“what is what”? During our school exam, I unconsciously let out my question out loud. Few of the students chuckled, and the rest of them only ignored me. Professor, of course, warned me to be quiet and I only puckered my lips and decided not to bother with the test anymore. What's the purpose of staring at that white paper and read the questions if I don't have even an idea of what it was even about? I've spent most of the day yesterday just writing around and I completely forgot about school and today's exam. Well, now I am paying a big price for that. Although it's not even worrying me. I have enough time to learn it.

“Lee Chanhee are you perhaps done with your exam”? The professor eyed me threateningly as he saw me staring through the window, but before I could say anything to that, he added: “I do not think you can find an answer out there in the school's yard. And you will definitely not get smarter by staring through the window.” right in that moment, he lowered the book in his hands and I could even see what was written there. And he was completely oblivious of that fact.

“actually sir, I do think that I can find answers there. Because I have just know remembered of something.” I put a sly smile on my face, showing just how much I was mocking him yet he could do nothing about that. As I was writing down my answer (which I had almost copied from the teacher's book) I could feel him staring at me but I didn't give a damn. Without knowing it, the professor had right now actually guaranteed me a passing mark. Good for me. Now I don't have to bother with studying anymore. Not that I even bothered before...

even after the time of the exam expired, I could see Changjo scribbling few more sentences down onto his test. He's this class's biggest cheater. He's even better than me in cheating. I often thought of asking him to join forces together and cheat on the exams, but then again it would be waste of time cause I would lose my precious time of writing only to make plans with him. So therefore I'm better off alone, because I always improvise things on the spot rather than plan ahead too early.

As the bell rang, I slowly made my way out from the classroom and headed towards my second class. Which I would definitely spend writing my stories. I never pay attention to the class.

And so in that crazy, slow motion, this school's day finally came to its end and I was gratefully walking towards my house. My mother was strangely at home, cooking something and I could feel my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “isn't this usually your coffee time with that annoying woman across the street”? I asked her and she glared at me. “she is not annoying and watch over that strange language of yours while you're around me. It's enough that I have to hear every day from the professors just how rude you are, I don't have to hear it even at home. And yes, you're right. It is my coffee time. You finish the lunch.” and just like that, she walked out from the house and I only shrugged my shoulders. I wonder which professor complained about me now...

yet my mother is an interesting woman. She always leaves me to cook myself a lunch and she eats over at that annoying neighbour's house. She almost never eats at home, she says she's too lazy to cook properly so she sometimes starts cooking but then gives up and then I have to continue preparing it. Not that I ever do it, actually. I always eat sandwiches or instant ramyun, I don't care what it is as long as it doesn't take much time in preparing. Yes, I am a lazy person too.

After I was done eating my sandwich, I went into my room and just threw the backpack somewhere in the corner, not really caring about it. All I wanted was to just sleep for a while and then write. It was a dangerous obsession, I was aware of that fact, but it didn't stop me from loving it even more because of that. It was just that different world for me, a world I felt I belonged to, that accepted me for who I am, and I wanted to stay in the world where I felt the safest. It was my writing world.

The next day wasn't much different. I was late for school of course and everything was perfectly regular. Except of the annoying fact of someone approaching me.

“write me a story.” were the words that really made me feel utterly confused. The more confusing thing was that I didn't even know the guy who asked me that. And of course that I came out as rude. But it hardly seem to affect him.

It was still up to me to decide whether I would show up by the gates after school or not. I was 99% sure I would not come.

Still, that 1% won and I found myself standing by the gates after the school ended and I felt really annoyed. What the hell was I even doing here?!

“hello. I'm glad you're here.” a gentle voice greeted me from behind and I turned to the source of the voice. I was once again surprised by the sight in front of me. Although his voice was soft, he had a spark of mischief in his eyes. It was hard to decipher just now what kind of a person he was. Especially because his dazzling blonde hair made him look like some kind of an angel, yet I could bet that he was far from that.

“yes. I was just wondering what kind of a screwed up prank this is.” I crossed my hands over my chest and intensely stared at him, hoping he would look away. But he didn't.

“this isn't a prank. And you are... pretty much vulgar for a writer. It's strange.” he chuckled more for himself but I only found myself scoffing at his words. As he realized that I would not give him an answer, he sighed. “I will pay you for the story, if that is what worries you.”

“and what makes you think that any of my stories has a price”? I asked him and he seemed to be nervous, because he kept on playing with his fingers. “yours might not have a price, but this is going to be my story. I'm a story teller. You'll be the writer.”

“what”? I think my expression was once again utterly confused but damn right I did feel confused. This was the strangest thing I've ever heard in my life, and I've heard many strange things.

“it's just that...” his voice broke and he coughed to clear his throat a bit. “I... need a memory. A story that will remind me of something that happened in the past.” he explained and I think annoyance was clearly written on my face as I was staring at him.

“then why not write it yourself”? I asked.

“I don't think I can. I would only ruin everything... I need someone who knows what he's doing.”

“and how the hell did you find me then”? I raised my voice a bit and few of the other students turned in my way. I did my best to ignore them. Yet he was uncomfortable.

“a friend of mine mentioned that you keep on writing during the classes... and that it's not about the subject. And you do kinda look like a nerd.”

hold on. Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? Yet it definitely felt like an insult to me.

“and what if I'm a nerd and not a writer”? I cocked my eyebrow up and now he was even more uncomfortable. “I aske