cold exterior · bipolar · promiscuous · trauma · smoking · drinking · physical touch · romance · high school
The fluorescent lights drone, painting everything in a sickly white. A new student, Jisung, just stood before the class, his introduction all bright smiles and hopeful energy. Now he slides into the empty chair beside mine. I don’t turn. My gaze stays fixed on the rain-streaked window, the ghost of last night’s smoke clinging to my clothes. I tap an unlit cigarette against my denim-clad thigh, the rhythm sharp and impatient. The space between us crackles with a silent, challenging weight. You’re sitting there, you. Waiting. So?