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bluewatsons · 4 years

Conversation

Feona Attwood, Interview with Zygmunt Bauman, 21 Sexualities 131 (2017)

Feona Attwood: In Liquid Love (2003) you suggest that human bonds are increasingly frail and impermanent. Do you still hold to that?

Zygmunt Bauman: Today, in entering into binding relationships, people are very much concerned with the exit scenario. When two people meet to live together it’s all that ‘We will see how it goes. We will see how it goes’. That makes it frail. Because if you swear to each other, take the oaths of loyalty, even if you are encountering difficulties, well, two characters, two prerogatives meet. They have to meet and negotiate. Their pasts, their friends, their habits, their preferences and so on. It’s always very dramatic stuff. There are difficulties. In the past, divorces were not yet so popular as now. Now, it’s just matter of routine, no problem. If you want to divorce, okay, let’s divorce. That’s it. And most of the divorces take place in the first year after the marriage.

Feona Attwood: Why?

Zygmunt Bauman: Because it just lost the romance. People didn’t have time yet to negotiate, you know, togetherness. How to live together 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If you know the exit is so easy, then even the smallest disagreement will be easy to jump over, be kicked aside or forgotten. All trifling disagreements, trifling difficulties arise to the level of a principles disagreement. So that’s hopeless. Once upon a time, but not long ago – you don’t remember because you are young - but I remember a time when you bought a gadget for yourself with the intention of keeping it for many years. If it broke, you could always repair it. You just worked on it and repaired it. Now when it breaks, you go to the shop and buy a new one. If the commodity I bought is not up to my expectations, or if I hear on TV, or on Facebook or on the internet or whatever, that each of you shops for better gadgets, then there’s no reason why I should not exchange it. The easier the facility with which relations can be tied together and broken, that constitutes the fragility. But we are losing the skills necessary to really make our relationships stable. Love is not a found object. Love is something which needs to be made and re-made. The recipe is for very hard work until really death do us part. Forever. It’s a life-long job, not something you can miraculously find or destroy, or just open a website and seek a date, and that’s it. People see essential discrepancies, a contradiction between our longing for easiness, comfort and convenience in life, and at the same time, our yearning for intimacy, for real love, deep love, relationship. There’s a clash between the two. But the idea of progress today, it’s the idea of getting rid of troubles, making life easier, giving and having instant results. Like instant coffee, you just sprinkle some powder and pour some water, and you drink, that’s it. So yes, my answer is that human bonds are increasingly frail and impermanent. And mind you, the research shows that this is the case. I’m not inventing. I’m not fantasizing about it. The hard facts – in America, which is, as always, in the avant garde of progress, 80% of marriages end in divorce, that is the first marriage and in the second and the third marriages the rate of divorce is even higher. The first divorce is difficult. Slightly. The second is easier. The third comes without any problem. It appears that 40% of American children are born in a household without a father. 40%. About 60% of American children at some point of their lives experience living without one of their parents. There is the wish for a deep intimacy. Every moment of togetherness to be lived through as a moment of eternity, which can last forever. But, the morning after, people wake up – oh, that is a horror. Lasting forever? Without the capacity to throw it away if such a thing doesn’t work properly? That is what makes people so uneven in a moment of happiness. It is precisely contradiction. On the one hand, safety. I always want the option of opting out. If it doesn’t work, I’m not committed forever. I can start anew. There’s always the chance of a second life, a second identity. So, that’s one side. On the other side, it’s a real, very deep, very satisfying, very gratifying experience of two identities coming together, complementing each other, giving each other happiness. Now, how to reconcile that? There’s nothing that enables you to enjoy both things at the same time. As the English say, to have a cake…

Feona Attwood: And eat it.

Zygmunt Bauman: You can’t. So it’s always, all the time, in the moment of full satisfaction they feel subtle anxiety that the other is in danger. You can’t have it at the same time. I’m not condemning; I’m simply reminding us that whatever you select, you always give something and lose something. There’s no other way. Unfortunately, you can’t have it all. So people are vacillating, people are hesitating. People are on the seesaw between two equally powerful overwhelming needs in us.

Feona Attwood: Do you see any positive changes in human relationships and connections in recent years?

B: Well I don’t know whether it’s positive or not. There are substitute medicines. Substitutes, not resolving the difficulties, mostly sweeping them under the carpet. Removing them from sight. Creating a feeling that everything is okay. Forgetting that something is not very socially okay, but you simply are liberated from the pressure to think about it. Examples? Well, we mentioned Facebook. We mentioned Twitter. There’s a great, great invention. You remember the Walkman?

Feona Attwood: Yes, yes.

Zygmunt Bauman: You remember how the Walkman was introduced into the market? What was the slogan? The slogan was ‘never again alone’. Never again alone. For the first time, we could go into the forest alone, walk on a meadow somewhere far away from people, no one beside you. And when someone was shouting to you, you just listened to it. Never in the history of humanity had there been something like that was. When they were alone, they were alone. Full stop. Now, when you’re alone still you hear human beings somewhere talking to you, addressing you; even singing for you. Well, it was a premium gadget because you could hear but you couldn’t talk.

Feona Attwood: You’ve argued that we are moving to a situation where we prize connections rather than relations and ‘virtual relations’. You’ve talked about the way that technology allowed connections to become ‘more frequent and more shallow, more intense and more brief’. This was before the creation of Facebook in 2004 and Twitter in 2006. How do you think the developments in technology have impacted on our relations since you wrote Liquid Love?

Zygmunt Bauman: Well, Facebook created something different. You can talk. You can address. You can converse with a human being, even if this other human being is hundreds of thousands of kilometers away. You can be sure that 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, there is always someone somewhere who is ready to receive and even respond to your message. When you send to Twitter, simultaneously to thousands of people, not just to one person, one friend, irreplaceable, but on the contrary, ultimately replaceable by hundreds of them, you just contact, report, or add it on Facebook. There are people who are proud to say they make 500 friends in one day. I didn’t make 500 friends in my life and I have lived almost 90 years now. So there’s a difference, you know. It does not necessarily mean that they are no longer alone. Really, in real life, they are threatened by the social position which they earned through hard work, that it may disappear simply because the company which they dedicated their life to disappears. It may be eaten up by a bigger company. You may lose everything. So the fear of being abandoned, of being excluded, or being evicted is quite real. It’s not imaginary. It’s reality that you have to live all alone. Now the youngest enters adult life; a different kind of life. They have no future, no career or luck, no prospects. The fear of losing, of abandonment is quite real. It’s not imaginary. But when you sit in front of your computer, you may forget about it. Because of the community. It’s not a social bond, but it is a connection. But the disconnect with people is also a difficulty. According to the latest research, the average person spends seven and a half hours – half of the waking day – in front of a screen, not in front of other human beings, but in front of a screen. All sorts of screens; laptop, desktop, iPhone, iPod. We are never parted from screens. You carry screens with you, wherever you go. If you forget it, you feel like you forgot your trousers or skirt. So, the illusion is that we are not after all alone. But in the online world that we inhabit we just put our worries to rest. Yes, forget about it, because the pressure of being constantly attached to hundreds of people just stifles it for the time being.

Feona Attwood: You said that people have the illusion or impression of being connected. Do you think technology becomes a way of really relating, or are they just illusions? Is it an illusion of communication and connection?

