a reason to smile // seo changbin ✔️

chapter fourteen

isolation

moon jieun - monday

after my talk with changbin, i've been restless. overthinking every little move i've made in the past month. and as it turns out? he's right. i haven't been looking for signs. i've been pushing them away. because as strange as it feels to admit it, the sign has been right in front of me for two weeks now.

changbin and his friends are my sign that things do get better.

i came to so many realizations after settling on that thought. so many things that i wanted to talk to mrs. cho about. our third session would be tomorrow, it's crazy to think that we're already past halfway done with the five sessions i agreed to.

it's equally as crazy as the fact that they might be working...

but i couldn't give any credit to mrs. cho, could i? our sessions have been short, and she's hardly said anything to me. she just gave me a stupid book, and then a pencil. if i have anyone to thank for my... progress... it would be changbin. maybe even felix and jisung.

it still felt strange to admit these things to myself, to feel flickers of hope running through my mind after so long. but i knew i still had a long way to go. like the fact that my life seemed to be turning into this stupid book. and i felt like i was falling down the rabbit hole, preparing to credit all of my progress to changbin. a boy. nearly a week after i told mrs. cho that you don't need a boy to make you happy. yet...

"let's say, the boy is..." she trails off, eyes scanning her office. "this pencil." she picks up a regular wooden pencil.

her ridiculous theory filled my mind once again. a pencil. changbin is a pencil... okay...

"what do you do with a pencil?" she asks.

you write. you write with a pencil. but what the fuck does that have to do with anything? i couldn't grasp it, couldn't make sense of it. i remember she had asked me what i write about.

"oh... i... stories? i guess. fiction."

it was true. i usually wrote fiction stories. typically the cheesy impossible things. like a straight 'a' student becoming best friends with a drop out. i always found those cliches to be amusing. and apparently on occasion i write rather morbid poems about my life.

pencil... stories...

what was the connection? obviously mrs. cho had to have something behind her methods, otherwise she wouldn't be a therapist. and she seemed to have helped changbin. she wouldn't be doing any of this for no reason, especially if we're on a time crunch of just five short sessions.

i've never thought so much about one thing. typically, if something was too stressful, i'd just forget about it. it was easier that way. but i didn't want to forget about this.

i wanted to be helped...

god it felt to weird to even think something like that. it felt... bittersweet. sweet because well... i felt a little bit of purpose in life. bitter because i absolutely did not want to give all the credit to a man. just like that stupid fucking book.

and we're back where i started.

the boy is a pencil.

you write with a pencil...

fuck this.

"you okay?" felix's voice pulls me from my thoughts.

"fine." i reply dryly.

"i feel like i can see the steam coming out of your brain. what's on your mind?" he prods.

"a lot." i admit. "too much."

"well do you want to talk about it, or do you want to escape it for a bit?"

i cock an eyebrow at his words.

"what do you have in mind?"

"wanna go to the greenhouse with me? i need to check on my plants." he suggests.

"in the middle of class?" sure i wouldn't mind ditching class, but felix was more studious than i was. but... maybe i needed to start caring too...

"class is over, jieun." he motions to the empty classroom. fuck... when did that happen? "come on," he stands up, motioning for me to do the same. dazed, i stand, grabbing my backpack from the floor to swing it over my shoulders. he's silent as he walks out of the classroom and i fall into step beside him.

despite his usual perky personality, felix was actually really good when it came to... more serious topics. i remember the first time i went to the greenhouse with him, and i remember being shocked by everything he had to say. he was surprisingly comforting. and this time, i could tell would be no different. i almost felt like i could... open up to him... so...

"how would you feel if... someone... i don't know... just came into your life and... say... took credit for all the pretty flowers you've grown in the greenhouse?" i speak up, the question was loaded, and honestly made no sense. but i swear i have a point.

"well... i guess i'd be upset. i would wonder why they want to take the credit though." he answers with no problem, as if my random question didn't surprise him. we weren't far from the greenhouse now, i could see the rumbled path with green moss running though it.

"well... they're not taking it. it's technically already there's." i explain.

"how? i've done all the work." he chuckles. and i pause.

"you... well yeah but... maybe this person... pushed you to start growing the flowers... or something?" the statement came out as more of a question as the gears began turning.

"but did they put in any of the work?" he questions.

"well... i guess not but—"

"then they can't take my credit." he cuts me off.

"right..." he pushes the door to the greenhouse open, motioning for me to go inside. the green vines still standing tall along the walls. and felix's multicolored flowers still thriving despite the cold weather.

"you know, anyone can hand you the seed of a flower and tell you to make it grow, but only you are responsible for actually making it happen." he speaks softly as he crouches down, tending to his flowers. and fuck, if his words didn't hit hard.

i get it now.

the boy is a pencil.

you write with it.

the pencil can be right in front of me but only i can decide if i'm going to write with it.

and only i can decide what i write.

changbin can't take the credit for making me better. for making me want to be better.

because he is just the pencil.

only i have the power to write with the pencil.

mrs. cho...

you are a goddamn genuis.