And then I made a resolve.  "Ok, see you tomorrow, Jongin."

That day, I walked home thinking the punk would actually show up the day after.  He didn't.  Instead, the seat across from mine that he filled the day before and the day before that was, in fact, empty.  I had to stare at the wall behind his chair the whole period in creative writing class.

The day after that, I also stared at the wall.

And again.

Again.

And then again, until I learned that if I kept waiting for him, I'd have to stare at a wall for eternity.

I became sick of walls.  I wanted to see Jongin, see his annoying leathery hair and his annoying jerk face that had told me "Just go, Baekhyun-sshi." as we stopped in front of his house.  And, of course,  to get the project going, which still hadn't progressed a bit.

"SIX MORE DAYS, CLASS, SIX MORE!" Echoed the voice of Ms. Jung.

It wasn't long before I found myself in front of Kim Jongin's house, the same rickety house I've seen days before.  I pushed open the rust-dominant steel gate and treked across the front lawn, which wasn't a front lawn-- it was full of dry dirt.  I made it up the stairs and landed on the porch, knocking on the door with a sudden nervousness that swept over me.

Maybe he was dangerous, I thought, his barely livable dwelling said it all.

Not to my surprise, the boy replaced the closed door in my vision.  But as soon as I got the sight of his wavy locks,  he dragged me inside with such swift movement that I didn't even know what was happening.  He pushed me against the door, and breathing on my skin, uttered, "Idiot, what do you think you're doing?!"

"What, why?"

"They found where I live."

He rolled his eyes and took his hands off my shoulders, slowly regaining composure.

"I told you not to come here."

"Jongin, what happened?"  I asked, not quite taking in the situation.  His chest was heaving heavily.

"Forget it, Baekhyun, it's not safe here.  You have to go.  Now.  They might have already seen you.  You're in trouble."

I gulped.  But I didn't want to leave as I had just came here.  "What do you mean?"

After some coaxing on my part, he told me that they've been following him.  That he had seen them, the three or four guys dressed in an inconspicuous black, every time he turned a corner.  That they have attacked him once, and had confronted him ever since.  And now that they've found this place, they were bound to trespass.

I listened to his story attentively.  I could tell he was afraid of them, no matter how much his inexpressive eyes hid it.  "Jongin, they aren't loan sharks, right?  If they were, they would've asked you for money."

"No."

"You lied to me."

"Did you want me to freak you out and tell you that I don't even know those guys?"

"I--"

"I think I've told you enough, maybe too much."

"Don't cut me off."  I glared in his eyes, waiting for his understanding.

I looked around the living room, my first time observing my surroundings: a backpack in the corner, a couple of shoes next to it, not one of them clean and new.  The house was a representation of Jongin, fitting perfectly with his own dilapidated state.

What stood out most, though, was that the place he called home had an air of comfortless desolation.

"You live alone," I conjectured.

He didn't reply.

"Jongin... are you lonely?"

He hissed sarcastically.  "Why, do you people like seeing me suffer?"

What an attitude.  "I'll just go then," I teased, rising from the sofa and grabbing my bag.

"Wait", he said, gravely, taking an instinctively forward step, "They might see you."

I smirked, exhaling a puff of air.  Just fifteen minutes ago, he had told me to get out.  It was my turn to play mischievous.  I sat back down, slowly.  "So you ARE lonely."

"Just don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Kay,"  I remarked,  "But answer me.  Aren't you a little lonely, living by yourself?"

"Baek--"

"Answer me."

"You have a lot to ask, do you know that?"

I scrutinized him, demanding my answer.

"No, I am not."

"Fine," I ended it, not quite believing him.

He then looked out the window for what seemed like the tenth time.  After all, he wasn't 'dangerous.'  He was in danger.

"Jongin, have you called the police?"  My tone was almost motherly as I came back to reality, worrying with him.  The suspicious men was the reason he didn't come to school.  They kept him from even stepping out the house.

"I'd rather not.  It would make it worse."  

"Are you sure you're not just being paranoid about everything...what are the chances that these mysterious people have come to see you suffer?  I mean, that sounds so cliche.  We aren't even part of a fanfic."

"So you're against me now."

"No."

He stood up, grunting.  "Think what you like."  He started for another room, so I asked for where he was going.

He ignored me.

---

Maybe he ignored me for the afternoon, but he couldn't do so when dinner came.  I was hungry,  I was his guest, and I couldn't leave the building.

"Feed me,"  I said, watching him make his serving behind the counter, my elbows on the table and my palms supporting my face.

"Why should I?"

I gave him the look, mixed with a bit of aegyo.

He sighed.  "Take this," he grunted, handing me a banana.  I took it, unexpectedly also touching his hand, to which I felt a surge of electricity.  There was still something about him that I couldn't grasp.  Maybe it was because he was a heartless butthole.

I peeled the banana, took a bite, but paused when I noticed that he didn't have much food left in the cupboards and fridge.

"You might run out of food if you don't want to go outside."

"I know," he said, sneaking a worried glance from the oatmeal he was making to the window.

I exhaled.  "I'll bring food to you."

"Are you sure about that?" His dark eyes glistened.

"mmh-hmm."

He acknowledged that and went back to his cooking, bangs so overgrown that they grazed his black eyelashes.  His was sharp with precision while he measured portions with his eyes, as if he had made the same mundane oatmeal every day of his life.

Before I was done with my "dinner", he had, without any attention to his guest, taken off with his bowl of mushy yellow grains.  I didn't bother asking where he was going this time.  He would play ignorant.  Besides, where else could he go but in the house?

 Little did I know, when I tried to find him again, Jongin was nowhere to be found.