Kyungsoo is ecstatic. Who would have thought that on an ordinary day like this could lead to something so great? Friends, he has friends! Oh, how glad he is to have forgotten that measly home lunch. None too silently, he clasps his hands together and thanks the Lord for waking him up just a bit later than usual. No longer would he be lonely! He could waste away his days on his phone, texting late into the night, just like a real teenager.

With elation as high as the sun in the sky, he skips away to the larger-than-average house he calls home. He passes by the bus line, where he would frequent any other day. But today, yes today, Kyungsoo is much too happy to spend a long and boring thirty minutes on the public transit.

The walk home seems so entirely surreal. Everything is smiling with luminescence at him. The flowers perk up as he hops down the sidewalk, the trees shake when he reaches for their leaves. A bird chirps a sweet melody in his ears as he hums along, the water in the nearby lake ripples when he throws stones upon its surface. Mother Nature must be proud of him. Although the trip back to the house is eventful and fulfilling, the moment Kyungsoo takes a step through the door and shouts “I’m home!” to an empty dwelling puts him back in place.

Oh, how could he have forgotten?

He’s technically still alone.

No one is home to greet him. His mother embarked on a business trip to Japan a fortnight ago. Since being promoted, his father comes home for at most three hours in the early morning. That is, if he doesn't stay over at his own apartment closer to the company, doing who knows what with who knows who. None of that has changed. Not even if he’s just gained two new people in his life. Why, who’s he to say that they’ll stay? People come and go, Kyungsoo knows that well. He has no idea how this friendship will turn out. After all, it‘s not even been five hours since the cafeteria incident occurred.

All his confidence flies out the door at the thought. Anxiety floods his veins and replaces his blood. Thorns stab at his fragile heart as doubt clouds his mind.

Nevertheless, Kyungsoo is hopeful.

Not having enough gall to be the first to text, he decides to wait for a notification instead because, “Kyungsoo, desperation is not what you are.”

A few hours later, a bell tone rings from his phone. He snatches it up quickly without bothering to read the banner across the screen. It’s got to be either Jongin or Taemin because who else would text him? With such a shy personality, he had no mind to even begin to speak to someone, not to mention give out his number.

It takes exactly two seconds to compose - not really - himself enough to actually sit down on the couch and casually reply to the “hey, what’s up?” Jongin texted him.

×××××  

Nursing a headache isn’t exactly the most ideal thing to be doing after your first day of school. Jongin knows that, but it’s pretty inevitable given the course of his day.

“Life and all its inhabitants can seriously go die and themselves and maybe even each other while they're at it.” He says while massaging his temples hard enough to rival the strength of a kick boxer and failing to realise that it only makes the pain worse.

“Um, thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Why am I such a screw up?”

The entire seven hours he spent at school were absolutely disastrous.

With his alarm clock failing to do its job to alarm him, Jongin woke up a good fifteen minutes late. (Upon later inspection of the damned machine, he finds that the cord had been unplugged. He cursed himself for tripping over it the night before and forgetting to fix it.) Being late to his first class on his first day, may have made his first impression on the teacher a little less than what’s ideal. With a sigh and a wave of the hand, she sends Jongin off to a seat in the back after introducing him briefly to the rest of the geometry class. His seatmate, though looking tall and intimidating, is actually a huge dork. His name is Sehun and he tells Jongin that for the record, he’s dyed his hair 10 times in a total of 14 different colors. He’s even had a rainbow atop his head. That, Jongin decides takes the cake, seeing as his own hair has never changed.

Even if he managed to be two minutes early and not half an hour late, Jongin’s second period didn’t go any smoother than the first as he hoped. It gets a bit annoying having to go through yet another “This is Jongin, treat him well.” But then he remembers that hey, there are 4 more classes of this. He sighs and heads to the empty desk in the middle of the room, oblivious to the last one to the left in the fourth row; out of the way and under the radar. He’s already got notes out, his pencil scratching away, and feet tapping when the door slams open. In walks another guy, and boy does he look scary. Jongin can only hope he’ll never have the occasion to get involved in his business. His hopes are crushed when Mr.Monster glares in his direction and staggers toward him.

