He’s been hoping this conversation wouldn’t make it to the dinner table, or in fact, be up for discussion at all.

“So how’s school, son?” His dad asks with a warm smile that makes it harder for Jongin to swallow the cold fries.

“What do you think, dad?” Luna pipes in, rolling her eyes, “It’s Jongin, he probably spends his time posing as a broody loner and mentally judging them all.”

“Not posing,” Jongin corrects and flicks a lettuce leaf at her, “I am a broody loner and I openly judge the kids at that school.”

“You’re so lucky. My friend said she was walking around Gangnam the other day and she swore that Choi Minho walked right pass her. Is he even hotter in person than he is in picture?”

“Just dreamy,” Jongin murmurs dryly, “I stay up all night thinking about his perfect hair and perfect eyes.”

Luna giggles and bumps shoulders with him.

“Is that your friend, son?” His dad interrupts, sounding way too hopeful for his liking.

“Uh…not exactly,” Jongin scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably, “We have a few of the same classes. And we’re put in the same group for this chemistry project.”

“Oh my god,” Luna chirps excitedly, digging her nails into his forearm, “Tell me you know Krystal – she’s –“

“Yes, I know, Luna,” he already knows where she’s going with this, “The queen of St. Vincent, Choi Minho’s doting girlfriend. Original inventor of the word , who probably preaches Stalin when she was in the crib and rips up the style section of the Times to use as paper dolls or for darts throwing purposes.”

Dad laughs. “She sounds like a joy.”

“Oh, just peachy.”

Luna frowns at this. “But she’s perfect”

“No one’s perfect, Lun.”

“No one’s ever that evil either,” his dad counters with a knowing look, “I think you should give these kids the benefit of the doubt. They can’t be all horrible people, son, there are exceptions to everything.”

“Oh yeah, Jongin, you should tell us about Choi Sulli.”

He didn’t know it was possible to choke on air until this very moment.

“Who’s that?” Dad asks, Luna sure got his interest, “Hang on a second, isn’t that the girl who was on Sportseoul the other day for – “

“Turning up to the Sooman’s galleria benefit, drunk and half-dressed,” Luna finishes him off quickly, “Yup, that’s the one.”

“How do you know all this?” Jongin asks in exasperation.

Luna shrugs easily, nibbling on her vegetarian pizza, “I volunteered”

“How come I didn’t know about this?” His dad interrupts, looking just as confused as he is, “Jongin, did you know about this?”

“No, don’t look at me,” Jongin raises both his hands in surrender and more than ready to leave the dinner table now.

“How did you even know about that event? And how can you volunteer without getting my consent?” Dad fires away with the questions, “You’re not legal yet. Wh – what’s going on here?”

“Dad, it’s not a big deal,” Luna glowers, annoyed.

“It is when you go things at that time of the day without me signing off on it,” one of those rare times when he raises his voice at his own children.

“Well, mum did,” she says snappishly, throwing her fork down, “So that makes for one parent who cares about what her daughter wants.”

“Luna…”

But it was too late. The room shook with that one loud, bang of a teen age’s girl bedroom door closing and along with it goes the girlhood their dad has been desperately holding onto.

So something has happened but he doesn’t exactly know what – it’s not his fault that he doesn’t get invited to their kind of parties and it’s most definitely not his fault that he wouldn’t want to go anyway.

Lee Taemin is notorious for throwing parties that came straight out of parent’s worst nightmare. Lee Donghae was sent to the hospital by the end of that weekend and Jongin found it off that no one had found this the slightest bit concerning and went on with their partying antic. Apparently Lee Taemin thrown events are ‘enter-at-your-own-risk.’

It was a quarter to one on a Saturday night and Jongin was caught between the Trojan War and Shakespeare when he stumbled upon a picture of Taemin and Krystal on his social media feed. Taemin had his arm lazily draped over the back of the velvet couch, looking like he owned the world and more. Next to him was Krystal with perfectly coiffed hair, sitting pretty in her expensive low cut light blue dress. The pair looked like they came straight out of an art film circa year two thousand.

Neither Jinri nor Minho was anywhere to be found.

Came Monday and Jinri did not exist – not in the school population’s eyes anyway. The girls with their closet modeled after her own no longer stopped to fawn over the new lipstick shade she’s been donning but brushes pass like she wasn’t standing there, right in front of them. The boys who often stopped to leer at her mile-high legs would rather flipping through a three month-old ‘Sports Illustrated’ than spare her a look. Jinri walks around the school like a ghost that only he could see.

“She in exile,” he heard a junior girl whisper to another before they were promptly hushed by the boyfriend once he caught sight Krystal stalking down the hallway with her girly army and their sharpened heels like she’s out for blood.

How many freshmen has Krystal crushed under those Saint Laurent boots, Jongin can only imagine.

As she saunters pass, she leaves a trail of blaze behind with those withering glare she shoots at whomever is brave enough to be in her path. In the corner, Taemin smirks and salutes her royal majesty with a mocked bow that she looks less than impressed with. Minho, however, was undecided between clenching and unclenching his jaw at the same rhythm as his fists.

