribbles here and there but its form stays intact.

You know you shouldn't be reading it, you know that you would be evading his privacy but, you can't help but be curious about the things he writes.

Like a rose,
you’re beautiful
but too fickle to hold

I try to be gentle,
Try not to get hurt
But your thistles find me
again and again

I know your sharp thorns are there to protect something softer within.
But can I be honest?
How much longer does my heart have to hold?

I don’t know if I can do this anymore
This quiet kind of longing that never gets returned
I don’t think it’s for me

It’s wearing me down
As I watch my precious walls of glass
Turn to sand before my eyes

So please tell me
If I’m honest with you
Would you let me stay?

I promise
I won’t break your heart like others did before
I promise
I’ll give you my all

I’m just worried that
I’ll lose myself trying to love you

You stare at the pages blankly for a second, you don't even know how to process what you just read.

It feels familiar, yet distant.

You want to sit with the pages for longer, you feel like you could understand them if you just had a bit of time until you're interrupted—

"Good to see that I pointed you to the right…'" he trails off.

You turn back abruptly to face him. You want to say something but the words don't form. You can't imagine how guilty you look right now.

"What, are you doing?" His voice is laced with worry and a bit of anger.

"Nothing, I was just putting your sweater down." It's a half truth.

"Why the hell would you read that?"

"It was just there." He's put you in a position where denying makes you look even more guilty, you try to deflect, as always. "Plus, it's no big deal they were well written lyrics anyway"

"Maybe not to you." He rubs his temple "God, why did you have to be so nosy?"

His hands begin to tremble.

"Look i'm sorry theres nothing I can do about it now."

"Just leave."

"Huh? Martin—

"Go."

You decide not to protest, you've never seen him get upset like that before but then again you haven't known him for long anyway.

You're unsure if you even know him.

Those lyrics he wrote stuck with you, it feels like your ticket to understanding a person who seems so independent and secure in themself.

But the stanza that stuck with you the most 'I'm just worried that i'll lose myself trying to love you.' makes you think that maybe your perception was wrong and that you entered a place in his heart that you weren't allowed to be in.

❀❀❀

You haven't spoken to him since Saturday.

You do see him in small bursts throughout the day: in the halls, in class, but he doesn't say anything to you. You don't say anything to him either.

But, you know you will have to talk during your prom committee duties in the coming days.

The dance is approaching fast and everyone seems to be on time two speed trying to set things up. You'll probably work on decorating the gym or the halls this week to avoid a hustle the night before.

"Hey Martin," you say. "Could you pass me the scissors please?"

He glances up from his screen at the scissors beside him, then he looks back to his computer and continues to type.

He skipped the last meeting for whatever reason, he seemed perfectly fine in chemistry laughing with his friends, you conclude that he didn't attend because of you.

He barely even looks in your direction like he's in the Bird Box.

"Are you seriously not going to talk to me?" you ask "I don't want to be doing this either but we got into this shit together."

He ignores you, continuing to type.

"Seriously? Martin I didn't mean for that to happen."

His typing gets louder.

"Martin? Could you listen to me for one second oh my god."

He shuts his computer this time and sighs under his breath. Grabbing his bag, he walks away from the table you're sitting at.

You go after him, having to speedwalk to keep up with his longer strides.

"Look I'm sorry—okay?" You grab his arm. "It was bad of me to do that but I can't fix anything if you won't talk to me and I want to get this committee work done."

"So you could spread more of my business to your clique?"

"What? When have I ever done that? I don't even talk to them about you!"

It came out harsher than you intended. The temporary hurt look on his face makes you wish you could try saying that over again. You take a deep breath—

"Even if I wanted to, I would have by now. Everyone knows that Monday is the best for spreading gossip cause all the good stuff happens on the weekend."

He gives you an unimpressed look.

"You get my point," you whine.

He grabs the strap of his back on his shoulder and exhales sharply before speaking—

"I don't like how you read that."

"I don't like how I read it either," you respond, even though you didn't need to. "I'm sorry and I genuinely mean it Martin you know I'm not the type to let people see me like this."

"Like what?"

"Like frail and helpess—god I feel like such a loser."

"You're not a loser."

"Thanks." Is what you come up with in response. "Can I ask you a question about those lyrics?"

"No."

You should have expected that answer.

"Okay, then can we finish our task for the day—together? I can't pull the weight all on my own."

"Yeah, whatever." he says while walking back towards the table he was originally seated at.

❀❀❀

In chemistry the next day, you're doing the same things you usually do—finshing the assignments quickly so you can talk with your friends more.

"You seem to be spending a lot of time with Martin Edwards lately," Ella says, erasing her answer to a question.

