Warning: This is my first fic and I have no idea what im doing :))

Also! In regards to the group chat:
FlamingHeteroual - Junhui
MemeWhore96 - Soonyoung
AsianEinstein - Wonwoo
164cmOfAnger - It’s self explanatory let’s be real

Jihoon's life is an infinite succession of clusters.

Sometimes he considers the possibility that the universe is conspiring against him. Like the cosmos had sat down for tea on that autumn afternoon he was born, and had asked themselves; “Whose life should we continuously on for no apparent reason?” and then one particular of a nebula had pointed to him and said;“What about that guy?”  But then he remembers, that in the grander scheme of things, he is but a mere vessel of subatomic particles, clinging to an arbitrary planet that’s incubated by a dying star, whom is ultimately too insignificant for the universe to possibly give a about.

Which, frankly, just proves his theory that interminable series of misfortune have nothing to do with the stars not aligning, or black cats and broken mirrors, or whatever other stupid superstitions his cousin, Junhui, reads about in his Teen Weekly magazines. The universe just does whatever the hell it wants, and has no consideration for how humanity suffers at its expense.

So, to understand how/why Jihoon has found himself in yet another cluster, we have to begin with this simple premise:

On a scale of America to North Korea, the amount of Free Speech you can express at Wisteria High is by far the latter.

The principal, Mr Wright, is essentially an overweight version of Benito Mussolini. He has this Mustache (it’s akin to Hitler’s but bushier which, Jihoon guesses, ties in quite well with the whole Dictator Aesthetic he has going) and people claim that when you’re up real close, you can see it move by itself. Like it’s sentient. A truly living, breathing, thing.

Jihoon's staring at it right now. He stares at it whenever he’s here. As much as he’d like to say this is his first time being in such a situation, it’s not. Of course it’s not. Just yesterday he was in this same office, in this same -numbing plastic chair, due to a conflict that took place between him and his English teacher, Mr Mcclain. (Or, as Jihoon has personally dubbed him, ‘Mr Mcpain-In-The-’). Long story short, his teacher insisted on him reading in front of the class, and Jihoon has this philosophy that involves never speaking unless it’s voluntary, but Mr Mcpain-In-The- doesn’t know the definition of ‘I’ll pass' so Jihoon had given him a tight-lipped smile and said, rather eloquently;"Thou art the son & heir of a mongrel .” 

(FIY:“Thou art the son & heir of a mongrel .” roughly translates from Shakespearean to Modern Day English as:“You’re not just a son of a , you’re the heir of that . Also, that isn’t just a regular , she’s a mongrel .”)

“Do you know why I’ve asked you and your mother to come in this evening, Jihoon?”

“Because I started a protest.”

“And why did you feel the need to do that?”

“Because you cut funding to the music department. Because, apparently, adding extensions to the gym and buying new uniforms and equipment for the football team is more important than students having a means to express their artistry.”

Principal Wright swiftly ignores his remark in favor of picking up a neon yellow Incident Report and beginning to read; “You had picket signs, a soap box, a megaphone, and the entire Orchestra, Band and Choir behind you. Somehow fire got involved, and what began as a somewhat-peaceful uprising against what you call the ‘systemic oppression that is Sport Supremacy ’ turned into a riot.”

“Indeed it did, Mr Wright. Indeed it did.”

The Mustache momentarily shifts out of anger. Jihoon cannot decipher if it’s because Mr Wright himself is mad and his facial muscles are simply responding to that sentiment, or if the Mustache is mad on its own accord.

“I don’t think you quite understand the severity of your actions, Mr Lee.”

“Oh, no, Sir,” Jihoon says with faux sincerity, placing a hand upon his heart, “God forbid your students stand up for what they believe in. I completely understand how inappropriate my behavior truly was.”

“Jihoon!” His mother berates quickly, going in for damage control by apologizing for his behavior and pleading for as minuscule of a punishment as possible. It’s a shame his stepfather isn’t here. He could probably pull some lawyer cards. Like plead insanity or something. Because right now his mothers usual My Son Isn’t That Problematic speech is falling short.

Mr Wright fixes Jihoon with a stern look and says; “You have so much potential, Jihoon. This is your Junior year which means you need to make sure your energy is being channeled into what matters.”

“So, expressing my opinion and the opinion of multiple others doesn’t count as something that matters?”

“Jihoon, I know you are dissatisfied-”

“I’m internally seething.”

“-but there is nothing to be done. The next matter we have to address is the punishment you and your accomplices must face.”

Jihoon almost laughs because, really, accomplices? What the is this? An actual court case? But suddenly all he can think of are the bright-eyed freshmen from Choir who were convinced this would work. The skeptic sophomores in Band who took some convincing. The juniors who were willing to do anything to have music subjects for next year. The semi-unambitious seniors in Orchestra who didn’t apply for Music Captain which subsequently meant Jihoon was given the role by default after being elected the ‘Most Competent’ for the job. Oh, the irony...

