03:52am

The red lighted numbers of the alarm clock glowed grimly from the floor beside Taekwoon's mattress, a blaring reminder of just how little sleep he had been getting the last few nights. At first he had tried hard to adjust his schedule, downing copious amounts of coffee every morning to ensure he would make his 10am classes, but the rate at which he was already failing to reset his nocturnal lifestyle and act like a normal person was almost alarming. So far, he had attended a grand total of five classes.... and it was already the fourth week of term.

He contemplated the possibility of attending his Creative Musical Composition class in a few hours. It was one of only two classes he had on Tuesdays, but Taekwoon was sure he hated nothing more on the face of the planet. He absolutely despised workshop style classes, especially those that included an unhelpful mishmash of first years and other art majors. Usually his attendance would be doubtful, even if the class did have "MANDATORY ATTENDANCE" stamped across its course profile, and he had already been absent two weeks in a row.

To make matters worse, the boy Taekwoon had seen moving into his dreary apartment block a few weeks ago was in the same class. Now that Taekwoon could see him clearly, he seemed the popular and unconcerned type - messy and imprecise - just the kind of person he disliked most. As soon as he watched him saunter into class, Taekwoon instantly decided to avoid him (the last thing he needed was another one of these people to judge him) but his hopes had been dashed quickly as the kid immediately plonked himself into the chair opposite him.

As predicted, the seemingly unlikeable blond had spent the majority of the class doodling on his notebook and composing absolutely nothing. What Taekwoon had not expected, though, was him having the nerve to attempt to strike up a conversation, despite being pointedly ignored. What a nuisance, the dark haired boy sulked, begrudgingly recalling the way the boy's nervous voice had intruded on his concentration, it was bad enough avoiding Jaehwan on campus, and now there's this guy, too. I'm sure the both of them would get along like a house on fire. Perhaps he was judging the kid too harshly, but he'd be sure to remember his name and major quickly, just in case. All the better to avoid him.

Taekwoon reached up to rub at his eyes and ruffle his dark hair as he pretended not to notice the red light across the room flashing 04:30am. He really did need to go to class, and he definitely needed the sleep. It was always difficult to go outside... or to shower, or to sleep, or to eat properly, or to get out of bed in the morning... but the extra effort was necessary today.  Besides class, his mail hadn't been collected in a week, and another grocery delivery would be arriving tomorrow.

Even ordering his groceries had been stressful the last time. Taekwoon had come home to a sliced-open delivery box, and still wondered who the hell had bothered to do such a thing. The boy sincerely hoped they'd been severely disappointed in finding only cup ramyeon, and it certainly looked as though none of the contents had been pilfered. Serves them right for trying to rob a poor music student's mail. He even considered reporting it to Hongbin, but the possibility of being cornered by Jaehwan or the landlady while lingering a few moments too long in the foyer had been much too daunting. As if it were likely to happen again, anyway.

Yawning resignedly, Taekwoon shifted from his place beside his old Casio keyboard, music scoring sheets floating back down to the floor in his wake. He shuffled across the room and flopped down on the mattress, finally letting his eyes droop shut. Whatever stress came tomorrow could wait until he had a few hours of sleep.

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Wonshik sat slouched, half-asleep in the classroom chair, as the lecturer groaned on about a subject he'd stopped paying attention to 20 minutes ago. It was Tuesday again, and he wondered distantly just how many more weeks of this hellish art history class he could bear. The last three weeks had been a dragging, monotonous pattern of learning theory and necessary (boring) technique essentials. Surprisingly though, Wonshik was doing well this semester. The blond had attended and (mostly) paid attention to the content, for which - in the context of this class especially - he felt he probably deserved a medal.

It was the standard second year Visual Art schedule: on Tuesdays he had this forsaken class, its matching tutorial, and the workshop class for Creative Musical Composition, Wednesdays was a sculpture technique class and the instruction component of Creative Musical Composition, and Thursday was an anatomy sketching class (complete with a different model each week), and a practical workshop on painting. Lastly, Friday held 5 hours of free project work time for Visual Art major students, and was by far Wonshik's favourite day on campus.

