The clear skies stretch above like an endless cerulean canopy, with tuffs of cotton hanging off the blue every few meters or so in perfectly rounded shapes. It was, undeniably, the most beautiful day he had ever seen.

That was, until a deafening sound resonated and a plane flew through the clouds, leaving a trail of white in its wake.

His eyes trail after the aircraft and he smiles. Nope, he thinks, it just got beautifuller. He receives a slap to his arm, and he whips his head to the right, where another shorter boy walks side by side with him, matching his steps. “There’s no such thing as beautifuller, .” His first instinct is to stretch his leg out and trip the other guy, which he does successfully, before continuing his stride. “I said it out loud again, didn’t I.” It wasn’t a question, but rather an affirmation of his horrible habit of subconsciously voicing his thoughts, to which the latter just grunts after catching himself from falling flat on his face. The two boys walk through a concrete road, a large building standing ahead of them with the sun shining from behind it. From their view, the building looks as if it was bathed in an ethereal glow, which wouldn’t be too farfetched considering the years they had dreamt of finally coming to this place. They each pull a luggage behind them, and the sound of the wheels on the gravel sounds more like a cries of protest than excitement. The words on the building become clearer as they cross the gates and look to each other, eyes wide and smiles infectious because holy we’re actually here.

Northlyn Aviation Academy.

The compound is scattered with other aspiring pilots, their chatter and excitement tangible in the air. It’s a new intake of students at the academy, and even the recent accidents involving planes does not deter these people from chasing their dreams of flying and defying the very thing that keeps them on the ground. Everyone is in casual clothes, since the uniforms are only given out after the official registration. The two climb the steps of the establishment, the same one they’ve seen on Google while slaving away doing ground training at their previous academy. Just when he thought the cleanly cut shrubs on the lawn was glorious enough, the interior of the school made him want to cry in awe.

Right in the middle of the grand foyer stood a bronze Amelia Earhart herself, holding a propeller, proudly looking out the bow windows above the doors towards the skies from her pedestal. To her left and right were hallways leading to the classes, and behind her was a sunken seating area which led up to a rounded counter and more hallways. Beyond the full length windows at the end of the building, in the distance, was the hangar itself. He could already see some planes being driven out onto the strip, ready for flight. To the boys, this was probably as good of a heaven there was for them. How long had they conjured the visions of stepping foot into one the most prestigious aviation academies, not just in the nation, but the entire damn world.

With a ridiculously complex handshake they’d created way back in elementary school, they approach the lady at the counter. The woman is dressed in a three-piece suit, navy glasses resting on the bridge of her nose and a bored look in her eyes as her long manicured fingers type endlessly on the keyboard. “Hi, we’re registering for the, uh, CPL course,” the shorter boy says, leaning on the counter. The lady just looks up lazily, her fingers never halting their assault on the keys. “Documents?” She drawls, and the duo search through their backpacks for the relevant files that would be their one way ticket into those sweet pilot uniforms, before handing them over the counter. She flips through the files and lands easily on the page she needs as if she’s done it a million times before, and then she’s off typing stuff into the system once again. The boys exchange a look, and turn to her when they realise the ceased sounds of her nails hitting against the keyboard.

“Park Jimin. 22 years old. Korean. Attained a Class 1 Medical Certificate at 18 years of age, and completed the PPL course two years later. Registering for Northlyn’s October intake for the Commercial Pilot License course.” She drones out while reading from the monitor, and turns to the other boy. “Ditto for you, Kim Taehyung. Do you confirm the information?” Taehyung is still a little offended that he doesn’t get a rundown of his achievements thus far, but nods nonetheless. She swivels in her seat and reaches for a stack of folders, checking against the student numbers list for their files and hands them one each. The lady then turns back to her computer soundlessly, and it’s back to being as if the two boys didn’t even exist in front of her. Taehyung and Jimin just stand there, holding their files and awaiting further information. It’s a full minute before Taehyung coughs, and she raises an eyebrow just above the rim of her glasses and clicks her tongue, like their presence itself annoyed her. Jimin quickly brings his foot down on Taehyung’s because he can feel the latter’s urge to strangle the lady, and he decides that that was probably not be best impression he wants to leave on the first staff he meets at Northlyn. “Your dorm keycards, course information, student dining options, etcetera are in the file. If you bothered to look through it.”

Jimin has to pull the taller boy by the hood of his jacket to prevent him from jumping over the counter and sending someone below the ground rather than above it.

+++

A black Bentley cruises down the gravely road and around the roundabout of the academy. Several heads turn at the sight, but not everyone is intrigued by it. The very fact that they were there was a statement to their financial stability and status, so it didn’t phase the crowd as much. But the thing that did make them turn was the faint view of the person sitting in the back seat of the car. The driver gets down and walks towards the door of the backseat, while another butler rushes to the boot, extracting two luggage bags and bringing them to the steps. The anonymous individual finally emerges, and the chatter of the crowd quietens just a little bit so that they can focus more on the boy that walks out.

Whispers immediately spread through the crowd when the boy turns and they get a full view of his face.

“Hey, isn’t that J-?”

“He’s attending Northlyn? Well there goes my self-confidence.”

“Okay my year is made if I get to see him around here.”

“He could probably get a full scholarship to Oxford instead though, why the hell is he here?”

“If he’s in my course class, I’m gonna be so screwed.”

“His face is . And do you that physique? God sent, that boy.”

He catches a few of the statements, and he just smirks. The butler hands him his bags, and the two employees immediately flank him while getting into a bowing stance. He claps their backs as if asking them to stand straight, but their posture remains. They cannot disrespect the young master. It has been taught to them ever since they started working at the mansion. He walks past them, carrying his bags up and when he disappears through the doors, the crowd finally lets go of the breath they were holding. That was just the power the boy held over people, no