T-Minus 473,040,000 seconds

 

 

When Sehun is three years old, his father becomes a star in the sky--a flaming ball of fire bursting from gas and dust.

 

When he is six, his science teacher tells him that there are approximately three hundred billion stars in the galaxy, and he locks himself in his room, crying for the three hundred billion children without their fathers.

 

When he is ten, he begins to wonder about the life of a star and their ethereal brightness that illuminates the darkness. He learns that the sun is the nearest star and it is about 92,960,000 miles away from Earth. He asks his mother if the stars are lonely in the sky and if they shine to light up the path for a lost friend, and his mother tells him that if he keeps a candid view of the world, he’ll find stars existing closer than he thinks.
 

When he is twelve, the stars fall from the sky and the night becomes pitch black. As crystalline tears drip from his chin, he thinks that he wants to be a star himself.
 

Somewhere between his twelfth half-birthday and the January of his thirteenth year, he forgets why the stars exist and scoffs at those who say the sun shines because you are near.
 

When he is sixteen, a new star is born from a nebula--tearing its way through the dark uncertainty of the universe--and Sehun learns how a smile can be as brilliant as the sun’s rays.

 

T-Minus 600 seconds

 

 

The last day of school is always tinged with nostalgia. It seems almost surreal as Sehun strolls casually down the empty hallways, his soft footsteps echoing against the graffiti-plastered walls. Streaks of sunlight from behind grey clouds sneak their way through the large windows of the school and throws long shadows across the floor.=

 

Sehun stops by his locker, and even though he had already emptied it, he stops and spins the dial for the last time--just for old time’s sake. He yanks it open--pulling upwards with more force than necessary because of the stubborn, rusted lock--and the door swings forlornly.

 

The vacant locker is an unfamiliar sight, and it gives Sehun an eerie, hollow feeling. The metal walls are still lined with stickers from the previous owner--holographic stickers of Minnie Mouse and Goofy that Sehun could not scrape off no matter how hard he tried. He runs his finger along the dried glue on the inside of the door, tracing an invisible rectangle. The remnants of a photograph are still embedded in the clear blob, evidently from when he had forcefully ripped the picture off in a fit of rage and despair a little over a year ago.
 

Those days seem as if they were from a different lifetime.

 

Every time Sehun closes his eyes and allows the memories to break free of their barrier and float into his mind, he is unable to discern between the imagination and the truth. They’re memories so faded that they become clear, and Sehun is not sure if those days were part of fragmented dreams or the bittersweet reality.

 

But, as he fingers the lining of his worn wallet and the edges of a frayed, folded polaroid, he is reminded that no, it was not a dream. It was reality--cold, harsh reality crash-landing in his mundane life in the form of a boy with smiles too bright for Earth.

 

T-Minus 54,432,000 seconds

 

The bell rings.

 

Chairs scrape noisily against the wooden floor, and relieved sighs from students echoes around the room. Sehun cringes from the shrill laughter of his desk partner and steadfastly ignores the stream of students making their way to the door.
 

The room empties in a matter of second, and Sehun marvels, once again, at how quickly teenagers can move when it concerns a much-needed escape from math. He takes his time though, neatly copying down the notes from the board, and his halfway through writing the last trigonometric identity (there were at least twenty) when he hears an audible cough from the front of the room. He looks up, slightly startled, and sees his teacher staring at him expectantly.

 

“Yes, sir?” Sehun asks politely, fingers twirling his pencil.
 

“May I speak to you for a moment, Sehun?” Mr. Lu asks, and Sehun sighs inwardly.
 

Mr. Lu is an old family friend and known for his quick-witted, sharp remarks and nasty jokes, and Sehun just doesn’t feel like dealing with them today.

 

Or ever.

 

He gets up hesitantly from his desk and shuffles towards his teacher, who hands him a sheet of obnoxiously pink paper. The words Tutoring Schedule stare back at him as he reads and re-reads them for a couple of confusing seconds.
 

Sehun hands the paper back to Mr. Lu.
 

“Uh,” Sehun says intelligently, brows furrowed in puzzlement.

 

He had just scored 105% on his latest chapter test and has a test average of 101.3%. He doesn’t understand why his teacher would deem it necessary for him to attend tutoring sessions.

