You had finally grown accustomed to riding the subway everywhere. It was one of the many things you had to adapt to coming from a small town in America. As you lazily held onto to the support pole, you stood out among the sea of suits, and the constant stares from those getting on and off the train were a reminder that you were different. The stares made you so uncomfortable in the beginning that you’d opted out of riding the train for weeks. You already knew you were different; your western features were a constant reminder, and you didn’t appreciate people making it more obvious by gawking at you. 

The train came to a stop and you exited. The walk from the station to Seven Seasons was only a few minutes, and you enjoyed the feeling of the late September air on your face.  As you approached the building, you pulled out your security pass and draped it over your neck. Your office was so small it barely fit the desk, but you liked it even though Jihoon complained almost every lesson. It was cozy and ultimately served its purpose. You checked the wall clock and smiled weakly; some how you still managed to be late.

It’s not like you were crunched for time or anything; there was still an hour until your first lesson with Zico, but even being a few minutes late managed to throw off your internal clock. It was moments like this that made you wonder how Namjoon could put up with you. The thought of Namjoon brought a smile back to your face. You looked at the clock again; you were sure his loitering this morning was going to make him late, so he was probably standing in Bang PD’s office getting scolded again. You shook your head. “I warned you this would happen,” you murmured to yourself.

You flipped through your lesson plans for the day and frowned. It wasn’t often that you deviated from the English lesson, but it was Friday and you really weren’t in the mood for reviewing vocabulary today. You opened your notebook to a clean page and scribbled down questions. Today, you were in the mood to talk, so that’s what you were going to do, talk.

There was a light knock at your office door before it opened, and Zico’s smiling face peaked in.  “Saeng,” he cooed as he pushed the door open farther, “you look really nice. I like when you dress this way. You look so pretty.”

You rolled your eyes and motioned for him to sit down, “Jiho, haven’t we talked about this? It’s not really appropriate to make those kinds of comments to your teacher.”

He pouted a little, “You’re not my teacher for another two minutes.” You looked at the clock; he was right, and it was obvious he was proud of himself. You shook your head. He was always doing stuff like this. If these were the things he had no problem saying in front of you, you could only imagine what he said to s or worse Namjoon. You knew they’d been friends from way back, and with Zico’s very open persona, you would not be surprised if he’d made passing comments about your appearance to Namjoon; especially since Namjoon helped get you the job at Seven Seasons.

You spent the lesson dodging slightly inappropriate questions from Zico and were truly relieved when your alarm went off ending your lesson. He rose slowly from his seat and leaned on your desk smiling, “Noona,” he cooed again, “next lesson can we spend more time talking about you? I feel like you never really share anything about yourself, and Nam is never any help.” Your gaze faltered at the mention of Namjoon. A smirk appeared on Zico’s lips, “You know,” he started, “I hope that boyfriend of yours is taking care of you. Because if you were my girl, you know I’d take good care of you.”  The last statement sent chills down your spine. In the weeks that you had worked at his company, this was the most forward he’d been.

You let out a nervous laugh, “I hope you have a good rest of the day Jiho. I will see you next week.” You smiled weakly, and prayed that ignoring his comment would deter him from saying anything else. He nodded slightly and closed the door as he left. You laid your forehead on your desk in an attempt to rec