Zygmunt Bauman: Online and offline have different rules to work. And for example, people suffer. There’s a big problem today – the big migration of great masses of people. Suddenly, the whole environment in which you live changes, its character changes; people with different languages, different habits, different ways of life. So because you would lose your learnt familiar expectations, which made your life at least seem safe and certain, you want your neighbours to be more or less familiar to you. You learn from their behaviour what to expect from them; what they are good for, what they are bad for. Suddenly, there are masses of strangers who are very difficult to read, so to speak. They are also living now in a multi-centred world, where one steady, stable binding or hierarchy, or values or preferences does not exist any longer. You are exposed to contradictory views. One side praises, the other condemns. For every thesis, there’s antithesis. The atmosphere is of big loss. Uncertainty, contingent on uncertainty. You don’t know how to behave. And whenever you go out from your home, go for a stroll along the street, or when you come to your workplace, or the University or the school where you are studying, you are in this offline world exposed to precisely that, to this tremendous variety. The variety of messages, that falls eventually to you personally, to reconcile that, to find your way between contradictory signals. And to make choices and to build responsibilities from your choices. Then you come to your online world. You are at rest. Finally you find a shelter from all this havoc, you know, chaos. On the internet, in the online world, unlike the offline world, you can avoid everything which creates your anxiety in the offline world. You can just bypass it. In addition to the views and ideas that you like, which are comforting to you and so on, there are views and intentions with which you hotly disagree; that actually make you uncomfortable that they exist. Online, you can eliminate them. If you come back to a website, which conveys ideas which create your unease, you just press ‘delete’, and you find another sector of online reality where there are only people who think like you, who applaud you, who reinforce your ideas. Only they are allowed to speak. You are in a comfort zone. You may believe in it but it’s impossible. As I have told you, when you are coming back to the office, you see people of all colours, of all ideas sitting around, you have to engage in a dialogue with them. They negotiate. They quarrel… trying to reach some sort of agreement. All that is taken away. You put them aside when you are in the online world. Research shows that people who are online have hopes that the World Wide Web will expand our horizons. We have access to everything which happens everywhere, to all countries, to all issues, to all ideologies. Everything is within our reach. I don’t have to strain myself to reach it. It’s all there. Therefore the grounds for mutual suspicion, the fear of diversity would disappear. The result is actually the opposite. Because most users of the internet create what can be called echo chambers in which all the sounds you hear are echoes. That’s a very comfortable place But, if you spend so much time in this online world, and come back to the offline world, you are doubly anxious. Living with differences requires strategy and is very often quite frightening. You can escape from the necessity of living with differences face-to-face. But when you return to other human beings, facing them, then you are in trouble because you have forgotten the skills of how to deal with it. So instead of uniting people, on the contrary, it stops you from listening to other voices. It’s simply shuffling away the voice about being alone, and therefore you stop fighting against the sense of loneliness, because you have this illusion that comes from the internet that you are not alone. Mark Zuckerberg, the owner of Facebook as you know, has made 50 billion on the stock exchange, on what? On our fear of loneliness. The success of Facebook is very simple. There’s no secret in that. Mark Zuckerberg put his finger on the gold mine. And the gold mine was people’s fear of being abandoned. Facebook is the way in which in spite of being lonely, we are connected. That’s one process there. The other process is commercialization. The fragility of human bonds that we have discussed already makes us feels guilty. However we treat it or depict it, we feel guilty. Parents divorce, their children belong neither here nor there. We love our children, right? We want the best. If we don’t behave as we should, as our love should tell us, we have a guilty conscience. You can buy tranquillizers. You go to a shop, you buy a gift for your child. It’s like a tranquillizer I think. Come Christmas, you have a gift for your dear ones and you have one year of quiet conscience. Of course, it’s not a replacement for being together, for sacrificing your own time, your own preferences, for reports about the ups and downs of experiences or of work, or who was bullying your child at school. And how difficult is the task which you both do, both do together. That is what you should do. You should just, you know, offer your own welfare in order to satisfy the needs of your beloved. But you can’t do it. Life is not like that. It’s different and disorganized. So what do you do? You want to replace them with tokens of your love. The more expensive they are, the more money you spend, the higher the moral value of it. This is another kind of substitute, endless, endless substitutes. It is mediating between you and your conscience. This is the service which is offered in the market. Again, the effect is ambiguous because they give us the tranquillity which we need very much. Cover up the real situation. On the other hand, they exacerbate our inability to do the real thing.

Feona Attwood: One of the most dramatic changes in western society in recent years concerns lesbian and gay equality. For example, just very recently it has become possible for same-sex couples to marry in the UK for the first time. How do you view and interpret these changes?

Zygmunt Bauman: When I was a child, I understood that you married once and forever. No way out. You may be out, but you would be condemned till you died. There’s no question about that. That was the idea of it. Now marriage, wedding, wedded couple, household is very much like a motel. You can come and you can go, and in this rendition, why not people of the same sex? They can even have children. You can adopt or things like that. So everything is possible. Why not, therefore, allow people to play family? That’s a universal human right. And I think it’s slowly being accepted. It’s no longer a hot issue. More and more countries are accepting this possibility. Sooner or later, I think, in our cultural area anyway, it is quite, quite, probable that it will be universal, finally. Of course, there are Islamic countries where it is very, very unlikely. The standing of women is most important. You can’t jump stages. Perhaps – who knows, I’m not a prophet – perhaps it will come even there, the idea of same-sex marriage, but there are many stages which are universal that should be passed and above all, the equality of women.

Feona Attwood: In ‘On Postmodern Uses of Sex’ (1998) you talked about the way that eroticism had become separated from sexual reproduction and love and associated with seeking pleasure and sensation, but that this led to huge anxiety rather than satisfaction. You talked in particular about ‘the spectre of sex’ haunting the relationships of adults with children. How do you think that this aspect of our culture in the UK has developed in recent years?

Zygmunt Bauman: Oh, I have a little theory about that. You remember Michel Foucault? Michel Foucault wrote about this. There was a panic about masturbation. It posited that children are sexual subjects, not sexual objects, but sexual subjects. Of course the idea wasn’t supported by the medical authorities – masturbation was tremendously harmful, created all sorts of psychological, psychiatric impacts, invited all sorts of illnesses – and the message was, if children are inclined to engage in these sorts of awful, very harmful practices, that the parents, the mother, the father should survey them constantly. The idea of the Panopticon. Watching. The door leading to the child’s bedroom should be always open. Children should not lock themselves in the bathroom. Now, Michel Foucault had a question, what was the function of it? Well, the function of it was to increase parental power. That was the period of pathological family. It was a very good excuse to engage in this sort of pathological practice. To watch their every step, get full control over their life. Now the masturbation panic is over. Instead we have the panic of child abuse. Sexual child abuse. But who is the culprit? Who is the victim? It is now the sexuality of the adult, of the parent, which is seen as the problem. Children are just passive objects of their desire, of their lust. Well, they keep away from their children. Let them take care of themselves – let them lock tightly the doors to their rooms. Give them freedom to follow their instincts. Because if you want to interfere, that is because you would prefer them to follow our instincts. The problem of their guilty conscience is because of the loosening of the family bonds. The reality for their children, because of the pressure of the deregulated labour market, is a fear of losing their jobs. They must be on call all the time. So there are many reasons for neglecting their children. Many causes. But you pay a price for that. The price is a guilty conscience. It is explained in a way to you that it’s all because you have unhealthy, criminal desires to use your children. You wanted to kiss them. Who knows? Perhaps you are a potential rapist. You want to rape your child. So you have a very noble, very comforting explanation for keeping your distance from your child. There are some gains. There’s no question; we are safer, we are more vigilant now. But on the other hand, hundreds of thousands of children and parents are suffering because most children are brought up in homes where the manifestation of love is eliminated, apart from repeating over again, over and over again, particularly in America, I love you. I love you too. I love you. I love you too. I love you. I love you too. But bodily expressions of love are prohibited. And children are brought up under this condition. We don’t know the results yet so far. It’s too short a period to be shown. But there is a suspicion, there’s a possibility they may grow callous and insensitive. Simply because this closeness, this proximity, has disappeared from their life, the atmosphere around young people is an atmosphere, not of proximity, but of distance. I very much recommend to you a dystopian novel by Michel Houellebecq called The Possibility of an Island. It’s a fantasy. It presents the society of the future if it develops according to our present tendencies and nothing is done to change it. The vision is of solitary, separated units so to speak. Each living beyond the fence, beyond neighbours, communicating – oh, constantly communicating with each other but only with electronics. I think it’s very, very wise, very insightful. It’s very treacherous ground. The results of it are not fully predictable. You can only guess what will happen. But we should think twice before deciding what are the gains and what are the losses. But, well, I believe that I had a life full of love. I experienced real love. I was with my wife for 62 years. Ups and downs. We worked through very difficult tests but we survived. I repeat what I already mentioned. Love is not a recipe for a quiet life. It’s not something you can find, or put in the corner, put in the wardrobe or on the table. It is something which you have to work at over and over again. But the products are very, very tasty.

