Pairing: Kaisoo (Kai, D.O)
Rating: PG
Word count: 2200
Summary: Trash doesn't belong in the eyes of Do Kyungsoo, though trash can be rather useful, he realizes.
Warnings: Tiny amount of violence and swear words
A/N: first real chapter wooo o/ reading the prequel can be a smart thing for further chapters, but not necessarily needed yet. we'll see how many chapters this ends up as.

When Kyungsoo finally gets to go home from an extremely futile meeting, in an extremely futile building with yes— even more futile people, he for once feels somewhat lightened. Like a feather dancing with the wind that latched onto it, awakening its movements. Much like dancing. Maybe. Kyungsoo wasn't one to dance much at all.

But of course the day doesn't end there, knowing that he still has responsibilities at school too. Juggling the life of a student and a businessman at the same time wasn't exactly something he was all that fond of. Whenever he thought like this, words from a stiffened upper lip; raspy voice from heavy smoking repeated in his head with a dialect not completely South Korean.

”This is your destiny. You carry my blood and flesh, son.”

Therefore, he has no reason to complain. It's just the way it is, like with everything else.

Kyungsoo looks at his wristwatch and realizes that time passes too quickly. His guards are already downstairs to pick him up. Though he's nineteen, driving himself or having a license is nothing he has acquired yet. Not allowed to; the son must be protected until the time is right, or whatever nonsense he heard whenever there would be a downhill ahead.

When he arrives downstairs; dressed in a boring black suit that makes him look too old and strict. Then again, that's probably what he is supposed to be. Snapped out of his thoughts by a familiar, yet far from comfortable hand placed on his shoulder, it gives him a firm shuffle forward towards the car. Ah yes, of course. School. He had to hurry.

Silence is a normal thing for Kyungsoo. When he has no reason to talk, he doesn't. Small talking isn't something he had been taught to do, neither does he understand it. He'd rather reply with nods and uninterested glances if someone attempts to get him to engage in a conversation of no value. That's exactly what happens every time he arrives in this school. Someone, somewhere, tries to make contact, only to gain nothing from it.

While his guards take the elevator as told to, he always takes the stairs up to his locker. Gives him to breathe, even exist as more than a manufactured tool. Merely a product. Nonetheless, feeling sorry for himself because of it is something that will change the fact that he was born into this. Again, he's stuck in a spiral of analyzing, like many times before. Putting his foot up onto the last step, he doesn't realize someone already is there, and he walks straight into them, almost falling backwards down the stairs. Fall, break a few bones, maybe die.

Didn't sound too bad.

But whomever he collided with, they reach out for his arm, yanking it over the last step. Kyungsoo looks up at someone quite a bit taller than him (which is to no surprise, as South Korea's average height was on the rise, and he was under the average). He looks horrid, the boy who helped him. Tanned like he's apart of someone backside gang, wearing slightly old and trashed clothes. Why would someone like that be in a school like this?

”Relax little man, you don't have to walk around crashing into people.”

”Little man?”

”Yeah.”

Kyungsoo is quite baffled. No one has ever called him anything but sir or mister in this very building. He probably looks like he's caught off guard with that, because the stranger is now laughing. That kind of laugh when someone is laughing at you, and not with you. Absurd. Kyungsoo's expression must've been funny, with those rounded, doe eyes. Usually they're only half-lidded with mild interest at his surroundings, but now they were wide awake. A swift smell of alcohol hits him, and he realizes the other must be drunk. At school. On a weekday. Absurd. No wonder his words sounded so unclear.

”Lookin' like you've seen a ghost.”

”Perhaps that is true, considering you're not wearing a school uniform in a school building.”

”Neither are you, kid.”

”Well, I'm coming straight from a meeting, I am allowed to—”

”I call bull on your excuses, prudy.”

”You're wearing the clothes of a streetwalker.”

”Your point?”

No, no, no. This is so wrong. The boy keeps giving him horrible nicknames that aren't allowed, keeps using language that isn't allowed. But Kyungsoo isn't allowed to get angry. Not ever. Just as rosy lips apart, about to attempt to say something (though he didn't really know what to say), he just notices an amused leer when his guards show up.

”Sir, who is this?” The guards speak with most formal language, as per usual. Kyungsoo isn't sure if he's supposed to be upset that they're finally here, or if he's to be relieved. He decides that it doesn't matter.

”No one of importance. But do have his profile checked out.” Kyungsoo pauses, gives the stranger a tiny look to try and see if his words leave any reaction. The boy just shrugs, as if saying 'what are you looking at?' and he's left wanting to stomp his feet to the over-polished marble floor like a kindergartner. ”I don't want to see trash when I come here.” He concludes, and now finally he gets a reaction, though not what he wished for. An apology for his rude words and a bow would've been enough for him to continue ignoring the latter. But no, instead they chose to make this difficult. Ah, headache.

Instead the male launches forward, rising a fist. His guards are too slow to react, and for the first time in his life, Kyungsoo feels knuckles against his cheekbone. It hurts, he realizes. ”You motherer, you're the trash here you—” Words can't escape him no more, as the air is kicked out of his lungs the moment a knee comes in with such force straight to his stomach; because finally the guards take him down. The stranger makes a strangled noise, most likely pained, before he falls to the floor. Great, more dirt on the floor.

”No thank you.”

And Kyungsoo turns away, to get to his locker. Pain gets to him, stings, but he doesn't curse or get angry like most people. Focus. Now he was going to be late, having to explain why, like an interrogation. Every time. Yet his steps through the hall aren't rushed or stressed, but the very same pace as before. Somewhat stiff and robotic maybe, but displayed to seem confident and strong. A bit cynical too.

