Perfect Strangers
Perfect Strangers
He sighed heavily.
His math teacher continued the lesson while he completely zoned out.
Kris had been studying in South Korea as an international student from China for a few years now and it was finally his last year before graduation. He had originally resented his parents for sending him alone to South Korea instead of letting him stay in China to finish his education; however, he grew to adapt to the situation and go along with his life in Korea.
His parents owned a large company in China that manufactured cellphones and were always busy working to uphold the company and keep it running smoothly. After several arguments on his part, they finally decided to send him to Korea to study business despite his disproval. They claimed that he would be better off learning in South Korea than in China, where he would otherwise be preoccupied with his friends; not only would be get a better education, or so his parents claimed, but he would also learn to be an independent and responsible young adult.
Kris frowned.
He remembered the day when his parents dropped him off at Beijing National Airport for his flight to Korea. His parent’s last words to him before they departed were forever etched inside his mind.
“Kris, now we want you to study hard in Korea.”
“I understand, father.”
“I expect you to be a good student.”
“Yes father.”
“Kris, I better not hear that you have been fooling around with girls.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t spend your money recklessly. We will only send you a limited amount of cash per month.”
“I understand, mother.”
“Do not bring shame to our family. I do not have a failure as a son. No son of mine is a disappointment.”
And then they left.
No “good-byes” or “I love you, son”; they didn’t even bother giving him one last glance; it made his heart ache, after all, they would not see him for a long time.
He hated how they were more concerned with their company than with him. He hated how they thought he was going to be a disappointment to the family. Sometimes he believed that his parents didn’t want him. The last words they said to him stung; what kind of parents would care more about their company than their only child?
Despite how his parents neglected him and how much they hurt him, he missed them both dearly.
He especially missed his friends; how were they doing?
Was Tao still leeching off others to buy him what he claims as ‘necessities’? Was Minseok still dieting? Did Chen enter that singing contest that he was interested in? Was Luhan still obsessed with bubble tea? Did Yixing finally finish composing a song?
He needed to give them each a call again soon.
He missed China.
Kris exhaled; his eyes wandered around the room in boredom.
A young boy with large thick black-framed glasses was hunched over his desk, scribbling away in a leather brown book.
He tilted his head in curiosity.
What was that boy writing that he was completely fixated?
The boy, as if realizing that someone was watching him intently, looked up and locked eyes with him. Kris froze; that boy hard large brown eyes that was hidden behind thick glasses and cropped dyed brown hair. His hair was cut strangely; the top was cropped across his forehead while the hair on the sides of his face was long, covering his ears. Personally, Kris believed that the boy would look more handsome if he cut his hair shorter. Even with his large frames, Kris somehow felt memorized by him, and especially his eyes. It was as if the boy’s eyes could peer inside his soul and read everything about him.
And then the bell rang, snapping Kris out of his revere. Everyone quickly got up and got ready for lunch. Now it was just the two of them.
Kris watched from the corner of his eye as the boy gathered his books and writing utensils into his arms; the leather brown book he was writing in previously was ed, carelessly, along with the other supplies into his knapsack. Kris was almost tempted to walk over to the boy and help him, but before he could, the boy quickly scrambled out of the room, as if being alone with him was suffocating.
Kris, however, slowly packed his books into his bag, exiting the room in a trance; he could not get the boy’s face out of his mind.
There was just something about the boy… He looked lonely and isolated from everyone else.
What was that boy’s name? Kris scrunched his eyebrows together. Something Park… Park… Park… What was it?
He sighed in aspiration, kicking at the ground in frustration. And then his foot bumped against something hard. He peered down and saw a rectangular book lying carelessly in the middle of the hallway.
Kris looked around, as if he could find the owner of the book. He cautiously picked up the leather book, holding it experimentally in one hand. It was a thick brown leather book that was worn around the edge and bent slightly, showing signs of repeated usage. The front of the cover was labeled “PCY”.
His eyebrows furrowed.
Kris had always been a secretive person; he liked his privacy and hated when other people would into his business. So, respecting other people’s privacy was something that came naturally to him since it was a give and take philosophy of his. If you want privacy, you have to give privacy to others.
But there was something about this diary that made his hands itch to open it and read it. He looked around one last time, as if someone were watching, before hesitantly opening it, his hands slick with a thin layer of sweat.
.
Dear Diary Journal,
Hello! This is my first entry! My guidance counselor suggested that I start keeping a diary journal (journal, damn it! Men don’t keep diaries!! I refuse to strip my masculinity by keeping a “diary”!).
