how things were going

“Was it bad today?” The door swings open to a familiar homey voice. Seungcheol hasn’t looked up from all the schedules he has on his table and he could already feel the smug smile of the other’s presence.

“Unbearable,” he murmurs, exhausted; still busy with the proposed agenda of the upcoming Foundation Week without hesitating if he should acknowledge the other. He decides he’ll keep himself distracted.

Jeonghan lets himself in, like an owner to a store, familiar and unhurried; chuckling at the slight exhaustion and annoyance in the elder’s tone. “What did they made you do for me this time?” inquires the blond, seemingly unperturbed to even hide the tiny excitement in his voice as he busies himself with rummaging through his backpack for something he shoved inside earlier.

Seungcheol watches how Jeonghan’s brows slowly furrow together when he can’t find the thing he was looking for inside his bag. The elder takes this small time of vacancy to stand up from his swivel chair and move around the oak table to close the distance between them. He hands Jeonghan a red box, “A bento,” he explains and Jeonghan laughs at how Seungcheol found struggle in his words. “You haven’t had lunch?”

“I like this,” the younger bargains amusement, nodding at the proposed question. Seungcheol is defeated and he ends up leaning against the table for support. This ungrateful— Jeonghan leans in closer, way closer than they’re supposed to be in a very open space, b with delight at the gift he was just given with. But then his gaze falls between Seungcheol’s and the poor table as he says, “You should get yourself a new one, Pres.”

To which Seungcheol huffs. He looks so tired. “I don’t want them to think I’m spending the fund for my own benefit and for most, a table?”

Besides it’s his last year and he would rather partake the said fund on something the students can enjoy as much as his time allows him to, Jeonghan knows this by heart, head automatically doting on the small bluish white calendar perched on the President’s table. They only have seven months and Jeonghan knows Seungcheol already has a college university in mind, papers and all. “Here,” so Jeonghan says instead, pressing a cold can (fresh from the vending machine) against Seungcheol’s chest, the sweat of it permeating against his black hoodie.

Seungcheol could only laugh, protest mixing with his slight Satoori as he contends — he takes the can anyway, “Seriously? What do they think of me? Some kind of a buff freak?” but the argument immediately dies down when the door flies open again to Joshua, balancing a pile of papers in both of his arms.

The said senior couldn’t quite give them even an apprehensive look as he is so focused on not tripping on his own two feet, crossing the room in big strides so he could get into the other corner but of course, Seungcheol had to make him recognize their presence when he deliberately coughs twice. Joshua sharply turns around, aggravated, in the middle of trying to bite down a leaf of paper that managed to escape his deathly grasp and with the most annoyed tone he could muster, he says, “You know you both could stop acting like you have the biggest secret in the world whenever I come in through that door because,” he tilts his chin up, eyes reeling on Jeonghan, “I know.”

Seungcheol does genuinely laugh at that, head tilting back like a little kid. It isn’t strange enough for him to know that Joshua is the only one that could make Jeonghan pop a vein. They’re basically attached by the hip; like a twin and their ‘twin thing’; the school’s dubbed soulmates.

“Unbelievable,” Jeonghan hisses, more to Seungcheol than to the perpetrator of the bullying himself and in no less than five seconds, collects the same attitude he had when he was holding the energy drink against Seungcheol’s chest, as if a gun to a hostage. “I gotta go, Pres,” the proximity between them starts to widen and Seungcheol almost, almost tells Jeonghan ‘don’t’ but he couldn’t. “Elective starts in five minutes. You’re gonna be here until seven?”

The President looks down at his own wristwatch at first and then at Joshua who’s already buried with the paperworks for the upcoming school event that he couldn’t be in anyway visible in Seungcheol’s position. He could feel the headache coming. “Eight, at the most.”

Jeonghan starts to back away, a bento in hand and that smile Seungcheol finds disarming. “I’ll see you both, later.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping us with the preparations, Vice-President?” Joshua’s voice rings inside the office, playfully challenging.

“No can do, Shua. I’m full today. I’ll drop by Thursday, I promise.”

