SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

CIRCA JANUARY 1999

Jongin’s first thought that morning is of dread. Dread of what? You could ask, but Jongin has no clue. It manages to elude him all day, until he finally steps outside.

It’s SUNNY and BREEZY

Which isn’t strange, when thinking of weather in Seoul generally, but, on January fourth, nothing should be sunny and breezy. The city should be covered in a coat of snow. The sun should have disappeared so deep into the clouds that it would be a question of if the earth was still in orbit with the sun. On good days, the sky during winter in Seoul is grey with a peek of white light from the sun. Today, apparently, is the best day. It’s still chilly, but the sun is out and that’s enough to have us walking around without the students’ uniform blazers or sweaters and hanging out in the courtyard over the heated library.

The first week of 1999 is strange enough to cast a question on the entire year. 1999 was a lot of things to begin with. The year Jongin graduates, the last year of the millenia, and the last year before the world is plunged into a chaotic end(apparently).

For some reason, the strange weather and the haunting connotations of the year did well in telling his dread it was completely correct and that he should, in fact, be worried about something. He just doesn’t know what the that something is.

Spoiler alert: Jongin found out what the it was very, very fast. So fast that he probably should’ve waited at least ten minutes before telling you how much he did not know what that something is. Now, he looks stupid(which he is)(but that doesn’t matter).

It was in creative writing, the one class he manages to properly enjoy without his walkman. Mr. Jeong runs on tangents, curses, then covers his mouth in shame, and listens to Nirvana. Jongin can’t find a way to a) hate his class and b) hate him.

Mr. Jeong was running on his usual (this time about the ghosts that haunt the school), until Yixing, Jongin’s best friend(a questionable title), raises his hand. Most of the class is either zoned out or laughing at Mr. Jeong, but they suddenly grow slightly alarmed when Yixing raises his hand.

Yixing never raises hand, partly because his commentary is only for Jongin’s ear and mostly because he’s probably high during class.

“Yes, Yixing?”

“Did you know the world is ending this year?”

Jongin didn’t know what he expected, but he is not let down.

Mr. Jeong’s eyes twinkle. A kind of twinkle that says I knew before you mortals even contemplated it. Or it’s the I was waiting for you to bring something relevant up to tell you about this new assignment. Either way, Jongin is sure this is what his morning brain dreaded.

“Thank you, Yixing, I was waiting for that.” It was the second option, and somehow that’s worse.

Creative writing isn’t the most work-heavy class Jongin takes, but it really wipes him out when they do get work. Jongin’s element is in film-making. He could spend hours with his camera, shooting footage and editing and documenting his memories. Not writing short stories that sound about as creative as his farts.

“As you all know, there is a theory that the world could end this year.” He says it a lot more casually than Jongin is comfortable with. The first connotation of the Twinkle could be correct after all. “So, I have arranged a challenge.”

The class groans. Jongin pinches Yixing’s thigh under their table. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Live this year as if it really is your last, and document it all.” He takes their silent curiosity in stride and continues, “Disclaimer: I’m not egging on anything illegal, though I know you all already...live that way.” He eyes Yixing. Yixing sinks lower in his seat as Jongin smirks.

“Document it whatever way you want, but I’m looking forward to you all breaking out of your shells.” He gives them a smile, and waves his hand to signal free time.

Yixing turns to him immediately as the empty air in the classroom is filled with students talking again.

“What do we do?”

“This is your fault.” Jongin accuses, even if he knows that Mr. Jeong would’ve found some way around to bring it up.

“Whatever,” Yixing rolls his eyes. “But, what’re you planning?”

“What do you think?” Jongi