The whispers have been there for as long as he could remember.

When he was introduced to his new classmates in kindergarten, his bodyguard stood outside the door, watching over him with cautious eyes. He could hear two of his teachers whispering behind his back afterwards.

“Isn’t he the son of…?”
“Yes, it seems that it’s true.”

In elementary school he hasn’t even been introduced to his classmates, but he could hear the familiar murmurs— they were not comforting, not the least, but he’s slightly used to them by now.

“Don’t sit next to him!”
“You’ll die if you look into his eyes.”

In high school, he decided that he doesn’t need a bodyguard to watch over his every move. Maybe it would stop the whispers. Of course, like everything that happens in his life, it didn’t go as planned.

“Don’t talk to him, or something bad will happen.”
“I’ve heard that he’s killed twenty men in one night.”
“Don’t you know? That’s Kim Jongin, Kim Jinwook’s son!”

The only thing that’s true about the whispers, or rumours, that’s what they really are, is that Kim Jinwook, head of the notorious Blue Tempest mafia, is Kim Jongin’s father. The truth stops there. But Jongin has gotten used to it by high school— the whispers, the fearful glances, and the solitude.

In first year high school, he secluded himself all the time and didn’t talk to anyone unless prompted. Not that he had to, nobody talks to him unlessthey had to be prompted to do so.

In second year high school, however, something happened, something new. And he’s not used to it. It’s not bad, like the whispers, it’s just that he’s never experienced something like this before. He doesn’t want to get used to it.
 

“Hey, kiddo.”

Jongin looks up from his book, Speechless, and sees a boy next to him, holding two thick history reference books in one of his arms. Is he talking to me?

He waves a hand in front of Jongin, causing him to blink rapidly.

“Y-yes? Were you talking to me?” he asks, still unsure if he’s being talked to, although it’s pretty obvious by now. No one else was at the table except for him.

“Yeah, I thought that was pretty obvious,” the boy answers with a slight chuckle, “you were kind of spacing out for a bit so I thought you didn’t hear me.”

Because no one ever talks to me.

“Can I sit here?” he asks Jongin, and Jongin has to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed.

“Uhm, sure, go ahead,” he stammers out, avoiding the boy’s expectant gaze as his hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He’s never kept eye contact with someone for more than 5 seconds before, and it feels weird.

“Great, thanks Jongin,” the boy says, placing his books on the table and sitting in the seat in front of Jongin, a grin on his face. Jongin bashfully ducks his head, not knowing how to respond to a smile directed to him. He’s about to ask how did he know his name, but then he remembers the whispers. Of course, everyone knows him.

But no one has ever approached him, except for this unnamed boy with almond shaped eyes and a cute smile.

“You’re welcome…,” Jongin says, trailing off at the end, unsure if he should use any honorifics. When he was placing his books, Jongin’s eyes skimmed the titles. He’s a senior.

“Minseok,” the boy says with a smile before looking down back to his open book and uncapping his green highlighter.

“Minseok hyung,” Jongin says. Now that Minseok is not looking at him, it’s Jongin’s turn to look at Minseok. He’s small, Jongin can tell that much even from this position, smaller than Jongin, but only in height. Jongin can see how his muscles fill up the blazer nicely. He’s strong, Jongin concludes.

“That’s right, kiddo. I’m your Minseok hyung,” Minseok says, looking up at him with a smile.

“Minseok hyung.”

“Hm?” Minseok responds without looking up from his notes, his right hand scribbling neatly at the margins.

It’s been three days and every time Jongin comes into the library, Minseok always follows suit around half an hour later, taking the seat in front of Jongin. On the first day, he thought that it’s because the other tables are full. On the second day, he started to get confused— there are a few empty seats on other tables. Today is the same as yesterday.

“Why did you choose to sit here?” Jongin asks, thankful that his sentence came out like how he practised last night in front of the mirror.

The last thing he’d need is to sound like he wants Minseok to sit somewhere else, which is the opposite of what he wants. He actually likes Minseok’s company, even though they haven’t talked much.

At that question, Minseok looks up and Jongin with a look that says ‘don’t you know?’.

With Jongin’s silence, Minseok finally answers, “Because I wanted to.”

Jongin can’t stop himself from frowning slightly. “Because you wanted to,” he repeats, as if making sure he heard correctly.

