Couple of months ago, I wouldn't even notice Abram. A boring worker with a boring haircut and a boring bag. He never laugh, but he smiles a lot. I can't believe I'm addicted to him right now. If only David didn't ask to spend OT together working that damn war articles. If only Abram didn't offer to drive me home. If only I didn't stupid enough to offer him hot chocolate before he left. And if only I didn't end up waking up- looking crazy with Whoopie Goldberg hair- staring a note on a pillow right next to me, "It was fun last night. Thank you."
It was fun? What is this? Sex and The City? You can't just write a morning-after note like that to a girl who spend days working her ass off and hoping her a-bit-brownish-and-maybe-Alabamian-horse-riding- Prince would save her one day. No, you can't.
Who would named their son Abraham nowadays, anyway? (Well... unless the kid is able to create zombie pigeons, or maybe slaying vampires while becoming the President of America) Nevertheless, I shouldn't be falling.
But here I am, planning our kids future name. And since my OTP is Wonkyu, I'm gonna put our names together. My son would sound like a crossbred kid from Korea and Africa, Wonkyu Abedel.
I'm such a weirdo. I'm not a stalker and I never will be, but I can't help looking at Abram during lunch these days. Asking myself minute by minute, will he call me? It's been 2 days. Will the phone ring? Will it will it Willy Smithy? Or should I call first? But that would only make me look cheap and desperate. I better wait (I hate waiting) and if the phone doesn't ring, I'm gonna patiently giving up (I'm gonna beat the shit out of David) maybe we aren't meant to be (well we should be, I mean... he likes non-glittery-Edward vampires too).
Wonkyu Abedel... you will be born, my son. You will. Mama will make sure it's going to happen.