changer ❧ j.sc | ✔

book one ❧ [vi]

Being friends with Sungchan was pretty easy, actually. You already had a lot of the same friends (it was sort of weird that you hadn't met before that date, you realized), and as long as somebody else was there, it was easy to ignore the ever-present, ever-growing crushing pain in your chest whenever you were with him. You didn't like that it was like this, you hated being that person pining over one of their friends who had explicitly said that they just wanted to be friends. You'd tried to get yourself to feel like this about other guys—the cute phoenix in your Criminology class, or the funny gryphon that you were partnered up with for a project in your Introduction to Interdisciplinary class. But it was useless, your thoughts always came back Sungchan. And you weren't friends with him in hopes that one day it would be different, either; you really didn't want to be that friend. You were just enjoying Jung Sungchan, in whatever capacity you got him in.

And right now, that was a rather tenacious study buddy. When you'd off-handedly mentioned an upcoming test that you hadn't studied for yet, he immediately made you compare schedules so that the two of you could do a study session before it. So now you were reviewing flash cards of some key concepts as Sungchan was hunched over a notebook of his own. Working on his research with his professor, you were pretty certain. He switched between his computer and handwritten notes so frequently that you weren't sure how he kept it all straight, and all the numbers and Greek letters and letter letters made your head swim trying to decipher it. As long as it all made sense to him.

It all mostly made sense to you when he would explain it to you, if you were actually listening to the words he was saying and not just thinking about how nice his voice sounded, or how pretty he looked that day. Your brain was truly rotting from the inside out.

And you two were alone. You didn't know if he had invited any of your other friends and they couldn't make it or if this was a "just us" thing. That was something that he did that always made it so hard for you to keep your rule of never hoping for more. Sometimes you two would hang out and invite Shotaro and Jaemin and Jeno and Jeno's girlfriend and maybe even some more of their friends that you weren't as familiar with; and sometimes when you'd ask if you should invite anybody, Sungchan would reply with a shoulder shrug and a casual non-explanation that this should be a "just us" thing. You could never delineate what made an activity worthy of a group invite or a "just us" thing.

You stared at your screen with immense focus. Not on what was on the screen, your thoughts had long drifted from dryad folk tales and were now in an endless rumination on what the hell a "just us" thing was. You'd been to group study sessions and study sessions with just Sungchan. Group movie nights and movie nights alone with Sungchan—those were an especially bittersweet kind of awful, as he liked to share blankets. Group dinners and dinners with just the two of you. So what made something a "just us" activity? What was the—

Something in your periphery caught your attention, and snapped you out of your pensive thoughts that you'd been stewing in. It was a small, white, origami heart being pushed up from the bottom corner of your computer screen. You took it, smiling at Sungchan across the table from you, who sat up straight now that he no longer had to reach so far to deliver it to you.

Upon second glance, it looked like the heart was made out of notebook paper from his spiral notebook with notes on it in blue ink. You squinted to make out some of It in his messy scrawl, but gave up after reading just a portion of a complicated, technical word.

"Thanks, Sungchan." You ran your fingertip along the crisp edge of the paper heart.

This had been one habit he'd picked up since the Valentine's Day event at Jasmine & Pearls, he now made origami hearts whenever his fingers grew restless and he had access to a suitable piece of paper. You were usually the target of receiving them and now had a steadily growing collection in a small jar on your coffee table. You didn't have it in you to throw them away.

"Something wrong, Y/N?" Sungchan asked. He had presumably noted the intense way you'd been staring at your screen the moments prior. "Or is the material just that bad for your test?"

"Ehh..." You sighed, rolling your neck out. "Just tired. Ready for the semester to be over, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Is this made of your notes, by the way?" You held up the origami heart.

"Stuff I had to rip out and redo, I messed it up."

You nodded, then stood up to crack your back, groaning at the cathartic cracking sounds that came with it. "God, I think my spine needs to be folded up like that origami, holy shit."

"Fix your posture," Sungchan snorted. "You sit like a little shrimp using a computer."

Your jaw dropped as you put a hand to your chest, unsure of whether to laugh or be offended. Ultimately, you keeled over with laughter, having to plop back down in your desk chair—hunched over—to catch your breath again. Sungchan was watching you with a fond smile, reclined back in his chair with some not very great posture himself.

"A shrimp?"

"A little shrimp," he corrected you. "A cute little shrimp using her little computer and fucking up her back in the process."

"Alright, it's not my fault you're literally a tree. Anybody is a little shrimp compared to the man who almost broke a photobooth because he was too tall for it," you teased him back through the fresh squeezing of your chest at him calling you 'cute,' even if it was followed by the words 'little shrimp.'

"You're never letting me live that one down, huh?"

"Never. I'll be telling that story at your funeral, where you'll be buried with my mangled origami heart, remember?"

"You're banking on the fact that you're going to outlive me in this scenario."

"Right, my bad. Werewolves are the hardier species, so obviously you'll outlive me."

"Well, statistically—"

"Statistics say nothing about the power of spite, Sungchan. I will outlive you out of spite, so that I can tell that story at your funeral. And if not, I will have a backup recording of me telling that story, and in my will, have orders that it be played at your funeral."

"You're going to put it in your will to make sure you have the last word in case I outlive you? Which, statistically, I will."

"Yes."

The two of you held your defiant eye contact for another moment before you burst out in coordinated laughter, all tension fizzling out.

"I do expect that fucked-up origami heart to go down with you, though," you pointed at him through your laughs, still only half-serious.

"Only if one of the hundreds I've given you by now makes it down with you," he nodded, holding his pinky finger out.

You linked yours with it. "Deal."

"Deal."