But before Jeonghan could finally turn around and conclude the end of their conversation, Seungcheol reaches out, “Hey, could you please keep your friends in moderate, at least until tomorrow?”

The younger chuckles, pats Seungcheol’s face with his hand that somehow permanently smells like fabric softener. “You’ll live.”

“Can someone explain to me what exactly is Mingyu doing?” Seungcheol turns his neck around to look at both Seokmin and Seungkwan spread-eagled on the grass, books perched one on top of his chest and the other under his head. Soonyoung peeks from under his towel that has found residence on his head and his face squishes up into a grin that has both of his cheeks rolling like cotton when he finds Mingyu, a freshman; basketball team’s point guard, following Jeonghan around like a big puppy-dog.

The other three make some kind of a ritual fistbump and Seungcheol is already holding back the sigh that has threatened to wash over his chest.

“Nothing important,” Seungkwan answers for him, a bit late he may say, whilst his gaze follows the Vice-President holding out something, which was gladly handed to him by Mingyu earlier, for a student. There’s a look of business on his face, probably talking about a student loan that’s already due, but also there’s empathy that he has poorly covered. He’s such an angel.

“Hyung!” Seokmin shouts for Jeonghan, right after just the student left and he was vacant enough to give Mingyu a frisky pat on the head probably for a job well done. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at that, but nothing too assaultive, as the two turn and give them a wave.

“Still persistent, Pres?” Jeonghan’s voice floats through the school gazebo and it took three seconds for Seungcheol to realize that Jeonghan is talking to him — where has his brain gone to? It might have caught everyone’s attention but it really doesn’t matter for Jeonghan to be this loud.

“Nothing new, Han,” he answers back, voice lilting softly as he realizes he really doesn’t have a choice. Seungkwan and Seokmin are both in his Music and Soonyoung is in his elective.

“Don’t bother him too much, boys,” the vice-president lightheartedly adds before his attention falls back on Mingyu and they make their way back into the main building, running alight as if trying to avoid the beating sun.

Seungcheol guesses the constant reprimanding coming from Jeonghan should have been helpful. It was, at first, and that was, to say, three years ago when their mutual friends have so started an idea that Seungcheol once thought was silly. Jeonghan found it offensive for Seungcheol, who really didn’t take the hint that fast, when Seungkwan lightly commented they should date because they look good together and open quote we’ll have parents! end quote.

It started playful because Jeonghan was, at the most, a pushover friend one could get even if he so denies it by threatening to disown someone that comes his way. He’d purposely cling unto Seungcheol, publicly shoot him kisses or shove him in the bounciest way he could. He even once (in a drunk fit) sat on his lap just for the sake of entertaining the idea of their friends. He is cool and fun, just like that. Anything that is nothing too serious is all cool for Jeonghan.

Not until the constant teasing has been so overbearing for the both of them. They’d been locked together in an empty classroom that both ended them up on detention for “ditching” the middle of a class; Seungcheol finding pseudo-letters that weren’t necessarily from Jeonghan; both concluded into a fight that stemmed from no less than misunderstandings and jealousy.

Jeonghan has decided to put a foot on it. Seungcheol was thankful, or so he convinces himself.

Seokmin’s face makes a sudden appearance in front of Seungcheol that he almost flips over the lunch box that he was holding (Jesus Christ, don’t do that!). The younger is unbothered, breaching the distance aggressively as he asks, “Don’t you think he’s adorable when he calls you ‘Pres’?”

There they go again. The anticipation blooming in Seokmin’s face kind of brings guilt in Seungcheol so he makes a poorly executed mock thinking before he answers, “He does look adorable,” with a nod.

“Nice,” Seokmin quips, slowly moving away and off of Seungcheol’s space and it is nothing but suspicious. There has got to be some tag line that goes after it; a deception; an invitation —

“I’m not saying you should ask him as a date for the Graduation Ball but that might seem a good idea.” There it is; it sounded weak and small because Jeonghan might have reprimanded these boys earlier about not bothering him too much but they never really give up or even listen at the least.