‘Oh, .’

“Who the are you?” Mr. Monster asks with a palm landing on the desktop.

‘Great, how cliche of me to choose the school bully’s seat to sit in. Just great.’

“J-Jongin, I’m moving now. Goodbye!”

True to his word, Kim Jongin bolts to the unclaimed seat he failed to spot earlier. The class laughs for a particular reason that he doesn’t care to know and Mr.Monster slumps onto the desktop, face flat in his arms. Jongin thinks it’s smart to stay away. He’s gone and embarrassed himself twice not even two hours into the school day.

Third and fourth block consecutively were just as bad, if not worse. Walking into third was a nightmare. Opting to carry around his books and supplies to spare him extra times from going to his locker, Jongin waltz through the door of classroom number 59. The scene he interrupts is absolutely terrifying. A boy clad in a complex-patterned black shirt and loose, grey sweatpants stands before the teacher’s desk. Sounds mundane enough. It would have been, had the student not been furiously making out with said owner of the tabletop. An act of unprofessionalism and lewdness convinces Jongin to shriek internally and cover his eyes. He finds his way to a back seat by the window and plants himself there, composing himself with a silent chaos in his mind. Eventually the two break apart, panting heavily. Seconds later, other students start filing in, chatting up a storm and not noticing the guy up front with the teacher. The two have it timed to the dot and Jongin wonders (it’s just a fleeting thought, really) how often they do such an act to know when exactly to pull away. He finds it awkward as he clambers to the very desk that infiltrates his once innocent mind to give yet another painful self-introduction.

Fourth period wasn't as bad, if you could count his zipper breaking off his overstuffed bag mild. At least he had lunch next. But we all know how that went. Fifth was actually pretty decent. The inevitable “Hi, my name is Kim Jongin,” couldn't be avoided, but thank the Lord there were no bullies or innocence-demolishing teacher and student pair. Just a regular ninth grade biology class. But oh, his last class of the day was of some other story. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad. Jongin could say he was indifferent about it.

Dance, as previously explained, is more or less Jongin’s sole reason to live - though that’s an exaggeration, because what about Taemin? So yes, sixth period was fine. He walked into the studio, relishing in the hardwood floors and bars that line reflected images of himself and other things in the room. He breathes in deep (one-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five-and-six-and-seven-eight), then blows it all out. He made sure to rush over to the performing arts center of the school, wanting to have even just a minute alone in his newfound sanctuary. A dance was needed to relieve himself of the stresses of the [eventful] day. A change of clothes wasn’t needed, he came to school dressed in sweats and a muscle tee, clothing that if need be, wouldn’t restrain him from a moment like this.

Jongin sets himself in first position, pausing before taking off to silent melodies in his head.

He is the picture of elegance, bounding across the floor on nimble legs. Angles of his bent limbs could be measured to the degree on a protractor. All his bottled up emotions are tumbling out, conveyed to no one through quirks of his fingers and flexes of his calves. He’s dancing, dancing, dancing. Getting lost and carried away in his own mind, Jongin doesn’t notice the audience he’s acquired until they start clapping. His right eye twitches once.

Jongin has never liked praise.

“You’re amazing!”

“So graceful.”

“I wish I could move like that.”

“Where did you learn to do that with such ease?”

“He’s almost as good as Taemin.”

Ouch, that struck a personal chord.

Somewhere across the room, said dancer connects eyes with his best friend. He knows exactly what’s irritating Jongin.