#Zygmunt Bauman #interviews #interpersonal relationships #technology #society #technology and society #The Way We Live Now #love #family #alienation #human bonds #intimacy #sexuality #LGBT rights

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floofyeol · 7 years

Text

spectra oath

chanyeol x reader. floofy floof. 9k words. basically, dorky and bad luck!chanyeol who’s too awkward to get a girl.

As if his bad luck isn’t enough to mess up his life, no, Park Chanyeol just had to fall for a girl he has no idea how to talk to.

A painful whack to his nose and a little bit of blood smeared on his face doesn’t seem to be enough of a force of bad luck to crack past the idiotic–yet ever inspiriting—’happy virus’ that is one, Park Chanyeol. For he is, in fact, trapped in his own little bubble of happiness, paying no mind to the blood on his hands, or the kink at his neck from leaning forward for too long to stop the humiliatingly obtained nosebleed. It’s rather unsettling and question inducing to those who pass by him, that startlingly happy expression of his, despite how he shouldn’t look that bright considering what happened to him.

His smile for this particular day has nothing to do with the nickname the campus’ residents has nicknamed him with, and more so that it has something to do with his streak of bad luck finally bringing him something good for once. Good being: yes, a cute girl who he’s for once quite positive he has a chance with is whisked into his life, a turning point that could mean he has the upper hand to his dorm mate Byun Baekhyun.

But more importantly: oh my gosh I just got smacked in the face and got a nosebleed from a really cute girl.

To say the least, it’s quite an interesting first meeting.

He was on his way to the coffee shop, as he recalled, it was a particularly nice morning that calls for blue skies and perfectly white puffs of cloud, with the last remnants of dew visible on lush greens of grass and trees. He was walking with his head down, eyes scanning the ground for any cracks or holes he could fall into—like last time. And the coffee shop he passed by on his way to the other side of the campus had just freshly brewed their coffee beans, he knew, for when the door swung open he was struck with a divinely rich smell and the warm breaths of steam that came from their whirring machines.

There’s a barista holding open the door for customers, but he couldn’t care or focus on that, as his attention was solely centered to the roasted coffee behind the counter. For the previous night’s streak of drafted project had really tipped Chanyeol’s sanity and mind enough to not focus on anything other than caffeine, and despite how his eyes were technically open, his mind was as heavy as lead and body as numb as a corpse. He just had to grab a coffee before heading for his class.

With a bounce in his step and a crack of something awakening on his face, Chanyeol swerved towards the small cafe. But Chanyeol should’ve known nothing ever came easy for him with his bad luck, not even when it’s just a matter of getting coffee.

Only the tip of his worn sneaker was able to make it past the stone pavement and inside the wooden floors of the cafe when he stepped in, before suddenly, a wave of air came straight at his face, with it, the strong force of a glass door which he could not process or react to in time until—wham!

He’s pretty sure he heard a small crack in the air somewhere, but he couldn’t be sure over the sound of him falling on his butt. With a less than graceful fuck, his hand immediately sprung up to clutch at his face, a dreadful sting ringing his muscle and bones.

Shit, am I bleeding?

It took him some time to adjust to the pain before he could open his eyes, slowly, with difficulty through unwilling tears and twitching muscles.

Yup, that’s blood.

Life hated him, it seemed.

“Agh..” he scrunched his face into an expression of pain, however, it only further hurt his nose, to which he slip another curse out.

“Oh dear lord, sir, are you alright?!”

Chanyeol had to squint when he looked up at the person hovering before him, small mumbling noises surround him, soft and light—a woman’s— rushed, and much like the roller coaster at the local fair he went to last month: it went up and down like the screams of him and Baekhyun—panicked. Even then, he couldn’t properly make out her features due to the sun’s light behind her.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to slam the door in your face, I swear. It’s just that, um, you see—agh this is awful—there’s a squirrel!”

Wait..what?

“Oh gosh,” the light left his face when she crouched down to be on his level, and Chanyeol, who was just about done with the predicament, found himself unable to vocalize his complaints when he actually got a good look at the girl who slammed the door on his face, “please forgive me, sir. I was opening the door for you, but a squirrel tried to get in at the same time so I had to close the door to make sure it didn’t come in. And...unfortunately, that meant that I also closed the door on you...hard.”

Her tone faltered the further she spoke, and with it, her panicked features fell to a mix of embarrassment and mortification. And yet, that wasn’t what Chanyeol was focused on.

“Sir? Oh my gosh, you’re still bleeding. Please say something so I know that you’re okay?” Her hand, it was touching him. It’s pressing on his shoulders desperately to gain a reaction, but how could she receive any reaction when her face was far too close to his, too close for him to actually think properly?

But truly, in the end, the reaction she wanted was not what she expected. And he could only have this girl: with eyes that glints and shines and takes his breath away like the prettiest of sea glass in that soft yet warm yellow radiance, soft lips glossed with red rather unevenly yet ever enticing, cheeks pink and adorable and slightly puffed from her pout, and so many more intriguing and wonderful details he noticed in that span of seconds, he could just go on—yes, because Chanyeol has a tendency to be a little dramatic and extra, but he’s pretty sure he knows beauty when he sees one— he could only give this girl an unattractive and rather amusing grimace, because Park Chanyeol forgot all about his anger and annoyance and how he’s supposed to function because of how attractive she was.

“You just slammed the door on my face, what else is there for me to say?” He added a sprinkle of laughter by the end of his sentence to mask the stutter and nervousness in his attempt to seem nonchalant and not at all in pain.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to! I would never deliberately try to—” He felt guilty for not taking her panic seriously, too enticed by the way her lips move and twitch to pay attention.

“I mean..um..I know you don’t mean it. Why would you anyways, right?” She was staring at him, going quiet out of nowhere.

And the nervousness he felt over such an intense stare made him temporarily forgot about his still ongoing nosebleed.

“Sir—”

“Chanyeol.” She blinked, startled.

“Alright, Chanyeol. Let’s get inside and I’ll take care of your nosebleed, okay? And free coffee too, I’m buying. It’s the least I could do after messing up your face.” Chanyeol wasn’t going to object.

The girl lead Chanyeol inside the cafe and sat him down at the table nearest to the counter where she disappeared off to. He vaguely remembered how she avoided her co-workers’ questioning gazes when she approached the counter. She returned quickly by his side with tissues before Chanyeol had the chance to text Baekhyun to tell him about what just conspired.

“Does anywhere else hurt? Your head? Eyes?” Chanyeol was silent for a moment to process his pain, but it seemed that most of his dizziness and the stinging feeling had slowly dissipated. He shook his head, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright, I guess the nosebleed is the only thing we need to take care of. Um, I need you to lean your head forward just a bit.” Chanyeol quirked an eyebrow up, questioning her.

“Don’t you have to lean your head back to stop the bleeding?” She didn’t answer him immediately, and instead began dabbing the tissues slowly all over his face, where the blood had taint his complexion.

Chanyeol leaned back by reflex when the warmth of her fingers met the apple of his cheeks, and she—this stranger he’s yet had the guts to ask the name of—giggled at his sudden reaction.

“Hey, you don’t trust me? I’m majoring in nursing, so don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. If you lean your head back instead of forward when you have a nosebleed, don’t you think that the blood will clog your nose even further?”