 

“I’m not asking you to get tutored, if that’s what you were wondering,” Mr Lu says quickly, leaning against his battered podium and giving Sehun a charming smile. “I’m asking you to tutor others. A specific student of mine, in fact.”

 

Sehun raises an eyebrow and glances back at the sheet of paper. Sure enough, on the blank that’s labeled Tutee, a name is already written. Sehun squints.

 

Kim Jongin.

 

He doesn’t recognize the name.

 

“See, the problem is,” Mr. Lu begins wearily, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been tutoring this kid for months now, but his scores just haven’t been improving. I really don’t have the time to help me more than once a week, but he obviously needs the assistance, so I immediately thought of you. Will you be willing to tutor Jongin?”
 

Sehun mulls over the thought for a moment, running his schedule through his mind quickly, though he already knows that he has much too much free time on his hands.
 

But, he really doesn’t want to waste that time tutoring a kid who probably doesn’t even know the difference between sine and cosine.

 

“Actually, sir,” Sehun starts slowly, placing the paper on Mr. Lu’s desk and backing away surreptitiously.
 

“I offer extra credit,” Mr. Lu quickly interrupts, voice almost pleading.
 

Sehun blinks and raises an eyebrow. 101.3%.
 

“Yeah, but I don’t need it,” he states flatly.

 

“Ah, but you need it for your Creative Writing class, don’t you?” Mr. Lu says deviously, wiggling his eyebrows.
 

Sehun narrows his eyes, wondering how in the world this twenty-some year old man became his Trigonometry teacher, and a damn good one to boot.

 

“...What.”

 

Mr. Lu grins evilly. “Don’t forget, Mr. Wu and I are very good friends. I’m sure I can work something out.”

 

Sehun purses his lips at the mention of his Creative Writing teacher.
 

“This sounds like blackmail,” he says finally, drumming his fingertips on the table.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mr. Lu replies breezily. “I’m offering you a perfectly good chance to raise your abysmal English grade. You should be thanking me, not looking at me in that skeptical way, you insolent brat.”

“...Are you sure you are a teacher.”

 

Normally, Sehun wouldn’t dare speak to his teachers like this, but Mr. Lu is almost like an older brother to Sehun, babysitting him throughout the years whilst his mother was away working.

 

Mr. Lu gives him a noncommittal wave. “I have the credentials to prove it.” He slides the paper in front of Sehun. “Now, what days are you available?”

 

Sehun sighs when he realizes that he’s fighting a losing battle and plops onto the teacher’s desk casually.
 

“Basically every day except for Fridays.”
 

Mr. Lu glares pointedly at Sehun and the scrunched papers underneath his , but Sehun stares back innocently, lips quirking up in an almost-smile. Mr. Lu shakes his head in exasperation, muttering something under his breath before writing down Sehun’s name in every slot through the week except for Fridays. He hands it to Sehun to sign.
 

“...I didn’t mean that I wanted to tutor this guy everyday. I meant that I was free everyday,” Sehun mutters, twirling the pen between his fingers.
 

“Same thing. Now sign.”
 

Mr. Lu shoots him a loon that sends shivers down his spine (the angelic-looking teacher could look like Sehun when he wanted to), and Sehun quickly obliges.

 

“Alright, off you go Sehun,” Mr. Lu says after filing the paper in his daunting-looking cabinet. “And by the way, you didn’t have to copy the identities down. They’re somewhere in your book.”
 

Sehun suppresses the urge to flick his teacher off and rips up his notes, tossing them in the wastebasket as he stomps past a chortling Mr. Lu.

 

Sehun stares steadfastly at the clock, counting the seconds silently under his breath as he idly taps his foot.

 

2:40
 

2:45
 

2:50

 

2:55
 

Okay, this guy is so late it isn’t even funny.

 

3:00
 

I swear to God, if he arrives later than 3:10 I will ing kil--

 

 “I’M SORRY.”

 

The door to the teachers’ lounge flies open, clanging noisily against the wall, and Sehun jumps in his seat. His knees knock painfully against the metal legs of the chair, and he hisses in pain, rubbing his leg as a disheveled-looking boy struggles through the door, duffel bag dragging behind him.