Quick and effective, the guards soon return. One of them has failed to correct his uniform, so Kyungsoo makes a move he's not supposed to do. He puts a hand on the upper button of the guard's jacket and the other side to bring it back together. He just can't stand any type of chaos when these people are supposed to represent him. The guard immediately stiffens, pulling back and correcting his suit all over, though Kyungsoo was faster than him. He lowers himself down from tip-toeing again, and turns to his locker, placing his books in the other guard's arms.

”His name?”

”Kim Jongin. Confirmed to be a student, sir.”

”Get him to dress properly. No more trash, understood?”

”Yes, sir. We will get your doctor to come over tomorrow.”

Silence fills the halls, as it's too late. All students are at cram school or at home by now. And Kyungsoo too, wants to go home. This day is too dirty for his taste. Especially if the trash happens to carry the name Kim Jongin. So he pays no more attention to anything before he gets home. The autopilot mode switches on, stepping over a clearly hurt student by the stairs, walks down them with guards close to hand and exits the building.

His eyes are half-lidded again, and he ducks his head as entering the backseat of the car. The dull sound of a door closing, and Kyungsoo leans his head back against the new-smelling, cognac colored leather. Finally, a moment of weakness. A sigh. That's it. He doesn't necessarily like doing this, being a robot. It's just an instinct since he's been trained to act this way ever since he was a child. Then his thoughts go back to the odd boy in the school. Jongin. What a horrid name.

Why a student that isn't him would be allowed to walk around in some kind of punk-like clothing is something that he really doesn't get, and isn't sure he wants to understand to find out about. But he's going to, anyways. He asked for the man to get looked at, no? And his mother is going to find out, more trouble and responsibilities will come.

Suddenly, a wave of remorse. Maybe he should've just ignored the boy like he does with everyone else. But no one has ever managed to irk him that way before. Almost blew his front off, like in the story with the wolf and the piglets. Blowing on his house until it trashed. Trash. The boy must've had immense lung capacity, even if he just said a few words. Motherer. Such vulgar language, oh my.

We have arrived, Mister Do.”

Kyungsoo lifts his head up, realizing he must've dozed off. The calming sound of the rain hitting the tinted windows had apparently rocked him to sleep like a lullaby. A sweet motherly voice, though in the form of rain.

In front of him, is a facility all too big for three family members, of which only two stayed in. The rain messes up his slick-back dark brown hair, ruins his expensive clothing. Guards try to get him inside as fast as possible, but Kyungsoo doesn't feel like cooperating all of a sudden.

”Your mother will be upset if you come home in this condition.” One of the men try to tell him, and finally manage to get Kyungsoo's feet moving. He feels like he's floating, and in front of him isn't the mansion. In front of him— is a boy who is trying to beat the living crap out of him. Kim Jongin is horrid, but the bruise he leaves behind on Kyungsoo's cheek, is pretty.

Usually, he's supposed to greet his mother when arriving home, but this time he just walks straight to his room after seeing himself in the hallway mirror. The bruise is pretty, but not according to anyone else, so he stays as quiet as possible, not wanting to be seen.

Kyungsoo showers immediately, fingers trailing over the bruise, examining it very delicately as if he's afraid it'll vanish if he doesn't make sure it's there. The texture and heat is different from the rest of his smooth, flawless skin. When the hot water stops running after he closes the tap, he spends time in front of the mirror, looking at it even more, as if it's an extinct animal. Ink blots on silk paper.

Once he regains his senses, gets dressed and comes out of his room, he's ready and composed; put back together again. He has a feeling he won't get dinner before being interrogated, having every detail spewing out of him. Might as well deal with it now.

”I'm home, mother.”

”I know you are. Come here, it is time for you to explain.”

And Kyungsoo does as he's told, sitting down in an uncomfortable, barely used leather chair. Opposite to his mother. Once glance seems to be enough for his mother, then going back to her newspaper.

”And who did this?”

”Kim Jongin.”

”What an awful name. I'll make sure we put him to good use, whoever he might be. Is he a business partner?”

”No, mother.”

”Good, then I don't see why we don't make this into a fun little game, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo doesn't question his mother, even though he usually doesn't find her games very entertaining. He doesn't want to get in trouble, since she appears to be in an eerily tranquil mood today. Might be medication, considering the way her hand (most likely unconsciously) shakes at the corner of the last page. So he waits, lets her realize what he's staring at, and as expected she pulls her hand back and drops the paper. And here comes the distraction maneuver.

”We'll make him your lobby boy. Isn't that lovely, dear?”

No reply, only a nod. Kyungsoo isn't sure he knows what that is supposed to mean, but it doesn't sound worse than many other ideas his mother has with people that cause Kyungsoo trouble.

”Great, he'll help you at school tomorrow then.”

What is he supposed to expect form this? The less he thinks about it, the better the outcome, always seems the case. Rising from his chair with an annoying squeak from the leather rutting against his leg when he shifts his weight to get up, he doesn't even look at his mother, only bowing by habit. He knows what she looks like, seen her many times before.

Whom he hasn't seen though, is Kim Jongin. He barely remembers the face, but more the skin and clothing.

Kyungsoo is skeptical his mother will succeed, but she never is. Perhaps this would be the first time she'd fail with one of her games. Secretly, he hopes so. Trash can be useful against unwanted powers, it seems.