HOT FOR TEACHER

 

When Kyungsoo had first entered the high school where he was newly hired, he'd been amazed by the grandeur of the campus. It was open and welcoming, the tall white pillars of the building looming over his head like an ancient Greek palace.

"Just our little corner for those eager to learn. Nothing too extraordinary―but don't say that to the architects," Mr Park, the principal, had said to him after he'd given him a quick tour last week. Kyungsoo thought it was pretty extraordinary, what with the impressive murals and always working staff. He could tell that he would like it here. The school specialized in treating students in the skills they wished to improve. Most of the pupil were advanced, matured, always digging for more knowledge, ambitious, adventurous, daring―typical Honour Students―and he could see that in the essays he was currently correcting, given by their last teacher before she went into labour. Kyungsoo was ready to feed their curious minds by being the best English teacher he could be.

"Mr Do!" the principal called as he entered the English Department and made his way to his desk. He had a wide smile plastered to his face, teeth and all, framed by his wild red curls that bounced at the slightest movement. "How are you settling in?"

It was hard not to share Mr Park's enthusiasm about everything. He smiled back. "Just fine, thank you. I'm really happy to be here." It hadn't taken long for Kyungsoo to settle in the rhythmic life of a new teacher, despite the little preparation he'd had.

Mr Park's smile widened. "Well, I'm glad you were able to accept the position on such short notice. Mrs White didn't know she was pregnant until her water broke in class." Mr Park put his weight on one side, taking a moment to chuckle and reminisce. "Hilarious," he exclaimed. Kyungsoo thought that was...traumatizing more than hilarious. He decided he'd never understand the principal's humour. He collected himself before handing him a white manila folder with a list stapled to it. "Here's the curriculum Mrs White left for her special Writer's Craft course."

 

Kyungsoo thanked him as he took it, skimming over the list and the folder's content. "You know," Mr Park pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I wouldn't worry too much about the students, yet."

 

"What do you mean by that?"

 

"Well,"―he smacked his lips―"some like to cause trouble. And by some, I really mean Kim Jongin." He reached over to point at the name of the student in question on the list. Kyungsoo gave him a confused look. "He lacks...tact." Mr Park's eyes widened as if he'd found the perfect word to describe the student. "Have you corrected his essay yet?"

 

The teacher shook his head, a little apprehensive. He knew of Kim Jongin. He was the quiet kid who sat at the back of the class and made it a point to ignore every word that left the teacher's mouth (though he got the sneaking suspicion that he wished to tune out everyone around him). He riffled through the pile of uncorrected assignments until he came across the one written by Kim Jongin. Understanding the Roots of Wildlife Destruction was the title, and when he flipped through it, Mr Park patiently gauging his reaction in front of him, he discovered five pages of whiteness, the sixth the only one with few words.

 

This dead tree says, " my ."

 

The principal broke out into a fit of loud cackles. He threw his head back as he laughed. "Oh. Oh man," he breathed, pretending to wipe away a tear. He might have found it amusing, however Kyungsoo was less than impressed. He was irritated, insulted that a student would use such language and submit it. This wasn't right or formal and a blatant misuse of the language.

 

There were far better, less vulgar yet still dramatic expressions he could have used.

 

"And now you know who Jongin is. He's always been this way―curt yet straight to his point."

 

"What do I do about this?" Kyungsoo asked, but he got the feeling there weren't any disciplinary actions taken against Jongin anymore.

 

He gave the teacher one last reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't dwell too long on him; he refuses to change."

 

Kyungsoo wasn't having it. He would speak to this student―this Honour Student, no less.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thing about talking to Kim Jongin was that he was scary. More so as the class was emptying quickly, and it was just the two of them and a few slowpokes left. The difference of authority between them was evident, but Kyungsoo couldn't help but feel small under his student's intense gaze―both physically and figuratively. Kyungsoo looked up and kept looking up, because Jongin was at least half a head taller than him, a full head now that he was leaning against his desk. Kyungsoo rose to his full height to feel less small.

 

Kyungsoo took a better look at Jongin now that he wasn't sitting in a corner. Tall, dark and handsome were words that described him well, his defined cheekbones and full lips a sight to see. Kyungsoo imagined Jongin didn't have a wide range of emotions, limited between I don't care and I really don't care, but the expression he was sporting now read I don't give a . Kyungsoo struggled to not look less confident than he was feeling, what with Jongin's dark eyes boring into his soul.

 

"Um," he smartly started. He picked up Jongin's assignment. "We need to talk about your essay―or rather the lack thereof." Jongin's expression didn't change. Kyungsoo crossed his arms.  "You're not as eloquent in writing as you are in speech. Ha ha..." He laughed nervously. "That was a...That was a joke, because you don't speak much?" Kyungsoo didn't why his voice rose at the end of his sentence, as if he were asking a question. Maybe he was searching for some signal of acknowledgment from the youngster in front of him. He blinked. Jongin stared.  "Anyways. You do realize I can't accept this, right? It's inappropriate and doesn't meet any of the requirements set by your previous teacher. And it seems that none of the assignments you've handed in do so. Are you aware that you're failing the class? It's affecting the average but mostly it's affecting yours." Jongin shrugged, clearly not invested in the conversation. Kyungsoo sighed and walked around the desk to sit down. He was frowning at the other essays needing correcting, a little frustrated that he literally could not get a word out of his student.

 

Jongin stood in front of him a few moments, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, before Kyungsoo realized he was waiting for dismissal. Polite, he thought, but not in writing. "All right, get out of here. I have essays to correct. Honour students, my ," he muttered the last part, but Jongin had caught it. He displayed the most emotion Kyungsoo had ever seen before exiting: he gave him a small smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another thing about Kim Jongin, Kyungsoo remarked, was that he wasn't stupid. At least he didn't look stupid.