 

“Hi, I’m Jongin,” he rambles as he drops the bag with a huff and plops into the chair. “And I got lost somewhere in the A building, like what the hell, why are there so many hallways and why do they all look the same? And I was already late coming out of dance practice, I’m so sorry, oh my God, did you wait for a long time? I really didn’t mean to, I--”
 

“Have a seat. Please.” Sehun deadpans, effectively cutting off a hysterical Jongin.
 

Sehun knows he should be furious, because this kid had just wasted a precious half-hour of his life, but the anger had dissipated into amusement as he watched Jongin gulp down half a bottle of water before slamming his Trig book onto the table.

 

“Um,” Sehun finally says after a good thirty-seconds of Jongin staring at Sehun and then his math book.
 

“So what are we working on today?” Jongin asks eagerly, flipping through the book to the current lesson.
 

Sehun blinks. “Well, what do you need help on?”

 

Jongin reaches into his backpack and pulls out his pencil bag, smiling sheepishly at Sehun.

 

“Everything?”

 

After an hour of trying to figure out what Jongin knew and what Jongin did not know (“Dude, I thought Trig was just SOHCAHTOA,” “..... Please stop talking.”), Sehun comes to the conclusion that boy, this was going to be a huge pain in the neck.

 

It’s a few minutes past five pm when Sehun finally announces that they’re done for the day, and Jongin nearly collapses from relief.

 

“Oh my God, finally, Jesus Christ, that was suffer,” Jongin mumbles with his cheek plastered to the table.

 

Sehun merely shakes his head and quietly packs his things up, neatly folding the notes he had written out for Jongin and sticking them in his textbook.

 

“So, tomorrow, same time same place?” Sehun asks as he shoulders his backpack and gets ready to leave.
 

Jongin pops back up in his seat with a huge grin. “Sure! Thanks so much for doing this by the way, I really appreciate it!” He waves wildly at Sehun.

 

Sehun shifts the books in his arms and assess Jongin for a moment--he tends to do that with people--and offer him a rare, small smile.
 

“Anytime.”

 

Ever since he was young, Sehun knew to never become too attached to something. Attachment meant caring, and caring too much often shattered hearts in ways that cannot be mended.

 

So, Sehun distances himself from the world, from emotions that caused more trouble than pleasure. It’s numb, but it doesn’t hurt, and that’s all that matters. He refuses to let his sun shine so that he’ll never have to live with the pain of suddenly losing the light and plunging into the dark.

 

Like so many other things in life, tutoring Jongin becomes a routine. After school, Sehun would pack up his notebooks carefully (whilst ignoring the triumphant grins from Mr. Lu) and trudge down the hallways to the teachers’ lounge. He occasionally stops by his locker with the damn stubborn lock to grab a few textbooks, and does his homework while he waits for Jongin to burst through the door at 3:00. Sehun has learned to not expect Jongin any time before then, because the boy had a tendency to lose track of time in the dance room.
 

Which is why he’s somewhat surprised when he enters the teachers’ lounge one fine winter day, only to find Jongin sprawled over the couch, already waiting for him.

 

“What’s the occasion?” Sehun asks, walking over to the table and setting his books down. “Why so early?”

 

Jongin chuckles nervously and fidgets in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. Sehun raises an eyebrow.

 

“So. What do you need for me?” Sehun says slowly after a few moments of watching Jongin awkwardly shuffle around on the couch.

 

Jongin shifts some more before saying in one breath, “There’s a fundraiser for the dance team at the cafe across the street and I sort of need to be there so can we relocate pleaaaaaaaase.”

 

He looks up at Sehun with pleading eyes and is almost pouting. Sehun has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from guffawing at Jongin’s ridiculous expression.

 

“Oh, that’s it?” He manages to get out, laughter lacing his words. “Sure.”

Sehun moves to gather his books, but Jongin beats him to him, grinning when Sehun looks at him questioningly. He adjusts the strap of his duffel bag and his head to the side, looking quite endearing.

“The least I can do is carry your books,” he says cheekily, walking to the door with a bounce in his step.

 

Something warm crawls up Sehun’s cheeks, and he ends up staring at Jongin’s backside.

 

“People will think I forced you into carrying them,” Sehun points out as he follows Jongin out of the school, hurrying to catch up with the boy.

 

“It’s alright,” Jongin replies, turning around to smile at Sehun as they step out of the building. “I’ll just say I volunteered.”
 