He wouldn’t call it as waving a white flag but rather a cowardice flee when Minho moves past him and forfeits Krystal’s first round of retribution.

“He’s upset,” Jinri says matter of factly, standing a few feet away from him.

“Oh so she can talk,” Jongin attempts at a joke, his hands gripping his messenger bag going slack, “What’s going on, Jinri?”

She shakes her head, running a shaky hand through her unbrushed head of hair, “Everything is so complicated now. It was so much easier when we were all just kids.”

“Ah…so it looks like we have got our first perpetrator of the day,” Taemin gloats like his bag self, placing himself right in between the two of them with a smirk that seems to only etch deeper into his face as he turns to Jongin but strays back to Jinri once again, “You must be truly desperate to turn to the school’s charity case.”

“Oh ok yeah ‘cause it’s so bad that some of us didn’t get in because we have a facility named after our millionaire parents,” Jongin says snidely, “Also, this conversation here – it’s actually between Jinri and I so –“

“Jongin, don’t,” she warns in a small voice but was cut off by Taemin’s rumbling laughter.

“So he calls you Jinri now?” Taemin vicious smile stretches a little, “I’ve always known you were a fast worker.”

“With her body, maybe. Not so much with her brain.”

“Great,” Jongin has to suppressed a groan at the sight of pink curls filling the gap in between Taemin and him, “Hey, Krystal, how are you?”

“Bad,” she snaps, “But you’ll be worse once we’re through here.”

Swivering around to face Jinri, Krystal sizes up her taller best friend – even though it would be safer to say former best friend.  “Did you want to tell him? Or should I do it for you?”

Jongin watches horrified as Jinri’s lips trembles, her voice failing to get out any of the words stuck at the base of .

“Are you about done now?”

But his question was left ignored by Krystal, who refused to tear her ice queen gaze away from the redhead. Any minute now there will be a resounding crash and there will less of Jinri for everyone to see.

“I suggest you stay out of this one, lover boy,” Taemin drawls, putting a hand to stop him from moving any closer to either of the girls, “Krystal’s about to out herself so unless you’d like take part in her little takedown episode –“

“That’s enough,” Jongin bits out, pushing Taemin’s arm away, “Whatever she’s done, I doubt it’s anything that the two of you wouldn’t do.”

“Oh right,” Krystal shoots back furiously, “Because Jinri dear here is such a saint, isn’t she? And I just love playing the Satan because clearly, I don’t have anything better to do than torture my poor, innocent best friend.”

“Krys, I – I’m so sorry,” it’s a small, guttural sound that Sulli makes and Krystal flinches like it may have hurt, “I didn’t mean to. It – it just happened, Minho and –“

“Don’t,” she snaps, her voice low and tight, “Don’t you say his name.”

Almost like she could sense Krystal was nearing her breaking point, Jinri retreats back into the shadows that will continue to loom over her until the ruler decides that enough is enough – if she ever comes to that conclusion, that is.

Taemin gives Krystal an encouraging look that says “finish her off” but she never did. Instead she smoothes down the invisible crinkle of her leather skirt and graces him with one last tortured look, hisses, “I’d say you’re in exile too but we all know, you might as well already be so there is really no point now, is there?”

She storms off and Jongin can’t decide who looks more alone, Krystal or Jinri.

“Not just yet,” Taemin hisses when Jinri tries to make a run for it, his bruising grip leaving an angry red mark on her wrist, “Krys might have not been in the mood for some social demise but I am.”

“Please don’t do this,” Jinri is pleading now, except Jongin is not sure if she means him or Taemin.

Ignoring the desperation rolling off her, Taemin spins her around to face Jongin. He couldn’t tell what was harder to watch – Taemin looking like he’s in dire need of exorcism with his knife-edged sneer, holding his childhood in place or jinri, struggling against him like a lost, helpless little girl. Jongin wants to yell at someone – anyone at all to inform him of what the hell is going on at this dictatorship that seems to run the school.

“We’ll play one your middle school favourite then Jin. Wouldn’t you like that, huh? Truth or dare, but it doesn’t matter which one you pick – they both have the same outcome.”

“Taeminnie, I can’t –“ she gives one last go at wriggling out of his hold but it proves to be useless.

“Yes, yes, you can,” he insists, “Now, truth or dare? Pick, now.”

But Jinri didn’t give him a reply, she only shakes her head and whimpers nonsensical phrases that couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence.

“Neither,” Jongin makes that decision for her and repeats but more firmly this time, “Neither. Whatever this is, you’re right Taemin – I don’t want to be a part of it.”

He didn’t belong in her world and he never wants to be.

Jongin turns on his heel faster than Jinri can slip away again. After a month under this regime, he’s well-accustomed to showing himself out.

 It’s funny because whenever he sees Choi Minho, he’s never really doing anything.

He’s always standing in a sea of well-tailored blazers and nodding his head to the sound of his peer’s voice. If not, he’s stretched out on an empty bench with an emptier look on his face. Minho reminds Jongin of a Greek statue – perfect on the surface but might as well be hollow on the inside.

