I've made bad decisions throughout my life. But no decision, none, has been as catastrophic as lying in bed and starting that damned BL novel. Why would someone do this to themselves, you ask? Because my brain is... eccentric, to say the least. I have this masochistic tendency to dive into absurd dramas just to feel something, to indulge in the chaos. It's like I've discovered the fastest route to self-loathing.
The novel's name? Don't ask. I won't tell you. I'm actively trying to forget it because that name, that cursed title, dragged me into this nightmare. Yes, I'm in the novel now. The story I read, despised, criticized, and tore apart in my head? I'm living it. And God knows—actually, scratch that, I've stopped questioning God—I hate myself more than anything right now. Because let's be real, this entire mess is my fault.
You probably know the story. Or at least, you've read something like it. It's always the same formula: an elite, overly dramatic high school filled with beautiful, egotistical people. And then there are the five boys. All of them devastatingly handsome. All of them emotionally stunted. All of them walking red flags. The whole plot revolves around their obsessive, borderline psychotic love for the protagonist.
The catch? I'm not the protagonist.
Thank God I'm not, because knowing what happens to that poor guy, I wouldn't want to be. But my current position isn't much better. Somehow, even as a supposed side character, I've managed to attract the attention of those five maniacs. And no, this isn't romantic. It's a waking nightmare.
Right now, I'm sitting in class, staring out the window. The view is artificially perfect, like everything else in this wretched world, and it's making me sick. Then the door opens.
Enter the first male lead.
The atmosphere shifts. Silence. People's gazes turn toward him, dripping with artificial admiration. And then, because this world is cruel and spiteful, his eyes meet mine.
No. Don't look at me. Please don't look at me.
But he does. Of course, he does.
In that moment, I know peace is not an option. I don't even bother hiding my disgust. This is a world where every guy is toxic, where everything revolves around egos and drama, and the idea of love is warped beyond recognition.
But here I am, stuck in it. And I want no part of it. But what I want doesn't matter, does it? This world will do everything it can to pull me into its madness. And me? I'll fight back.
Can I survive in this cursed novel? I don't know. But here's what I do know: until I find a way out of this mess, I'll amuse myself by ruining every overly dramatic moment with my toxic wit. Whatever God's reason for throwing me into this chaos, I refuse to play along.