Sehun shields his eyes from the white hot glare of the sun against the snow, but his hands do nothing to shield him from the blinding intensity of Jongin’s smile.

 

“Nope, nope, how many times do I have to tell you that cos2A is NOT the same as 2cosA,” Sehun says wearily, tapping his pencil impatiently against his mug of hot chocolate.

 

“Why not?!” Jongin asks, frustratedly erasing his work again.

 

“Because cos2A means the angel is being doubled, not the entire function.”

 

Silence hangs over the two of them as Jongin stares at his textbook. Sehun sighs as he watches Jongin’s eyes go out of focus.

 

“I don’t get it. Can I not math? I really don’t think I want to math anymore. I think I would really like to ram my head into the table. Really, that would be less painful,” Jongin deadpans, looking at Sehun with a ridiculous seriousness. “I’m not even joking.”

 

“Great,” Sehun says casually, folding his hands and looking calmly at Jongin. “And I’m not joking when I say you’re going to be kicked off the dance team if you get a D in Trig.”

 

Jongin keeps his gaze level for a couple seconds before flopping onto the table.

 

“Can you not,” he moans into his homework, hand playing with his eraser.

 

Sehun hesitates for a moment before awkwardly patting Jongin on the shoulder. Jongin stiffens under his touch for a split second, like he had been shocked, but soon relaxes and closes his eyes. It takes a few comfortable minutes of silence before Jongin sighs and sits back up, picking up his pencil and scribbling the next problem. After ten minutes of fruitless attempts to prove an identity, he looks like he’s about to cry from sheer frustration, and Sehun takes pity on him. He reaches over and closes the book.

 

“Let’s take a break,” Sehun says, not unkindly, and waves the waiter over to order two raisin bran muffins.

“I don’t understand how you can eat this stuff,” Jongin says as he bites into his muffin. “It’s quite revolting.”

 

Sehun shoots him a look. ”Kind words to say to the person who’s paying for your food.”

Jongin grins and Sehun ducks his head.

The five-minute break somehow escalates into an hour long conversation, thanks to Jongin and his sly attempts to maneuver the topic away from Trigonometry and math in general.

 

“Jongin, it’s four-ten. We should really get back to work,” Sehun says finally, tilting his chin at his watch.

 

“Can we just stoooop, like just for today? Please?” Jongin says hopefully.

 

“No.”

 

“Sehun!”

 

“No.”

“....Sehun……”

 

“I said no.”

 

Jongin pouts and slumps in his chair, arms crossed. His pout deepens when he sees that Sehun isn’t going to budge.

 

“...Fine.”

 

Sehun is pleased to see Jongin working on his math homework once more, and relaxes, plugging his earphones into his iPod and pulling out his dreaded Creative Writing homework. As Jongin struggles to verify trigonometric identities, Sehun struggles to understand Symbolism and the need to use them in literature.

 

“What’s that?” Jongin asks after a while, eyes fixated on Sehun’s homework with interest.

 

“English,” Sehun mumbles, eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

 

He yelps when his worksheet is tugged away from him, and he looks up at Jongin with annoyance. Jongin skims the paper quickly before sliding it back to Sehun.

 

“Creative Writing?” He asks.

 

“Yeah. They ran out of space in stupid American Lit so I’m stuck in this class.”

“Mmh,” Jongin nods knowingly. “But the teacher’s pretty cool, right? Mr. Wu? I took this class in freshman year, and he’s really…what do I say? Interesting?”

 

Sehun scoffs. “Well, I’m barely passing the class so I can’t say I look it or him.”

Jongin chokes on his hot cocoa and splutters, “You’re failing Creative Writing? That’s like a freaking GPA booster. It’s like taking Drawing and Painting--you simply can’t fail that.”

 

“...Shut up.”

 

Jongin just gives Sehun a -eating grin and leans forward. “Bro, failing trig is one thing. Failing Creative Writing is something entirely different.”

 

“Excuse me,” Sehun says with narrowed eyes, and points at Jongin with the tip of his pencil. “You are getting a D in trig. At least I have a C in Creative Writing.”

 

“Wow, what’s the percentage difference? 1%?”

 

Sehun pauses. “...0.5, but that’s not the point.”

 

Jongin laughs in disbelief. “Yeah, you need some serious help.”
 

