We were in different classes. His was on the first floor. Mine was on the second.

“I’ll swing by at lunch,” he said, pausing by his classroom door.

“You don’t have to. Go with your friends.”

“So I’ll see you at lunch then.”  

He left me with a wry smirk, the signature expression of one with a way with words.

The main reason I always came to school early was because of the gardens. During the school hours, they lost their fairy tale mystique. I walked slowly, not wanting to disturb the peace. There was one oak tree at the edge of the gardens that I always sat under. I loved its bark, with callouses and grooves that flowed against the skin of my hands. Still rivers set in wood. My haven. Until today, that was.

To my irritation, Baekhyun was sitting under my tree. He was scribbling something on music paper as he hummed. Just as I was about to walk away, he glanced up.

“Hi,” he said, giving me an easy smile. I nodded uncomfortably. His smile faded, and he glanced down at his music sheet.

“Do you usually come here this early?”  

“Yes. I’ll be going now.” I turned, and there was a loud scuffling behind me. He tapped me hesitantly on the shoulder.

“If I took your spot, you can have it. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You were here first.” I tried to give him a smile, but the corners of my mouth refused to budge.  

“Can we share?” he asked quietly. “I won’t bother you.”

I didn’t like him. He tried to please everyone, even me. But in those few words, there was something that resonated real sincerity. He sounded weary, as if his façade were about to break. I would give him a bit of a break, I decided. He was fake, but he wasn’t a jerk. 

“Sure,” I said. “I hope I won’t bother you either.” I sat down, pushing my back hard against the trunk. He slid down beside me, with a sort of grace I hadn’t noticed in him before. Intently, he leaned forward, to focus on the music paper in front of him. He began scrawling again, but his movements were jerky. Every few seconds, he would scrub at his work with an eraser.

“You don’t have to be self-conscious,” I said, slightly embarrassed I was disrupting him. He flushed pink.

“I’m not,” he protested. “It’s just that I don’t know what I’m doing.” He spun his pencil in his hand as he spoke, not looking at me.

“Really,” I said drily. “You can lie to me, but you shouldn’t disparage your own skill.” He stopped with his fidgeting and tilted his head.

“Do you like music?” he asked, putting away his sheets of paper. I pursed my lips, and gave an equivocal shrug.

“I used to.” Music was something I could never love again.

“You don’t like it anymore?”

“No.” I answered truthfully, but with a lack of depth that made him frown.

“Why not?”

“People change their tastes after a while.” I was skilled at making generalities. But while others would have changed the subject, Baekhyun stayed on it with the dogged persistence of a gnat. We continued in this vein for a good twenty minutes before the bell rang. He would ask a question, I would deflect it impersonally, and the cycle would start all over again.

“Are you coming here tomorrow?” he asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Maybe.” In all truthfulness, I was already scanning the grounds for another secluded area. He started walking away. I stayed by the tree, waiting for him to leave.

“What are you doing?” he asked, turning around. “Come on.”

And with the disregard he always seemed to have for me, he pulled me by my jacket until I grudgingly followed him along.