If he thought about it, Jongin would say skipping school isn’t that big of a deal. Just like skateboarding or pineapple on pizza, it’s not for everyone. If he really thought about it, he’d get angry at the education system banking your entire worth on quick academic performance and relying on the ‘one size fits all’ approach.

Jongin doesn’t like thinking about it.

“I’m fine, Mum,” he sighs into the handset of the phone, foreign in his hand and yanking him back by the cord whenever he leans too far away from the wall. “Really.”

“I know, Jongin,” Hyorin sighs, her motherly worry getting lost in a sigh of static crackles. “But a new centre? I thought they were going to place you into a school that’s more your pace, not put you into an experimental prison- juvenile centre, sorry.”

“But you signed the form,” Jongin says with mild surprise, a frown furrowing his brow as he ignores an inmate in line behind him yell for the other boys at the phones to hurry up. “They wouldn’t move me without your permission.”

“They insisted the educational facilities would be new,” Hyorin replies, sounding torn between her concern and her previous decision. “I didn’t realise by new they meant opened three months ago in the country.”

“If you don’t like it you can tell them not to move me,” Jongin says, staring up at the bleak off-white ceiling and wondering if he should sound like he cares more about his position. “I’m not fussed either way. I wouldn’t mind a smaller place, and a view other than concrete could be nice. It’s not like the distance from tourist hotspots matters to me anymore,” he laughs quietly, the harshness of it jolting him back to his intent to placate. “Seriously though, city or country doesn’t matter.”

“And I can still call you…” Hyorin hums, the noise neither pleased nor displeased.

“Your five minutes are nearly up,” a guard behind him says quietly. Jongin has only seen him a few times, but he’s never sure if the man’s patient smile calms or infuriates him.

“I have to go, Mum,” Jongin says quickly. “Was there anything else?”

“They did say you could call me more often, since the new place is smaller,” Hyorin says, “so call me when you can, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, Mum,” he replies, ignoring the jeers from an overgrown teenager on the adjacent phone. “And don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will,” she says, the warmth and certainty in her voice catching Jongin off guard. Blinking, he bids goodbye again and hangs up the phone.

Zhou Mi, the guard with the smile that dances over Jongin’s last nerve, nods at him and turns away without a word. Jongin follows him silently, staring at his back and avoiding eye contact with the other boys in orange.

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly walks straight into the back he’d been focused on when Zhou Mi abruptly stops. The guard turns to look down at him – always down, why’d he have to be so damn tall – and gives another of those smiles. “You have four hours before we have to head to the bus, so make sure your things are packed,” he says, as if Jongin’s sole belongings extend beyond three jumpsuits, a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, underwear and a Lord of the Rings book. “I’ll come and get you then.”

“Fine,” Jongin says flatly, mildly offended that the guard seems to think he wouldn’t be ready within four hours. Zhou Mi just gives him that patient smile and unlocks his cell door.

It only takes five minutes for Jongin to shove all his belongings in the provided knapsack. He spends the rest of the time lying on his bottom bunk bed, staring at the springs of the above bed until he dozes off, bag safely latched in his arms in case his roommate gets any funny ideas again.

The slam of a door doesn’t startle him as much as it should. His eyes closed, Jongin listens as Wu Fan mutters angrily and stomps over to the ladder. The bunk bed groans as Wu Fan hoists himself onto the top, rocking with the movement and making Jongin resolve to get the top bunk if he can. “Glad you’re goin’, runt,” Wu Fan’s voice echoes in the small room. “You wouldn’t have lasted much longer without being beaten up.”

Thank you for that vote of confidence, Jongin sighs and wishes yet again for a watch. “What time is it?” he asks, not quite expecting an answer.

“Time for you to leave,” Wu Fan grunts and stills, his cue for Jongin to shut up.

“I wish,” he murmurs, rolling over to stare at the closed door.

Between musing whether the new place will have natural light or fluorescent lights that stay on until 10PM and how small it’ll really be, Jongin drifts off again.

The loud sound of the door unlocking has his eyes snapping open before he’s awake. Bleary eyed, Jongin stares at the blur in the doorway until it morphs into Zhou Mi. Jongin takes a moment to make the link between Zhou Mi’s presence and himself, and then sits up with a sigh. “Time to go?”

“Evidently,” Wu Fan growls, his tired voice laden with the threat of violence if the room doesn’t become silent. Jongin slings his knapsack onto his back and, after a moment of hesitation, hastily tidies the bedsheet over the mattress. He keeps his eyes down as he leaves the small cell, avoiding Zhou Mi’s amused eyes.