When he was in the library, and Jongin happened to be sitting in the same secluded corner by the counter, he could be seen looking over his notes quite studiously. Sitting comfortably with his leg up, a thick book balanced against his knee and a pen stuck between his teeth, Jongin was the image of a model student hitting the books. He could easily breeze through books varying in size, written by the likes of Shakespeare and Homer, or even sit through complicated, college-level biochemistry manuals, notes strewn across the round table in front of him.

It was one thing to look smart, and an entirely different thing to write down one's thoughts so that their knowledge and understanding could be graded by the teacher and hopefully pull the class average out of the infernal Bs. Kyungsoo would prefer Jongin choose the latter for their next assignment.

"You're staring at me."

The teacher nearly jumped out of his skin. In his surprise, he managed to drop three significantly heavy books on his foot, backing into the return tray behind him, which backed into the bookshelf and made it precariously lean forward. It didn't fall, so Kyungsoo released a relieved breath. He calmed himself down enough to realize this was the first time he'd ever really heard Jongin's voice, and it was nice and deep and suave, like puberty had hit him in the throat quite hard. He would have liked to tell Jongin how nice it was to hear his voice, but Kyungsoo opted to flush and duck his head.

"I w-wasn't." He promptly excused himself, forgetting his books, before words like, wow, I could fall asleep to your voice made it out of his mouth. He had practically ran out of the library.

As Kyungsoo sped-walk back to the Department, he tried to calm himself down again. It was stupid of him to have noticed how close Jongin had been standing next to him (How had he not noticed him stand up and walk towards him?), and he didn't like the way he made him nervous. It was embarrassing, unmanly and totally un-teacher-like of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The second time Kyungsoo asked Jongin to stay after class to talk to him about his grade―actually talk to him and not make a total fool of himself trying to be authoritative―Jongin actually responded.

"Whoa. You're actually talking to me," had slipped out of Kyungsoo. He was genuinely surprised. There was a beat of silence before Jongin responded.

"I'm regretting it already..."

Kyungsoo smiled at his student.

"Fascinating?" Jongin asked.

Now he was just making fun of him. "That you're talking to me?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"How a person can simultaneously disregard authority whilst still doing what it is that that authority figure is enforcing?"

Kyungsoo blinked. For a moment, he was filled with pride because that was the longest sentence the kid had ever uttered to him, feeling the strong urge to reach out and pull his cheek, cooing at him like a proud father. He resisted that urge by blinking again, frowning. He was pretty sure he had asked Jongin about the progress of his recent assignment. Seeing as Jongin liked to attend class yet disregard his authority, he decided he'd humour him for now. "Are you talking about yourself?"

"I like to reflect myself in my work."

"That's great, Jongin," Kyungsoo breathed, a strained, stressed smile on his lips. "That's really, really great. I just need you to, you know, do your work and then hand it in so that I can see that." Jongin chewed the inside of his cheek, which was a dead giveaway that no progress had been recorded. Kyungsoo asked again. "How is your short story coming along?"

"It's not," Jongin said truthfully, his expression falling. Kyungsoo nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you need any help?"

"No," he said without missing a beat. Kyungsoo frowned. "I'm working on it. Can I go?"

He dismissed Jongin. There was only so much Kyungsoo could do for a student unwilling to accept his help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kyungsoo released a sharp breath, carding his fingers through his hair. He rested his elbow on his desk, his hand still tangled in his dark strands, feeling completely exasperated. It was a late Friday night. Kyungsoo was one of the few teachers from their Department who stayed behind to take care of last-minute correcting, most of them not wanting to drag their work over the weekend. He figured he ought to stay as well to maximize his efficiency as a relatively new teacher. (That and, if he hadn't, he’d have felt unbearably unproductive today despite having finished correcting his students’ essays during lunch, and the guilt of non-productivity would have kept him up all night.)

"UGH," Kyungsoo exclaimed, slamming his arm down on his papers. Lu Han looked up from his desk, Kyungsoo's outburst having garnered his attention. Lu Han blinked over the rim of the coffee mug he was holding up, eyeing the new teacher warily. This wasn't the first time Kyungsoo cried in frustration. He'd been doing it for the past few days and Lu Han was beginning to worry. He'd never bothered asking what was troubling him for so long―Lu Han wasn't exactly the come-talk-to-me-about-your-problems type of guy. It wasn't that he didn't care; he had just always been a quiet, reserved person, preferring not to perturb his peaceful lifestyle with another's issues. As his students would say, he's not about that life.

Lu Han pretended not to have heard, returning his gaze to his own paperwork. Kyungsoo released another solemn breath. He didn't look up, deciding he'd leave Kyungsoo to wallow by himself again.

Yixing didn't have the same idea. The substitute teacher noisily wheeled his chair in front of the sulking teacher's desk, standing up to poke his head over the divider. Lu Han looked up to see his friend's bright face staring down at Kyungsoo with hooded eyes, a creepy smile stretching his lips. "Why the long face, Mr Do?" he drawled almost dreamily. Yixing was of the firm belief that he must embody whatever subject he was teaching whenever he taught it. Today it was psychology. Evaluating the mental processes of a person by asking them what was bothering them fell under that category, he concluded. Lu Han shook his head at his weird friend, looking back down.

Kyungsoo sighed as he looked up at his colleague. "Nothing. Thanks for the concern." He gave him a small smile.