"Well, I'm stuck on the prom committee with him so I kind of have to."

She smiles in response and Wonhee asks the question that they are both eager to know the answer to—

"Do you like him?" she says, almost a bit too loud.

"Shh!," you whisper, looking around to see if anyone else noticed. Thankfully most people seem to be occupied with their homework or their computer games.

"No, of course not it's not even like that," you reason.

"Oh come on, you're always talking about him on FaceTime—Martin did this, Martin said that."

"Can you not say his name," you say in a quiet and rushed voice, you glance over your shoulder to make sure that didn't catch his attention. "He's in this class you know."

"Lets call him Orange then!" Wonhee suggests.

You want to protest it but end up shrugging. It's better than addressing him by his actual name in such a public setting.

Instead you turn back towards the questions in front of you, scribbling down an answer to a question. You know you can't avoid the subject for long but you thought you'd have more time—

"Hello? That's not a good enough answer! Remember when I told you all of the stupid details about my last situationship?"

"Yeah, and when I accidently kicked that senior Jungwon in the face during a cartwheel!"

You roll your eyes at them—it's true, you do usually tell each other everything. But you're unsure you even have an answer yourself.

"Let's put it this way," Ella starts. "Would you rather go on a date with him or Keonho?"

"That's such an unfair question! You know I ended things with him already."

"So you'd choose Orange?" Wonhee asks.

"Well my other choice was a molded apple."

They both giggle and look at each other as if they just found out a big secret. It's not your fault that they set you up with an awkwardly phrased question.

"Okay," Ella says through her laugh. "Even for a wannabe rockstar he's not that bad—I don't even blame you.

"I think pink and black look good together," Wonhee adds.

At least they don't care too much about who you date, you thought it was weird though. You were always hyper fixated on the image of the people nearest to you. It's odd to find out that the girls the most similar to you don't care much. Before you dwell on it further, Ella says something—

"Oh and also rumour has it that Keonho misses you—

"He doesn't miss me, he just misses the idea of me—he'll be okay," you assure her.

She doesn't say anything but nods at your statement. Your situationship with him lasted way longer than it should have anyway.

When the bell rings you pack up your things and say bye to the two girls since your next class isn't with them. Before you walk away however—Ella stops you.

"It's Orange's birthday on Friday so do with that what you will," she teases.

"Thanks?"

You're unsure what to do with that information—should you get him a gift? You aren't friends with him or anything like that but you do still feel a sort of guilt for reading his lyrics.

Whatever, you'll figure it out later.

❀❀❀

"Hey Martin?" you ask, flipping through your notebook.

"Yeah," he responds.

Prom is a week from now, next Friday. It's one of your last meetings and things have been getting pretty hectic lately.

It's almost annoying since you didn't volunteer for it in the first place but you want to do all your tasks as best as you can—creating long hours for yourself.

"Do you think we'll have enough time to finish emailing all the people for the event—like the photographer and caterers? We have to go home soon."

"Uhm." He checks the time on his Apple watch. "No, I don't think we do–we'll have to continue on the weekend or something."

"Can't we just finish it later this evening?"

"I have plans tonight, sorry."

Right, it's his birthday today—well if Ella was right but she usually is.

"Okay, then does Saturday morning work?"

"I'll be busy that morning."

"Martin," you say in annoyance. He finds that humorous, trying to suppress his laughter.

"Saturday evening works for me."

...

You try and finalize as many email drafts as you can before the times up. You're pretty much done, you won't have to do much Saturday besides making a couple of calls. You decide to open up a small snack-size pack of candies to kill time.

When you check the clock next, it's time to leave. Martin's noticed too—he's already in the process of gathering his things.

"Also, Martin." You wait for him to look at you.

When he does you almost don't want to continue. Fuck.

"Happy Birthday," you say, looking at the wall instead of him.

You can see him smile from the corner of your eye—great he's going to tease you again.

"Thanks." He's facing you now. "Didn't think you'd know."

"I know a lot of things."

"Okay so then when is my sister's birthday?"

"I said I know a lot of things not everything," you toss a candy at him, he catches it.

"Wow, thanks for the birthday gift too—strawberry is my favourite flavour."

"It's actually cherry," you say, looking at the package.

❀❀❀

He's late.

You never knew how he was when it came to punctuality but as every minute passes by you grow more and more ansty—especially with the stupid preparation you made for his visit. The fact that it's only been ten minutes bothers you the most.

It's at this moment that you wished you had his number. You've thought about DM'ing him from time to time whenever you had a question related to the committee but you never went through with it. It felt desperate.

You only relax when you hear a knock on the door.

The cool evening breeze hits you in your loungerwear when you open the door.

