Before Wonshik knew it, term had begun. He wasn't really the organised type, and as such found himself squinting cluelessly at his timetable that first morning, trying to remember which classes he'd signed up to this semester. Today he had… Contemporary Art History 2 first up, apparently. Luckily, he was only beginning his second year, so he figured it probably didn't matter so much just yet if he had no idea what he was doing. He'd wait until second semester to worry about being conscientious.

As usual, the boy was late to said first class (but less than 10 minutes, bonus!) but was unsurprised to find his loud, tardy entrance garnered absolutely no reaction from his peers. Most of the class already seemed to be on-par comatose, and the lecturer, perched at a lectern towards the front of the dingy classroom, seemed intent on keeping them as such with a monotonous drawl on this week's topic: Abstract Expressionism. Jeez, this class is going to be rough, thought Wonshik as he plonked himself glumly onto one of the ancient classroom's seats, that is, if the first lecture doesn't cause me to die of boredom.

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After finally escaping "The Lecture Sent Straight from Monotonous Arts University Hell", Wonshik found himself perched uncomfortably on a tall stool in his Creative Musical Composition class. It was an elective he'd taken as part of his minor in music - a kind of supplementary unit to flesh out the gaps between the classes of his Visual Art major - and he'd rather enjoyed his previous semesters in this class. This unit was one of those electives people referred to as "experimental" or "progressive" where one class was an instructive lecture, streamed according to year level, and the other was a two-hour long workshop where students from freshmen to seniors could work freely on pieces together. 

Wonshik supposed this kind of no-structure environment was intended to promote greater creativity and collaboration across varying skill-levels, but he mostly felt sorry for the third and fourth-years who had to deal with clueless minor-elective students such as himself. Sure, some of the seniors appeared to be quite happy to walk him through basic modes and the use of modulation in scoring, but others not so much, and he personally would have preferred to forgo the mortification of having to work with them. But like most painful classes based around group work, this unit was primarily graded on their participation in the workshops, so there was no way of escaping regular attendance.

The boy sighed as he stared down at his partially-drafted scoring piece. Their assignment this semester was to compose scoring for a string orchestra, but Wonshik was sure he'd never even seen a violin up close, and was baffled at the concept of being expected to write music for one. His speciality was hiphop - electronic music with lyrics, chords and beats - with perhaps a little guitar and piano work here and there, but classical strings? He suddenly wished he'd paid more attention to last year's class content. 

Guessing that the two confused-looking freshmen seated beside him were just as clueless as him, Wonshik leaned across the table to the tall, surly looking fourth year perched on the stool opposite him. "Uh… excuse me?" he began gruffly, nervous at the concept of disturbing the other boy's stern concentration, "Hello?" 

The senior paid him no mind, dark hair falling into his eyes as he continued to scribble delicately across the staff before him, his progression almost feverish as the score bloomed beneath his pencil. Wonshik wondered vaguely what he was thinking as he wrote, and how many years of skill and hard work it had taken for him to just write music like that; so naturally, as if it flowed straight out of him onto the paper as he heard it in his mind. He wondered, too, what kind of person went with skill like that as he watched, transfixed, as pale hands flew across the page. Wonshik registered dimly that he'd never seen the other boy's face properly or even asked what his name was yet, and that he suddenly wanted to know. He began to lean forward once again. "Um… excu-"

"Alright everybody, that's it for this week, see you next time!" Wonshik nearly jumped clean out of his skin as the sound of the tutor's voice snapped him out of his daze. He groaned, realising he had wasted most of the class and barely written a single note. Damn distracting fourth year. His head snapped back around as he remembered his half-begun sentence, but the other boy was already marching towards the door with incredible speed. Damn mysterious, distracting senior.

Huffing exasperatedly at his bad luck, Wonshik shoved his scoring sheets into his bag and followed the other students out of the classroom. Luckily, this had been the last class on his timetable; he'd officially survived the first day of college as a second year and was free to go home. Maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow, he thought sourly.