Yixing tucked in his chin, giving him a knowing look. He moved his chair around the divider to sit next to Kyungsoo. He put his hand on his shoulder. If there was one thing he learned in college while he slept through those psychology 101 classes, it was that trust must be established between doctor and patient. "I'm here for you. You can trust me." Lu Han rolled his eyes.

The new teacher laughed nervously before slyly slipping Yixing's hand off of his shoulder. "Thanks. Really, I'm fine."

"Okay, Kyungsoo." He replaced his hand on his shoulder. "But know that we teachers are here to support each other."

"Yixing," Lu Han called from his desk. "Leave the man alone. You're starting to creep me out."

The supply teacher pouted, disappearing behind the divider.

Kyungsoo threw the Chinese teacher an appreciative smile. They both returned to their business before Kyungsoo whirled around to stare at Lu Han, worrying his lip. "Can I ask you for your advice, actually?" It wasn't that he doubted Yixing's intentions, he was just...quirky.

Lu Han resisted the urge to sigh. He put down his mug. "Sure."

The English teacher pulled up a chair in front of Lu Han's desk as if he were a student being scolded. Lu Han suddenly regretted indulging him, vaguely wondering how rude it would be to tell him to take his problem elsewhere. "Say I'm having a trouble with a student―"

"Kim Jongin," Lu Han guessed immediately. Kyungsoo blinked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Okay, yes. Jongin. How do I deal with him?" Kyungsoo didn't like the word deal. Jongin wasn't a problem that needed to be dealt with; rather he didn't know how to approach him. "How do I help him?"

"Help who?" Mr Park asked as he waltzed into the office. He was smiling as he made his way to the coffee machine. Kyungsoo didn't know why he choose to hang out in their Department instead of the Teacher's Lounge. It made him wonder how busy he really was as principal if he often found time to pay them a visit. Mr Park turned to face them, coffee mug at his lips.

It was Yixing who answered him. "Kim Jongin."

Mr Park raised an eyebrow. He had heard the teacher but not seen him. "I'm behind here," he announced, his hand shooting up from behind the divider. The principal nodded. "Is there something wrong with Kim Jongin?"

"Nothing more than usual, I don't think," Lu Han answered. He shrugged.

"Has he submitted another essay?" Mr Park's eyes gleamed with amusement.

"No, that's the problem. He hasn't been graded all term."

"Talk to him," Lu Han advised.

"I tried. He didn't say much about it."

"Fight him." They looked at their principal. "He used to be quite the fighter." He took a sip of coffee.

Easy for you to say, Kyungsoo thought, sinking down into his seat. Mr Park was a former mixed martial arts athlete whose lean structure and height add to the fact that he was still completely intimidating when he wanted to be. Kyungsoo was a small, frail man with questionable fashion taste who was as intimidating as a tiny cat. He clawed the air cutely to support his thought. But he couldn't very well fight his student.

Lu Han watched him and seemed to grow irritated. "Don't suggest something so stupid." The principal's smile only widened. “And stop considering it.”

"Well, since you're so bent on helping him,"—he turned to Kyungsoo―"maybe you need to sit him down and―I don't mean force, but force him to understand his situation. You know, that he's failing." Another sip.

Kyungsoo frowned. "Lu Han made the suggestion. I tried."

"Inspire him to better himself today, for a better tomorrow," Yixing sleepily said from his hiding place. There was a silence that followed his words as the others registered them.

Kyungsoo thought about it. Could he inspire his student to be a better student? He supposed he could try it.

Luhan was the first to speak. "By God, I think that's the smartest thing you've ever said."











 

Monday arrived. Kyungsoo stood in front of his Writer's Craft class a nervous wreck. It was all suddenly daunting to stand before them, ready to inspire a particularly uninspired young lad by covering it up as a lecture. Kyungsoo was never apt at oral presentation, though it was different when he was teaching them about the way of the language. He was usually in his element on any other day, ready to help whatever student because that was what appealed to him as a teacher, as opposed to now where he was quite literally winging it thirty minutes before class. It was different because Writer's Craft demanded individual attention, not all of it all at once.

He swept his eyes across the desks, avoiding the corner from where he could feel Jongin's gaze on him.

"Words," he began. "They're difficult, aren't they? Intimidating, cutting, even when they're not there. I'm talking about the moments you wasted searching for the best comeback to your siblings' insults. That word that escaped you during your presentation that you replaced with 'um' and 'uh'.

Maybe you're not the type of person with those problems, but trust me when I say your vocabulary might be the most lacking―and that includes me.

Now I'm the guy constantly searching to improve my vocabulary, and in this class, that's the person I need you to be. If you're already that person, perfect―that's the person I want you to always be.

But before we get to bettering ourselves, I want to know where we stand as a class. Yes, that's right. A diagnostic evaluation."

The Honour Students didn't whine. Jongin rolled his eyes.

Kyungsoo continued. "I know it's weird to give a diagnostic evaluation after a few assignments but I think it'll help me understand how to go about teaching you guys, seeing as I'm still quite new.

After this, I'm going to ask you guys to write to convey an emotion.

Some of you might have trouble explaining how you feel. Apprehensive. Nervous. Scared. I want you guys to practice with this diagnostic. Write about how you feel right now. Or maybe how you felt yesterday when you fought with your parents. How you felt five years ago on that one day. Choose your moment, write a diary entry and convey an emotion, or even many. Ask yourself this question when you're done: Will a complete stranger be able to understand the feeling?

Leave it on your desk at the end of class. It's fine if you don't finish."

He looked right at Jongin. "Just write the first thing that comes to your mind."

But of course, by the end of class, Jongin's paper was blank.