"Jeez, could you come in already–it's so cold."

"It's not that bad," he says, walking through the doorway.

"Make sure to take your shoes off," you state.

"Yes sir."

You quickly let him know where the cups are for water and where the bathroom is. The stuff that people usually ask for when they visit.

"Okay, now that that's done we can go and finish the emails in my room." You walk towards the direction of your room.

"Thought we had calls to do?" he asks, following you.

"I called them already, in the morning," you start. "No business is going to answer a late evening call."

"So you duped me?"

"Your fault for being easy."

"Im not easy!"

"Sure..."

You find he's standing closely beside you while you open the door to your room. You try to ignore the odd feeling of him towering above you.

"You can sit anywhere, I don't care." You turn on the lights.

He nods before jumping straight onto your bed, ugh.

You type up some email drafts while he reads out the things you should mention in the emails from his phone. It's over almost as quickly as it started.

"So, is that it?"

Not really.

You give him a shrug.

"What does that mean?"

"Ugh, this is so dumb." You get up to grab something, leaving him confused.

When you come back, you have a cleanly wrapped rectangular box with a bow on top of it. You noticed it at the mall the other day—thought maybe he would like it.

You can see the grin on his face forming. You make sure to say something before he does

"And don't fucking freak out about it I just noticed it as I was passing by."

"Still means you were thinking of me."

The annoyed sigh you release is satisfying to him.

"Happy belated," you say, tossing the box in his direction—it's not going to shatter.

"Thank you," he smiles. "Can I open it now?"

"No, just look at how pretty it is," you snark.

He lets out a half-laugh before proceeding to rip apart the wrapping—you really did spend too much time on that.

He pauses for a moment, looking up to you in shock when he sees the box underneath.

"Yo, no way." His face contorts into even more surprise somehow. "Are these the new rick owens and converse collab."

"What do you think?"

"Dude, these are actually so hard to get—how did you even manage to buy them?"

"Like I said, I was just passing by." You try to suppress a grin.

You were curious about what the long line at the mall was about—usually it's for a celebrity or a new shoe drop. You were hoping it was the former but you guess you got something out of it.

He has a really nice smile.

"How did you even know my shoe size?" He tries a shoe on. "They fit perfectly."

"I'm a good guesser."

You try to take some subtle glances at him as continues to admire his shoes. It's nice that he's so appreciative over something that you thought was a one off.

In this moment of admiration, you barely noticed the way he was continuously calling your name until the last time.

"You okay?" He asks, his eyes reflect concern.

"Yeah, what's up?" What's happening? You were always supposed to be paying attention.

"I was just thinking." He puts one of the shoes that he was holding down. "Do you remember what you asked me a couple of days ago?"

"Like every question I asked you?"

"No, there was one in particular."

"The name of your band?"

"No, you already know that," he laughs.

"Uhm, then if you had any pets?"

"I wish I had a dog—but that's still not it."

"I give up." You put your hands up in defeat. "Enlighten me."

His eyes shifted around, he starts to pick at his now re-chipped nail polish.

"You wanted to know something about those lyrics I wrote."

You did, and you still do.

"I thought that topic was off limits."

"Well that was a couple days ago."

He wants you to ask again and thankfully you do. It's still something that comes up in your mind occasionally.

"Okay then." You shift around in your seat. "I wanted to know what those lyrics were about—I felt like I was close to understanding them."

"I don't really know what it's about either—just an accumulation of my feelings."

He looks up shortly but looks back down almost immediately.

"I never say how I feel out loud and I don't even like to think about it that often. But when I do—when I write, it all just sort of pours out."

His hands go to cover his face. You take note of the redness on the tips of his ears.

"Sorry, that probably sounds dumb."

"Don't apologize—It's fine, I get it," you respond simply. "I had the impression I was reading something that wasn't meant for me."

"I just was scared of what you'd think of it—like of me, unfiltered and raw."

"Well, I think he's pretty cool." You give him a small smile.

"You too," he responds.

"Huh?"

"Like this version of you—the one where you don't care about what others think and do things for yourself."

"Yeah, I guess I don't mind it either," you admit.

"Do you have any plans for prom? I mean probably you always have a roster of guys asking you out," he chuckles a little.

"Not, this year."

"What, really? No way."

"I ended things with the guy I usually go with."

"Oh, sorry to hear that."

"No, he didn't care about me and we weren't even dating in the first place."

"Happy to hear that?" He tries to correct.

His clumsiness makes you laugh—he laughs at his unsure answer as well.

And for the first moment in a while, you feel completely relaxed—laughing over a silly thing with him.

An idea pops into your head.