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This time as he walked through the door of reception, Wonshik didn't fail to see Hongbin's stupidly attractive visage peering out at him over the front desk. Nor, unfortunately, did he miss the practically lethal grin which spread across his face as he saw the blond slouch through the door.

"Good first day at college?" grinned the sandy-haired boy, flashing perfect teeth and impeccable, dimpled cheeks.

"Fabulous,"  replied Wonshik sarcastically, stomping past, "I'm sure it's gonna be a great year."

Hongbin laughed, shaking his head. "Well it's only the first day right? Count on the rest of semester to be an uneventful breeze! It'll be over before you know it," he leaned across the desk to call out after the other boy, "and by the way, I just sent the local delivery guy up to your floor, says he has a package for you."

A package? Wonshik frowned as the elevator doors slid shut. He hadn't ordered anything, nor was he expecting any mail.

Stepping out onto his floor, Wonshik immediately walked straight into the aforementioned delivery guy, who'd just placed a large cardboard box in front of his apartment door. The kid looked pretty young, dressed in his bright red delivery company uniform and matching cap, but nevertheess stood at least 3 inches taller than Wonshik. His name tag said he was called "Han Sanghyuk."

"Uh… hi," stuttered the delivery boy, fidgeting with his clipboard and shuffling his feet, "S-sorry, I knocked on the door but you weren't home, so I just figured I'd leave it in front of your door. I'm n-new to this job, s-sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid," shrugged Wonshik, "I"m new here, too."

"Really?" the boy looked up from his fidgeting hands, "My name's S-sanghyuk, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Sanghyuk," Wonshik smiled, extending to a hand to the boy, "I'm Wonshik. I wasn't expecting any mail, you know, but there's only two apartments on this floor, so it's gotta be one of us. I'll take it to the other guy if it isn't mine."

"Oh, r-really?" squeaked Sanghyuk, "That would be awesome, i-if you could. I sometimes get things mixed up, so I really appreciate the help." He trailed off as a light blush appeared on his cheeks. 

Cute, thought Wonshik. "Don't mention it," he said warmly, waving his hand at the kid, "Just make sure you work hard to learn your delivery route quickly, ok?"

"S-sure thing!" Sanghyuk turned and strode quickly back into the elevator, the doors shutting smoothly behind him.

Wonshik sauntered over to his apartment door, gazing down at the parcel on his doormat. The box was huge - big enough to take up the entire doormat - and its only markings were the neatly printed address on the top. "Unit 501" it said. Yup, that was definitely his unit number. He unlocked the door, pushing the box through the opening with his foot as he shuffled inside. Closing the door behind him and tossing his backpack to one side, Wonshik set about finding something with which to open the box. 

Sometime later, the blond was slicing open the packing tape on the top of the mysterious parcel with an exact-o knife he'd found in one of his art supply boxes. He flipped open the cardboard flaps to reveal the contents of the box…. and gasped. Whatever he'd been expecting to find in this package, this hadn't been it.

"Spicy cup ramyeon?" Wonshik laughed, picking up one of the paper cups and shaking it, "Who would send me cup ramyeon?" He spied a piece of paper wedged into one side of the package and pulled it out for inspection. Squinting at it, he realised it was an invoice of some sort, with the intended recipient's name and address printed in a box at the top. "Jung Taekwoon. Unit 502, Cascade Apartments." it read.

Ah , thought Wonshik, so the kid did have it mixed up. Sighing, he carefully placed the noodles and invoice back into their box and shut the lid. It was a shame, really, he rather liked cup instant noodles. But he supposed he'd better return them, instead.

He scooped up the box and made his way back outside to knock on the door of Unit 502. There was no answer. Placing the package on the doormat, Wonshik turned and ambled back across the small hallway. What an odd first day of college it had been. He hoped Hongbin was right, and that the rest of the semester would be an uneventful breeze.

But he couldn't have been more wrong.