March. The dreaded month when everything starts over. Another year of tests, pre-exam stress, procrastination and falling asleep in class.

Everything about school was so easy for Yongguk to despise. He hated the location (surrounded by what he liked to call “ing elitist, egotistical people’s houses”), he hated the people, he hated the curriculum; he even hated the cracks on the pavement outside of school where sprouts of moss grew.

Living as an angsty teen couldn’t be any easier for him – he already hated the world as it was, and any thought of improvement augmented his already-present hate. The only thing he couldn’t bring himself to hate – dislike, rather – was the music room. Due to some famous artist or whoever graduating from the same school, the principal chose to place higher regard on the music area, and that was the only time Yongguk felt appreciative for anything. The place where he felt most comfortable – most serene – was the music room.

The brunet rose groggily from his bed, rubbing his eyes and cursing under his breath; questioning why he should have bothered even getting up in the first place. He walked into his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. I’m a mess, he thought. Being the person he was, he rushed to clean himself up. The styling gel he normally used decided not to co-operate, and he sighed in desperation. that. No-one’s going to be looking at me anyway.

A few minutes later, he was clutching his bag, lugging through the kitchen and sneaking a slice of French toast from the plate on the table into his hand. The movement didn’t go unnoticed however, and his mother whipped her head round, shooting her kin a look that could kill if used appropriately. Yongguk, sensing defeat, put the food in his mouth and sat down beside his brother and sister, both older and happier than him. Much, much happier.

“Good morning, Deborah,” chirped the older male, to which younger replied with a deathly glare. A habit of his, which Yongguk found extremely irritating, was to call him various English girls’ names. His excuse? “To help familiarize himself with different types of girls’ names since he was doing a major in English.” Right, Yongguk thought at the time when he first introduced this. Familiar with the name “”?

“I see you’re as happy as ever, Yonggukkie,” exclaimed the sister sarcastically. “Are you planning to frolic to school, leaving a trail of rose petals? It certainly seems like it with that face you have on this morning.”

“Shut up, noona. I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm.”

“When are you ever?” replied the brother, allowing a smug smirk to spread on his face. Oh, how Yongguk wanted to swipe it clean off.

“Aigoo,” sighed their mother, touching Yongguk’s head as a sign of reassurance. “Cheer up, baby. It’s only school. You’re a good student, and since it’s never posed as a problem to you before, why should you begin to let it become one now?”

“Thanks, umma,” whispered Yongguk before excusing himself from the table. “I better go. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.”

“All right, son. See you later. Have fun.”

“Yes, Gukkie. Have fun.~”

Yongguk rolled his eyes at his siblings, and raised a hand of farewell to his mother. He turned and walked out of the door, the cold of the early morning biting into his skin. Even though it was March, it was still a little frosty, but Yongguk liked that. He liked the bitterness of it, because it suited his attitude perfectly – cold, passive, bitter. He put his headphones into his ears and plugged it into his iPod, finding his favourite song by the Wu-Tang Clan. He played it, and automatically he felt happier. Losing himself in the music, he found himself mouthing along the soulful English lyrics. Nothing makes him feel better than his daily dose of African-American music.

Pushing himself through the doors of the school, his mood instantly went south. The halls were alive; full of people pushing past, chatting, holding hands, texting, listening to music, catching up on some long-forgotten last-minute homework. Yongguk always hated the buzzing in the mornings, because it always reminded him that he was living in mediocrity – then again, what’s new? – but he always knew that it could be easily avoided. He walked briskly across the basketball court to the new building, and pushed through the glossy doors, making a swish sound as he walked in. He always felt a sense of tranquillity when he heard that swish, and no other thing – tangible or intangible – could compare to it.

A smile spread across his face when he realized he was in the single place where he could do what he loved – that is, to make music. He realized it was his true calling from when he was young; often pestering his mother to allow him to take music tutorial classes, wanting to glean as much knowledge as possible to be able to fend on his own in the music industry. His favourite parts were composing and learning how to create lyrics to the melody – the fabrication of these details were the most important parts in his opinion, and knowing that he could control the meaning of the song through the words gave him such a thrilled feeling. He often came to the music room to produce his own music, and as music wasn’t an extremely popular subject in his school (he convinced himself that it was because “everyone wants to be pretentious and take science-based subjects and be doctors or some ”), he would usually do what he did habitually in solitude. This was something he didn’t mind though; in fact, he preferred it, he desired it.

He was humming his latest creation when he noticed a small light peeking from behind the curtains. Being careful to maintain silence, he padded across the carpeted floor to where the light was coming from, and thumbing over the red velvety texture of the fabric, he pulled it over just enough to allow his right eye to peek through.

A boy, looking flustered in his untidy uniform, was madly clicking on the computer, with every click adding a note on the virtual staves of the musical note sheet. Every so often he hummed or sang a portion of the lyrics, glancing upwards in an act of recollection; when Yongguk heard his gritty voice, his stomach flipped, although he couldn’t understand why. Perhaps I didn’t eat enough at breakfast today, he pondered, dismissing any other possible thoughts that came to his mind.

“Phew! I almost lost that nugget of musical gold!” exclaimed the other male, sighing in relief knowing that his composition wasn’t gone. “Who’s the musical genius? I AM! Who’s the Commander of this school? I AM! Go Himchan! Go Himchan! Go Himchan!”

How could he possibly think that? He’s never heard my songs before, Yongguk scoffed. His song is probably some LMFAO-copycat techno bull that’s all over the charts now. I wouldn’t be surprised actually, judging from his attitude.

The boy, noticing a certain mumbling from the other side, spun his chair, and before Yongguk could move, he noticed him standing behind the curtain.

“Excuse me? Who are you?” Himchan asked, surprised by how judgmental the other boy was when they didn’t even know each other.

A stale moment passed before Yongguk replied.

“I should be the one asking you, actually. You’re invading my space – everyone at this school who knows me knows this is my territory.”

“Did you really wait for 30 seconds just to say that to me?” Himchan sneered.

“Shut the up. Don’t act so smart,” Yongguk responded, attempting to create a steely tone to his voice. How could he have the audacity to be rude to him when they’ve only just met?

“Yeah, whatever. I was about to leave anyway.”

Himchan grabbed his backpack and turned towards the door, stopping just before it and saying, “The name’s Himchan by the way. Get used to hearing it, since I’ll be here often.”

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Omg short story is short. u__________u This is harder than I thought. LOL

Anyway, thanks, new subscribers ^___________^~ I'll try to make chapters longer -- I suppose it's a habit of mine to make first chapters short since nothing really happens.

ANNNYYYWWWAAAAYYYY~ I'll be sure to make the chapters better next time. Mwah mwah rate and comment and whatnot!