This journal is supposed to help me sort out my problems and write my feelings out instead of keeping it bottled up inside, which according to my guidance counselor, is apparently a bad idea.
As time goes on, I’ll reveal more about my situation.
:)
-PCY (AKA Happy Virus)
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Kris’s forehead was wrinkled in thought. This was dated in the summer he first came to Korea, three years ago.
PCY? Who was PCY?
“Happy Virus”? He could have sworn that he heard someone refer to himself as “Happy Virus.” Suddenly, he heard footsteps frantically running around, and Kris panicked, shoving the journal into his backpack. The boy from earlier looked frantic, face contorted in desperation.
Kris watched the boy carefully. Could the owner of this journal be him?
“! Where is it?” the brunette swore frantically.
“What are you looking for?” The boy jumped; he looked like a frightened bunny or a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“N-Nothing.” Kris approached the boy cautiously.
“Hey, don’t be afraid. I just want to help. What are you looking for?” The boy swallows nervously.
“I... I... I dro-forgot my wallet in the classroom!” And then he quickly dashed off before Kris could utter another word.
“So the journal doesn’t belong to that boy. But am I that intimidating?” Kris utters to himself.
“It’s your thick eyebrows, Kris hyung.” He peers over his shoulders and sees another boy in his homeroom, Kim Jongin, or Kai as he is referred to by a majority of the school.
Kris snorts. “What are you doing here Kai? Shouldn’t you be stuffing lunch down your throat right now?” Said boy grins mischievously.
“Nevermind lunch. Have you seen dobi?”
“Who?”
“Ah, nevermind hyung. I suppose you don’t know who dobi is.”
“No I don’t, care to explain?” Kai laughs.
“You’ll find out in time, Kris hyung. I have a certain task to do right now.” He quickly speeds off and disappears down the corridors of the school.
“What was that all about?” Kris mutters. His thoughts wander back to the diary—no, journal—in his bag. Someone must be looking for it frantically. He knew that if he lost something, he would be anxious to find it, and since this journal seemed very personal, it seemed best to look for the owner as soon as possible. But the only way to find out whom it belonged to was by reading it.
.
The moment Kris entered his small apartment, he quickly toed off his shoes and laid on his bed. He quickly took the brown book out of his bag and opened it, reading the next entry.
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Dear Journal,
Summer is ending too quickly for my liking. It seems as if were the first day of summer was just yesterday, and now, tomorrow is the start of a new year.
…I’m not ready to go to school. I don’t want a repeat of last year. I don’t know if I can handle harassment from those two boys again.
How did it all start?
I used to be the shortest boy in my grade and then one day after returning to school after summer vacation, I just hit puberty and grew to be this 180-something-cm boy. It was a weird and abnormal for a short and chubby boy like me to grow to be this tall and lanky figure. It was bound to be the subject of harassment.
Not only is my height subject to disapproval, but also my freakishly large ears are not what my classmates refer to as “normal”. I have these ears that are unappealing like Dobby’s from Harry Potter. Sometimes I want to take a knife and cut them off, or at least shape them to be normal like everyone else’s. For that reason, I never want to pierce my ears, otherwise my ears will be on display for everyone to ogle and mock.
My eyes are large, larger than the average Korean’s. My mom always tells me that they’re beautiful but I wouldn’t know because my eyesight is horrible and I have to wear these thick glasses to correct my vision.
Perhaps the thing I hate about myself the most is my natural reaction. Ever since I was little I would always react for every single thing. It’s not forced—I just happen to react that way naturally. My laughter would force my face to contort in this ugly expression; one eye would crinkle while the other would be large making my face look so disproportional. And my teeth… they’re so many of them. I happen to like my teeth. They’re the only things that I actually like a lot; that’s why I take good care of them by brushing and flossing them before and after every meal.
The one thing that makes me stand out is my voice. My voice is deep—and by deep I mean VERY deep. You wouldn’t expect my voice to match my face; it makes me stand out too much.
All in all, I’m different in every way. I hate most if not all things about myself. I hate that I’m not what my classmates consider “normal”. It’s unfair.
Despite all of this, I try to keep a smile plastered on my face like an idiot. Why? Because it’s better to be optimistic than pessimistic.
…But why can’t I be “normal”?
-PCY
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By the time he had finished the journal entry, Kris had felt very uncomfortable; something about this boy made him feel sympathetic. “PCY” didn’t deserve any of this. And that nickname, “dobi”, came up again; dobi was him, PCY?
Just who is this “PCY”?
.
.
“Class, today I want to rearrange seating in order to have everyone be friendly with everyone else,” the homeroom teacher announced.