“Yup, you got it kiddo. I wanted to sit here. At this table. In front of you,” Minseok says, pronouncing the last two sentences slowly as he motions at the table.

Jongin is a docile and quiet person by nature. Whatever he’s asked to do, he does without much resistance, or in most cases, none at all. He’s the perfect follower, not leader material at all. If the words about who his father is hasn’t spread, no one would ever suspect him of being Kim Jinwook’s son. Kim Jongin is very good at carrying out orders.

What he’s not good at is keeping his emotions from being expressed on his face.

Currently, his eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. He’s still not satisfied by Minseok’s answer, but he hasn’t practised what to say to that kind of response, so he keeps quiet.

“You don’t need to think about it too much, kid. You’ll get wrinkles on your handsome face if you keep that up,” Minseok chuckles and focuses back on his notes, missing the way Jongin’s facial muscles go lax and his cheeks darken.

That night, Jongin spends a bit more time in front of the mirror.

It’s been almost a fortnight now, and Minseok has not only sat at his table in the library, but also in the cafeteria. He even said ‘Hey, kiddo,’ while passing by in the hallway.

Jongin is very confused— he’s not used to change. His life has always been constant, the whispers, the absence of his parents, the wariness of his bodyguards, the loneliness, until this guy came along and acted like he wasn’t doing anything when he was doing everything different than what Jongin was used to.

It’s not that he doesn’t want Minseok to stop approaching him, he’s just… curious. He finds himself imagining if he were to be in Minseok’s shoes, and what could possibly lead him to talk to a mafia leader’s son.

Isn’t he scared of me?
Isn’t he scared for himself?
Or is it because he doesn’t know?
But he knows my name…

Jongin is only confusing himself even more by asking himself questions he has no answer to. He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. He’s used to being kept in the dark, but what his father discusses with the others doesn’t concern him. This matter concerns him, and he needs to find the answers.

“Are you okay?”

Jongin sighs and stops glaring at Minseok, a futile attempt to scare him into submission. It worked when his father was the one glaring. By this point, he’s starting to doubt if he really is his father’s son, which is ridiculous, since he’s the spitting image of his father, except for the glare, of course.

“Trying to look like my dad is exhausting. I wonder how he does it all the time,” Jongin confesses after sighing again, resting his chin on his hands.

“I wonder too, sometimes. He’s got to unwind some time or another, right?” Minseok says, looking back to his notes.

“So you do know my dad!” Jongin exclaims, realising after a split second that he’s said it out loud, and everyone’s eyes are on him. In the corner of his eyes, he sees the librarian glare in his direction before she realises who she was about to scold.

Minseok bites his bottom lip, trying to contain his laughter at how bashful Jongin looks right now, with his face buried in his arms.

“Nice show you got there, kid. And yes, you look exactly like him,” Minseok says, making Jongin look up hopefully, until he continues with, “except for the glare. You just looked sleepy.” Jongin deflates at that comment before he perks up again.

“How did you know how my dad looks like?” he asks. Not just anyone can see his father, with how tight the security is. His face has never been shown on any form of media, so Minseok isn’t just anybody, he’s a somebody.

Somebody important.

Minseok gives him a knowing smile which looks more like a smirk. “Don’t think about it too much, kiddo,” he says, repeating his words from a week ago and this time, he reaches out a hand to poke Jongin’s forehead. “You’re going to ruin that handsome face of yours if you keep that up.”

Jongin’s cheeks don’t darken this time.

“Master Jongin, your father wishes to see you.”

Jongin immediately gets up from his bed, where he was contemplating on Minseok’s identity. He needs to be more cautious of him from now,especially now when he doesn’t have a bodyguard with him at school.

He steps into the main chamber, where his father meets his subjects, and bows. When he lifts his head up, his muscles immediately tense.

“Minseok?”

Minseok grins toothily at him, making Jongin relax. The guards also seem relaxed, after he assesses his surroundings. Not an enemy, not a rival. Perfectly safe.

“Hi, kiddo. That’s Minseok hyung to you.”

“Sorry,” Jongin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But wait, what are you doing here?”

“You’re really going to have wrinkles on your handsome face by the time you turn twenty,” Minseok says, the same charming smile still on his face, as he pats the gun in the holster on his thighs. “I’m your new bodyguard.”

Jongin decides that he likes this change.