Embarrassed. Kyungsoo was embarrassed. He had given this whole embarrassing speech about words and how they're not scary and had looked like a total pretentious in front of his whole class, in front of the student he'd hoped to inspire only for his efforts to return fruitless. There hadn't even been lead residue or ink marks on the paper to indicate that he had tried to write something down, no dirty eraser bits, either.

They were sitting at a round table in the bustling cafeteria, surrounded by loud students who were ready to stop thinking for a good hour and enjoy a good lunch eating and chattering. Lu Han sat to Kyungsoo's left, leisurely chewing his Caesar salad, working hard to tune out whatever Yixing, who sat to Kyungsoo's right, was saying. He was probably wondering why they were actually eating in the cafeteria when there was a Teacher's Lounge for them, and how they'd talked him into it. "Free tacos," Yixing had answered when he had asked. Yixing was substituting for a first year health class today, and whatever warnings about practising safe he had Lu Han absolutely did not want to hear.

The English teacher wasn't paying very much attention either. His thoughts were stuck on one Kim Jongin.

"Ask me how a kid single-handedly brings down the class average to a B minus?" He asked when Yixing took a moment to breathe between information, removing the fork he had been holding from his mouth.

Lu Han shrugged. "You know, this could be bad for your performance review."

Kyungsoo groaned loudly and carefully sprawled himself upon the table surface. The performance review. With his thoughts constantly wrapped around his student, he had completely forgotten about it. Not that he could really do much about it now seeing as the results are based on class average, but a B minus in a school for the intellectually advanced is unacceptable, deplorable, cause for dismissal. Just Jongin.

"Did you know," Yixing started, leaning back into his chair as he fixed his colleagues with a proud look, as if he were about to teach them some Grand Revelation. "That the number one reason for academic failure is not ?" Both Lu Han and Kyungsoo were looking at him now. "Which is good because chances are, Jongin isn't abstaining from writing because of . Which is doubly good because chances are, he won't get AIDs and die."

"You are,"―Lu Han pinched the bridge of his nose, crossing his arms―"almost as stupid as Chanyeol."

"Oh, are you and Mr Park on first name basis, now?" Yixing teased, shielding himself with his arms as his long-time friend threatened to throw his fork at him.

"Shut up."

"Maybe he has a point," Kyungsoo said to no one in particular. Lu Han looked at him like he had grown a second head. "Maybe there's a reason."

It occurred to Kyungsoo that he had never asked Jongin why he never wrote. There could be a reason (―as Yixing so pointedly observed: not ) that was affecting him. Perhaps a problem he had encountered, a bullying incident, a family matter, or maybe the academic pressure was just getting to him. (He understood how attending a school for the intellectually gifted could be stressful when you're in constant competition with excellent peers.)

Kyungsoo thanked Yixing before excusing himself, taking the rest of his lunch with him.

Lu Han watched him go before turning back to Yixing, who gave him a dimpled grin. "That's twice, now, that I was helpful."

"Nnh." The Chinese teacher made a noise at the back of his throat to show his disagreement as he took a sip of his drink. "I don't count the inspiration thing; it was a total flop."

 

Kyungsoo fixed the scarf he was wearing so it sat snuggly on his face. He was waiting in line at Starbucks, his body still adjusting from the sudden change of temperature. It was cold outside, the wind biting at his cheeks and the tip of his ears the faster he had walked. Inside, it was nice and cozy, the warm colours and atmosphere of the shop helping him unfreeze.

A tall French Roast coffee, two sugars, one milk. Kyungsoo smiled appreciatively as he took a sip of his drink, and almost spilled it back into his cup when he saw a mop of familiar black hair sitting outside the Starbucks.

As he often did things, Kyungsoo stepped outside without thinking, coffee in hand. Jongin sat on the bench by the door, his lean structure framed by a large orange coat. He was leaning his head back on the large window, the top of his hair smushed against it, with his eyes closed and earbuds firmly tucked into his ears. His face looked grey under the cloudy sky but serene, no lines cracking his impossibly clear skin and Kyungsoo again wondered if students were allowed to look be so handsome? (Seriously. His generation was not nearly as good-looking.)

Jongin was a lot less intimidating when he actually looked young (and less like he'd stepped out of an issue of Asgardian Weekly.)

He was staring at his student again.

Kyungsoo cleared his throat and lightly tapped Jongin's shoulder. The younger cracked an eye open, automatically removing an earphone. He stared at him hard, more surprised than irritated that someone had disturbed his peace.

"Hi," Kyungsoo managed meekly. He predictably didn't say anything. "Mind if I join you?"

Jongin nodded. Kyungsoo didn't know if that meant yes, I mind or no, I don't mind (because often people confused the proper conventions of answering this question, which then often led to misunderstandings).

He took a few steps back just to be safe, but Jongin didn't stop him. Kyungsoo grudgingly sat down anyway because he wanted to talk to the kid (but not hang out even though they are in a totally un-school-like setting) and satisfy a little bit his curiosity as to why he didn't hand in his reports. Maybe it was his way of rebelling, of sticking it to the man or some jazz - he at least wanted Jongin to tell him.

Jongin looked like he wanted to sigh when Kyungsoo sat next to him, cupping his warm drink in his lap. It was silent between them, a long awkward silence in which Kyungsoo sat looking at everything but Jongin until he decides he didn't like the silence.

"Why don't you sit inside?"

Jongin took a sharp breath, leaning back against the window again. He closed his eyes and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets.

"Being cold takes all of my focus." Kyungsoo frowned. Jongin could feel his frown so he explained, "It's so cold I'm only concentrating on the fact that I'm freezing, and that's enough to distract me from my thoughts."

Kyungsoo clucked his tongue and cooed understandingly. "Interesting theory―"

"Fact."