Along the way, all those years back, Taemin would mentor his younger pupil with words of encouragement. His arms would sway and his legs would follow. Everything flowed in a fluent melody, sophisticated and emotional. Naturally, Jongin developed a style similar to Taemin. Training hard together, admiring each other, sharing choreography. It’s only obvious that it would happen. Unfortunately for Jongin - as grand as he was - this meant that it was much easier to compare the two dancers. People tended to favor Taemin, for reasons Jongin fans could not comprehend. Jongin himself considers his own skill and talent level one lower than Taemin’s. Inferior, insufficient, lacking. He knows he can dance, in the most modest way possible. Though, next to Taemin, he is nothing but a small flower just blooming. As best friends, Taemin has forced the other to voice his worries. He constantly reassures Jongin that no style is the exact same, therefore, you can never validly be “right” about who is better. An opinion is an opinion after all. But even that does not help in any way, and Jongin deals with the insecurity he harbors. That’s partially why he has a strong distaste for when people compliment his dancing. They tell him he’s “grand, amazing, definitely groundbreaking”, but as soon as Taemin comes in, they lose sight of him and his sweat and tears. Praise is a false concept to Jongin, it is nothing to him. (Except maybe it is when he’s sitting awake at three in the morning, feeling worthless as always.)

Jongin hopes a teacher will slink in so he can return to being under the radar. The current attention is bothering him and all he wants is to blend in with the rest of the class and just dance. He needs to be relieved of these horrible first day happenings anyways. Luckily, a man in baggy pants and a muscle tee walks in and the rest of the students get to the side of the room for stretching. Taemin strays from the group and makes his way over to Jongin, patting his back in comfort.

“As I understand, we have a new kid today,” the instructor walks up to him and smiles, “Jongin, was it?”

He nods and tries to manage a tiny grin back for the sake of being polite. The gentle, massaging hand on his shoulders tells him it comes out as a grimace.

“Yeah, Lee. He’s been dancing since he was five. He’s a talented kid, this one.”

Jongin chuckles softly. Taemin can always make him laugh, especially when he pretends to speak like an old geezer.

“Five? What a young age. Weren’t you like six?” He jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. Jongin is really great though, you’ll see.”

“That I’m sure of,” Lee winks and sends them off to warm up.

“How has the rest of the day been?”

Jongin is sure the question is asked with all great intentions, but it does nothing to soothe his stress he has acquired throughout the afternoon.

“Alright.”

“What? That’s it?” Taemin is absolutely flabbergasted for some unknown reason.

“You have Mrs.Park! How are you saying ‘alright’? Have you seen the lady, she’s hot as !”

It was an insensitive thing to point out, especially with Jongin’s self-diagnosed disease, lovesickness.

“You know I’m gay.”

“Look, you may not swing that way, but that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate beauty.”

“But I do, you are beauty. You are beauty at its finest, Taemin,” Jongin solemnly thinks to himself, muttering something about going off to find more space to stretch (but there was a clear area right next to Taemin).

All in all, the school day’s succession was a difficult one, even if he made up with Taemin the minute they walked out of the dance studio, because fights between them never lasted long anyways.

As he’s complaining to Taemin about the insufferable progression that is life, Jongin steps onto the bus and sees the other students chatting about whatever it is they chat about. The pit of dread resurfaces in his stomach. He hates buses full of smelly jocks and obnoxious divas. Fortunately, Taemin pulls him into the only empty seat left in aisle six. He tells him it’s his “reserved seat” until he turns 16 and gets his own car. They both agree to dream of that day.

There is silence between them, but it isn’t considered awkward for one second. With headphones playing some sort of relaxing indies tune in his ears, Jongin can feel himself nodding off. He is sure he falls asleep at one point, his head on Taemin’s shoulder. What’s more is that instead of the expected shove, Taemin gently cradles him and leans back into it. Needless to say, Jongin enjoys the entire intimate ordeal. There’s a small part of his heart that commands him to stay awake please just stay awake and cherish this moment it isn’t going to happen again stay awake. But the warmth engulfing his entire being is quicker and he is lulled to unconsciousness by the steady whirring and bumping of the bus.