Most days he visited Hakyeon, too, who majored in Dance, at the food court near the performance halls for lunch. Wonshik would listen to his best friend gossip on about this guy or that girl in his course while he chewed carefully on his sandwich and zoned out, trying not to think about how the beautiful the sun made Hakyeon look or how much he missed curling up beside him on those nights they had both been miserable. By the second week of semester, their lunchdates grew to include Wonshik's landlady's model-god grandson Hongbin who, as it turned out, majored in Acting, as well as his rather loud but endearing friend Jaehwan, whom Wonshik had spotted in his painting wrokshop. The sandy-haired Jaehwan lived on the fifteenth and highest floor of the same grey apartment block as Wonshik and Hongbin - which he insisted on calling "The Penthouse" despite it being undoubtably as grey and dreary as every other floor below it - and appeared to spend every waking second making gags for others to laugh at. Despite this, Wonshik was not particularly thrilled at the thought of either them intruding on his Hakyeon-time at first (and the sad, pathetic hopes that came with it), but the three seemed to get along well and it was, admittedly, a distraction from his woeful brooding.
 

The sound of shuffling books and creaking desks suddenly snapped Wonshik from his daze, as his peers stirred around him to flee the concluded class. He sighed and followed suit, stuffing his notebooks into his bag and trudging out the door. Up next he had Creative Musical Composition again, and he pondered for the twentieth time whether the surly dark haired boy would be at his desk again. The guy had been absent for two weeks, and Wonshik couldn't help but wonder if he had scared him away by attempting to talk to him that first class.

The mysterious boy had seemed to be the kind of person to dislike socialising in spite of his obvious musical talent, but that hadn't swayed the blond's curiousity. It would be a shame if he didn't get the chance to speak with him again, all because he had interrupted his writing. Don't be so self-centred, idiot, Wonshik scolded himself, the guy was probably sick, or visiting relatives, or... something. Even so, he sincerely hoped the "mandatory" element of this stupid class would be enough to lure the elusive boy back into his conversational reach. But, maybe he was just desperate to have someone other than Hakyeon to fawn over. Absolutely pathetic.

Despite this deplorable line of thought, Wonshik immediately spotted the dark-haired stranger as he walked through the workshop room door, perched at the usual desk and already scribbling furiously. Smiling to himself, Wonshik carefully printed his name on the attendance sheet at the front of the class before meandering towards the back of the room. The boy did not look up from his work as other sat down across from him, and the blond knew better than to disturb him this time. Instead, he set about working on his composition, glancing up every few moments to watch the other's progress.

Wonshik's patience paid off though, as when class ended, the dark-haired boy didn't run off urgently as he done before. He paused an extra beat to finish off the measure he had been writing before beginning to pack away his books, and Wonshik took the opportunity to step towards him once again. Pale hands froze, mid bag-stuffing, as he drew closer.

"Hello, uh...." Wonshik began tentatively, keeping his voice low as though he were trying to begin a conversation with a timid forest deer. The other's gaze snapped up towards him, and suddenly he was met with the coldest, most breath-taking glare he had ever seen. The guy was absolutely gorgeous, but completely polared Hongbin or Hakyeon in his delicate looks; all pale complexion, with an ethereal facial structure that seemed to be at once both sharp and soft.

The blond gawped and stuttered stupidly, fumbling for the rest of his introduction, as chocolate brown eyes narrowed and delicate lips pursed. Now he was the timid forest deer. "I-I'm Kim Wonshik," he began again, already regretting the situation. "Sorry for interrupting you the other day."

Wonshik gulped as the other blinked slowly, cooly taking in his clumsy awkwardness as he ploughed on, inwardly kicking himself. What the hell had he been thinking, trying to talk to this guy? "I'm a Visual Art major, you see, so I uh.... I don't know a great deal about composition a-and I thought you were... um... you know, the type that did."