"Uh-huh," he said cheekily, swinging his legs out on the gravel. "And what do you usually think about?"

Jongin turned his head to look at him. "If I had wanted to think about it, I'd be inside."

Where it's warm and air conditioned, Kyungsoo thought, and suddenly he remembered how cold it was and took a sip of his coffee, still envying the customers bathing in warmth as the caffeine worked its way through his system.

Kyungsoo smiled at Jongin; he stared. "All right, fair enough," he conceded. "Can I ask you a question?" He asked instead of letting silence settle between them. "That isn't that one? Or that one," he felt the need to explain, because he was learning that Jongin was a smart-aleck.

Jongin's eyes flickered.

"You're actually debating saying no," Kyungsoo noted. Jongin laughed. It was a nice, clear sound, like a child receiving his Christmas gift. Kyungsoo decided he liked his laugh.

"I'll only allow it because you're the teacher I hate the least."

"Thanks...?" Kyungsoo felt strangely honoured. "I know I've pestered you a lot about your assignments but,"―a pause―"why don't you hand them in? Is there a problem I'm not aware of...?"

Jongin was characteristically silent. He didn't answer. Kyungsoo watched him expectantly, saw his handsome face twitch as he suddenly struggled to find the words that seem to be locked in his chest. Kyungsoo could tell it was question he'd been asked several times before he had asked, and he was still searching for an answer himself. Kyungsoo waited patiently, and Jongin noted how soft-spoken he was rather than aggressive like so many other teachers had been. He took another sharp breath.

"I'm not good," he started. "With words."

"What? Because you don't use them, or...?"

Like a child being wronged, Jongin faced ahead of him, bent on ignoring his teasing teacher now.

Kyungsoo laughed. "Okay, I'm sorry," he said, amused. "But that's why I'm here, Jongin. To help you become better. If everyone were good at it, I'd have nothing to teach."

Jongin seemed to only speak after a beat of silence. His replies were never immediate unless he was saying no. He spoke slowly and with pause, as if he were thinking about the rest of his sentence in the middle of it.

"It's different...when you're expected to excel in everything."

"Excel is a pretty fancy word."

"I don't like talking to you."

Kyungsoo laughed.

"I like that you're talking at all. I hardly get to hear your voice." They were having an actual conversation for once, and Kyungsoo felt unburdened somehow.

But Jongin stopped talking now, eyeing Kyungsoo's profile suspiciously.

"I can help you, you know." Kyungsoo turned to face him. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm pretty amazing with words." As he so brilliantly demonstrated by his speech the other day, which you totally ignored, he thought with a narrow of his eyes. He pointed at his student. "Let me help you. Let me do my job. And bring the class average up. And not fail you."

Jongin sighed heavily, taking his eyes off of Kyungsoo. He nodded.

The teacher once again resisted the urge to coo at him proudly, petting his hair like he wanted to do. Instead he smiled brightly.

"Would you like some coffee?"

 

Kyungsoo had found it cute when Jongin, who admittedly didn't like drinking coffee, made face and had tried his hand at a Café Americano.

Jongin hadn't said much, but his face had.

So that was $1.40 wasted and another $1.40 when he'd given up on the bitter coffee and opted for a classic Hot Chocolate, drinking with his arms crossed like he'd just lost a major bet.

The second time they found themselves at Starbucks, he decided he'd order a tall, hot White Chocolate Mocha for Jongin, which he had been adamant about paying for. (But of course, not in words.)

They sat on the dewy grass of the park in front of the coffee shop, sitting under the scarce shade of a balding tree, staring at the beige blend.

"Try it."

"No."

"But you already bought it."

Jongin grimaced. He picked up the drink, throwing Kyungsoo a cold stare. I'd better like it, it had said.

"So," Kyungsoo watched Jongin take a sip and smirked when the kid's face lit up. He was amused at how quickly he had taken a liking to the drink. "What helps you concentrate?"

Jongin leaned back into his chair, still sipping, his gaze on his teacher. When he finally found the will to stop drinking (it was just so good), he asked, "When I do what?"

"Just in general."

"Different things," he paused, "for different activities."

"Like?"

Jongin looked past Kyungsoo, right past his left ear, in deep thought. "When I dance―"

"You dance?" It was through these sit-downs that Kyungsoo learned the little things about his taciturn student, the little things that gave him personality behind that cold exterior.

"Yeah." He shifted in his seat. "I concentrate by just getting the feel of the music, retracing the steps of a routine in my head before giving it a try."

Kyungsoo tried to imagine Jongin standing in a mirrored studio, his eyes closed and face serene much like it had been the other day, swaying from side-to-side as he felt the music.

"Okay. What about when you write?" He took a sip of his French Roast―which Jongin had paid for, he reminded himself.

Jongin shook his head. "Silence."

The teacher scrunched up his nose. It was the complete opposite for him. He needed noise. Whether it was the quiet din of Starbucks' customers chatting amongst themselves or his stereo blasting John Legend, he better concentrated when he had to force his inner voice to be louder than the noise around him.

"You're judging me."

"No, I'm trying to understand you."

Jongin rolled his eyes. "Old people."

"I am not old!" He sputtered quietly. "Twenty six is not old.

"Have you ever tried not talking? Or sitting in silence?" Jongin leaned forward, as if he were sharing a secret with Kyungsoo. "You start noticing things."

He leaned back on his hands, silently sweeping his eyes on the hilly area of the park. Kyungsoo did the same. He supposed if he took the time to stop thinking, to stop hearing his own voice, he could actually appreciate what was around him. It was in seeing the world that he could better describe it when he wrote.

"Yeah." He bumped their knees, getting his student's attention. "It's not so bad when the company's nice."

