Darkness has fallen upon the campus and there is a flickering of lopsided lights casting eerie shadows along sidewalks and towering structures. There are a few stray students here and there, most sneaking back into the dorms, intoxicated and stumbling. A few girls are sprawled drunkenly over stairs, laughing uncontrollably despite the guy hanging out his window demanding that they be silent.

Jongin slinks through the blackness, his footsteps splendidly light and his movements graceful, like a dancer. His lips remain twisted into a permanent scowl as he concentrates, careful not to stir up too much noise or attract unwanted attention to his presence. Sometimes his shoes scuff a little too harshly, but nobody seems to notice and he scurries off into the distance, continuously escaping detection.

He eventually arrives by the headmaster’s office, where he presses his face against the window, nose squishing awkwardly and cheeks protruding so that it seems as though he never lost his puppy fat. His pupils dart back and forth, observing the interior and ensuring that it is truly isolated.

After a few minutes of crouching in this one place, he spots movement and tenses up, toppling backwards with a soft huff. With his legs rigid in the air and breath caught in his throat, he remains there, flat on his back like a flipped turtle. Instead of being incapable of turning himself back over, he chooses not to, limbs frozen and eyes widened in fear. He only moves once he realises that the headmaster isn’t coming to get him, rolling onto all fours to peer through the stained window again. A rat scuttles past and darts under a desk. Jongin lets out a sigh of relief.

Sticking close to the window, his heaving chest sliding over the dirtied glass, Jongin edges his way closer to the entrance. By the doorway is a cluster of bushes. Though they are spindly and likely inhabited by all sorts of horrific spiders, he camouflages himself in them, his black clothing being absorbed into the clumps of prickly leaves and twigs. His head pops out in the middle and he surveys the doorway, eyes zeroing in on a guard whose flashlight illuminates the path in front of him, but never flicks to his sides.

Pretending he is in an action movie, Jongin’s hand searches around for something to throw. His fingers wrap around a pebble, its edges sharp and its entire surface painted with mud. Tossing it up and down a few times, he considers its weight and abilities, before concluding that it is the perfect size. He winds his arm back and chucks it past the guard, where it strikes a tilted sign and plops noisily to the ground. The moment the guard his head to check it out, Jongin zooms into the building soundlessly, legs pumping so quickly that they can hardly be seen, blurring together.

He has to stop and rest for a moment once he’s inside, because his heart is aching and his breathing is ragged. It’s not that he is unfit in any manner, but more that he has never experienced such a thrill and the fresh adrenalin is taking quite a toll on him. He places a palm over his heart, feeling the violent vibrations of its rapid beating, and smiles broadly.

Seconds pass and he remembers that he is on a mission. With a deep inhale, he tiptoes forward, fingers running along the walls until he reaches the correct door. He rattles the doorhandle and the door creaks open with ease, allowing a rank stench to escape and smack him right in the face. For a moment he is prepared to silently thank the headmaster for his lack of security, forgetting to lock the door, but all positive thoughts evaporate further into thin air with every sniff. It must be the rats.

Jongin saunters inside, his eyes squinted in attempt to pierce through the obscurity of the shadowed room. In spite of his vision being dampened by cloaks of blackness, he locates the filing cabinet effortlessly. It’s a huge steel compartment and half of the drawers have been left wide open, paperwork and loose sheets jutting out in all possible directions, disorganised and messy. And spontaneously, Kyungsoo’s file is right on the top.

There is virtually an entire booklet dedicated to Kyungsoo, and there are even collections of photographs. Those beautiful doe-eyes stare up at Jongin and those enticingly pink lips softly call his name, drawing him closer, so close that his fingers grip onto the file and refuse to drop it for quite some time. He sees muddled facts and endless typed lines. The information enters his mind and then leaves it immediately, because he is so enticed by the photograph he holds in his hands.

The sun has begun to rise by the time Jongin gently returns the file, wedging it back into its place before he flees the scene. His mind is jumbled by new facts, things he can use to impress Kyungsoo and others that are best left untouched. He is now aware of relatively personal information too and as he jogs back to his dorm, he can’t help but let his cheeks burn and his stomach churn.

Jongin’s classes don’t commence until later in the day, so he takes his time in the morning, appreciating the warmth of rays filtering through his blinds, the soothing sensation of hot water flowing across his skin and the spectacular abilities of his own fingers. For the first time, as he imagines that Kyungsoo’s perfect frame is pressing against his chest in the shower, he questions his uality and contemplates the explanation for his fascination in this handsome stranger. He has never pursued another man before, nor has his heart ever fluttered against his ribs like a bird attempting to break free from its cage. But now, he is being overwhelmed by all combinations of emotions and there is a constant discomfort in his groin that he is not even slightly accustomed to. He is concerned and yet exhilarated, believing that maybe this is the beginning of something good.

When he steps out onto his mat, dark brown locks dripping, he pauses to steal a glance in the mirror. He has never really paid much attention to his appearance, but now his shoulders are incredibly broad and his abdomen has somehow formed faint lines, hard with muscle, so it’s all tough to miss. He supposes that this is simply a result of the manual labour on the farm, and for the first time in his life, he is grateful that his father forced him to help out so often. The lanky arms are gone and the needle thin thighs have widened, now sturdy and bulging, veins protruding here and there to form a path to the prize in the centre. Jongin grins and flexes a few times.

He dawdles out of the bathroom, dressed in no more than a loose white towel, and plonks onto his bed. The mattress is bouncy and dips down in the middle, so sleeping is awkward and even stretching out across it as he is now seems to be unfitting. He wriggles around, carelessly drenching the sheets with his saturated head of hair, and comes to face the wall he has personalised. The pastel blue of the wall can barely be seen through