Kim Jongin wakes up at the crack of dawn, an hour before his alarm clock. He sits up, wraps his arms around his thin, shivering body and hangs his head low. First day of a new high school; one more year that could possibly have him in tatters much like his previous school. But he decides to focus on the positive, on the reassuring fact that there will be no one he knows, no one he need ever know. Last year, he thinks, last year was hell. And he has survived. Yet, he also knows he cannot survive once more. He decides to stay low, unheeded and quiet at his new school. He decides he's better off alone.

   Sleep eludes him, so he flings the bed covers away, steps groggily on the cold marbled flooring and silently walks into the bathroom. He peels off his shirt and shorts, and stands , almost cowering beneath the hot shower. The steam soon fills up the tiny space. He watches his reflection slowly blur and distort as the water condenses against the cool surface of the mirror. He runs long fingers through his matted, wet hair and as he splays his palm open to scrutiny, he looks sadly at the thin red bands of pain covering his healing wrist. Shaking his head, he grabs a towel and wraps it around his slim waist before bounding out into his room with a forced spring in his step. This year will be good, he tells himself, this year I will be strong.

   But how does it help even the slightest bit if being strong means hiding his true self from the world?

   He pulls on a pair of rough, slightly torn jeans and a loose white t-shirt and wonders if this will be enough to let him blend into the shadows. He narrows his eyes as he peers at his forlorn form in the mirror and after a moment's hesitation, discards the white shirt for a black one. There, his eyes gleam almost triumphantly, now he could melt into the darkness.

   He sits on the edge of his bed, as nervous and taut as a wound spring until he hears, "Kim Jongin, you better not be late! Come down quick and eat some muscle into that lanky figure of yours!" He smiles despite himself, at his mother's daily breakfast siren, and bounds down the stairs, two steps at a time. "Umma!" He exclaims softly, joyfully as he seats himself at the table and fills his bowl up with milk and cereal, "How are you?" She pats his head vaguely and smiles, "Pretty good, kiddo! How are you? New school, first day! Are you feeling up to it?" Despite her buoyant tone, Jongin knows that there is a tangible note of concern behind the enquiry. He grins up at her, pushing away the nauseous feeling in his stomach, and bobs his head, "Yup, all good!"

   He can be strong for his mother if no one else, because he knows he can never repay all that she has done for him. He can't ever repay just how much kindness and tolerance and love she has shown to him. So he turns his wrists towards himself and smiles happily at her.

   "Okay, sweetheart," she says as she kisses him gently on his forehead, "I have to leave for work now. Lock up when it's time for you to go and make sure you finish up all your cereal! I love you," she tells him, one foot outside the door, "Stay strong, baby." Jongin realises his throat has closed up only when he attempts a squeaky goodbye. And so he spends the next several minutes curled up into a ball as he periodically counts down from one thousand, until the discomfort passes. Then he stands up, takes a deep breath, grabs his bag and his keys, and walks outside the door ready to face the world.

   The bus-stop is a few minutes’ walk from his house, and he spends that time looking around him, trying to distract himself from the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A short, doe-eyed boy stands restlessly at the bus-stop, glancing into his phone while distractedly tapping his left foot to the beat of the music playing through his headphones. The first thing Jongin notices about him is that he is undeniably good-looking. Soft, brown eyes frame a smooth pale face. His cheeks are hollow and taper into a small, inexplicably cute chin and his lips look red and pinched against his unblemished skin. Then Jongin shuts his eyes for a moment, breathes in and walks resolutely up next to him, nonchalantly looking away into an unseen distance.

   "Hey!" A chirpy, sharp voice cuts through at Jongin's side. "I'm Luhan!" Jongin turns around at looks at the delicate proffered arm and runs his gaze up to the other boy's smiling, expectant gaze. "I'm Jongin," he mutters in reply, grasping the hand limply. The boy named Luhan peers into Jongin, a gaze that is, to Jongin, equal parts discomfort and thrill. "I've never seen you around here before," he says thoughtfully, as he pulls his headphones over his soft hair and hangs them around his neck. "Have you just recently moved into here?"

