She lets out a gasp, palms resting on her chest before her fingers curl and clutch at the fabric of her shirt. It’s all out of jest, her exaggerated expressions. But if it was any consolation, it wasn’t common to get the kind of reaction with her. At least not in person, due to the undeniable resting straight face that she was scourged with ever since she could remember. Now she’s rubbing on her tumid cheeks that everyone seemed to poke fun of today. Though, she’s a bit relieved that none was about her heart being black or non-existent, or her being dead inside, or just her being dead in general and other more notable things about her default lack of enthusiasm. She was sure they knew her appearance wasn’t significant to how she really felt as she’d always been grateful for such wonderful friends.

It must have been the nth time that she’d sighed. The rest of her body follows suit, slouching down as her eyebrows knitted together to create a small crease on her forehead. Only brief, however, as she builds up on her automatic response to being called ‘cute’ or anything close for no specific reason. “I’m not cute, I’m hardcore! Hardkore because I’m Korean.”