Sehun retaliates by jabbing a chortling Jongin in the forearm with his pencil and growls, “Shut up and do your trig.”

 

There’s something terribly comfortable about the way Jongin leans against Sehun on every bus ride home. The weight on his shoulder is warm and not entirely unfamiliar, and Sehun finds that he likes it when Jongin tugs lightly on his jacket from time to time. Snow falls outside, but even the beautiful, austere whiteness cannot steal away Sehun’s attention.

 

Winter in New York is cold, but Sehun marvels at the warmth spreading through his body in spider-like webs from the brush of fingers against his bare skin.

 

Jongin walks Sehun home from the bus stop that day, dropping him off with a cheerful wave and a friendly, “I’ll bring hot chocolate tomorrow!”

That night, Sehun spends hours lying on his bed, room dark and lights off. He stares at his ceiling with his arms as his pillow, and traces constellations in his glow-in-the-dark stars with his eyes, ticking them off in his head as he goes.

 

Andromedra. Draco. Hydra.

 

The plastic blinks an eerie green back at him, and he closes his eyes, picturing the fiery collection of stars in his head. One by one, the nebulae grow and combust behind his eyelids--bursting light flooding his mind’s eye and flashing hot and bright, stirring unwanted memories from the depths of his memories.

 

His eyes shoot back open, and he thinks about how even Sirius dims in comparison to the unnamed stars in the eyes of a certain dancer.

 

“Ridiculous.”

 

Sehun looks up from his lunch and stares at his sulking best friend who had just appeared at the lunch table. Baekhyun’s arms are crossed, eyes narrow with distaste, as he slides into the seat next to Sehun.

 

“Absolutely ludicrous,” he growls.

 

“What’s up with you? It’s Friday,” Sehun says nonchalantly, taking a huge bite out of his burger.

 

“You did not tell me you were tutoring Kim Jongin, you traitorous leech of a best friend!” Baekhyun shrieks, grabbing Sehun’s shoulders and manhandling the younger.

Sometimes, Sehun envies Baekhyun and his undeniable flair for drama and theatrics.

 

Sehun swats Baekhyun’s hands away. “I don’t understand why you are so riled up. It’s just tutoring.”

 

Baekhyun gawks at him. “Uh, hello? He’s Kim Jongin? From the dance team? Incidentally best friends with Park Chanyeol who happens to be the love of my life?”

Sometimes, Sehun does not envy Baekhyun and his ability to sound like a teenage girl.

 

“You know, I can literally hear the question marks at the end of your sentences.”

 

“...That does not pertain to our current topic of discussion, you brat,” Baekhyun says sullenly as he re-crosses his arms and sits back in his chair to glare at Sehun.

 

Sehun shrugs. “What do you want me to do? Introduce you?”

 

Baekhyun raises his brows. “That would be preferable,” he nods.

 

Sehun rolls his eyes and glances around the cafeteria, trying to catch a glimpse of that signature varsity jacket of the dance team. He spots the group in the corner of the cafeteria hall and stands up, grabbing Baekhyun’s arms and dragging him over, ignoring his indignant squawks.

“Jongin,” Sehun says somberly.

 

“Hey, Sehun!” Jongin greets brightly, looking at Sehun and then a harassed-looking, utterly embarrassed, Baekhyun with confusion.

 

“Who’s Park Chanyeol?” Sehun asks flatly.

Jongin blinks before pointing to a curly-haired kid stuffing french fries into his mouth like there’s no tomorrow. Baekhyun squeaks next to Sehun, and the boy stops shoveling food in his mouth and he realizes that Sehun was giving him a calculating look.

 

“Uh. Hi,” he says with his mouth full of food.

 

Sehun cannot understand what it is exactly that attracts Baekhyun to this Park Chanyeol, but Sehun has long learned to not judge Byun Baekhyun. He turns to Jongin and shoves Baekhyun in front of him, angling his head in Chanyeol’s direction.

“This is my best friend Byun Baekhyun and he may or may not have a crush on your friend over there.”

 

“So. Interesting bruise you got there,” Jongin says timidly, waving his pencil in the general direction of Sehun and his black eye.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“...Baekhyun packs a mean left hook.”

 

“No joke. Hapkido master, he is.”