Zhou Mi wordlessly escorts him through the dreary halls, thumbs hooked in his pockets and eyes straight ahead. Jongin entertains the thought of attacking him and escaping, and wonders why his guard is so low; Zhou Mi seems completely at ease with an apparent criminal at his back. Scrutinising the smooth walk and strong posture, Jongin decides that it would be a bad idea to even attempt a sneak attack. Surely he isn’t a guard for nothing.

The sun is high in the clouds when they head outside. The sun warm on his skin, Jongin tilts his face back and enjoys it while Zhou Mi leads him around the fences and other guards. When he finally looks down, he’s met with the sight of a white minibus and grumpy faces in the windows.

“What time is it?” Jongin finally asks, a little unnerved by the vacant stare of a boy in the middle window. Weirdly enough, that glaring guy is more comforting.

“Around two, I think,” Zhou Mi shrugs. “Did you have lunch?”

“Um.” The thought of food rudely awakening his stomach, Jongin shakes his head as Zhou Mi strolls to the vehicle’s door and salutes the standing guards. “I slept through it.”

“Well you’re in luck,” Zhou Mi grins, “we’ve got sandwiches.”

Not feeling particularly lucky, Jongin waits while Zhou Mi signs something on a clipboard and gestures for Jongin to follow. Zhou Mi ducks into the minibus and squats his way to a seat. Jongin eyes the layout – two seats with inmates on the right and one with a guard on the left per row – and heads for the vacant seat in Zhou Mi’s row.

Dropping into the empty seat beside the boy still staring absentmindedly out the window, he quickly realises how few delinquents are going with him to the rural facility. All up, there are four other inmates. Two boys are in the row in front of him – the bleached blond on the left, the one with the glare, is ignoring the boy with a buzz cut on the right who ignores the animosity and keeps attempting conversation. The boy next to Jongin hasn’t seemed to notice his presence yet, and the girl behind him has her face covered by long red hair, clearly not wanting to be disturbed. Other than them, the few remaining seats are filled with guards.

The engine roars to life, startling the boy next to him, and after a series of gestures between the guards that Jongin doesn’t understand, the bus is moving.

“Finally,” his neighbour mutters. “Was beginning to think we’d never leave this hole.”

Jongin weighs the pros and cons of starting up a conversation, unsure of how receptive the boy will be to niceties. “Do you think the next one will be better?” he asks, his tone slightly guarded.

The boy shrugs and rubs at his eyes. “I’ll reserve my hope until I actually see it,” he shakes his head, his short black hair swaying with the movement. “I like interesting buildings, you know? Architecture, history in the design. This one’s just a ing block. Wouldn’t even inspire a rat to . And they everywhere.”

“No swearing,” the guard in their row says, glancing up from his book to glare at them. Jongin eyes the novel while his seatmate apologises.

“Habit,” he shrugs, turning to the window before he whips his head back again, remembering his manners just before the conversation could fade into awkwardness. “Sorry. What was your name? I’m Hyukjae.”

“Jongin,” he replies, wavering as he tries to decide how polite to be. “Nice to meet you.”

“Is it really?” Hyukjae grins, dark amusement in his eyes. “I space out a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Don’t take it personally. My mind just likes to go other places, I guess.”

Jongin shrugs. “Can’t blame you. The present isn’t a great place to be at the moment.”

“That is so sad,” a boy in front of them says. Looking up, Jongin realises the buzz cut guy has turned in his seat to look at them through the gap in the seats. “That’s no outlook to have! If we focus on the negatives all the time, we don’t allow room for positivity. Look on the bright side! Less competition for food and showers!”

“Are you for real?” Hyukjae asks seriously, disbelief clear in his voice. “You sound like my dad.”

“Then your dad mustn’t be too bad,” the boy grins, utterly oblivious to the awkward bubble he’s creating around himself. “I’m Jackson! Grumpy here,” he gestures to the blond who’s pressing his head against the window, “is Hyunseung. He didn’t tell me for ages, but I got it out of him.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Jongin says slowly, ignoring Hyukjae’s snicker.

“And the girl behind you is Hyuna. She doesn’t want to talk to us,” Jackson says, his voice more of a stage whisper and lacking any subtlety he might be attempting. “But I’m sure after a good night’s sleep we’ll all get along just fine.”

“How did you even end up here?” Hyukjae asks, eyeing Jackson like he’d materialised out of nowhere. “I feel like you haven’t even littered.”

“Some kids kept beating up my lil’ bro so I returned the favour.” Jackson’s constant smile dims as his eyes narrow. “They won’t touch him anymore.”

More than a little unsettled by Jackson’s unpredictable nature, Jongin shifts to a more neutral topic. “What’s the worst thing about juvie – not being able to see new movies or missing all the games?”

“Movies,” Jackson says immediately, his eyes brightening with enthusiasm. “Hands down. I am so behind on the Marvel movies, and DC. My