Minho is too occupied with juggling the complex task of throwing an apple up in the air and catching it to notice Jongin sitting down on the bench next to his.

He’s a nice guy, some dude on the soccer team that waits at the same bus stop as him to be picked up by his dad’s company car told him in their first conversation after two weeks of radio silence. Jongin doesn’t really call bull on that one. Minho does exude the niceness that neither of his best friend or girlfriend does.

Jongin has never been the jealous type, especially when it comes to outlook but it almost irks him, how good looking the captain of swim team, soccer team, track team and judo team is. The likes of him don’t even need a passing grade to get into an A grade university. These kids really do have it all.

“Hey, man.

Jongin looks up from his notebook and doesn’t know if he’s surprised or flattered by the sight of Choi Minho, with his hand up in the air and giving him a small wave of acknowledgement.

He knew he must have looked like an idiot but he just had to survey the courtyard to make sure that Choi Minho was really talking to him, Kim Jongin.

“Uh…yeah, hey”

It took Minho to gather all of his sporting equipments and drag them over to the bench Jongin and his stack of school works was occupying.

He stuck his hand out for a strong shake, “Yeah, man, I just wanted to apologize for Krystal. I heard she gave you a pretty rough time today at lunch.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, or the last,” Jongin grumbles under his breath but says after clearing his throat, “Nothing to worry about, I’m over it.”

“She didn’t used to be this way before this whole drama, you know?” Minho rationalizes with a tired sigh, loosening the button of his navy coat, “Now a days, I can barely have one conversation with her without getting snapped at.”

“Ok well, whatever is going on here, I think Ji – Sulli’s got it much worst,” Jongin feels relief over when he looks over at Minho and he didn’t seem to have caught onto his slip of the tongue.

Minho gives him an odd look that Jongin couldn’t really decipher. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nah, nothing, nothing,” Minho denies, shaking his head, “So uh…joined any club since you got here?”

“Nope, sports,” Jongin chuckles rigidly, “Eh…not really my scene.”

“Why? Come on, man,” Minho nudges him, “Kick some balls, shoot some hoops.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s not like I don’t know how to do any of those activities,” Jongin explains, “Of course, I do – who doesn’t? I mean, I’m not bad but I’m not anything special – even it’s a Sunday tradition at my house to head out for a game of soccer –“

“Woah, man, I got it,” he says with a small chuckle, “I need to blow off some steam so let’s go kick some goals for a bit.”

It’s just a game, it’s harmless – Jongin tells himself as he follows the lead of a golden boy.

He’s about ready to leave the locker room. It’s not like he’s got any image to keep up anyway – wet hair and rumpled up buttoned up was going to have to do. 

As much as Jongin hates to admit he had a nice time – “kicking some balls” with a Korean ken doll, he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend it was a horrific experience either. It was a pleasant surprise that Minho, compared to the rest of the school population – which by the way, he is much wealthier than, is oddly accepting of Jongin’s inferior background. This was the first interaction that Jongin had found himself A) not walking away from and B) not being called something along the lines of ‘poverty’, ‘trash’ or ‘diseased.’ You know you’ve hit rock bottom when not being yelled offending names at makes your day.

“Look, Jin, we went over this.”

Judging by the hushed tone, Jongin should have grabbed his things and left them to their own device. But who was he kidding? This was about Jinri and anything that concerns her, he has made it his business – even if she doesn’t know it yet nor does she ever need to.

“I know,” Jinri sounds so distant, so foreign to his ears, “But how long do you expect me to stay away? I – I don’t like this feeling, Minho. I’m not used to being push to the side like this.”

He hears Minho sighs before she even finishes speaking.

“How do you think Krystal is taking all of this? It’s bad enough that she found out the way she did. We should keep it on the down low and wait for things to calm down for a bit.”

“Then what about how I feel?” Jinri asks mildly, “It’s hard for me too.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Jongin doesn’t need to take a peek to guess what Minho is giving into but he does anyway.

There’s an inaudible whisper of “come here” that Jongin reads in between the clashing of the lips and the entanglement of the limbs. Jinri melts into his embrace and together they crash into the door of an empty stall. Her giggle has never ring any clearer in that moment, peppering kisses along the contour of Minho’s perfectly sharp-edged jaw line as he fumbles with the lock.

And oh, how Jongin wishes that out of sight is really out of mind.

A small part of Jongin has managed to convince himself that he never saw this coming, but the bigger part of him is not ashamed to be honest – he’s always known.

It was in the lingering gazes across the steps when they enter school – the gap between the girl’s and boy’s line bridging itself with that one look, pale hand that slips out of the other as if on cue with the first ring of the school bell, the red and green that swishes by in front of him never to return, the glittering brown eyes that looked at him yet right pass him, the shades of pink always lingering in the frame and the navy pea coat that can never stay draped over the same shoulders. And there he was, lost in the carefully crafted colour schemes that could never fit into the black and white shades he’s been watching them through.