Jongin gives Sehun a sympathetic look and offers him a crumpled-looking lollipop.

“It’s okay bro. Getting punched in the face is the first step to manhood.”

 

Sehun gives Jongin a withering glare and snatches the lollipop out of his hands, unwrapping the candy irritatedly. Jongin chortles at Sehun’s panda resemblance before burying his head in his math book again, knowing Sehun was probably seething right now.

Sometime in between teaching Jongin how to solve for trig functions and working on his Symbolism writing piece, Sehun falls asleep.

 

He dreams of blazes of white and loud screeching tires, and wakes up deliriously to a cool pack pressed against his right eye. He gingerly opens both eyes and blinks a sheepish-looking Jongin into clarity.

 

"Whoops, did I wake you?" Jongin whispers quietly, offering Sehun a lopsided smile. "I got you some ice."

 

"Left."

 

Jongin furrows his brows. "Pardon?"

 

"You always smile with the left side of your lips," Sehun murmurs, eyes already fluttering close as he sinks into sleep again.

 

The next time he wakes, he's in his room, and his mother is at his desk reading something that looks suspiciously like his Symbolism piece.

 

"Mom?" He croaks, slowly sitting up and touching his eye, wincing.

 

"Your friend brought you hone. Carried you all the way here from the bus stop," she says, turning towards him and waving the paper. "What's this?"

 

Sehun squints and shrugs. "Something for Creative Writing."

 

She raises an eyebrow. "It sounds like a research paper of some sort." She places it down. "Anyways, get some rest, okay? I don't want you getting sick."

 

She walks towards the door before hesitating and turning back. With a small smile, she kisses Sehun on the forehead before smoothing his hair back gently, something she used to do when he was little.

 

"Sweet dreams," she murmurs as she closes the door quietly behind her.

 

Sehun sleeps and wakes up four in the morning. He sits at his desk until dawn, small desk lamp the only light illuminating his room, and reads and re-reads his paper.

 

Think about feelings, Mr. Wu had said. Figure them out and file them one by one. Put them all into a separate folder and label them with something--anything. It can be a bookshelf, or a set of swings, or even a favorite sweater--as long as it means something to you. Now, take these physical, tangible things, and talk about them as if they were an abstract concept--as if they were the emotions you had so carefully dissected. That's Symbolism.

 

Feelings.

 

Sehun hasn't thought about them in a long time. He closes his eyes and tries to sort his own out, naming them one by one in his head, almost like listing constellations.

 

Happiness. Anger. Jealousy. Indifference.

 

His mind lingers on raisin bran muffins and hot cocoa, and he finds that he cannot place the lightness of his heart that surfaces when he reminisces about the wafting scent of winter coffee shops.



Sehun turns in his paper the next week and receives a fat, red C and a Try harder next time! in return. He mopes over his grade for the rest of the day, ignoring Baekhyun who repeatedly tries to get him to read his text conversation with Chanyeol.

 

"I honestly don't care about your new found friendship with Chanyeol. I care about my grades. My GPA," Sehun deadpans, rolling his cherry tomato around in his salad with his fork.

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes and stabs it, popping it in his mouth and earning a glare from Sehun.

 

"You know what you should do?" Baekhyun says, mouth full of tomato.

 

"What? And close your mouth when you chew," Sehun replies flatly.

 

Baekhyun laughs, and the sight is revolting.

 

"You should get a tutor for Creative Writing." He laughs some more while Sehun seriously considers the idea.

 

...Wait.

 

"Who the gets tutored for Creative Writing??"

 

Baekhyun gives up on reigning in his laughter and breaks down into loud guffaws, slapping Sehun on the thigh.

 

"I know right?! That's why it's so ing funny!"

 

Sehun spends the rest of lunch sulking silently and re-evaluating his choice in friends.



"Wait, so let me get this straight. You...got...a C on your essay? That really isn't an essay?" Jongin asks incredulously during their next tutoring session.

 

Sehun shoots him a look before resuming idly doodling in his Physics notebook.

 

"Yes," he mumbles, clearly unsatisfied with life.

 

"Oh my God, you are serious," Jongin breathes. He starts laughing half a minute later, narrowly dodging the pencil Sehun throws at him.

 

"Shut up, what did you get on your trig quiz?"

