The cafeteria is unusually noisy, despite the number of students milling around being more or less the same as on any other day. Jaejoong vaguely hears something about a new teacher, but doesn’t care about it enough to join the many groups that have sprung up in the corridors and classrooms to discuss the mystery that is Professor Nam’s replacement.

Changmin slides silently into the seat next to Jaejoong, once again ignoring the tables occupied by the popular students in favour of sitting in the quietest corner of the cafeteria with his brother. Jaejoong doesn’t quite understand why—in contrast to him, Changmin enjoys his popularity and basks in it, happily explaining formulas and methods to the boys gathered around him in between classes and going on at least one date with every girl who confesses her love for him. But no matter how long he spends teaching his friends what the teachers have failed to get into their heads or how late he stays out with a girl, in the end it’s always Jaejoong he comes back to, gravitating towards him without even being aware of it.

If someone had told Changmin’s parents ten years ago that someone could be so close to an adopted brother, they wouldn’t have believed it. They still can’t, not really. When Changmin, then a strangely mature boy of five, had expressed an interest in the lonely boy playing listlessly with the hem of his shirt in one of the orphanages they were visiting on a charity tour, they’d adopted the boy fully expecting Changmin to lose interest in him after a couple of weeks and refuse any interaction with him, thereby leaving Jaejoong completely in the hands of his parents, like a child leaving a rabbit or a hamster up to his parents to care for once the novelty of having a pet wears off.

They never expected Changmin to grow up almost worshipping Jaejoong. After spending years scratching their heads and wondering what was so special about Jaejoong that made the normally very critical Changmin so attached to him, they gave up and accepted that there was no particular reason for it, that was just how life was and they might as well get used to it. So when Changmin requested to move up to Jaejoong’s level and presented, as usual, perfect grades reinforced with the never-ending praises of every single one of his teachers, they agreed without a fuss.

“Hyung,” Changmin calls out with a small smile. When Jaejoong looks up, Changmin pushes towards him a colourful cupcake decorated with sprinkles and ‘Happy 17^th Birthday’ written on it with pink icing in their mother’s typical loopy handwriting. A tiny note saying “From mum and Changmin” is attached to the thin paper wrapped around it, Changmin’s writing barely legible as usual. “I didn’t eat it,” Changmin explains when Jaejoong shoots him a questioning look. “Isn’t that present enough?”

Jaejoong merely rolls his eyes before reaching over to take the cupcake, carefully peeling the paper off before giving the cupcake a tiny nibble, chewing a little and then taking a larger bite, saying nothing as Changmin updates him on what’s going on around the school, omitting all the baseless rumours and gossip, the way Jaejoong likes it.

“They say the new professor’s a—and I quote—knockout,” Changmin tells him as he neatly cuts his chicken into tiny pieces like he’s dissecting the meat. “That’s why the girls won’t shut up.”

“And we’re having him for Biology.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Anything’s better than the old goat,” Jaejoong says, producing a rare chuckle from Changmin. He glances at the clock and stands up, untouched tray in his hands.

“I’ll see you in class,” he murmurs quietly, and then walks off to return his tray, bag slung over his shoulder.

-{}-

“Stand. Bow. Sit.”

Jaejoong obeys the voice robotically, without looking up, focused on the slightly blackened sheep’s heart lying in front of him, silently revising the parts. Through Changmin’s elaborate network of spies, he’d managed to find out about a pop quiz, though he couldn’t tell for sure when exactly it would be since everyone Changmin asked said that would be up to the new teacher.

Changmin gently squeezes his hand, and Jaejoong snaps back into reality in time to catch the his name being called out, something about the tone of the voice telling him it’s not the first time. “Here,” Jaejoong answers, wondering at the back of his mind why the voice sounds so familiar.

There’s a brief moment of silence. “Will you please look up?”

Changmin’s hand suddenly tightens around his, and as if on cue, the tiny teardrop-shaped mark below his collarbone, the one he’d tried to cover with his Derfeto Neminem tattoo, stings like it did only once before, ten years ago.

 Jaejoong gasps and looks up, towards the teacher’s table where the voice came from.

The man staring back at him is beautiful, eyes the colour of dried blood. 

I know there's not much that's beautiful about dried blood, but it sounded so right in my head...gosh my brain's weird.