Jongin's eyes fall to the notebook he's placed beside his bed, as neat a formation as he can make it. It's frayed and tattered, but he swears he'd lose his mind without it. Just the mere thought of misplacing it has chills running down his spine. His gaze then trails towards the bottle of pills that are beside the notebook, suppressing a sigh. 

Even though he's mostly in control of it, or at least in control of the actions that would proceed, it's hard to make the thoughts truly dissipate. He considers moving the pills to another cabinet, but as irrational as it seems, especially because he's "safe" now, and probably going to be staying a while, he needs to have them on hand, in the instance he needs to relocate. In most cases, he doesn't have time to pack and must travel lightly. So everything he leaves on his bedside table qualifies as that.

His essentials. 

It's 3:30 am, but a few hours are better than none at all, he supposes. He rests his head against his pillow, willing his eyes to close, but just like every other night, it's not going to be easy. 

The stubble of the attacker's face is as close as it was all those years ago, the pain Jongin feels as the attacker grips younger him by his hair and throws him into the back of the van is just as real as that night. 

The humps the attacker speeds over, the sound of the car skidding as he cuts corners, they're as clear as day.

But what Jongin wishes he could forget the most, even for one night, is the sound of his mother's pants, her broken chants of, "please, no, please not my baby". But it's as if they get louder, clearer, the more he relives them. 

A slap echoes. "Shut up, ." He'd forced her to sit in the front. Told her to keep quiet. Every time she made a sound, he'd hit her. Jongin wanted so badly to reach forward and intervene but his hands were bound, and the man had covered his eyes with a cloth. It was dark as night already, but along with his young age, with these interventions, Jongin was helpless. And unable to help his mother. 

"I don't care what you do with me," she continues, voice breaking. "But leave my baby alone. Please."

The man hisses audibly, angling his steel toed boot straight into her shin, not caring about the car skidding off track because of it. 

She whimpers, curling into a ball.  

"That's it," he then says, pulling the car to a stop. He turns the engine off and marches to the back, opening the doors to where Jongin's situated. 

"Drink this," he demands.

Jongin doesn't move. He can't see anything because his vision has been blackened out, and he certainly can't smell whatever has been placed in front of him. 

"Motherer, I said drink this!"

"What is it?"

Before he knows it, a loud slap echoes around, and Jongin tries his best not to wince. The man edges the styrofoam cup towards Jongin's lips and attempts to force the liquid down. Jongin resists. 

The man tears the blindfold off, glowering at Jongin.

"This." He points to the cup. "Is something  that'll shut you up for a couple' hours." He chuckles darkly. "Don't want you hearing the filth that'll come out of your mother's mouth when I give her the ride of her life." 

His mother's sobs deepen at the man's words. "Baby," she whimpers, "just do as he says, please. Drink it. Drink it and we'll be okay, baby, I promise we'll be okay."

 Running a hand through his hair after waking from a sweat, Jongin takes in a few deep breaths, searching for his notebook. He finds it and quickly flips through a few pages, scribbling down what he can make out from memory. 

crows feet, moustache, dirt under chipped nails. 

He etches it into the page, nodding at himself. As painful as nights were, this was at least progress.  

He still has a few hours until it's time to go, so he goes for a run to clear his head. After his run, he comes back to shower and dress himself. He applies the tiniest hint of cologne, not wanting to stand out too much, but over the years he's begun to associate the scent of this particular cologne with something like... safety. He tends to have a home when he's capable of buying it. 

And that isn't always. 

You almost jump out of your skin when you feel hands snake over your eyes and cover your vision. "Sera," you whisper, putting a hand over your heart. 

She grins at you, eyes twinkling. "Just checking how alert you are for your big day. I expect an engagement confirmation by the end of the night!"

You crinkle your nose. 

"Okay, maybe not yet, but you know it's coming eventually. He's so in love with you, _____. Don't say I didn't warn you when he pulls out a ring on you." 

You shrug, as gently as you can manage. "Won't be for a while, yet." If ever, you want to add. High school relationships rarely ever end in marriage, you're well aware of that. 

"Yet doesn't mean never," she singsongs. "But you do have something planned for tonight, right?"

"He..." You drum your fingers against your textbooks. "Yeah, he's taking me out."

She squeals and you wince a little. Bit early in the morning, no? 

"And oh my god! The party! Be sure to pass out the invites, alright? I want this party to be amazing."

Sera... means well and you've been friends for a while. She's just been disillusioned by the concept of popularity for so long that sometimes she forgets you can have conversations outside of who's dating who, who's throwing a party next, and all of that jazz. But you know at the heart of it, she has your back and wouldn't throw you to the vultures for popularity's sake. 

Of course you're thankful for the friends you have, the life you lead, it's definitely preferable to being bullied, you just wish aspects of it were more... authentic sometimes.

...Most times. 

"Don't stress yourself into handing them all out straight away," she then mumbles, as if her previous excitement has embarrassed her a little. "Just make sure it's before Thursday, please!"

"Definitely," you crank up the peppiness a notch, knowing she'll grill you if you don't. "Let's head to class."

 "Chanyeol," Jongin deadpans, glancing at the lanky male who is leaning against Jongin's locker. His fading red hair is now an off shade of brown and his usual bright smile has contorted into a glower.  

Chanyeol smirks. "Did what I asked?"

Jongin passes him the sheet, expression impassive. "Might want to pay more attention next time, barely anything is difficult this early in the semester."

"He's too busy texting his girlfriend to care," Chanyeol's friend Baekhyun snorts, an emphasis on the word girlfriend. Jongin doesn't care to ask, or theorize about whatever unresolved issues run between them and whoever his girlfriend is. He's stuck with these idiots for a couple of hours a day and that's already enough for him. The quicker he can get out of their hair, the easier his day becomes.  

Baekhyun's not really tried anything, at least not like Chanyeol has, but just by association, Jongin doesn't trust him. He knows how people are. He knows not to trust. 

As he's making his way to his usual seat, he manages to make his way past the rest of the popular clique unnoticed, but it's hard to miss the overbearing scent of flowers that invades his nostrils as he does. 

If he's noticed anything about you, it's that everything is so... flowery. From your smell, to your clothes, to your way of speaking, to your perpetual brightness, and though he has no issue with you personally, you're one of the few that's never said anything to him when you notice his presence -- and he much prefers that -- he still finds himself wishing that you'd tone it down a notch, but he supposes some people were made for morning classes and clearly you're one of them. 

He rolls his eyes, bringing his attention back to the whiteboard. 

"Sera," you whisper, capturing her attention. "Who is... who's that at the back?"

Sera glances behind, eyes falling on Jongin. "It's that new kid, I think?"

You blink at her. Doesn't she know everyone? "You think?"

She rolls her eyes. "He hasn't introduced himself to me. I know I keep tabs on everyone, but sometimes I'm busy!" Her eyes fall to Jongin once more and she nods. "Guess he'd be cute if he wasn't so..." She clucks her tongue. "Brooding."

Cute? You sneak another glance, and have to suppress a gasp. More like... ethereal. He's glancing out of the window, but you can make out his face perfectly. With his plush, pouty lips, deep, dark eyes and perfectly sculpted face... he's a lot more than just cute.   

"Are you sure you don't know his name?"

"Positive. You'll have to find out for yourself this time, lover girl."