   Jongin nods, "Yeah, we moved in from Daegu about a month ago."

   "So you're probably in Kyungnam High School, aren't you?" Luhan conjectures, "Of course, that's why you're standing here, silly me."

   "Yes," Jongin affirms and a sudden boldness seizes him and he continues to pull the hanging thread of conversation, "Do you go there too?"

   "Oh, haha, no! I graduated two years ago! Don't look it, do I?" Luhan grins sheepishly, "I'm just hanging around here to wave off a few of my dongsaengs. Quite a lot of them begin high school this year and I know how terrifying that can be."

   "Tell me about it," Jongin mutters involuntarily, before clearing his throat awkwardly.

   Luhan looks at him thoughtfully and grasps him by his elbow, "Listen, Jongin, my family owns a cafe down the road, The Busan Barista, ask anyone. I'm usually there, to talk or basically anything, maybe show you around a bit. That’s how I know most of my saengs." He pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts, "Anyway, my point is, I'm always available to talk so just drop by sometime. I'll even let you in on a little family employee discount!"

   Jongin hears the concern in his voice and wonders if he has already begun failing at his task of putting on a strong front. Yet he is acutely grateful for Luhan's words and he mutters an awkward thank you while coughing discreetly. He means to say more, he means to say just how much he appreciates kindness when all he has ever known is harsh words and jeers. But the moment passes and soon the area is teeming with students, all who call out to each other, all who seem to know each other in a frenzy of friendship and he's left all alone in a crowd of people, just as he likes it. So, he wraps his arms over his chest and sinks into the background.

   An ancient yellow bus comes to a sputtering halt in front of the students, spewing out gas and dust. Jongin is trampled over by a multitude of peers who rush to clamber into the bus and claim their seats. As he hangs back, half in fear of getting flattened and half in hesitation, he hears Luhan's soft voice call out, "Goodbye, Jongin and good luck!" He smiles back in the general direction of the voice until he realises he is the only one standing on the first step of the bus, while the bus driver screams angrily at him to get on. He takes a tentative step forward into the now teeming bus and looks around at the daunting task of choosing a seat.

   His sharp ears, however, catch the floating voices of a boy and a girl rushing towards the bus, their tones growing louder and louder, huffing and puffing until they are a hair's breadth away from him and slam into him unceremoniously.

   "Oh my god, I am so sorry!" The girl exclaims, as she steps back from him.

   Jongin has not the time to reply before the bus lurches forward in a sudden motion and two very human and very alive bodies barrel into him once more. "Oh my god, I am honestly so sorry," she exclaims again, her hand clasped over as she scrambles up from her uncomfortable sprawl atop his knees. Jet black hair spills over her mortified face as she is helped up by a boy whose head stops just short of the bus ceiling.

   "None of this would have happened," he hears the girl say angrily to the tall lanky frame, "If you hadn't insisted on running home for your clothes. You are such a girl!"

   "Well, excuse me for preferring to wear clothes and not pajamas!" The taller boy rumbles back from behind her; a deep, low voice that sends delicious shivers down Jongin's spine.

   She ignores him as she reaches forward and extends one arm to help Jongin up. "Nayeon," she smiles, as he grips her proffered arm and stumbles up. "And this is Chanyeol, the bane of my existence," she continues, gesturing to the tall individual behind her. Jongin grins and introduces himself, deciding that he rather likes this pair of weird, people-flattening hazards. "Nice to meet you, Jongin," Nayeon says as Chanyeol nods behind her. "You have nice hands," she continues vaguely. Jongin watches Chanyeol shake his head at, purportedly; his friend's lack of social etiquette and Jongin looks down at his fingers. Yes, he thinks, maybe he does have nice hands. "Thank you," Jongin replies, "I think I like them too."