 

"A B," Jongin gasps in between giggles. "Clearly, you're the one who needs to get tutored."

 

Sehun groans and flops onto the table.

 

"Who the gets tutored in Creative Writing?" He repeats, disheartened.

 

"Well, who the gets a C in Creative Writing? You need help."

 

"I need sleep."

 

"That too. Let me see your paper."

 

Sehun groans and moans for a while more, but Jongin is surprisingly insistent on reading his piece, so he finally relinquishes the paper, dying a little when he once again sees the grade marked with such finality in the top left corner. The rest of the session is filled with Sehun's light breathing as he dozes of on one of the old couches in the lounge, and Jongin's quiet mumbles as he reads Sehun's paper aloud to himself.

 

"Wow," Jongin says once the clock strikes five-thirty and Sehun has resumed drawing stick figures in his notebook.

 

"What?" Sehun asks as he erases an oddly-shaped giraffe head.

 

"I can't tell if this is a beautiful piece of unconventional writing or a bucket of trash."

 

Sehun scoffs indignantly. "Excuse me?"

 

"The force of gravity of Earth upon the person is greater than the nonexistent normal force, so the person accelerates towards the--what the hell? Did you seriously just document a person's suicide using physics? I can't tell if you're joking or if you're actually serious."

 

"...I couldn't  think of anything else to write. And stop staring at me."

 

"Well um." Jongin blinks and slowly hands the paper back to Sehun. "Great job at incorporating physics into a writing assignment?"

 

Sehun narrows his eyes at Jongin as he takes the paper and folds it into tiny squares--a habit of his when he's nervous.

 

"I feel like you're judging me."

 

"I'm trying to figure out whether you're a genius or an idiot," Jongin replies honestly.

 

"I don't fall on the extremes of the spectrum, thank you very much. I like to think of myself as Every Other Person."

 

Jongin smiles.

 

"I like the way you think." He nods at the paper. "I don't think it's bad, really. Just. Stay away from...literal things, okay?"

 

Sehun doesn't really understand what Jongin means, but he nods anyways.

 

"Oh, by the way, what happened to air resistance?" Jongin suddenly speaks up. "A person doesn't accelerate downwards at 9.8 meters per second in real life."

 

"Shut. Up."

 

Jongin laughs.

 

When Sehun gets home, he sits at his desk and closes his eyes, trying to rid himself of the convoluted thoughts that tend to whirl around in his brain. It takes more effort than he had thought it would, he finds, and after half an hour of fruitless attempts, he gives up and puts away the newly assigned writing prompt and pulls out his physics homework.



With a borderline C as his grade for Creative Writing though, Sehun makes it a point to work extra hard in the class. He slips into the room during lunch, giving Mr. Wu a muffled greeting, and flips through the binder of student pieces from previous years.

 

He's alone in the room, save for Mr. Wu and Sulli, a girl who happened to be in his Creative Writing class as well. She grew up in his neighborhood, and they were always close, so she offers him a smile when he passes her. He returns the gesture and accepts the orange slice she holds out.

 

As he chews the orange, he reads story after story and feels more and more dejected by the second. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for writing.

 

By some miraculous of luck, Sehun comes across Jongin's work from three years ago. With some apprehension that he couldn't quite place, he begins to read the story.

 

It's about a boy who falls in love with a girl with bent wings and sad eyes, and he tries to straighten them to make her happy, but the cartilage snaps as soon as he touches them. The girl begins to fade away--white dust fading into the moonlight--and he desperately tries to grab onto her, but his hands come away with a handful of stark white feathers that slowly drip into black.

 

The story ends mid-sentence, cutting off the broken description of the boy clutching at a mix of obsidian and pearl feathers.

 

To Krystal is what is says in Jongin's tiny handwriting at the left, bottom corner of the paper.

 

Sehun sits at his desk with the paper for the rest of lunch and tries to swallow down the uneasiness that seems to flood his stomach. His mind is oddly blank, swirling with the beautiful, poignant words that were drenched in an anguish that could only be understood by one who experienced hopelessness.

 

His finger traces over the smudged letters of Krystal's name and tries not to dwell on them, taking deep breaths in an attempt to clear his mind. The graphite smears onto his finger--a light grey blemish against his pale skin. The bell rings, and he slowly slips the paper back into the protective cover and hands the binder back to Mr. Wu.

