Hyunwoo pulls up to the school building once again eight hours later, this time parking and stepping out with a sigh. He shoulders his way into his suit jacket, the cool air chilling his naturally-warm skin. His Italian shoes clack as he walks up to the school, stepping first into the office to be directed to the correct room and then through the locker-lined halls smelling of sweat and depression. He comes to the room, the door slid open halfway to show a long, elegant man sitting at the desk and writing on a few papers.

The businessman clears his throat, stepping fully into the room. The other man looks up, seemingly surprised, and smiles.

“I presume you’re Mr. Son?” the man says, standing and offering out a hand. Hyunwoo nods, accepting the offer and shaking it firmly. The hand feels soft and delicate, the long fingers curling around his wrist. He holds it gently, as if scared of breaking it, before they let go.

“I’m Chae Hyungwon, your son’s homeroom teacher,” the man says, sitting back down in his chair. “Please, have a seat.” He gestures towards a free chair pulled up to the desk, and Hyunwoo nods once again before sitting, the chair creaking under his wide frame.

“I… understand Jooheonney isn’t doing too well right now,” Hyunwoo says, gripping onto the tops of his knees. His tone is tense, awkward. Before, his wife would have handled this. Hyunwoo’s much more apt to handling business in his corner office, filing through paperwork and filling out important things. He’s not used to having to deal with teachers, hasn’t had to since he himself was in school… though, teachers weren’t this handsome back in his day.

Hyungwon clears his throat, shuffling some papers and setting what’s in front of him aside. He leans to the left, the sound of a metal drawer opening and closing filling the room, and he then straightens up to set a manilla folder on the desk. He flips it open, revealing a picture of Jooheon paperclipped to the papers underneath.

“He’s been falling behind on his assignments and test grades,” Chae begins, flipping half the papers over to reveal a report card with an ominous red strike through a printed grid. Hyunwoo swallows around a lump in his throat, wondering for just how long this has been going on. “It isn’t too late for him to catch up,” the man goes on, as if sensing Hyunwoo’s last question, “but I worry that he won’t pass his final exams even if he tries to catch up on his own now.”

“So… a tutor,” Hyunwoo surmises, staring at the red strike. It glares up at him through the air, as if taunting him with his impending failure as a parent. Jooheon’s going to fail, likely drop out, start a life of crime… It’s all his fault. He’s an awful father. He just can’t do this alone…

“Yes, a tutor,” Chae agrees. He folds his hands atop the page, forcing Hyunwoo to look up from his son’s file and into the teacher’s big doe eyes. There’s a surprising amount of sympathy there, mixed with… something else, something Hyunwoo can’t quite name. “I understand some things have happened at home, and I’m willing to help Jooheon if he’d like for me to tutor him. I know sometimes tutoring works out better if the child knows the tutor beforehand.”

Hyunwoo can only manage a nod, wondering how this man could possibly know what’s going on. Only the destruction of the life he’s built here, of the family he’d tried to have only to have it all thrown in his face. He doesn’t know how anyone can understand it.

“Thank you,” is all the man says, shifting in his seat slightly. “I’ll speak with him about it.” Chae hums, nodding.

“He’s a good kid,” Chae states simply, flipping the papers back to the picture of Jooheon. “I’d hate to see something like this derail any future plans he might have for college. He has a lot of potential, and he could probably get a decent scholarship if he sticks with soccer... “ Hyunwoo nods, wholeheartedly agreeing. He doesn’t need this stranger to tell him how good of a kid he has, but it means more than he could know to him that this man recognizes Jooheon’s worth.

“He mentioned dropping soccer this morning,” Hyunwoo finds himself saying, his shoulders deflating slightly, “but I agree that he should stick with it. He’s always enjoyed it before now…” His voice drifts off as he glances off towards the general direction of the soccer field, pursing his lips ever so slightly. Chae hums, his eyes flickering for a moment to follow his gaze.

“He’s just going through a lot right now,” Hyungwon says, his tone oddly soft. “I know that giving him his space might seem like a good thing right now, but I think you’ll find that to be wrong once you try bringing him out of his slump.”

Hyunwoo looks back to the teacher, surprised. There’d been a tone of knowing in his voice, a sense of knowledge only experience can bring. He must’ve gone through the same thing as a kid, too, Hyunwoo thinks…

“Thank you, Mr. Chae,” Hyunwoo says firmly, nodding. Chae chuckles warmly then, an airy sound that’s quickly covered by a graceful hand.

“Please, call me Hyungwon,” the man says, his eyes twinkling in the afternoon light. Hyunwoo feels a smile tugging at his lips, though he quickly tries to fight it off.

“Thank you, Hyungwon.”

The two’s eyes meet over the desk then, a sort of underlying message between them, before there’s a sudden knock on the door.

“Mr. Chae,” a gruff voice comments from the doorway. Both men turn to see a surly-looking woman, her eyes tired and her hair frayed. “You’re needed in the faculty room.”

“Alright,” Hyungwon replies, standing as he flips the folder closed. Hyunwoo stands, as well, holding a hand out for the other man to shake. The teacher takes it and shakes, bids him farewell, and walks him out of the classroom.

Hyunwoo sighs, drifting through the halls like he does at home. He makes his way to the soccer field, wondering if Jooheon’s finished with practice yet…

His sweet Heonney… He can’t believe he’s let his son drift so much. Jooheon’s always been such a good kid, but now he’s so far behind he may fail. Hyunwoo blames himself, of course. Maybe if he’d given Jooheon more support, then his son wouldn’t be so far behind. Maybe if he’d bucked up and set more ground rules for his son instead of giving him so much space to sulk through his days…

He finds himself at the field before he realizes he’s even outside. The sound of boys shouting floats around on the air, yelling out plays and points and whatever else goes into sports. Hyunwoo wouldn’t know, really. He only swam competitively for a while in elementary school.

Jooheon’s sitting on the bench, looking like he’s been there for a while. He doesn’t seem as if he’s even paying attention, his eyes glued to the sunset as it yawns across the entirety of the horizon. Hyunwoo’s heart falters ever so slightly, noting the bags under his son’s eyes and the strain in his shoulders.

As if sensing his presence, Jooheon turns, only the slightest smidgen of surprise on his features as he dutifully stands and gathers his things. The coach turns at the movement, though, when he sees Hyunwoo there, he only offers a nod to the father and a clap on the shoulder to the son. Jooheon trudges passed his dad without so much as looking at him, his gaze instead on the grass.

Hyunwoo chews on the inside of his cheek as he follows after his son to the car, trying to think of how he can fix everything for his son before it’s too late.