Chanyeol had been the one to blink, confused, this time. And he didn’t recoil away because he didn’t trust her, he recoiled because she had touched him, and he’s too embarrassed to admit that it actually made him feel shy. But, he played along and appeared enlightened by her words.

“Ah, yeah, that makes a lot of sense.” Chanyeol leaned his head forward to comply to her words, and the stranger slowly stuffed Chanyeol’s nostrils with wadded tissues.

He took notice of the careful attention she put into taking care of him, going back and forth for more tissues and softly apologizing every time he flinched (which really wasn’t her fault) until the third time she came back, she finally spoke.

“So, what would you like for your coffee? I did promise you a free one.” Chanyeol felt almost upset when she was done with patching him up.

“Oh, you’re serious about that? No, seriously, you don’t have to—”

“Are you kidding me? If I don’t do something to make up for this I wouldn’t be able to live with myself! Seriously, it’s cool, it’s my fault anyways.” At that moment, Chanyeol understood the feeling of those high school girls in cliche rom-com movies who sigh dreamily whenever their crush so much as pass by them. Because it’s what he wanted to do right then when he saw the smile on her face.

An idea propelled itself to him the second her smile disappeared, and he’s left wanting to see it again. It was an idea to actually land himself a date. Something he hadn’t even thought of for years now. Chanyeol had been so busy with college and producing his music he forgot the last time he actually interacted with females outside of campus related things. Damn, no wonder Baekhyun teased him relentlessly.

And he knew exactly how he could get her smitten over him—hopefully. What was supposed to come out of his mouth was: Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather have my coffee to go, that is, on a date with a cute girl. And boom, he’d find himself an amazing date.

He couldn’t help but feel proud of himself, for the cheesy yet witty words he just thought of deserved a pat on the back. It would’ve been the case if Chanyeol hadn’t stop to look her in the eyes. If someone would have told him that a person’s eyes were the most dangerous thing about them, right at that moment, Chanyeol would agree in a heartbeat. Because her eyes were just like a black hole, sucking all the thoughts and courage and breath all out from Chanyeol.

Wow..

In the end, his frayed nerves, uncoordinated thoughts, and fear of being denied had jumbled the words he wanted to say to a:

“Um, a caramel frappucino, please. With whip cream.” His lips were pulled into a smile, but it was tight and forced.

She hadn’t noticed it seemed, and she made her way behind the counter to began making his order. Chanyeol slumped back in his seat like a deflated balloon right as she left. He was disappointed, but most of all, annoyed at his stupid self.

“Hang in there alright, Chanyeol?” He was startled by the call of his name, but through his clogged nostrils and awkward smile, Chanyeol managed a thumbs up for her who was busy putting items in the blender.

“Make sure to lean your head forward so you’ll get all the blood out.” He ducked his head low, as far as hitting his head on the table, as she requested, however, it wasn’t really due to compliance, but more so due to the confusing yet exhilarating situation Chanyeol was in and his incapability to believe that any of this was real.

For his bad luck had never given him as much as an opportunity to be taken care of and be treated by a girl before, especially one who he found himself attracted to. Chanyeol almost found this too suspicious, but he decided he should enjoy this as much as it would last.

He raised his head when he saw the white colored tissue starting to turn red from his blood, and he changed with new tissues to stuff into his nostrils. Unlike what his family had been telling him to do if he ever had a nosebleed, this pretty stranger’s technique seemed to work better. A nursing major, was it? How interesting.

Chanyeol was halfway from opening his mouth to thank her, however, he realized one thing.

Shit, I didn’t get her name.

The blender she was watching was making a very loud noise, loud enough that she wouldn’t hear him if he even had the guts to ask for her name. He hated to admit it...but Chanyeol had been out of his game for awhile. How embarrassing was it for a guy to be too shy to ask for a girl’s name?

And that’s when it hit him.

Maybe he didn’t have to ask for her name. After all, baristas usually wore name tags on their chest right?

That’s when Chanyeol thought up of a plan to try and peek at the name on her name tag. Unfortunately, Chanyeol failed to notice the flaw in his plan. For while what he was trying to do was relatively innocent—he just wanted to know her name—to others that would see him? Well, it’d look very different.

Squinted eyes and furrowed brows were directed at her chest once she turned around, and boy did it look misleading. Chanyeol was too focused on looking for her name tag that he didn’t even realize when she was directly standing in front of his table with his drink. Then she frowned.

“Are you staring at my chest?”

Chanyeol was so startled by the anger in her tone that his focus broke. And when he saw the annoyance in her face as he attempted to soothe her, he knew that he didn’t think of his methods well enough.

“N-No! I swear—I would never disrespect a woman like that! I was looking for your name tag because I wanted to know your name. And I—” his order was placed on his table, but not with any hint of anger like he expected, instead, it was rather gentle.

And just when he thought he’d receive a slap along with his nosebleed, Chanyeol instead heard her laugh. His eyes were wide as they stare up at her, confused, but nevertheless relieved.

“Oh my gosh, calm down. I believe you, Chanyeol. You don’t seem like a pervert anyways,” she sat down on the seat across him, and Chanyeol didn’t know what else to do besides to sip on his drink and avoid her eyes “I actually haven’t put my name tag on because we just opened up. But if you really just wanted to know my name, you could’ve asked.”

Chanyeol shrugged his stiff shoulders at that statement, because she wasn’t aware of how awkward he had become around girls after years of not focusing on flirting or interacting much with them.

“Well, um, then, what is your name?” He mustered up his courage, but he figured it was a little too late, and that was why she had laughed at him again, however, it wasn’t something cruel or mocking, she was simply entertained by him.

At least that fact cheered him up a bit.

“It’s [Name].”

Chanyeol finally got what he wanted. Despite having to be subjected to embarrassing things prior, he was satisfied.

“And I really am sorry for giving you a nosebleed.” Chanyeol waved his hand to assure her, while his other hand played with the whip cream on his drink with the end of his straw.

“It’s alright. I’ve always had a rather bad luck.” [Name] couldn’t help but scrunch her face out of confusion.

“Why’d you say that?”

Chanyeol shrugged again, this time, shoulders drawn forward and relaxed. He didn’t answer immediately, he had opened the lid to his cup to eat the whip cream with his straw first before he even thought of a reply, and though he didn’t notice, [Name] smiled at how childish he seemed when he licked the tip of the whipped cream coated straw.

“It’s nothing important, really. I’ve just always had a particularly bad luck. Anything that can go wrong will probably go wrong around me. So, yeah.” He didn’t sound at all upset or resigned at his unfortunate fate, but to [Name], it seemed rather sad how he just accepted his so called ‘bad luck’ so willingly.

“Don’t say that. You’re just probably having a bad day—” Chanyeol shook his head “—a bad past couple of months—” another shook of his head “a bad year?”

Chanyeol laughed, loud and unhinged and deep, but nonetheless, he appreciated her attempt to cheer him up.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. I decided not to let bad luck affect my life. I much prefer to look to the brighter side of things instead of the bad ones and face everyday with a smile. Besides, my bad luck has to run out sooner or later, right?”

Chanyeol realized that he had finished his drink by the time he finished talking. And with a quick glance to his phone, he realized he’d been in this cafe for more than half an hour. Which would mean that he probably only had 5 more minutes to get to class, and with that thought, Chanyeol got rid of the tissues stuffed up his nose and hurriedly stood up, nearly toppling over the small table in front of him.

“Shit, um, I’m gonna be late for class if I don’t leave now. It was really nice to meet you and I’d love to talk to you some more, but I really have to—” she stood up along with him, a gentle and understanding smile displayed to assure him that she didn’t mind for his sudden need to leave.

“It’s alright Chanyeol. I guess I kind of see what you meant by bad luck, though.”

