Cyonosure

Banglo

???

From the very moment Bang Yongguk met Choi Junhong he knew that the boy was different from others his age. He was taller than all his peers, head bobbing above the crowd as new students shuffled in to greet their teacher for the first time -- body thin, bones visible, but eyes full of fire. Other boys around him walked with a fake swagger or hid their eyes from the world, but Junhong’s gaze was strong, laying possession to everything it fell upon. He walked with a sway that denoted age beyond the baby-face he wore. Junhong was fourteen then; Yongguk, thirty-five. Though he later wrote it off as a silly notion, Yongguk thought that maybe on that day Junhong had seen something in him, too.

The boy seemed, by nature, uninterested in his peers, though he was not disliked. He clearly had friends, but he conducted himself in such a way that Yongguk thought that at any time he might push any one of them out of the often-open-window simply to do it. Junhong had an air about him that dared those around him to just try to figure him out and to fail miserably. He was a walking cereal brain-teaser just waiting for someone to send in the flyer for his decoder ring, but unfortunately for Yongguk the offer was eleven years expired. Instead, he taught the boy.

For one full year, he fed him information and Junhong, in turn, swallowed every word willingly by the spoonful. Like a sponge, he absorbed every lesson and Yongguk was able to watch his young mind germinate each seed he planted and by the end of the term Junhong was a garden. From his lips birdsongs flowed, and in his eyes spring could be seen. Fire replaced by flowers, Junhong grew before Yongguk’s very eyes in more ways than one.

Yongguk never forgot the engaging conversations the young man insisted on instigating after class was done and the countless lunches they both accidently skipped in order to debate. Junhong’s words were passionate, and his ideas without boundaries; he was stubborn to a fault though, and would spend the rest of the day sulking whenever Yongguk managed to pound the truth into his head. Eventually, the man couldn’t bare to inhibit his illustrative imagination any further, and conceded with a smile almost each and every time.

Junhong was the reason Yongguk became a teacher.

Junhong was the reason he hated being a teacher, too.

Students like Junhong were one in a million, which meant he was the of his teaching career. He had his once in a lifetime experience, and in 180 days it was gone from him. Part of him wished to fail the boy just to keep him in class, or apply to teach the second year students but he knew he could not. Yongguk had to release him, his enigma without a code. And he did.

Junhong turned fifteen early into his second year, and met a new teacher. He still made friends, he still spoke confidently in class, and exuded the same sway in his steps but in his eyes the spring dulled into a dusty autumn. Flowers wilted without fertilization, and Junhong died a bit. No one could tell, however. He still walked and talked like Choi Junhong: MVP of the class of 2015, after all. Nobody cared to examine him beyond that; no one ever found his decoder ring.

For three years, he went through the motions, acing his assessments and gradually drifting even further from the students by his side. Bracing each day with a quiet bitterness, he grew distaste for the stupidity that surrounded him. There was no depth to the conversations ading the air, no social consciousness and Junhong grew sick with envy for the incoming classes that now got the attention of the only man that had cared to culture the spark in Junhong’s spirit.

For three terribly long years, they did not speak for reasons they could never quite understand. While the man remained in Junhong’s thoughts, and he in his, they existed in a suspended state. Perhaps Junhong was scared of what he might think of him now, a full head taller and snappier than before. Maybe the teacher wouldn’t care for his colored hair or his pierced ears; maybe he wouldn’t treat him like a boy crafted of gold and jewels like before, and Junhong wouldn’t have that. Instead, he allowed things to sit, untouched, preserving in his memory the time when they had favored one another. And perhaps Yongguk’s fears were similar: maybe Junhong had forgotten their long conversations, perhaps he had grown out of his curiosity -- and heaven forbid, perchance the school system had crushed his spirit, Yongguk couldn’t bear to face him.

And so dead-air settled between them.

Which is why Yongguk stares with ample surprise at the skinny boy posed on his desk, passing a paper weight from hand to hand. His slender fingers are dexterous and nimble, but his expression is clumsy. Neither of them know what to say, and silence makes herself at welcome beside them for several minutes. Junhong, as of an hour ago, is no longer a highschool student. A diploma sits by his side, and the school sits empty around him. The students have fled their four year hell, but Junhong remains, perched on a desk he hasn’t seen in person for three long years.

“I wanted to thank you,” Junhong says at last, voice deeper than Yongguk remembers. He can tell the boy has matured, though he hasn’t gained weight. He is thin as a rail, cheeks still plumped, but his silver locks scream creative expression that only comes with age. His eyes are dark, lips full. Yongguk wonders for a moment if it is now acceptable for him to acknowledge the beauty before him.

“For what?” Yongguk wears his signature smile, more gum than teeth, as he steps toward the desk to collect his boxes. Summer is upon them, the sky becoming a pastiche of yellow and pink. The light seeps into the room casting shadows on Junhong’s pale skin, placing contours on his soft features. He looks older for a moment, but he is older, Yongguk reminds himself. By three years; the young man before him is not the same young boy he had taught -- but at the same time, he isn’t entirely different, either.