And that was how Kris got seated next to the boy who stole his attention from yesterday.
“Hello, my name my Wu Yifan. But call me Kris,” he introduced himself. His seatmate stared at him with calculating eyes.
“I know who you are.” Kris’ eye twitched slightly.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are. Care to introduce yourself?” The boy just looked at him wearily.
“…Park Chanyeol.” Kris smiled tentatively. He held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Chanyeol.” Chanyeol looked at him and then at his hand. He quickly turned his attention to his books, placing his hands on his lap. Kris frowned, lowering his hand slowly, before lurching forward and gripping the other boy’s hand and shaking it.
“Huh-“ Large eyes hidden by thick-framed glasses widened in surprise.
“Don’t be afraid of me. I promise I’m not scary or anything. I want to be friends, Chanyeol.” A small, hesitant smile made itself on Chanyeol’s face. “
“Okay.”
.
.
Dear Journal,
Today was the first day of school. Nothing has changed. My classmates still bother me, but it doesn’t hurt me as much as it did before.
But there’s one thing different this year; a new student someone came to my school.
His name is Wu Yifan and he’s an international student from China. His Korean is pretty good for someone who learned Korean for just a year. It’s amazing how he’s fluent in so many languages; Mandarin, Cantonese, English, and Korean. Wow!
When you first see him, the first thing that draws you to him is his face. His eyes looked sad, as if someone scarred him, or at least, he looks emotionally tired.
He’s different from anyone I’ve ever met. He’s handsome, no doubt. Yifan, or Kris his English name that he refers to himself as, is tall, taller than I am, which is a feat seeing as though I’m already a giant. His eyes are accentuated by his thick, more or less, intimidating eyebrows, which nevertheless, mesmerizes you. His dyed blond hair suits him perfectly, something that I would not be able to pull off, ever.
Kris does seem like someone unapproachable. But there’s something about him that makes me want to get to know more about him, even though I’m scared that he would think I’m different.
-PCY
.
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It had been a week since Kris and Chanyeol had become seatmates. During their physics class, Kris had been drifting off into his thoughts. The entry he read yesterday about him made him smile.
PCY’s thoughts were innocent and very pure compared to most people. And the fact that PCY wanted to know him, Kris, more made him want to find out who the owner is.
“Chanyeol, what do you like to do?” Said boy looked up curiously. He paused for a brief minute before answering.
“Playing instruments and composing music, I guess.” Kris looked surprised.
“Really? You should play for me one day.” Chanyeol sent a shy smile.
“Maybe.”
.
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Dear Journal,
Ever since Kris came to my school, I have been stealing secretive glances at him. Why? There’s just something about him that is different from everyone else.
The girls in my class are infatuated with him for his good looks; of course, that is a given. But unlike most boys in my class, he is neither cocky nor seek attention from everyone. He keeps to himself and respects others.
For that, I respect him.
Kris is slowly gaining my approval.
Maybe, just maybe, he’s different from the others.
And in a good way.
-PCY
.
.
One day during lunch block, Kris was passing by the music room when he heard singing. He quietly glanced into the room and saw a Chanyeol singing quietly to himself while strumming the guitar.
A smile bloomed on his face.
Chanyeol sure knows how to surprise someone. Kris had never imagined that he would be able to hear Chanyeol sing ever. Granted, Chanyeol wasn’t singing for him, nevertheless, he had snatched the opportunity to hear the boy sing.
Kris spent the rest of his lunch period listening to Chanyeol’s mesmerizing voice.
.
.
Dear Journal,
There was this instance when I saw Kris staring out the window with this pensive look on his face. He looked so broken.
You may think he’s a cold type of person, but I could tell that it’s a mask he puts on to hide his pain.
What is Kris hiding?
I don’t know, but I would like to find out one day, if I ever get the opportunity to.
I know he’s bottling up hurt because it’s something I see in the mirror everyday as I look at my reflection. I see the same broken look in my eyes that I see in his. Others, people like Kai and Baekhyun, have scarred me. They constantly remind me that I’m an outsider, and I’m a freak.
But there’s no need to. I know I’m different. I know I won’t be someone like Kris. I’m not well liked, I know.
He and I will never be friends.
We’re just too different.
-PCY
.
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Dear Journal,
I think I’m in love.
I never thought that I would be able to fall in love, at least, not a person in this school. But my love is impossible. Not only are we the same gender—yes, I’m in love with a man; I’m gay—but he’s in a whole different level than I am in.
Who is it, you ask?
Wu Yifan.