Chanyeol managed to slip a small chuckle as a response. But as he left the table to grab for the door, Chanyeol was stopped by a warm hand around his wrist. And Chanyeol, startled and completely unprepared, let out a loud yelp that also startled [Name] into letting go, wide eyed and confused.

Chanyeol cleared his throat and looked away, a horrible attempt to mask his embarrassment.

“Um, anyways...before you go, I just wanted to say that,” she grabbed for Chanyeol’s empty cup and opened his palms—an action that rendered Chanyeol blushing and stuttering nonsense—to put the cup on his hand, “maybe your luck isn’t so bad after all.”

Chanyeol didn’t know what she meant when she said it. All he could think of was getting to class in time. And so he left her with a wave, and a smile that’s hopefully enough to make her see past his bad luck and awkwardness he had displayed to find him at least rather cute. He ran to the designated campus building as fast as he could, and fortunately, his bad luck wasn’t cruel enough to make him late.

That was 3 minutes ago. And Chanyeol can already feel himself turning upset, because: why the heck didn’t I get her number?

“Agh..Park Chanyeol, why are you such a loser?”

As he arrive on campus, Chanyeol is huffing and puffing, face glistening with less than hygienic sweat, and his chest muscles ache from the short run he had to do. With a minute to spare, he made it, and that is good luck enough for him.

“Hey, where’ve you been, Yeol?”

Baekhyun comes like an unwanted and annoyingly clingy ghost from behind him, and Chanyeol is too lethargic and full of thoughts to fight the shorter man from slinging his hand around the taller one’s shoulder, bringing Chanyeol down in the process. It’s only 8 AM, and Chanyeol is about done with the day—another new record broken by Chanyeol’s bad luck.

“Oh, uh. I was smacked on the face with a door and got a nosebleed. Nothing new.” Chanyeol tries to make his point by tapping at his nose which is fortunately no longer bleeding.

“Yikes, sorry to hear that. But hey, at least your good looks aren’t smacked off, right? Otherwise I might just leave you in search for a best friend just as attractive as I am. And you know how picky I can get—”

“Oh, shut up.” Chanyeol pushes Baekhyun away with a smile, and both starts walking towards their designated first class—with one of them sporting a smile that’s too bright to be used in this time of day.

And Baekhyun, he notices this, though doesn’t find it odd, because Chanyeol is always finding excuses to smile. He does however, notice something else, and he stops both himself and Chanyeol in order to grab for the empty coffee cup in Chanyeol’s hand.

“Hey, why aren’t you throwing this away? Oh, hold on a minute, what’s this—” the tone Baekhyun uses draws Chanyeol’s attention to the coffee cup, because Baekhyun doesn’t sound nearly as intrigued as this whenever he lies or pranks Chanyeol.

Baekhyun turns the plastic cup over to the other side, and both their eyes are wide and surprised to see someone’s number scribbled in black marker.

And, like with the cafe door, it hit Chanyeol again.

“This is what she meant with my luck..”

“Dude, do you expect me to believe a girl willingly wrote down her number for you on your cup? Life’s too short to bullshit, especially some bullshit as low as—”

“Baek! She gave me her number!”

Chanyeol has a tendency to injure himself. What with his long limbs, incessantly attaching bad luck, increasing stress due to the campus’ workload, and his best friend who won’t stop getting him into doing stupid and reckless stunts, Chanyeol shouldn’t be surprised that a round of playful basketball with the accounting majors lead to a sprained and swollen ankle.

And because neither he or Baekhyun are in anyway reliable—especially when it comes to something potentially serious—Baekhyun had to resort to other means to help his accident prone best friend. And that happens to be: secretly calling the number Chanyeol received on his cup a week ago from the ‘girl’ who he claims to be a nursing major. In all honesty, Baekhyun feels rather uncertain if this girl really exists, despite the amount of Chanyeol whining ‘she’s real!’.

So it comes as a surprise to Baekhyun when someone actually answers the phone—and that someone, more importantly, is female, or well, has the voice of one—and he has to take the phone off of his ear for a moment because: holy hell Chanyeol actually got a girl’s number.

“Uhm, hi? Are you perhaps the girl that gave away their number accidentally to a tall, big eared guy around a week ago at a coffee shop? Because if this is she, I’m his best friend—who I might add is a lot hotter than him—and he needs your help right now.” Baekhyun is nothing short of straight to the point, and [Name] is rendered speechless for almost 30 seconds before she finally comprehend his words enough to agree to help.

When Chanyeol hears the door to his dorm opening and closing after Baekhyun has left his bedside, he expects Baekhyun to bring him a random medic student. But what he is not expecting—especially at this horrendous looking state of his with mussed up sweaty hair, tight lipped expression and boxers printed in embarrassing cartoon characters—is the girl who he doesn’t have the guts to call since receiving her number a week ago.

And out of all the person who could have called her here to help, it had to be Baekhyun, the one person who has access to embarrassing Chanyeol for the rest of his life. How wonderful.

Still, Chanyeol can’t lie and say that he’s not at all happy to see her again, especially with how much she’s been on his mind lately. He just wish they could’ve met on better circumstances, and with less disturbances—and by that, he means the smiling Baekhyun currently standing behind her and mouthing the words ‘Wow! She’s actually real!’

“Wow.” He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing, or a bad thing, the way she says it.

Chanyeol hopes his smile is charming, despite his red and swollen ankle and the way his fingers fist at the bed sheets, Chanyeol still wants to make a good impression.

“Um, hi.”

She doesn’t wave back, and he’s immediately worried. [Name] dives straight to Chanyeol’s sprained ankle, pulling out a number of things from the box she brings to begin examining his ankle. The unresponded greeting fails to do well on Chanyeol’s accelerating heartbeat.

“So,” Chanyeol’s head shoots up at Baekhyun’s voice, and he desperately, very desperately, orders Baekhyun to shut it, conveying it in the best way he can: with dramatic facial expressions and wild hand gestures, but silently, as to not cause suspicion from [Name], “why’d you hand Chanyeol your number?”

But of course, Baekhyun being Baekhyun, he doesn’t listen. Or more like, Baekhyun will never turn down an opportunity to humiliate Chanyeol. [Name] takes her attention away momentarily to look to Baekhyun, who acts too casually as he leans on the doorway.

“Um, why’d you ask?” She sounds nervous, and Chanyeol hopes, dear god, he prays to the god above: that his bad luck and his awful best friend won’t end up chasing [Name] away from his life.

“Because I’m much hotter, and less accident prone.” Baekhyun shrugs.

Chanyeol glares, “dude, shut up—ow!”

[Name] is looking at Chanyeol now. Her gaze silences him, and he can’t really pinpoint or decipher as to why she’s looking at him like that. And Chanyeol is guilty of not being able to look away.

Sea glass, the swirling colors of her eyes are as deep and rich as that of a sea glass. He still can’t compare her eyes to anything else other than that.

“It’s alright, Chanyeol. Your friend’s really entertaining.” Baekhyun is fist pumping the air and cheering quietly for himself at the compliment, rubbing salt to Chanyeol’s self inflicted wound.

“Thank you, [Name]. And for that nice compliment, I’ll give you a free advice. When a guy you gave your number to hasn’t called you in like, a week? Yeah, it’s not because he’s not interested, he’s just too much of a chicken to—” a pillow is thrown over Baekhyun’ face before he can finish.

“Shut up, Baek! Get out!” Baekhyun does end up leaving, but not without an annoying cackle, knowing that he’s done the damage he wants.

And Chanyeol, well, he doesn’t know what to say when Baekhyun actually left them.

[Name], however, seems to be bursting with things she wants to say by the look of her pink cheeks and flustered expression.

“So, I’m assuming what your friend Baekhyun said is true?” Chanyeol can only nod silently, but then hisses when he puts an ice bag on his ankle, the cold biting his skin.