It's risky, and you would rather not take that risk. Plus, you've never asked anyone like that before—people always approached first.

It comes out anyway, as if you lost control over what to say in your current state.

"Do you want to go to prom with me?"

"What?"

Your heart sinks. Risks were risks for a reason.

"Nevermind, forget it. I didn't—

"No, that's not what I meant!" he interjects. "I'd actually really love to go to prom with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Pick me up Friday evening?"

"Of course—nah actually you can walk."

"Martin!" You playfully toss a nearby plushie to him on your bed.

"Aw, it's so cute—kind of looks like you."

"You think I look like a bear?" You go to sit beside him on the bed.

"A cute bear," he adds.

"Gee thanks."

Your knees touch the ends of the bed, but neither of you move. It's comforting to have someone in proximity like that, so it doesn't bother you. You wonder if he's thinking the same thing. You look at him to see if maybe you could catch a glimmer of that.

Your eyes meet when he looks at you, they look so sincere. You don't even want to break eye contact but you do anyway—it's oddly nerve-wracking. And when you do, you feel a hand on your chin, gently turning it back to where it was. He hesitates, keeping you there for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Then, he kisses you.

You're unsure what to do with yourself. You just decide to close your eyes and bask in the moment, hoping that it would never end.

And just like everything's been all evening—it ends faster than you would have liked. You debate asking him to do it again but decide against it.

"Oh." You try to say something but the words don't form.

"No, it's fine—its getting late anyway."

He gets that you are processing something right now, he always seems to get you. He stands up.

"I'll see you Monday though, okay?"

"Yeah, it sounds good." You finally muster up

"Oh also," He stops in his tracks. "Can I maybe get your number? I wanted to let you know I'd be running late today but I couldn't."

"Yes! Of course."

You don't even care if it came off too eager this time.

❀❀❀

When you see him at school during the week, you always make sure to smile and say hi to him. It doesn't matter to you anymore—you'll greet him in class, in the halls, at lunch.

It's all worth it when he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek or talks to you briefly about his day. Keonho's jealous expression is only a bonus.

It's so dumb. You almost resent yourself for having so much fun with a guy who you would have never talked to otherwise. Thanks Mrs. Jeung.

Ella and Wonhee won't stop hounding you about how they knew about it from the start.

You think you'll give it to them this time.

On the night of the dance—he picked you up ten minutes early.

It gave you time to take some pictures that you'll want to frame later. It also gave you time to admire him in his sleek black suit. You've already lost how many times he's complimented you in the past hour alone.

When you arrive, it's relatively busy near the gym doors where the main event is being held. The two of you decide to hover around the hallway area and admire the work you did in decorating.

"The prom committee wasn't so bad—look at all the cool stuff we set up."

"Be so serious Martin."

Before you enter the gym, you hook your arm around his—admiring the daisy corsage he gave you. It compliments the colour of your dress well.

You greet a couple of your friends when you enter, he greets a couple of his. Both parties are still confused as to how you got together. Every time they ask, the two of you just laugh towards each other and say something about oranges.

For the majority of the night, the two of you hover over different sections. Going to the dance floor and feeling a special sort of satisfaction when people sang the lyrics to the songs you chose. You took some fun photos in the photobook—some with your girls, some with him. Maybe you went back to the buffet once or twice.

When the night goes on, the two of you begin to grow tired, wanting to call it a night since you stayed up facetiming each other the other day. However, everyone's convinced you that you can't leave before awards.

You don't expect to win anything this year—Prom Queen and King are usually voted by whoever is the most popular and everyone loves Keonho. You almost feel a little bad for him and the girl around his arm that's seemingly completely smitten with him.

You were in that very same position in the previous year, and a crown didn't make him want you more.

You hope he'll be able to make a genuine relationship with someone rather than leeching off of whoever has the most attention.

"Everyone please take a seat as we announce the winners of every category."

They always announce other awards before the title ones. Wonhee won a congeniality award and Ella won something along the lines of best column. They both deserve it ten times over.

You tune out the rest of the awards, staring at the subtle fairy lights spread along the gym walls instead. You only come back to reality when someone taps you on the shoulder.

"Hello? We won," Martin says to you.

Everyone else at your table is saying something along the lines of that.

"Oh, okay," you stand up, wrapping your arm around his once again as you make your way up to the stage to claim the award.

Thankfully speeches got abolished last year when somebody mentioned seeing someone making out with a hot dog? You didn't have anything planned anyway—posing for photos is easier.

Plus, you already have what you want.

He's wrapped his hand around your waist, moving you closer towards him.

"First times the charm," you say to him.

"Your former prom queen luck rubbed off on me."

"Oh yeah, it definitely did."