Popular and happy-go-lucky boys usually sat at the back of the classroom, near the window, observing the outside surroundings with detached amusement until something more interesting than balancing chemical formulas popped out. It was cliche but yeah, Jackson Wang did that. Every. Single. Day.

He made sure that the certain farthest seat with the most fantastic view outside belonged to his and to his glorious only.

Also, it was a given that popular boys usually possessed looks beyond what is average, a visage that had the ability to bend even the straightest guy out there. Jackson was well aware, too aware, that his countenance was the representation of perfection if it had a face (he loved exaggeration) and he used it to his advantage every time he got in trouble. Which really, was more often than not.

Lastly, popular boys fell into two classes; first was that boy-next-door types, those flower boys born to bring world peace using their pretty faces. Then there was the second class, the sons-of-Satan types whose last names spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E in all caps. Those handsome devils born to make female ovaries explode with feels and make males question their uality. They switched partners more often they changed their underwears.

The last category was where Jackson fell oh so perfectly. Only look at him in the eyes and he'd know. You would receive his infamous smirk and viola, you'd get the best night of your life. It was like Jackson was the drugs you get addicted to. After the high was the come down and you'd feel really ty because he would leave you without second thoughts. But it would only have you craving for more of that sinfully intoxicating poison. Sadly, as mentioned above, he was a demon and demons didn't have conscience.

But that one fateful day when Mark Tuan transfered in JYP School of Arts and Theater, Jackson's "Reign of Evil" had met its doom.

The first time Jackson saw Mark was when the boy was sitting under the shade of a tree. His knees were propped up and a sketch pad was resting on his lap as his pencil moved expertly, its lead created a perfect imitation of the school's garden with his every hand movements. Jackson got a glimpes of the stranger's drawing and was amazed at how someone could be so skilled to create a masterpiece like that.

Jackson had always dreamt of having that kind of talent but when he attempted to give his mom his artwork when he was fifteen, she gave him a sweet smile, patted his head, and that night he saw his drawing on the trashcan of their kitchen. He sighed at the memory but was not mad about it (because now that he was matured enough, he realized how offending that drawing really looked like).

Before he knew it, his feet had started moving towards the stranger because he believed that if he befriend this guy, he'd be nice enough to teach Jackson the basics (more like Jackson forcing him). He was only a shoulder tap away when the boy closed his sketch pad, yawned and stretched but alas, his balled fist had hit Jackson on the nose.

Bull's-eye.

Between Jackson's groans of pain, he vaguely registered the boy's panicked voice inquiring about his well being. His rage was at the tip of his tongue, ready to be unleashed when it died in his throat, forming an uncomfortable lump that rendered him speechless. Now that he could clearly see the other's features, Jackson was awestricken. This male could rival him!

And rivals must be eliminated before they become real pests.

But as the seconds stretched into a full minute of staring, Jackson couldn't help but think that this is the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his nineteen years of living. The boy— whom he had labeled as "Sketch Boy" at the moment— was sporting an adorable confused frown. If not for his playboy reputation, Jackson would've squealed.

Squealed.

Oh my gosh, no.

Jackson is manly and a manly man does not squeal!

"Hey, what's wrong? Did I hit you too hard?"  The fact that Sketch Boy had just spoken in fluent English, complete with a western accent and a y deep voice— an odd match for his cute face— made Jackson's heart skip a beat. Was being an innocent puppy and seductive at the same time even legal?!

Unconsciously, he had also replied in the same dialect, too focused on Sketch Boy's pretty face to notice. "It's fine, 'my fault for wandering while being unaware of my environment anyway." He sheepishly smiled, trying to be casual when inside, he was a complete wreck. Why was he acting bashful?! Wang Jackson was never bashful in front of dudes because dudes doesn't have s. But when Sketch Boy had returned his smile with a beam that could rival the Sun's brightness, he gulped because of the scary thought that suddenly presented itself in his mind.

I don't care what's in his briefs as long as I could kiss those lips.

Ew. Too cheesy.

Jackson was escorted by Sketch Boy to the infirmary with a gentle but firm grip on his forearm just in case there might be a damage on his nose, which he insisted there was none but Sketch Boy was persistent (and Jackson was thankful about it because it prolonged his exposure to Sketch Boy whom he believe could contaminate him with drawing talent and nothing else, yeah). Neither talked but the silence was surprisingly comfortable. Also, because of the said silence, Jackson was able to mull over the prior events that had occurred with a bullet train speed; too fast that his brain couldn't keep up. Why was he being like this?

Why was his heart beating erratically in his chest?

Was it because Sketch Boy had something he wanted but could never have?

Maybe he was jealous. That's it! Jackson snapped his fingers, which made Sketch Boy raise a questioning brow but Jackson was too busy thinking about his realization to comment. He was just jealous. Because Sketch Boy could draw some amazing while he could draw some... .

Yeah, he was just envying the fella's talent; nothing more.

"We're here." Sketch Boy spoke after seven minutes of walking-- not that Jackson had counted. Jackson lifted his eyes and silently read the sign above the door that said "Infirmary" in Hangeul with an English translation below. He turned to Sketch Boy and met his doe eyes which looked apologetic.

"I'm really sorry about a while ago. And I'm sorry if I can't you in there anymore because my drawing classes will start three minutes from now."

"Oh." The lame reply was meant to cover the disappointment that he suddenly felt. "See you around then."

"I'll treat you sometime as an apology." Sketch Boy offered with a grin and Jackson couldn't help but notice the unusually sharp pair of canines. It didn't marred his good looks though; it only made him look more stunning. Not that Jackson was thinking about that.

Sketch Boy was already skipping away but he was still facing Jackson, resulting to him walking backwards. "Bye!"

Jackson could only nod and watch as Sketch Boy's figure became smaller and smaller until he took a turn around a corner and disappear completely from Jackson's sight.

Jackson would later deny the dejected sigh he had released when Sketch Boy was gone.

The very next day, he returned to the location where he first saw Sketch Boy.

Because Sketch Boy owed him food and food is everyone's biggest weakness.

Not because Jackson wanted to see him. And no, he didn't spend three hours on his hair just to impress.

Whatever.

Just like the day before, Sketch Boy had his sketch pad on his lap except that he had his head leaning back against the tree and his eyes were clamped shut as he breathed through his slightly parted (and delectable-looking) lips. With cautious steps, Jackson tiptoed forward until he was standing in front of Sketch Boy's sleeping body. He crouched down to level himself with the other. How come he never noticed Sketch Boy before? The other had such an outstanding face and bright eye-catching red hair to go unnoticed. Or was Jackson that occupied in flirting ladies who made the mistake of having an eye contact with him? But it didn't matter though.

Because Sketch Boy was now wide awake and was eyeing him weirdly.

"Hey," Sketch Boy greeted awkwardly, probably thinking about any possible explanation why Jackson was staring at him intently in his slumber. Jackson coughed to clear his throat from the sudden lump in it.

"Hey," He parroted. He began ascending as well when Sketch Boy did as he stretched. Therefore Jackson concludes, Sketch Boy loves to stretch. There was a weird sensation in his stomach at the knowledge that he had learned one small fact a