“Oh, sorry I forgot to warn you about the ice, you’re gonna need to ice your ankle for the next 48-72 hours to keep the swelling down alright?” Chanyeol nods wordlessly again.

“So..um..are you mad? Mad that I didn’t call you..” There’s a slight inclination at the end of his question that suggests his hope for her not to be mad at him.

For once, his bad luck didn’t interfere with him, and [Name] releases a breathy laugh that is anything but angry or sad.

“No, of course not. I mean, it’s not your fault if you don’t want to call me. It’s totally up to you. And I get that college takes up a lot of time so—”

“But I do want to call you! I swear. I even practiced texting Baek a couple of times so I don’t send the wrong kind of texts and end up making you feel weirded out..or something..” Chanyeol realizes his mistake too late when her scrutinizing eyes slowly turn to him, gaze growing sharper the longer the silence drag on.

“It’s true! I have the texts on my phone to prove it.” The muffled voice of Baekhyun manage to pass through the door and slip between the silence.

And a further infuriated Chanyeol who wishes he could kill his best friend for eavesdropping on their conversation clench his fists and glares towards the door, attention diverted from the girl by his feet whose emotions he can’t decipher to momentarily send waves of anger that he thinks can somehow pass through solid wood and Baekhyun’s thick skull.

“I swear to god, Byun Baekhyun—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving.” And then, faint footstep noises follows, growing fainter, and fainter, until there’s barely any noise.

Neither talks until they’re certain Baekhyun has disappeared from behind the door.

“Your friend’s really cute.” [Name] is the first to speak up again while she’s wrapping Chanyeol’s ankle with what seems to be a cast, and it’s light, the tone she uses. So fortunately for him, she’s not mad or upset.

But he doesn’t focus much on what she’s doing or even dwell too long on how she feels. Because the fact that she decides to talk about Byun Baekhyun and his annoying antics and label them as ‘cute’ really brings a great sense of disappointment to Chanyeol. Not towards her or Baekhyun, but more so towards himself, he who can’t grab the attention of girls’ as easily as Baekhyun and his confidence can get a girl’s number or name.

Life continues to suck for Park Chanyeol, what a surprise.

“Not in a way that I’d date him, god no,” and the pouty Chanyeol perks up almost immediately, eyes wide and glued almost too strongly on her and the way she smiles at him, so soft and kind and tinkling with mirth, “I wouldn’t be able to handle him, I think. I meant in a way like: he reminds me of my annoying younger cousin, who’s also cute.”

Chanyeol is visibly relieved when she says it. Silence breeze by like wind on an autumn day, with only the noise of [Name] still working to wrap his ankle meticulously filling in as the small crackle of noise that signifies the warmth that permeates the air around them. In that moment of Baekhyun-less tranquility, Chanyeol wonders if this would be the perfect timing to buck up and ask her. He hesitates for a short while, and starts playing with his own fingers and biting his lips, before— “and what about me?”

[Name] looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Chanyeol responds with a barely managed out sentence: “Which category of cute do I fall in?”

He thinks it’s a mistake as soon as he says it, because she stops herself from attending to Chanyeol to blankly stare at the sheets, a reaction that can’t mean good. But it’s only because she is caught, in a barely strung together net thrown without much consideration, but somehow, she still manages to get caught in it, in that question of his. Surely he must know, or at the very least, be able to guess her answer. And she’s contemplating whether she should just play dumb or to just say it out loud, for it’s not as if the attraction she feels towards him is unclear, it just remains unspoken: a horribly kept secret.

[Name] is too wrapped up in her own head that she actually forgot to formulate any answer and leaving Chanyeol a mess of taut nerves.

God damn it, Chanyeol can’t believe that he’s actually regretting sending Baekhyun away. Well, at least with him around—despite the inevitable humiliation that will be brought upon Chanyeol—Chanyeol isn’t going to be the one to embarrass himself by asking such stupid questions that has probably freaked her out too much, which would explain why she’s not answering.

“It’s um.. the other kind of cute.”

Wait..what?

And [Name], she somehow manages to surprise him, and herself. Both heads turn up at the initial shock of her unexpected response, finding themselves in a stare off of awkward gazes: shaking and wary and unsure, but somewhere deeper is a strong sense of hope and something that increasingly flutters.

“I mean—” [Name] clears her throat and stands up almost too quickly, which Chanyeol can’t help but be happy about, for it is her embarrassment that blooms hopefulness in him.

She reaches for a pillow on the floor and carefully sets it under Chanyeol’s wrapped foot. Before giving a chance for Chanyeol to speak, [Name]’s already fumbling to put her items back in her box, fingers clumsily moving against one another and doing more damage than good, which results in her pout and silent curses. Chanyeol chuckles at this sight.

With a flick of her slightly messy hair and a light tap to her foot, [Name] finally turns to Chanyeol, all packed up and neat.

“Well, I better get going—” and the rest of her sentence falls on deaf ears, Chanyeol is guilty of not listening, yet, he can’t bring himself to care, not when he now knows that he has a chance with seeing more of her in his everyday, of possibly having someone to hold, of possibly kissing her? Gosh, he’s such a desperate sap.

“—Chanyeol are you listening?”

Chanyeol nods his head with a smile, despite having not listening to what she’s been saying. [Name] now seems rather miffed at Chanyeol’s obvious lie. But she only sigh, as if expecting it, and then makes her way to the door.

“Just remember to treat your leg with RICE, okay? If you need me for anything else, you can find me on the campus building across the street.” She rattles her box of supplies and turns herself around, but this time, Chanyeol actually listens to what she says, and his response comes almost too suddenly.

“Wait, campus building across the street? You mean...you’re a nursing major here? In the very same campus as me?” Chanyeol almost can’t believe this luck of his, for this is too good to be true.

There’s a small, almost mocking smile on her face when she replies, “Didn’t realize you were so slow, Chanyeol. I mean, I do work in the cafe near the other campus building.”

She does a small wave when her one foot steps out the door, but Chanyeol can’t let her leave just like that without:

“Thank you! And I think you’re cute too! You know, the kind you’d want to date.”

He doesn’t know where his spurt of confidence comes from, but he likes it, likes the elation and excitement that it brings him. And he hopes [Name] likes it as much as he does too, because he doesn’t know what that small giggle she does when she leaves means, but he hopes it means good.

If it isn’t for Chanyeol’s dongsaeng Jongin—who happens to own a pair of crutches courtesy of his broken leg two summers ago—Chanyeol would have to resort to other, cheaper, and undoubtedly, more humiliating way, in order to walk.

It’s only been three days since [Name] visited him, and three whole days it takes for him to find out [Name]’s schedule, three whole days it takes to build up his courage and endure Baekhyun’s taunting of his lack of balls for delaying their meeting for so long, three whole days to finally enter this side of the campus building and be faced to faced immediately with someone strolling along a body bag past him as if it’s normal.

A refreshing sight to look at in the morning.

Thanks to his friend Yixing who shares part of this campus building with nursing majors, Chanyeol is aware that at this time of a Saturday, she’d be in the cafeteria just about to grab breakfast. Chanyeol hobbled towards the cafeteria with a reserved smile—one that has [Name]’s name written all over it—of nervous happiness trying to pass for something charming.

But Chanyeol’s bad luck always catches up to him and his life too quick for him to react appropriately to. In hindsight, perhaps carrying a bag worth the weight of three bags of rice while he’s on crutches and walking an unfamiliar path isn’t the wisest decision. But Chanyeol always realizes too late his mistakes. And the students milling past him, occupied with stacks of books and papers and coffee cups and eye bags for days forces him to not ask for help and be any more of a bother to anyone.

As Chanyeol finally reach the dull grey cafeteria doors, he settles the bags of rice down on the floor to free his other hand and open the door for himself. But, again—fortunately less painfully, though still equally embarrassing—Chanyeol finds himself getting slammed with another door, one that lands him back on his butt.

“Ah, shit!”