Junhong takes a long time to speak, tasting different words in his mouth and trying them on for size. He hadn’t planned on this encounter at all, but he feet had guided him back to the room where his highschool career had began.

“For giving me a reason to come to school,” he says, and mentally adds, and talking to me, and existing, and keeping me awake at night.

Yongguk is stunned. Junhong refuses to meet his eyes, hiding behind his bleached bangs.

“Junhong…”

“That sounded stupid. Sorry. I just… It’s been a while, huh?”

“It didn’t sound stupid. You’ve never sounded stupid as long as I’ve known you, Junhong,” Yongguk urges, placing the box in his hands back where he found it. His mind is wretched in conflict, buried adulations waiting for their chance to be voiced.

“Well, you haven’t known me lately, have you?” Junhong examines him closely, his dogmatic attitude the same as Yongguk remembers. The teacher gently pats his thigh, urging the boy to scoot over. Flushing from the innocuous touch, Junhong obliged, hip bumping into the a picture frame. He invites himself to take a look in an attempt to to distract himself from the flagrant thoughts bouncing around his skull.

Yongguk doesn’t have a girlfriend, Junhong can tell. The pictures on his desk are of his parents, twin brother, and sister. He remembers the man telling him about them when he was younger. He keeps his eyes fixed on the frame, though he’s not looking at the picture itself, but rather the reflection of his shoulder pressed against the teacher’s.

“Did you make a big change? You seem pretty much the same to me. A little more shy, though,” Yongguk says in the deep booming voice that is as mellifluous as it is deleterious. “I’m glad you came. I missed you, Junhong.” Yongguk knows his words border unacceptable, so he chooses them fastidiously, careful to stay within his bounds. Of course, he is unaware of how damaging the words really are. The syllables strike him to his core.

“I feel like I wasted everything,” he admits, voice small.

Yongguk’s chest aches with a timorous trembling; he knows where this is going, though he doesn’t want to admit it. “Your grades are fantastic, Junhong. You were the top of your class; that’s not wasted effort. Anything you want to do, you can,” he promises, but Junhong rolls his eyes.

“Don’t talk to me like a kid,” he demands, spitting at the disparage. Suddenly he is angry, adrenaline pumping through his veins as a mark of his truculent youth. Yongguk bows his head apologetically, taking a moment to collect his thoughts to avoid offending the boy further.

“It’s not just your grades, Junhong. You’re brighter than every kid in this whole building, the teachers, too. You’re going to change this world. I’ve always known that.”

The words make Junhong tear up. He turns and kicks the desk with all his might, knocking several books to the ground. The paper weight that had been in his hand hits the ground with  crash and glass litters the floor. They both wince at the dissonant sound, and Junhong looks scared. He wants to run. This was a terrible idea. He’s going to undo his good reputation with the only person he’s ever looked up to. His confidence deflates and his eyes rain.

Yongguk watches the scene before him with a heavy heart. An empathetic person by nature, seeing the boy in tears makes him want to shrivel up, but he pushes himself up, and pulls the boy into his arms instead. Junhong instantly folds into him, lithe arms holding his frame with surprising strength.

“I don’t even feel human. I got the grades but I never did anything else. I had so many chances to help people but I never did. All I did was my stupid ing homework. There are kids who are going to kill themselves, you know, when they don’t get into a college because of their class rank. This system .”

Junhong’s words strike chords within the man that no one has in ages. Around him, the teachers are content with the pressure of the school structure. They believe earnestly that grades determine the worth of people, but Yongguk has always despised that mindset. He squeezes the boy closer, chin resting on his shoulder. “I know it does. It’s all messed up, but you’re fighting well. You just have to fight a little longer.”

“I don’t want to go university,” Junhong blurts, and Yongguk winces.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Yongguk pleads. “Junhong, you’re so bright, you can’t let that die.”

“When I was a kid I only came to talk to you. When I got older I only came to get the chance to talk to you. Education doesn’t breed humans, you’re the only person in this whole ing building. Once I’m out of here, there’s no point.”

“Let me be that point, then, Junhong. Just because I’m not your teacher anymore doesn’t mean we have to be strangers. I don’t want that. Let’s not be strangers anymore, Junhong-ah.”

Somewhere along the way, Yongguk has developed tears of his own at the corner of his eyes, and his voice broke as he spoke. The two lonely souls stood in an embrace, seeking solace in the pronquinity of their bodies.

“Let me help you apply to universities. We’re not teacher and student anymore, but I’d certainly like for us to be friends.”

The last word hit the boy like a bullet, and both males descended in compunction at their words and what lay beneath the surface of them.

“Alright,” Junhong agreed, needing no more words, because just as Yongguk had finally found his cynosure, he had found his decoder ring. Enigma and investigator, the turned their back on the messy past and glass scattering the floor.