   Maybe that's the moment he realises he has found a friend, and it comes to him as an unimaginable sense of relief. Do you ever think about what actually makes people click? Do you ever wonder what it first is, what is first said, that erupts the volcano of closeness? Because a second later, he finds himself seated between them. So as she leans over him to speak to Chanyeol, he notices her heart-shaped face, long black hair and the way her eyes light up as she converses with Chanyeol. And as Chanyeol leans forward to reply, Jongin finds himself fascinated by the short cropped hair, small face, and charmingly boyish expression that is at such a polarity to his deep intonations.

   Jongin is just about to ask them how long they've been together, when Chanyeol presses his face to the frosted window pane and widens his eyes excitedly, "God, Nayeon, there she is! She's going to enter! Should I casually walk past her or should I move over and take a seat beside her? Or maybe, I should just pretend I don't see her but nonchalantly let her glimpse how ripped my body has become this summer!"

   Nayeon rubs tired circles into her temples as Jongin tries to stifle his laughter. "Okay, Chanyeol, let me instruct you a little; no showing anybody your ripped body because first, that counts as flashing, and second, you don't have a ripped body to show." She settles her head back on the hard covering of the seat and closes her eyes, "Just go sit on an empty seat and hope she sits beside you. Or just smile at her. Maybe trip her up so that she lands in your arms." Chanyeol raises one eyebrow distractedly while standing up in a hurry to jump over to the only empty seat in the neighbouring aisle.

   It is with a start that Jongin realises he has been smiling throughout their exchange; that in the presence of a boy far too tall and a girl far too clumsy, he has found a little piece of happiness. He leans conspiratorially towards Nayeon and says, "You have nice teeth." Nayeon looks up at him, flips open a little compact mirror and scrutinises her teeth. "Thank you," she grins, snapping the little mirror shut, "I think I like them too."

   Jongin walks into the school gates with Nayeon by his side. She introduces him to dozens of people who pass by. He smiles, grins, and mutters hasty hellos and hushed goodbyes and he thinks that maybe this year would be better. Maybe, with a little help by his side, just a little, he can get it over with and fly away.

   "And that," she continues, waving in the general direction of a short individual dressed crisply in white, "is Kyungsoo; class president, perfect pupil, hated by most, adored by others. Don't cross his path if you can't help it. He might murder you and even get away with it. I mean, honestly, just look at that baby-faced pout in that deceitfully cute face."

   And so Jongin looks; he peers into the crowd of people surrounding the short boy and stares into his face. And the next moment, he wishes he hadn't; because he takes in the softest, largest hazel eyes, slightly puffed up cheeks and the gentlest pout of his pink lips. And despite the distance, Jongin feels tell-tale butterflies in his stomach. From somewhere close to him, he hears Nayeon whine, "Don't you hate it when mean people are good-looking? It’s so unfair!" Jongin nods vaguely even as his mind is dreamily fixated on that boy who stands a little far apart. His lips are pursed and his smiles are tight. And to Jongin, his eyes seem to glow and flash in the light of the day. Jongin thinks about how perfectly he would fit into his arms, how he could encapsulate Kyungsoo's body against his own. He is beautiful, Jongin realises a little sadly; he is the most beautiful being Jongin has ever seen.

   Tearing his gaze away from the little hazel eyed attraction, he notices Chanyeol standing a little distance away, engaged in earnest conversation with a slender, petite light haired girl with pretty curls cascading down her shoulders.

   "Okay, looks like your friend is doing fine!" Jongin grins with an effort as he jerks a thumb towards Chanyeol. The words that leave his lips are vague and his mind still reels from his first glimpse of Kyungsoo.

   "Oh dear," Nayeon sighs, "Why would she lower her standards and even spare him a glance? Senior year is messing people up."

   And if Jongin hears the slightest trace of bitterness in her tone, or the wistful ache of unrequited feelings, he shakes his head and dismisses it under the heavy tones of his own undeniable attraction to a short boy with eyes that glimmer and pool like melting caramel.

A/N: Can I add the kaisoo tag yet? God, I love kaisoo. Also, I realise this is not how Jongin's character is usually portrayed. Rest assured, he will grow into himself.