She Was Happy - NCT Dream's Jisung

Week 7 - TA Mark Is Cute?

"Ah-choo!"

"Bless youuu!" I said out loud, almost mimicking the way Happy sneezed with my own outburst.

"Not funny," she mumbled with a stuffy nose.

There must have been a bug going around this week. My mom, too, was experiencing allergies and minor cold. And this Saturday when Happy arrived to class, her nose and eyes were red from allergy strain and she was irritated from her own coughing and sneezing. I was concerned for her, but I couldn't let her know that or I would never hear the end of it.

I got up to get her a tissue from the front of the class. As I passed by TA Mark's desk, he stopped me. I'd never talked to TA Mark before so this made me feel slightly uncomfortable and awkward.

"You okay, Jisung?" he asked. I was surprised he knew my name.

"Mhm, I'm good," I uttered quietly, not sure what else to say.

"Okay, just checking on you. Let me know if you have any questions about the worksheets, okay?" TA Mark said with a friendly smile that I could not return because I was still frazzled by his unexpected approach.

"Yeah of course, thanks," I said, then quickly picked up a few tissues and made my way back to my seat. Though my awkwardness made my interaction with him unbearable, I could see what a nice guy he was.

"Hey, what do you think of our TA?" I asked Happy, as I slid in my seat next to hers. I handed her the tissues to which she received gratefully and blew into obnoxiously. I tried not to cringe from the possible germs that were flying in my direction.

"Mark?" she uttered in between blows.

"Yeah."

"He's cute," she remarked nonchalantly, looking over at him at the front of the room.

"Huh? Wait what?" I couldn't control the way my eyebrows furrowed in confusion and slight embarrassment.

"What? You asked me what I thought of him and I think he's cute," she repeated, almost teasingly. I rolled my eyes.

"No, that's not what I meant. I—"

"What, you don't think he's good looking?" she laughed, knowing that her words were flustering me.

"Happy, shut up. I was just trying to say that he seems like a nice guy and I wondered if you thought so too," I explained, feeling stupid for bringing it up at all.

"Well, then yes," she nodded. "I agree that he seems like a nice guy. Is that it?"

"Yeah...that's it," I mumbled, pondering the fact that Happy called Mark cute. She must have noticed because she followed with a statement that made my cheeks go pink.

"Don't worry, Stick, I think you're cuter."

-

We were about two hours into the second half of today's Saturday session with TA Mark. Happy and I were finished with the worksheet so we just made lazy conversation while we touched up some of our notes from lecture. Happy began to pick at her nails while we talked and I couldn't help but finally bring it up. The way the shavings of polish scattered her desk bothered me. I wanted to sweep it up with my hands and throw it away or keep her hands still so she'd stop fidgeting in front of me.

"Why do you always do that?" I asked, perplexed, as I observed Happy while she vigorously picked at the black-painted fingernails on her left hand. I had noticed this habit of hers the past few weeks that I'd gotten to know her and it was always so odd to me. Just last week, all the black nail polish had nearly been scraped off until I could fully see the pink sections of skin under her nails. This week, Happy wore a fresh coat of her usual black color, but they were already in the process of being ruined again by her habitual picking.

"Do what?" she asked, completely unaware of the mess on her desk that I was referring to.

"All this." I blew onto the pile of black fragments and it dispersed in all directions, some onto the floor and the rest on Happy's lap.

She frowned at me and brushed off the excess nail polish from her clothes. "You could have just said so." That made me laugh a little.

"Okay whatever. So why? You always ruin your nails like that right after you paint them," I said, leaning back in my chair.

"I do?" she asked, perplexed. I was even more surprised that she didn't notice as much.

"You do," I nodded.

"Hm...well...I guess I just do it when I'm thinking hard," she thought, tapping her cheek with her pointer finger.

"Why, what do you think so hard about?" I asked curiously. Happy didn't strike me as the overthinker type. Especially since she seemed to always just speak her mind with no thought or filter. But then I realized I did only see her once every week at most.

"That's none of your business," she grinned, leaning in closer. "Plus, it's satisfying when it's all gone."

"Is it?" I said, squinting an eye at her. It didn't seem like that would be the case.

"Well, why don't you try it for yourself?" she piped, setting her hand down on my desk. "I'm getting tired of it anyway."

Her sudden gesture flustered me. I hesitated. Not only because the thought of moving her nail polish mess to my neat desk made me feel uneasy. But also because I would basically be touching and holding her hands.

Still, she was waiting, and I didn't know a way to get out of it. I sighed, stifling the embarrassment setting in, and got to work.

Her hands were soft. And small in mine. Her fingers were warmer than my own icy ones. And her color tone was deeper than mine. I admired how different we were with our skin clashing.

That day, I spent the remaining hours of Saturday school accumulating a hill of black shavings off of Happy's nails. To my surprise, it was actually more fun than I thought it would be. 'Satisfying' in Happy's words. I found myself getting lost in thought while I did this, just like how she said she would.

By the end of the day, there were nail polish scrapings all over my desk. I swiped them off the desk without thinking and they fell all over my backpack. And even though I was usually irritated by such messes, I found myself not caring too much.

When I got home, the clutter had disappeared. It must have blown away in the winter breeze on my way home.