Even as I’m writing this down, my heart is pounding, because I feel like he will find out—something that I never want to happen. I would be mortified. I’m not even worthy to know him, to be friends with him, let alone like him.
He can never know.
-PCY
.
.
Dear Journal,
I’ve been pondering as to why fell in love with Kris. Now that I’ve had time to reevaluate myself, everything makes sense. It struck me one day when I saw Kris sleeping in class. It was then and there that I realized: I like him.
He’s not like the others. He’s honest and straightforward, not superficial, something that is a rare trait in this school.
But I’m too different to be noticed by someone like Kris. He would never look at me and give me a second glance.
I don’t know why I bother liking him when he would never like me.
Maybe I should give up on my feelings…
-PCY
.
.
Lately, Kris had been preoccupied with thoughts about the journal. Someone liked him, someone in this school. He’s been engrossed in finding this person—this boy who he didn’t know. His original intentions of finding the owner and returning the journal transformed into something more; now he wanted to also get to know PCY and be friends.
There was just something about the owner of this journal that Kris wanted to know better. PCY seemed to need someone for support; not only was he alone, but he also seemed to be going through a lot of hardships in life. It made Kris want to protect the boy.
Kris sighed quietly, his attention wandering to his right, focusing his attention on Chanyeol. Lately, he and Chanyeol had been growing closer, something that seemed surprising even to Kris, himself, because he was naturally a recluse person. But there was something about Chanyeol that seemed to draw him closer…
He observed that Chanyeol was scribing something down on paper. It looked like a drawing (or rather, in this case, scribbles)… And then something caught his eye—“PCY” was scribbled in small capital letters on the lower right hand corner.
PCY.
Park. Chan. Yeol.
His heart began to beat rapidly, as the pieces of information began to fall into place. Kris quickly glanced at Chanyeol, who was concentrating on signing his initials perfectly. He immediately looked away and thoughts suddenly attacked his brain.
Park Chanyeol… how could he be so dense? It was all right there. He had Chanyeol’s journal. And the boy that he has been obsessing over for the past month was there—he was Chanyeol.
A cool, comforting hand touched his forehead, shaking him out of his revere. His eyes focused and Chanyeol’s concerned face came into view. Chanyeol looked worried—worried about him?
And then it hit him…
“Hyung, are you okay? Class is over, didn’t you hear the bell?” Kris just stared at Chanyeol, dumbfounded by a new revelation.
And then, as if realizing that he was still touching Kris, Chanyeol immediately retracted his hand, as if he were burnt. Only, Kris was faster, and he clamped his own hand on Chanyeol’s, preventing him from taking back his hand.
“What are you doing, hyung? Let me go.” It was clear to the Chinese male that Chanyeol felt uncomfortable. It was a reasonable reaction, after all, the brunet did like him and he was reacting stranger than the norm.
“No.” Chanyeol’s face scrunched up in confusion.
“What’s wrong with yo-?”
“Please, let’s just stay like this for a moment.” He hesitated for a moment before relaxing. When he decided that Chanyeol wasn’t going to retreat, Kris slowly let go of the hand; he closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Chanyeol’s cool hand on his forehead.
The feelings he has been having around the younger male… it all made sense now. Affection, concerning, worry—it all was pointing to one explanation.
Kris opened his eyes, focusing on Chanyeol’s unreadable expression. He immediately did the unexpected; the blond grabbed the brunet’s arms and pulled him into a tight hug.
“Hyu-“
“Chanyeol. Let me just do this. Please.” Chanyeol’s eyes fluttered shut in resignation and a hint of confusion. And so the two of them stayed like that until the next class started.
.
.
Kris decided to return the journal to the original owner, to Chanyeol, the next day. So he did it one day, while everyone was at lunch. Kris quickly took out the journal and placed it in the guidance counselor’s office, hoping that it would be inconspicuous. He tried to pass it off as if the guidance counselor had found it and would return it to the original owner.
Later that day, it was noticeable to Kris that Chanyeol was immensely happier. When Kris, who was feigning stupidity, happened to ask him the reason for his sudden optimism, his reply was, “I happened to find something that I have been looking for a month now.”
When he got home later that night, Kris immediately took out a brand new leather brown journal and began to write in it.
.
.
Dear Journal Chanyeol,
I think I’m in love with you.
-WYF
.
.
Never in all the eighteen years Kris had been alive that he would ever imagine himself falling in love with a boy, with a person he once thought of as a stranger.
But he did. And he did not regret it at all.
One day, maybe he would have mustered enough courage to confess to Chanyeol. For now, he would settle on being friends and have hope that one day they would be able to become so much more.
MASTERLIST
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