Seungcheol forcefully dunks the whole can of energy drink Jeonghan gave him earlier — which of course did not get ignored by said friends because they were the one who told Jeonghan to buy it for Seungcheol; like the bento box for Jeonghan. He’s late and he can already hear Joshua nagging at the back of his brain for being two minutes late. The council have a hectic schedule and they could not afford a single drawback, even for only two minutes.

He stands up, finally after Seungkwan, Seokmin and Soonyoung watch him gather his things in one go, shoves them inside his bag and with a lazy grin, he drops it. “Sorry boys, I already have a date for the Graduation Ball.”

“Alright, let’s get this done and over with,” Jeonghan’s voice cuts through the groans of three students, loud and clear. It was his dramatic entry when he burst in from the door three minutes earlier, a red bento in his hands; and very Jeonghan-like to announce his arrival with such.

Junhui is slumped on a chair and the oldest in the room looks at his position in a state of discomfort, face twisting into disapproval. Chan, the oh-so-innocent angel, jumps up both on his two feet, welcoming him with a big grin and a, “Hey hyung, actually how about this budget for the band?” Jeonghan gets handed a notebook, just as he was settling himself behind the desk in the empty classroom, except that the pristine white paper isn’t marred with a long line of budget liquidation but a small scribbled ‘how bout u ask cheol hyung as a date for the grad ball instead? :)‘ and he slams it down the table. Maybe Chan isn’t such an angel at all.

Jeonghan breathes through his nose and contains it to himself not to scream. Instead, he says, “I just finished Elective so my mind is kinda rotten with Buddhism and enlightenment but please tell me you’ve actually done something today.” There’s a slight infuriation and exasperation in his voice which makes Junhui look up from his position from earlier: face pressed flat on the arm desk.

Everyone looks tired from Jeonghan’s point of view. They were all tired, from the small banters of who gets to date who to actual schedules of the council’s hectic activities. He could get used to the simple doting but it can only take so much, if he has so surrendered himself to the jaws of Seungcheol’s friends just to give the man some break.

So after some guilt-staring, Junhui finally says, “Minghao is done with the editing of the flyers. All we need is the approval of the President and as we are talking right now, he’s already emailing Seungcheol the softcopy of it.”

Wonwoo, who Jeonghan thought was sleeping by the corner perks up and finally contributes (if an argument is considered a contribution), “Don’t you think flyers are a hard reach? I mean, anyone could always go with an email explosion. It’s less the cost and it saves the trees.”

Jeonghan is about to open his mouth to a litany of ‘not everyone has the time to check their emails, Wonwoo’ but Junhui beats him to it as the younger puts his feet firmly down to properly sit and swivels heavily — and Jeonghan could not emphasize this enough — heavily to face Wonwoo. “People who start their sentences with ‘I mean’ are gay.”

Of course, leave it to Wen Junhui to insert a totally random idea where an established topic is already existing. Everyone is literally confused and then Wonwoo visibly gives him a what-the--are-you-saying look when he says, “I’m literally dating Mingyu.”

“Oh, right. Sometimes I forget about your uality. My b.”

Everyone falls to the routine of silently doing their work altogether. Jeonghan has been cc-ed that the flyer designed was approved and that Hansol has already taken the initiative to print a bunch of it. They worked through the rather very loud music of an artist Chan seems to be so eager on making everyone listen. At some point, Jeonghan had the chance to dig through the bento Seungcheol has given him earlier, pointedly ignoring the glances of the three because all he could think is that these preparations have done nothing but to starve him of everything. With this, he shoots the President a text saying, Had lunch. Not pretty bad. although he knows the man did not make it himself because for the love of god, Seungcheol could not cook to save his own life.

It was midway during this song entitled Zero when Chan suddenly peels his face away from his Trigonometry notebook, void of the equations but instead, a list of names with assoc fees due the next week (he hates being a representative but he hates trigonometry more), when he casually says, “Uh, Soonyoung said the dance troupe can’t perform during the grad ball.”

Jeonghan whips his head up from his laptop so fast Wonwoo swears he heard some bones crack. “What do you mean ‘can’t’? You can talk him out, right?” There was the “Jeonghan voice”; the one their group of friends would hear in the back of their minds during