Jongin looked away.

 

"Why are we here?"

Kyungsoo had dragged Jongin across town to a questionable venue harbouring questionable people in a questionable neighbourhood. The club sign was so worn-out, Jongin had a hard time deciphering the word MANSION. It was a small, dark place at the corner of a dimly lit street. Jongin gave the building a stern look.

"Because, Kim Jongin," Kyungsoo began his explanation wisely. "The first step to becoming a better writer is to get over yourself, and realize that not only are you a ty writer, but so is everyone else."

Jongin turned to face Kyungsoo. "Okay, but why are we here?" He figured he'd humour his teacher and learn what big lesson he had up his sleeve. (This was mostly because there were already too far from where he lived, and getting home by bus would take a long, unwanted hour. Had he known he'd have been dragged to a shoddy location, he wouldn't have agreed to give his number to his overly excited teacher with a flyer in his hand.)

"A great man whose works I've never read once said, 'All first drafts of anything are '." Kyungsoo turned to face Jongin, a wide grin pulling at his lips. "And I will prove that to you...sort of." He clucked his tongue. "Also, I want to know what inspires you."

"Couldn't you have asked?"

"What, and give up the opportunity of introducing you to atrocious poetry?" Kyungsoo looked at him with mock incredulity. Jongin rolled his eyes.

After much protest on Jongin's part, they finally made their way inside, in the midst of the spectators snapping their fingers. They sat in the farthest corner, which wasn't very far from the small dais as the place was very narrow.

"Thank you," a tall man spoke into the microphone, then took a seat, his gruff voice bouncing off the walls. "Woe is me, at this time of the night," he started. Jongin scowled.

They sat through three poems, and Kyungsoo watched Jongin. He wanted to laugh at how offended Jongin looked as the same man performed between the snap-applause, particularly when his eyes darkened at the use of the slang word clutch.

As the current performer was being replaced by a new one, Jongin decided he'd had enough.

"Okay," he strained. "I get it. I'm not the tiest writer." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning to face Kyungsoo with an almost pained expression. "You didn't have to torture me to make your point."

Kyungsoo laughed. They didn't have to come to the poetry reading, but he had spent days imagining Jongin's reaction to the poems, and nothing beats the actual one.

The microphone screeched; the next reader was ready to perform, guitar in hand.

"Can we please leave before this one brings shame to the iambic pentameter?"

 

"What?" Jongin asked after a long stretch of silence. They had left the establishment as per the student's request, Kyungsoo smirking as he sent him sidelong glances.

"Nothing. I just find you funny," Kyungsoo replied innocently, unable to hide his amusement. "How did you find the poems?"

"Soul-crushing."

The teacher smiled. "But there was content."

"Nothing tangible." Jongin sighed. "Are you attacking me?"

Kyungsoo stared ahead. He hadn't meant to target or make fun of him. "No...Are you planning on submitting the next assignment?"

"I dunno." He shrugged. "What do you put in an essay?"

"Jongin, please tell me you're joking."

"I know the elements," he defended. "But how do people decide on content? How can they say 'and through this, the author is trying to demonstrate...'?" Jongin looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it.

"You worry too much," Kyungsoo said after a moment. "It's not about the author's message; it's about how you interpret it, and how well you can support your findings."

"I think writing it down is my biggest problem."

"Practice makes perfect. You have to write. I want to know what you're thinking. You learn a lot about people through what they write."

Jongin stopped and faced Kyungsoo, his voice grave. "Are you trying to get to know me, Mr Do?"

Kyungsoo stared up at Jongin, suddenly feeling flustered by his question, by the way his voice dropped and his eyes held his gaze.

He didn't have to say anything. Both turned their heads when they heard a husky voice call Jongin's name.

"Who is that?" Kyungsoo whispered as the young guy separated himself from a group of teenagers, glad for the distraction.

"Minseok," Jongin answered. "From the studio."

"Hey," Minseok said as he approached them. He was taller than Kyungsoo but not by much, and had spiky brown hair. His face was mostly friendly and he looked young, but still very handsome.

They exchanged greetings, Kyungsoo staying resolutely quiet as they did while trying not to ooze awkwardness.

"Hey, Jongin. Are you coming?" One of the guys a few meters away shouted before Minseok could say anything else. He rolled his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jongin asked after a pause.

"Bowling," his friend answer, gesturing to the boys behind him, his faux leather jacket loosely sliding on his shoulders. His eyes glinted mischievously, which made Kyungsoo feel uneasy. "Wanna come? You can come too...?"

"Kyung---soo," he hesitated to say, because it was weird introducing himself as Mr Do. He lifted his shoulders in an attempt to bury his face in his large scarf.

"Minseok." He smiled widely, pointing at himself. Kyungsoo nodded.

Jongin was amused by his teacher's apparent discomfort. He pursed his lips. "I can't. I'm walking Kyungsoo home." He gestured to the man with his chin, a small grin on his face. Kyungsoo's own lips thinned into a tight smile. If Yixing were here, he'd have for being on first-name basis with his student.

"Excuse you?" Kyungsoo whispered pointedly. "What makes you think that I need a chaperone?"

Jongin didn't look at him when he said, "You don't exactly scream masculinity." Kyungsoo blinked. He was subsequently offended that this child, Kim Jongin, would question his manliness and dare to imply that his innocent appearance meant he couldn't bring himself home. But before he could protest, Jongin lightly tapped Minseok's shoulder, who grinned throughout their conversation. "Later." He started walking away.

Kyungsoo watched him, turned to slightly bow at friend, then hurriedly caught up to Jongin's wide strides.