 

"Found what you needed?" Mr. Wu asks as Sehun walks out.

 

Sehun pauses. "I." He thinks for a moment. "I don't know," he finishes quietly.

 

Mr. Wu hums in approval. "Uncertainty. That's the first step in figuring out emotions."

 

That night, Sehun falls asleep to images of haunting grey irises and whirlwinds of feathers suffocating him

 

Perhaps it was her stormy grey eyes that attracted him so. They held such a magnitude of wrecked happiness that it made his heart ache, and soon, he found himself teetering on the apex of despair and a love so deep it ripped chasms into the earth.



Sehun falls ill two weeks before Christmas Break and stays home from school for three days. Jongin visits him on Friday, armed with convenience store packs of hot cocoa and a flimsy bag of two-pack muffins.

 

"Did you bring my homework?" is the first thing Sehun asks when he gets over the surprise of Jongin smiling on his doorstep.

 

Jongin's eyes widen and he drops the muffins. The snow drenches the package wet, and Sehun picks it up gingerly, shoving it back into Jongin's arms.

 

"Whoops."

 

Sehun rolls his eyes and lets him in anyways. They eat microwaved pizzas for dinner and drink hot cocoa from dessert, and sometime in between Jongin's boisterous laughs and his softly voice concerns, Sehun finds himself feeling comfortable. Much too comfortable.

 

"Why did you come today?" Sehun asks when Jongin is lacing up his boots, readying himself for a long trek home.

 

"Because," Jongin pauses, turning to Sehun with a slightly nonplussed expression. "You're my friend."

He grins and flicks Sehun on the forehead. "Duh."

 

Sehun's cheeks still feel warm when he tucks himself in bed. and he wonders if his fever has gotten worse. As he falls asleep though, and slips into that nice realm between reality and dream, he realizes that the feeling had nothing to do with his fever but everything to do with the stars.



When Sehun returns to school, Jongin greets him with a large box of chocolate.

 

"To help you get through finals," Jongin says cheekily when Sehun opens the package. "And merry early Christmas I guess."

 

Sehun whacks him on the head with his trig book and shoves him a fifteen dollar gift card to Jongin's favorite apparel store.

 

He gets through his finals without a hitch.



Jongin is back the weekend before Christmas break and flops onto Sehun's living room couch like it's his own. He tosses two small pieces of paper onto the coffee table and grins at Sehun, gladly accepting Sehun's offer of green tea.

 

"What's that?" Sehun asks, picking up the slip. It is a ticket of some sort.

 

"Christmas Showcase for the male dance team," Jongin explains giddily, bouncing up and down. "Will you come?"

 

Sehun turns the ticket around in his hands.

 

"You're asking me?"

 

Jongin rolls his eyes. "No, I came all the way to your house to show off these tickets because that's the way I roll."

 

Sehun raises an eyebrow.

 

"Joking. There's a ticket for Baekhyun too. You can both come!"

 

Sehun stares at the date printed in white font on the front of the ticket. It's Christmas Day, and it's been a long time since Sehun had actually done something on Christmas.

 

His mother was always busy at the restaurant she worked at, and Sehun usually stayed at home to watch re-runs of cheesy Christmas movies that he's watched a hundred times before.

 

This year though...

 

"Sure," he says, offering Jongin a smile. "I'll go."

 

His smile disappears when Jongin whoops in delight and throws his arms around Sehun. As Jongin laughs and thanks Sehun for agreeing to attend the showcase, Sehun tries to calm his speeding heart and stares determinedly at the abstract painting hanging on the wall.

 

Sehun doesn't hug Jongin back, but he doesn't notice.

 

"Thank you so much!" Jongin repeats when he pulls away, and he spreads himself out on the couch. He places his legs on Sehun's lap, unaware of the unnatural stiffness in Sehun's limbs, and smiles brightly.

 

"I haven't had someone come to my showcase in forever," he explains, not moving from his position.

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. Not since middle school when..." Jongin trails off and smiles sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. "Nevermind. Anyways, I can't wait okay, let me just tell you about our choreography. So, like, the main dancer..."

 

Sehun listens to an animated Jongin talk about his dance routine and his fellow dance club members, and is mesmerized by the way Jongin's eyes sparkle with every syllable uttered.