Chanyeol does nothing to get up immediately, or do anything to let out the clotting annoyance at whoever had just pushed the door—and himself—open from the other side. He can only sigh and attempt to pick up the fallen crutches at his side wordlessly, acting almost too apathetic about his inevitable bad luck.

“Chanyeol!” His head turns almost too quickly, too eager and too knowing of that voice.

Because that voice, despite how little he’s heard of it, is familiar and encompassed in tenderness and warmth he’s dreamed of hearing for the past three days.

She crouches down to his level and picks up the fallen crutches at his side too quickly for him to process that he was knocked down by a door because of her again. Not that he minds, of course. There are strands of hair falling over her face, messy and tangled but somehow through the panicked look on her face, lack of color due to the haziness still surrounding her and her messy state of hair, Chanyeol is still breathless.

“Let me help you up.” She offers him her hand, but is almost pulled down along with him by the force he pulls himself upright with.

[Name] settles the crutches under Chanyeol’s arms and dusts off his shoulders, forcing on a smile that still holds onto the guilt over smacking him with a door for the second time.

“I’m so sorry—”

“It’s cool. I’m just lucky it was you who knocked me over with the door again, and not some stranger. That’ll probably be extra embarrassing.” He scratches the back of his ear as he speaks, awkward and adorably out of place.

[Name] tilts her head, lips twitching mischievously.

“Lucky, you say? So, maybe I bring you good luck, huh? Like a good luck charm sort of thing.”

Chanyeol shouldn’t feel this dumbstruck over a light teasing like that—his best friend is Byun Baekhyun after all, perhaps the epitome of misfits and playful teasings. But when she says it, when she directs it at him and elbows at his side lightly and brush her arm with his, Chanyeol feels unnecessarily flustered.

“I-I’ve never had a good luck charm before.” Chanyeol attempts to take the bag of rice from the floor to carry on his fingers, however, [Name] has beaten him to it.

But her first attempt on lifting it nearly fails because of how she underestimates its weight. She blinks, peeks inside, then takes the plastic bag with two hands this time. Chanyeol lets out a sound of protest—something like whining, but in a deeper baritone—but he can’t do much with both his hands and his god damn foot busy.

“Well, now you have one!” Chanyeol feels his cheeks warm up too quickly for his liking.

She takes the lead and direct herself to a more secluded part of the large hallway as to not get in people’s way, with Chanyeol hobbling along as fast as he can. [Name] puts down the bag of rice and stares at it with so much question once they found a nice corner to rest in, yet, there’s also mirth in the way she laughs softly before asking:

“So what are you doing out here carrying three bags of rice? Are you planning a cookout with your friends in this building?” She asks, hand on her hip.

Chanyeol shakes his head, rather perplexed that she wouldn’t know why he came all this way with bags of rice when she’s the one who told him to.

“Um, you told me to treat my foot with rice, remember? So I just wanted to make sure I got the right type of rice and brought these—”

“Wait, what?” She giggles into her palm, shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling, and Chanyeol is again, flustered, for two different yet nevertheless heart thundering reasons as he watch her.

Did he say something funny?

“Wow, you didn’t listen to me at all, did you?” That’s not at all true, in fact, Chanyeol is certain he can hear her talk all day and never get bored of it.

“What? Of course I did! But...maybe, um, I sort of drifted off on some of your words back then..” Now that he remembers it, he did blank out for awhile.

“Am I that boring?” She crosses her arms over her chest, with a pout that is not at all fair to use on poor Chanyeol’s heart.

“No! No—god, no. My brain sorta just...started thinking about you..and I..well..” Neither expects the raw truth in his confession, and are both stunned to momentary silence.

She clears her throat, fortunately, a few seconds after, which really relieved Chanyeol, because if she had taken longer to say something, Chanyeol might just combust out of nervousness.

“When I said, rice, I meant it as an acronym: RICE. It’s the standard steps you use to take care of something like your foot: Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation, and not soaking your foot with actual rice.” Chanyeol is mortified.

Never has he felt the urge to be swallowed into an empty void and disappear from reality and all its responsibilities and its uncomfortable consequences more than he does now. Not when he came to class without preparing for the quiz he forgot, not when Baekhyun had accidentally let his feelings for his crush slip to the entire school in high school, not any of those. But now, that urge is stronger than ever, towing along a sense of humiliation.

Damn, his bad luck is really biting hard at his ass this week.

“You’re so cute..what am I going to do with you?” He jerks his head up, his already large eyes presses themselves to open wider to express his surprise.

Because she’s giggling at him, but not for the reason he thinks.

Or, did he heard wrong?

“You could, um...maybe, not speak of this to anyone? Especially Baekhyun.” [Name] still can’t let go of the amused smile on her face, and if anything, it only stretches wider when she looks at him.

Chanyeol feels completely better in a matter of seconds.

“Of course I won’t. Promise. But, only if you don’t say anything about me slamming you with a door, again.” Chanyeol draws a cross over his left chest where his heart is.

“But seriously, all this trouble just to ask me about rice? You could just text me if you’re unsure. It must’ve been really hard for you to walk all the way here on crutches while carrying these.” She kicks at the bag of rice.

Chanyeol shrugs, ruffling through the messy tangles of unkempt dark hair to soothe his nervousness.

“Well, I needed a reason to see you.”

And Park Chanyeol might not know it, or even believe it if anyone will tell him, but truly, Park Chanyeol is too sweet and adorable to not be able to win any girl’s affection. Especially with eyes so pure and innocent, and words so simple yet heartfelt.

[Name] can’t help but silently gasp at this man, too good to be true, yet so frustratingly unaware of it.

“I don’t know Baek..I don’t think that, ‘you fascinate me more than fundamental theorem of calculus’ is even considered a pick up line.”

Baekhyun chews sloppily at the fried chicken that Chanyeol ordered on the small kitchen counter, pointedly scrutinizing at Chanyeol laying sprawled on his bed.

“Well, do you find her more interesting than calculus?”

“Well, obviously—” Baekhyun throws his hands in the air, with an expression of ignorant confusion that stuns Chanyeol into silence.

“Look,” Baekhyun makes a dramatic effort to cross the dorm from the small counter to sit on the edge of Chanyeol’s bed, “instead of forcing me to find elaborate ways for you to ask her out, have you ever considered just straight out going: ‘hey! I like you, wanna go on a date with me?’”

Chanyeol scoffs, but it’s not completely out of denial for Baekhyun’s words, and more so to not give Baekhyun the satisfaction of being remotely close to being right. And Chanyeol began to wonder, if all this time he’s been over thinking things with [Name], and that Baekhyun—despite how unreliable and often stupid he is—might be right about the approach he needs to take.

Should he risk listening to Baekhyun and just go for it?

“Do you think..that’ll work?”

Baekhyun shrugs his shoulders, with it, comes a cough that racks his body quite violently, choking on the chicken he chewed too quickly.

“You’ll never know until you try, right? Besides, with a simple approach like that, what’s the worse thing that could happen?” Chanyeol wonders that too.

He convinces himself and Baekhyun that he’ll ask her out by Monday. But then the day rolled around and went ignored like a tumbleweed, and Baekhyun feels further and further frustrated for having such a coward for a friend.

So, when the coward won’t take a step forward, Baekhyun will have to trip him forward. Literally.

“Look who’s here~ 3 o’clock.” Chanyeol turns his head to the right.

“Um, who?” Baekhyun sighs and tugs Chanyeol’s head to the left, hand wounding over his shoulder.

“I said 3 o’clock dumbass.” Chanyeol has to squint to see clearly over the distance, his glasses laying forgotten by his bedside.

But when his eyes can finally make out a faintly detailed silhouette of a girl in grey sweaters, Chanyeol gulps.

“Ah, [Name]...” Baekhyun senses the anxiousness and hears the shake in his voice.

And he’s quick enough to press down hard on Chanyeol’s shoulders to keep him in place, making the taller boy wince.

