I stumbled to English in a trance. Everything was making me dizzy. Was this what vertigo felt like? Was this what being high felt like?

When I walked in the door, class had already started.

"Mr. Lee," was all Mr. Mason had to say to disorient me further. I took my seat and didn't listen to the lecture.

Mike and Eric met me outside of English. By that point I had collected myself enough to function properly. As we walked through the hallways, Mike talked endlessly about the trip to the beach he was organizing. I wondered if he'd ever actually get to the beach, or if he would just be planning it forever. 

The rest of the morning was a blur. Being indoors, out of the sheeting rain, it was seeming more and more like I'd imagined my conversation with Jisung. He'd said too many unbelievable things to believe. Maybe I'd been dreaming. Maybe I was still dreaming; I pinched myself, and regretted it immediately. I had claws like an unkempt cat.

There was an uneasy knot in my stomach as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I half-expected to find that Jisung hadn't come to school today. That he didn't exist after all — he'd been a figment of my imagination the entire time, a hallucination my subconscious dreamed up to torture me. Or maybe it was all an elaborate prank, set up by some all-seeing puppet-master. I looked at Jessica differently, suspecting she might be an actor in a wig.

My eyes instantly focussed on their table, and my heart slid down my spine. The other five were there, but his chair was empty. I spun around a few times, scanning the ocean of people in the room. I couldn't find him. I followed Jessica into the lunch line. She was talking about the dance, but I couldn't make myself hear her. My appetite had fled — I bought nothing but a limeade to suck on. I just wanted to sink into my chair and let those grudging manga scribbles float atop my head.

"Jisung Han is looking at you again," Jessica whispered. As soon as she said his name I was listening. "I seriously think he wants to fight you."

I followed Jessica's gaze to see Jisung, sitting alone at a table on the other side of the cafeteria. Our eyes locked, and he smiled, showing the dimples at the corners of his mouth. It was infuriating how cute he was.

He gestured toward himself.

"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked.

Almost as if he heard her, he pointed at me, and then himself, and then waved me over with both his arms like he was landing a plane.

I turned to Jessica. "We have Biology together. Bye."

I could feel her eyes on my back as I walked away.

When I reached his table, I stopped and looked at him, my mouth a line, and asked, "What's this now?"

He smiled again, and my breath left me. "Wanna sit together today?"

In all honesty, this was exactly what I wanted, even though I was pretty sure I was supposed to be either interrogating or ignoring him. The whole van incident seemed to be disappearing in the rear view mirror. My lips twitched up — I coughed to hide it.

I sat down, dropped my backpack, and tapped the table with my fingernails.

"Hi again," I said.

"Yo," he replied.

"What's the special occasion?"

He shrugged. "It's Tuesday."

"It's Thursday."

"Oh." He clicked his tongue. "Even better."

"It would be better if it was Saturday," I mused.

"Why?"

"Because weekend."

"Huh." It didn't look like the concept of the work week really affected him. "What would you be doing if it were Saturday?"

I smiled. "Probably watching cat videos. I like cats."

He smiled back. "Have you ever had one?"

I frowned. "Yup. Died of old age."

He frowned back. "My condolences."

I gave him a thumbs-up. "My acceptances."

"Are you hungry?"

"Nope." I raised my bottle. "Just limeade."

He eyed it skeptically. "Does it... taste good?" He sounded like he didn't know how to phrase the question.

I twisted the lid off and took a sip. I smacked my lips. "No." I tossed the lid in his direction. He caught it and started twirling it between his fingers. "But what was I expecting? What is limeade anyway?"

"I'm pretty sure it says on the back of the bottle."

"I meant more, you know, existentially."

"Ah. Like, 'what is this limeade?' 'What am I?' 'What is life?'"

"What even is life, though?"

He was twitching softly, considering me. "Are you being serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He saw I was kidding, and waved my foolishness away with one delicate hand. A small part of my brain wondered what we must have looked like to the other lunch-goers. The rest of my brain didn't care in the slightest.

Then he laughed a wayward laugh. "Your friends look angry I stole you."

They were the farthest thing from my mind. "They'll live."

The corners of his mouth hung wickedly. "But I might not give you back."

I groaned, rolling my eyes massively. "Oh, come on."

"What?" His head tilted.

"You're trying to be cool." I sipped my limeade, cavalier. "It's not working."

He leaned forward, and his eyes burned like gold on fire. "Minho," he purred, "you know that's not true."

And my mind went blank. I was staring — my bottle stalled at my lips. He was so beautiful it was unsettling. I was unconsciously holding my breath, and I started coughing when I realized it.

He was smiling smugly now. His mouth reminded me of a square bracket on its side.

"Your eyes," I said, still half-paralyzed. I shook my head. "I still haven't figured that one out."

"Good." He leaned back in his chair, and slid the lid of my limeade back to me — a calculated move.

I caught it, wedged it back onto the rim of the bottle. "Stop acting smug just because you've successfully stumped me."

"So you admit you're stumped?"