Damnit, he thought, I've totally screwed this up... again. Get your amateur out of here, Kim Wonshik, before you embarrass yourself even more. "S-sorry anyways, uh... I guess I'll see you around," he finally managed to stutter out with a nervous laugh, before turning on his heel and marching his idiot self out the door.

What a screw up, grumped Wonshik. In his awkward stupidity, he hadn't even managed to ask the guy's name - just babbled and made a complete fool of himself. He would probably never be able to look the dark-haired boy in the eye ever again, nevermind the fact that he had completely blown any chance of a friendship or even casual conversation.

What the hell is wrong with me?

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Taekwoon usually didn't mind Advanced Musical Analysis class, despite the dry content, but today was different. With his head propped up on one arm and eyes glazed over, the dark-haired boy was only half paying attention, not even bothering to look down at the notes he was writing as the lecturer plodded unenthusiastically through the content. He was so tired; exhausted even more so by the baffling encounter he had just experienced.

What was wrong with that Wonshik kid, anyway, he pondered distantly through his fatigue-fogged mind, had he really just wanted my advice? Admittedly, up close, the guy had been just as handsome and earnest-looking as Taekwoon had first thought when he spotted him in the apartment's reception. He had genuinely seemed to want Taekwoon's help with composition, contrary to the misgivings the other had had about him appearing to be the imprecise and unconcerned type.

Thinking back on it, Taekwoon considered that he may have even replied to Wonshik, if it weren't for his exhausted state and the general surprise of it all sending his brain into frightened-animal mode. Instead, he had just stood there, glaring, while the poor idiot floundered through an introduction then skittered out of the classroom as fast as Taekwoon had on the first day. He felt a small pang of regret at that, since the boy had appeared to be not such a bad person after all, and was now probably scarred for life by Taekwoon's well-practiced, intimidating death stare. Perhaps that had not been the most appropriate reaction to a good looking guy genuinely trying to be friendly. He sighed, slumping further into his seat.

Class ended and Taekwoon set about walking back to his apartment, the thought of the conversation still rolling around in his head. People did not often approach him like that, so tentatively and seemingly without the intention of calling him strange or judging him. Maybe he would make an effort next class to see what the kid needed help with, or at least to say hello and introduce himself. It was a terrifying prospect, but maybe it would turn out alright.

Pretty soon Taekwoon had reached the entrance to the apartment. Hongbin waved to him from the front desk as he heaved open the huge glass door of the reception and made his way over to the mailboxes. There was nothing but a bill for his cell phone, but he knew his groceries would be waiting outside his apartment door, too. Nodding to Hongbin, he strode across to the elevator, quietly anticipating the thought of being safely back in his home.

The elevator dinged its arrival at the fifth floor and Taekwoon stepped out, only to come to a dead stop in the hallway. There, sitting in front of his apartment door, was his grocery package, and crouched beside it, box cutter in hand, was Kim Wonshik himself. The blond was poised over the delivery box, appearing intent on slicing open the thick packing tape on the top and breaking into Taekwoon's mail.

"What," hissed Taekwoon, "the f**k do you think you're doing?"

The other boy turned, an expression of sheer terror flitting across his face as he looked up at Taekwoon. He let out a small yelp and dropped the box cutter.

"What the f**k do you think you're doing?" Taekwoon repeated, his high, soft voice cracking as his whole body shook with fury.

Faster than Taekwoon could react, Wonshik turned-tail and ran into the next door apartment. The door snapped shut behind him, leaving a livid Taekwoon trembling on the landing. Rigid with anger and shock, the dark-haired boy stood there for several more moments before scooping up the box and the knife, unlocking the door and stomping into his apartment. 

Who the hell does he think he is? Taekwoon fumed, slamming the door shut and dumping the box and his bag on the floor unceremoniously. What kind of....? What the f**k?! Screw what he had decided before, that kid was completely good for nothing. Taekwoon had wanted to try, he really had. But Wonshik was just as bad as the rest of them. This kind of thing was exactly why he hated people so much, why he dreaded leaving his room.

This was why he was better off alone.