Minho

    Minho had always been a quiet person. He typically spoke only when spoken to, he rarely raised his voice above a low murmur, and he made sure never to use ten words when four would suffice. Minho had never found this to be an issue in his life; on the contrary, people found him to be a good listener and a kind friend, at least in part because he rarely carried his end of the conversation and happened to be friends with several nervous babblers (latest boyfriend included).

    However, he did wish, on certain specific occasions, that he was better at carrying a natural conversation.

    Occasions, for example, like the one he found himself in at that exact moment.

    Minho rarely had reason to visit Professor Song in her office; they were cordial during class and in the hallways on account of her close relationship with Taemin and Sulli but Minho couldn’t remember a single occasion where he’d needed to see her on a one-on-one basis.

    Until that precise moment.

    “Minho, you know that I want to be here as little as you do,” Victoria sighed, shuffling through some parchment that lay strewn across her desk. “However, your grades are...troubling, and I’d be a bad teacher if I didn’t at least try to figure out what was wrong.”

    Minho nodded wordlessly from his chair in front of her desk. Despite the clutter haphazardly placed across its surface, the desk itself was remarkably clean and shiny, and Minho could see his own uncomfortable face reflected in the glossy sheen. He crossed and re-crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap before deciding, ultimately, to place them back down by his sides.

    “This is the part where you tell me what’s going on,” Victoria continued, in the absence of speech.

    “Um,” Minho supplied helpfully, pausing to collect his thoughts.

    “Um?” Victoria reiterated, frowning a little.

    “Um,” Minho replied, before sighing and continuing. “Look, there’s just been a lot going on with me...personally. I’ve been letting it affect my grades. It won’t happen again.”

    Victoria’s frown deepened. “Personally? Is there something wrong? Anything I should be concerned about?”

    “No.”

    “Hmm…” Victoria continued, before abruptly standing and walking around the perimeter of the room, eyes trained on Minho the whole time.

    Minho chose to say nothing, as he often did.

    “So...are you being bullied?” Victoria asked.

    Minho looked up from his reflection in the desk (whose expression had shifted from uncomfortable to alarmed) and finally stared directly at Victoria. “No.”

    “Okay, just checking,” Victoria said, holding her hands up defensively. “Are you sick?”

    “No.”

    “Family troubles?”

    “Not that I’m aware of.”

    “Friend issues?”

    “They’re still psycho.”

    “Fair enough. Dietary issues? Exercising enough? Weather got you down?”

    “No, no, and it’s spring so no.”

    “Then I’m out of ideas,” Victoria said, pacing out of Minho’s line of vision and walking behind him. “So why don’t you fill me in?”

    “Just…” Minho trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s embarrassing.

    “I’m sure it isn’t,” Victoria’s voice said soothingly from behind him.

    “I’d rather keep it to myself,” Minho finally iterated.

    “Fine. Then you can serve detention with me next week after dinner, two hours every day. I’ve been meaning to re-shelve some of these books and I could use your height.”

    “All week?” Minho groaned, putting his head in his hands.

    “Yep. Or,” Victoria sing-songed, finally appearing in Minho’s peripheral vision, “you could just tell me what’s going on.”

    “Murpasdhoudasdfadyoug,” Minho muttered.

    “Try that again, only take your face out of your hands, please,” Victoria chided.

    Minho sat up, looked at Victoria, and gritted, “I’m dating Jonghyun Kim.”

    Had Victoria been consuming a warm beverage of some sort, she would’ve chosen that specific moment to choke on it. “Jonghyun? Jonghyun Kim? The Hufflepuff?”

    “Yes,” Minho muttered.

    “But isn’t he…” Victoria trailed off, making a spastic facial expression and twisting her arms in imitation of, what Minho could only assume to be, a very idiotic person.

    “I suppose he is,” Minho said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up despite himself. Even thinking about the spazzy idiot made him smile. He was ed.

    “Oh-kay,” Victoria said, tone a little too high to be natural. “Well. I guess that explains the added stress...to your schedule.”

    “Right,” Minho said. He could feel his face burning up. This was humiliating.

    “So...you can go,” Victoria said, gesturing to the exit. “It was nice talking to you.”

    Minho merely grunted and moved towards the door as quickly as he could. He couldn’t lie to a professor, after all.

    And as Minho rushed out of Professor Song’s office, she called after him, “See you next week for detention!”

    “Damn it,” Minho hissed under his breath, slamming the door behind him, Professor Song’s chuckles fading behind the solid oak door.