"I'll have you know that a teacher escorting his student home or vice-versa is extremely inappropriate behavior―"

"Do you live this way?" Jongin interrupted. Kyungsoo pulled the sleeve of his jacket and led him across the street, toward the bridge back to Centertown. He raised his arm in that direction as if to say this way. He continued as if he Jongin hadn't interjected.

"―And could get said teacher in a lot of trouble."

"What if I had been in danger?"

"You're not."

"You'd be responsible of me."

"But you're not in danger, and I'm not responsible."

"Kyungsoo―"

"― that's Mr Do―"

"―I don't care." He grinned down at him, and that was the end of that argument.

Jongin picked up the conversation before his friends had appeared. "I don't see you making an effort to befriend every one of your students."

"I'm your teacher, Jongin," he reminded him. "And you're a very interesting student."

"That's a boring answer," Jongin deadpanned.

"Oh, excuse me. Let me write an essay on your intrigue and get back to you."

"Thesis: Kim Jongin often challenges my mental capacities and that makes him awesome."

"That's a terrible thesis." Kyungsoo eyed Jongin, amused. "And it's completely untrue."

"On my desk by Monday."

Kyungsoo smiled.

 

They arrived in front of Kyungsoo's shabby apartment building, idling by the gate.

"Thanks." Kyungsoo's voiced was muffled by his scarf.  "For entertaining me tonight."

Jongin lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you were trying to teach me a lesson."

"That too." He grinned.

Jongin laughed, a soft clear sound. "See you Monday, then."

"Mmh-hmm," was all Kyungsoo could hum as his eyes followed Jongin's lips stretch into that crooked grin of his. It was a suddenly too warm and Jongin was standing too close. He didn't leave right away. He slightly swayed forward, Kyungsoo reflexively taking a few steps back until his back met the green fence. He shyly looked up into the taller boy's brown eyes that seemed closer than they were a second ago, and thought Ohmygodohmygodohmygod until he felt slight pressure against his cheek, after which his thoughts blanked. He opened his eyes to see a grinning Jongin.

"Good night, Mr Do." A pause, then he slowly pulled away and walked down the street. Kyungsoo stared after Jongin's retreating figure, his eyes opened so wide, they took up half of his face. When Jongin rounded the corner, Kyungsoo groaned, throwing his head back to rest on the gate. He brought a hand to his cheek where Jongin had pecked him, heat rising on his face. Kyungsoo hadn't expected it, but he had been waiting for something when he had closed his eyes. He cursed himself for wanting anything more, for wanting anything at all from his student, and scolded himself for his inappropriate behavior.

 

Kyungsoo was trying really hard to not think.

But thinking about not thinking reminded him of one Kim Jongin, who particularly liked not thinking, and he had to remind himself to not think about Jongin.

But thinking about not thinking about Jongin only made him think of Jongin and how he'd wanted to kiss him the other day―something else he shouldn't be thinking about.

But fishing for another thought brought him to the performance reviews that were coming up, which made him think of Jongin because it was his fault he was worried about them to begin with, and his inability to help him produce an essay made him not want to think about the reviews, or Jongin, or anything.

And in the midst of all this not-thinking, Kyungsoo felt like a seventeen-year old girl trying to come to terms with her emotions.

He groaned and laid his head on his desk. Lu Han wasn't here to ignore his woeful cry and be forced to counsel him, but Yixing was.

The substitute teacher perched non-prescription glasses low on his nose, looking down at Kyungsoo over the lens where he was standing by the coffee machine. He thought he was geographically well positioned to fix him with a wise stare. (He was teaching Year 1 Geography Class today.)  "Where's your head, Mr Do?" He drawled. "Is it perhaps a little north-east in the mountains, up in the clouds where Mr Byun's grandmother resides?"

Kyungsoo blinked at his colleague. Why was he so weird? "No."

"Alas, mine either." Yixing sighed, then he smiled, dimple and all. "Literally, it's not, anyway." Kyungsoo stared at the strange man as he took a seat by his desk. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just...thinking."

"About Jongin?"

"Why would I be thinking about Jongin?"

"Remember: It's not the destination that matters, but the journey." He put a reassuring hand on Kyungsoo's shoulder. "You may feel like giving up on him, but I don't think that's what your heart wants."

"Don't bring my heart into this―"

"―And you have to listen to your heart, Mr Do! Because wherever your heart takes you, that's where you're meant to be."

"O...kay." Kyungsoo slipped Yixing's hand off of his shoulder. "Motivational speech?"

"I attended a seminar yesterday." His eyes twinkled excitedly. "Are you motivated?"

"Sure," he said. "I have to go."

"Go forth, my friend."

Yixing smiled as he watched Kyungsoo leave. "Aw, man. Lu Han's not gonna believe that I was helpful again."

 

Wherever your heart takes you, that's where you're meant to be, rang Yixing words.

Kyungsoo didn't like to think that his heart thought he was meant to be in front of Kim Jongin. He tried hard not to be awkward, he did, and he seemed to be the only one feeling it. Jongin was staring at him much like the first time he'd pulled him aside after class (but this time it had been Jongin who'd asked him to stay), that same soul-baring gaze, and he seemed completely relaxed―as if he weren't still failing his classes either.

"Laconic," is how Kyungsoo broke the silence.

"What?"

"Laconic..." Like the Spartan general Leonidas. "Come and take them," he had simply told the Persian emperor Xerxes after he'd offered to spare his men if he surrendered. Concise. Straight to the point. Of few words. Tall, dark and handsome. "That's what you are."

Jongin stared.

"Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," he strained.

Silence.

He liked how Jongin didn't bring up the almost-thingy-he-didn't-want-to-think-about, but could do without the awkward. And the Jongin staring at him.