"Just because I'm out of ideas doesn't mean I'm gonna stop obsess— er, thinking about it."

"You should stop."

I narrowed my eyes. "You know that doesn't make sense, right?"

He nodded. Jerk. I wondered if he would just catch my limeade bottle if I threw it at him.

"Do you have any theories?" he asked then. "About my eyes? About me in general?"

I searched through the data banks in my head. I had to find one somewhat sane theory, but there weren't many of those.

"The least crazy one..." I sighed. "You're a body-builder who doesn't like his natural eye colour." That one wasn't very likely — his arms looked like uncooked spaghetti.

He pursed his perfect lips. "The most crazy?"

"An alien?" He shook his head, smiling a bit. "Fell into radioactive sludge?" He raised his eyebrows. "Were you dropped on your head as a baby?" He shrugged. "A science experiment gone wrong?" He scoffed. "A superhero?"

His jaw locked, and I knew I hit something. I leaned over the table.

"You're a superhero?" I whispered.

He leaned forward, too. "No." He finally met my eyes, and faltered. "I... I don't want to say."

"Please say." I was on the edge of my seat — literally as well as figuratively.

"Minho," he said through his teeth, "what if... I'm a supervillain?"

"Jisung," I said back, "that's stupid."

He huffed irritatedly, but there was something adorable about the way his shoulders bounced. "Is it so hard to think that I'm not what I look like? Maybe I'm dangerous. Maybe I'm deadly."

I could tell he believed what he was saying, but I couldn't imagine it. Jisung seemed gentle in nature. The way he spoke, the way he walked — graceful and attentive. Except for the first day I was here, when he had peered at me like I'd cursed his crops, he'd been nothing but sweet to me (if a little vague and melodramatic). As I looked at him now — at his sun-kissed skin, floppy hair, black-and-white striped shirt and bomber jacket — I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that he could be deadly.

"Maybe," I allowed. "But a supervillain? No. Even if you think you're scary and dangerous, I don't believe that you're evil."

He was still as stone for a minute — I thought he'd stopped breathing and was about to panic — and then he sighed, covering his eyes with his hand.

"God, this is wrong," he mumbled. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it.

"Wrong? What is wrong?" I automatically reached out to him.

He whipped away faster than I could process. I snatched my hand back, too.

"I'm sorry, Minho," he said. "Whether you believe it or not, I'm... not safe. For anyone — but especially not for you."

"I think you're just being dramatic."

"It's more complicated than that."

I reached out to poke him again, just so he'd look at me. He twitched back, eyes wide.

"I think you're cute," I said.

"What?" He looked like he was choking.

"You heard me. I think you're cute and kind and I feel comfortable around you."

He groaned. "Stop it — I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I. I think your face and hair and clothes are cute. You're cute, Jisung, just accept—"

He growled — lips pulling back, eyes flashing wickedly, the skin around his nose folding like a tiger.

Did he really think that would scare me?

I snorted and imitated him, twisting my face up and swiping at him with my grubby fingernails.

He was staring at me, frozen, with something like disbelief and panic in his expression.

"Adorable," I said.

"No, not adorable," he hissed in a millisecond. "I'm breaking all the rules by being here and you're not taking it seriously."

"I didn't realize this was a serious event. Maybe if you explained any of this to me, I could understand the severity of the situation." I threw in a few big words to let him know I wasn't playing games.

He looked like he was deliberating. I took a moment to examine his face. I wondered what it would be like to poke his cheeks.

"That's not safe, either," he said.

I shook my head — because I was disagreeing, but also because his face made me drunk. "I should just leave, then, right? If everything is so dangerous for me?"

He wrinkled his nose, but said, "Yes."

My heart sort of stuttered, like it was actually hurt. I looked down. "Do you... want me to leave?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"Do you want me to want to leave?"

"Yes, but you didn't answer my question."

"You want me to leave?"

"No, but I want you to want to leave. What do you want?"

"I don't want to leave," I said. "I'm also really confused."

He smiled a little, and it was irresistible and vulnerable and irresistible. "Don't leave."

"I thought you wanted me to leave."

He nodded. "You should."

"It's annoying when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Contradict yourself."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Then I noticed the cafeteria was almost empty, and I swore under my breath. We weren't getting anywhere, but we were talking. I got to be with him, listen to him. That was enough for me.

I got to my feet, grabbed my limeade, and heaved my backpack over my shoulder.

I gave Jisung a funny look when I saw he hadn't moved.

"Biology?"

"I'm skipping today," he said. He didn't sound defiant — more curt, like it wasn't even a choice.

I hid my disappointment. "Have fun being a punk."

"Have fun being a square."

I wrinkled my nose in his direction.

"See you around," he said. "Maybe."

"Um, yeah." I was going to hold him to that. "Yeah, see you."

I backed away. He stayed seated. I finally turned, tearing my eyes away from him.

"Minho," he called, and I spun around — faster than I should have — to see him standing. He looked awkward, like he had a rock in his shoe, and his posture was defenceless. His voice was barely a murmur.

"I think you're cute, too."

He disappeared like a ghost.