“Dude—”

“Hey! [Name]!” The way he shouts and the over the top way in which he waves his hand catches most of the student’s eyes in the college’s park.

Including the girl who’s name was called.

Chanyeol struggles under Baekhyun’s arm, elbowing and pinching at his ribs to try and break free. [Name] is approaching them, and Chanyeol doesn’t know if Baekhyun will behave enough to not humiliate him. But by Baekhyun’s mischievous smile and the faux innocent crinkle he has around his crescent shaped eyes, Chanyeol knows Baekhyun’s going to try and meddle into his business. As always.

She is bathed in brightness, soaking up the sun’s radiance without even realizing how much she’s burning him with every step she takes closer, and closer. Chanyeol feels the rush in his veins, unexplainable but delightfully exhilarating whenever she’s around him.

Baekhyun pulls his arm away from over Chanyeol’s shoulder and nudges him hard on his shoulder blade, pushing him forward and landing him on his feet.

“Go—”

“No! What are you—”

“Dude, seriously?”

“Yes. seriously—”

“If you don’t start talking to her she might actually think that she did something wrong.”

“But she didn’t—”

“Exactly! Now go.”

Baekhyun shoves Chanyeol away, after his incessant attempt to punch and elbow Baekhyun out of annoyance, he relents and meets her halfway with forceful strides and an awkward smile. She doesn’t notice, fortunately, by the lack of shift on her expression.

Chanyeol waves again as the distance between them blurs closer, but he is too preoccupied with keeping eye contact with her to notice that Baekhyun has been trailing closely behind him, so when he sticks his foot forward while Chanyeol takes a step, the man tumbles to the ground on his knees with the grace of long and flailing twigs: “Ugh!”

And back on the ground he goes—what is this, the third time this has happened?

“Chanyeol!” [Name] picks up the pace of her steps and kneels down before him.

He groans, feeling the skin on his knees sting and the grains of rocks digging into his skin. Chanyeol is too tired of the continuous bad luck befalling him to stand back up and pretend as if it’s alright. No, instead, Chanyeol pushes himself off his knees and falls on his butt, sitting on the ground.

“Baek! What the hell did you do that for?” Chanyeol looks over his shoulder, spotting the said man grinning far too wide to be innocent, just a couple of ways behind him.

Oh, so he was tripped. By his own guiltless best friend. What a jerk.

“Sorry, my bad. But now I guess you can tell that Chanyeol’s fallen for you!” A wink, and then he scuttles away like a little kid, giddy and excited for a reason that’s not very apparent to [Name].

But it is apparent to Chanyeol, and he senses dread tugging heavy on his heart when her attention returns to him, very much confused.

“Your friend is an odd one.” She laughs.

Chanyeol makes no gesture to agree or disagree. He clears his throat and folds his knees over his chest, tucking himself as if he’s something small. [Name] finds it adorable.

“Um..yeah..listen, [Name], I have something to ask you.”

She peeks through lashes filtered by light, there’s a spark in her eyes that emits warmth like the flame of a candle, a small thing it is, but in this close distance, Chanyeol can’t help but be the one to feel small under her gaze. He curse himself, for he should’ve known by now that looking into her eyes will ruin him. But he can never resist the temptation to stare.

“Chanyeol? Are you alright?” Her hand is back on his shoulder in the way that they first meet: him confused and bleeding, her concerned and still with the same capability to wrench his heart.

“Caramel frappucino. With whip cream.” He says in one breath.

Oh no.

He has the inexplicable urge to slap himself at that moment, for apparently, thinking back to the first time they met has screwed his mind over, and he unconsciously says the coffee he ordered on their first meeting instead of asking her to go for coffee.

[Name] draws her eyebrows down, unsure what he means by that.

“Um...do you want one right now? We can drop by together if you’d like. It’s not my shift right now, but I guess—”

“No!”

[Name] blinks.

Chanyeol’s face shifts into many different emotions at once: frustration, nervousness, somewhere between flustered and disbelief, and then one of defeat.

“I just…” he sighs, long and deep, “wanted to be the one to ask you out for a coffee date. Not the other way around. Seriously, I’m such a loser, I’ve been building up the courage to ask you out for weeks now, and in the end it was you who ended up asking me out. Agh, this is so embarrassing. Baekhyun’s right, I’m—”

He feels it light and soft, as if his lips are pecked by a flower petal, it happens too short for him to process, but enough to have him wanting more of it. Chanyeol blinks, trying to wake himself up from this dream, for it is only in his dream would this girl he’s been vying for to kiss him just like that for no good reason.

She giggles. And the sound is as clear as a river’s roaring current, but it is smooth and light like taking a bite out of sweetness itself. Chanyeol knows that even in dreams, he can’t make up the sound of her giggle as beautiful as this. He isn’t dreaming.

Wait, she kissed me?

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to like this loser who doesn’t have the guts to ask me out. Somehow, he fails to see just how cute he is. And technically, I never said that I was taking you out on a date. So, you’re good.”

Chanyeol almost doesn’t believe her, because the smile on her face is something entirely new — it is a timid smile, one that’s never been shown to him before — and the way she avoids his eyes makes him feel suspicious. Yet it all suddenly suddenly makes more sense once he sees her tug at the sleeves of her sweater — she is nervous. Chanyeol feels happiness suffocating him when he looks back into her eyes. Because for once, she is nervous because of him.

“Though, since you did make me wait for like three weeks, I believe this time, the coffee’s on you.” Chanyeol’s grin grows gradually wider, and once it’s reached as far as it can get, his eyes disappear and crinkles form on its side.

“I’m cute, huh? Well..I’m not going to complain...much.” [Name] mirrors his grin with another, but smaller, less confident and more flustered.

“And I guess that’s only fair too.” He picks himself up from the ground, holding his hand out to pull her with him as well.

For once, his clumsy limbs and bad luck hasn’t done anything to ruin this moment, and his confidence only spike even more when she didn’t let go of his hand, even as they’re already standing back up on their feet.

The breeze whisks past them, blowing browned leaves, with the smell of fresh papers and worn books that is the scent of their college surrounds the air. Chanyeol still doesn’t want to let go of her hand, and from the looks of it, neither does she.

“So..coffee?” Chanyeol smiles, bright and wonderful and not at all burdened by any of his worries.

“Ah, right.” Chanyeol hides the frown when [Name] lets go of her hand and walks past him to lead the way.

But Chanyeol follows suit quickly, walking by her side like he’s meant to be there all along. And god, does it feel good to actually get to the stage that he’s been imagining for weeks. Perhaps he should thank Baekhyun as well when he returns? Or perhaps should he rub it in his face about the second date that he’ll take her to after this?

She stumbles, out of nowhere, and Chanyeol staggers in his steps, mind centered again as he reach out a hand to her quickly.

“Whoa, are you alright?” [Name] glance down at the ground, spotting a long crack that the tip of her shoe was caught in.

“Ah..I tripped.” Chanyeol scrunches his nose, thinking.

“That’s odd..usually I’d be the one to fall over a crack.” He looks down at his shoes to see that he’s stepped on the crack too, but it didn’t make him trip the way it did to her. Odd.

“Is it quite possible that you’ve transferred your bad luck to me when I declared myself your good luck charm?” [Name] turns her head to him, glaring in playful accusation.

Chanyeol laughs, loud and beautiful and body shaking from joy.

“If that might be it, are you going to leave me?” He pouts, a sight too adorable to be able to be done by a man as hot as he is.

[Name] has to look away to hide her blush from witnessing such a beautiful sight: of Chanyeol smiling and pouting and showing her more confidence than she has ever seen, something she’s eager to see more of.

She hums, “Well, with someone like you along the way, bad luck doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.”

Chanyeol nearly chokes on his own spit.

Damn, that was smooth as hell.

Hopefully, he’ll actually make it through this first date.

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