"You wanted to talk," he reminded him.

The student shifted, removing his hands from his pockets. "I want to show you something." He grabbed Kyungsoo's hand without warning and pulled him out of class. Kyungsoo trudged a little bit behind. His hand fit nicely in Jongin's slightly larger one, he noticed.

The warmth left his hand suddenly, Jongin bringing his own back to his side to absently rub it against his thigh.

Kyungsoo looked away. "You wanted to show me the library?"

"My favourite spot." Jongin walked to the table by the counter, where Jongin usually sat. "This is where I was when you were stalking me."

"I was not―" He turned around to face Jongin. He was smirking at him. Kyungsoo grimaced. "Whatever."

Jongin leaned against the round table. "I like this corner because I can see every section of the library."

Kyungsoo leaned by Jongin. The library that had many times been rearranged by the architects for maximum aestheticism and practicality laid open to them. The building was white, but everything in it was a different shade of brown, yellow and orange, as if someone had decided that those were the colours of studying.

"It's a conglomerate of books and genres."

"I," Kyungsoo looked at him with mock seriousness. "Am so impressed right now."

Jongin rolled his eyes.

"I know the words; I can't write them."

"Why not?"

"It's so much harder"―he paused to think―"to make sense of a thought and write it down. So I've stopped trying."

"I don't believe you have," Kyungsoo spoke softly. Lately, he'd seen Jongin furiously scratch away at a notebook, writing and tearing lined paper. It was progress, Kyungsoo thought.

Jongin didn't respond. He stared at Kyungsoo, who was sitting so close, their shoulders grazed. He seemed relaxed in the silence he otherwise disliked, until he started humming. Jongin smiled.

"A very persistent teacher makes it hard not to make an effort."

"He must be a wonderful"―Kyungsoo turned his head to grin widely at Jongin. His face was doing that thing again, where it was too close to Kyungsoo's and he was leaning forward, and Kyungsoo could even feel Jongin's breath ghost just below his nose―"...guy..."

It should have alarmed him that Jongin was pressing his lips to his. It should have, but he wasn't really thinking, not with Jongin's mouth against his. His alarm was quickly replaced with the desire to press back. Their lips moved in slow , and Kyungsoo was really, really enjoying it because while he had been trying not to fantasize about this moment, he thought about it all the time.

Jongin's hand found the nape of his neck. He pulled him up to deepen the kiss, soliciting a satisfied sound from Kyungsoo he should definitely not be making.

Panic settled into Kyungsoo. He frantically tapped Jongin's hand, like a wrestler asking for a tap-out. They pulled away. They stared. It was silent. Kyungsoo broke it.

"You...we...you..." he smartly whispered. Jongin dropped his hand, backing away from Kyungsoo. He looked like he was trying hard to hide his amusement.

"Kissed," Jongin supplied.

"Kissed me."

"You kissed me back," Jongin reminded him defensively.

Kyungsoo closed his eyes. "But you're my student. I'm your teacher." He was whispering in the empty library, incredulous more than furious.

"Did you hate it?"

"That is so beside the point."

Jongin grinned, then shrugged. "It was just a kiss."

"It was wrong. We're never doing that again."

"So long as I'm your student."

"Yes." Kyungsoo paused, then turned his head to look at Jongin. He had a mischievous glint he'd never seen before, and Kyungsoo had the vague feeling that he'd just agreed to something. He thought, this is it. This is the evil student I'd been warned about at the beginning of term.

Jongin seemed pretty satisfied with himself. "Okay," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I won't tell if you don't."

"I won't."

He turned to face him, smiling. "Good night, Kyungsoo."

"Mr Do," he corrected to his retreating back.

"For now," Jongin replied.

 

"Sapioual."

Kyungsoo turned around to find Jongin smiling down at him. His graduation cap hung precariously on his head, the tassel moved to the left. Kyungsoo shook his head at the thought of Jongin graduating. It had seemed very unlikely at the beginning of the term, what with him failing both English and Writer's Craft. He'd have been short two credits if the student hadn't showed up with a term-worth of assignments for both classes a few weeks ago. "I write them, I just never hand them in," Jongin had explained. "They're not good enough", to which he had smoothly replied "you little ". They all counted as make-up assignments, but at least he had something to grade. While correcting, Kyungsoo didn't know whether he was impressed or disappointed to know that Jongin was indeed an excellent writer. "You have potential," he'd told him as he'd handed them back, a proud smile on his face. (This time, he'd allowed himself to coo at Jongin, twice as happy because his performance review had come back positive despite the B minus at the time, and only stopped when he'd threatened to kiss him again.)

"What?"

"That's what you are. Do you know what that means?"

Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes. "Is that even a word?"

"Not yet..." he admitted. Jongin stepped towards Kyungsoo. Too close, he noted, but he'd grown used to it. "It means you're attracted to my intelligence."

He eyed Jongin suspiciously. He wasn't sure what attracted him to Jongin. They knew little about each other, but there was something about the way one understood the other without being overwhelming, about the innocence of Jongin and the intelligence he kept all to himself and only slowly revealed.

Kyungsoo scoffed. "Okay, Jongin." He smiled. "Congratulations. You're a graduate."

"Thank you." He bowed his head. "Kyungsoo," he called, and Kyungsoo tried not to sneer now that Jongin thought he could be familiar with him. 

"Mr Do," he couldn't help.

Jongin ignored him and handed him a neat folder. "I wrote a final essay."

 

The Correlation Between the Destruction of Wildlife and What Kim Jongin Will Do to Mr Do Now That He Is No Longer His Student

 

This dead tree says, "Jongin will your ."