“In all due respect, Mr Wright, the protest was completely my idea, and I wrongly took advantage of my position of power to persuade others to partake in it. If anyone deserves punishment, it’s me and me alone.”

Both Mr Wright and his mother look at him as though he just grew a second head. It’s understandable. Jihoon usually doesn’t take responsibility for his actions. It’s one of the reasons Soonyoung thinks he’s a sociopath. (“You’re callous, you have a lack of remorse, you’re emotionally shallow, and you live a parasitic lifestyle. You’re basically a serial killer, Ji!” )

“Well, alright, then.” Mr Wright straightens up, like he’s rehearsed what he’s about to say for months. Perhaps he has. “After assessing your actions today, and the numerous transgressions you have committed in the past, the faculty and I have decided you will be suspended for a week, and your position as Music Captain will also be revoked. This is your last warning, Mr Lee. Any further disturbance or conflict that you create within Wisteria High will result in your expulsion. Do you understand?”

Jihoon wants to punch Mr Wright in the face. Or, at least verbally abuse him. But he decides against it in favor of biting his tongue until it bleeds, and nodding stiffly. “Wonderful.” Mr Wright says, smiling like the asshat he is. The Mustache smiles too. “Now, could you please wait in the foyer? I’d like to speak to your mother privately.”

Jihoon doesn't reply, he simply gets up from his -numbing plastic chair and lets the door slam on his way out. He comes to the conclusion that there are people in this world who endure a lot of (aka him), and then there are people whose lives just have a propensity of perfection. You know those people? The ones who carry themselves like they know who they are, and what they want to be, and probably don’t know the first thing about being caught in a cluster? Yeah, upon entering the administration foyer, Jihoon catches sight of one of those people.

It’s a guy, probably around his age, maybe older. He’s the only other person here, save for the receptionist, whom he seems to be having an important conversation with. Jihoon stares at him long enough for it to be in the area between Appropriate and Creepy and comes to two suppositions:

1. This guy is a new student.
2. The Gods composed his genetic makeup.

He is objectively attractive. Anyone with eyes (or eye, as in singular, because Jihoon doesn’t discriminate against cyclopes) could clearly acknowledge that. With his sun kissed skin, a jawline that could slice a sizable watermelon, and his tall and athletic build; Jihoon can already tell the girls are going to go bat- crazy as soon as he steps out into the school yard. He also hypothesizes that it won’t take more than a few days for him to be swept up by the grandeur that is the Popular Crowd and be completely and utterly corrupted. Although, that’s assuming he’s not alreadycorrupted. Which, of course, is a plausible prospect. But-

Jihoon’s pondering is interrupted by the receptionist (who usually mirrors him with the whole ‘Dead Inside Vibe’) letting out a shrill of laughter; something that probably hasn’t been heard since the prehistoric ages. So, this New Guy is cute and funny. That doesn’t seem fair at all. Or, maybe, but this is really just wishful thinking - she only laughed because he’s cute. Jihoon’s found that if you’re good looking everything you say is somehow funnier. He can’t relate. Not many people laugh at his morbid humor despite it being comedic genius. But whatever. There’s no point in trying to analyze some guy who he’ll ultimately have nothing to do with. Jihoon has better things to spend his time doing. Like ripping the old football ‘Try Out! ’ poster off the bulletin board situated behind him.

Jihoon stands up from his seat, his hands in a Ready-To-Rip position at the corners of the A3 atrocity, and relishes in the satisfying sound that comes with quite literally tearing down tyranny. Fast forward a minute or so, and Jihoon’s arm is practically halfway down a recycling bin, discarding of the evidence when he hears;

“I’m guessing you’re not a fan of football?”

Jihoon turns towards the voice so quickly he’s surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash. The New Guy is sitting in a seat directly opposite to Jihoon’s own. His arms are crossed tightly against his chest, accentuating his biceps, and there’s an amused, close-lipped smile on his face where one corner of his mouth goes up higher than the other. Was he watching Jihoon this whole time? Did he see Jihoon crumple the poster in fury before throwing it into the bin? Did he see Jihoon put one foot into said bin in an effort to trample said poster in a blinded rage? Yes. Yes he did.

Jihoon shoves the poster further downwards, returns to an upright position, and answers;

“I’m not a fan of fascist propaganda.”

GROUP CHAT

THE AWESOME FOURSOME

164cmOfAnger: I crave death

FlamingHeteroual: when do u not?

MemeWhore96: I m guesing ur meating w/ teh principole dn’t go welll

AsianEinstein: How?

AsianEinstein: How do you up a sentence that badly?

164cmOfAnger: The music dept is officially deceased. The funeral's next weekend.

FlamingHeteroual: dude surely you can still save it there’s gotta be /something/

AsianEinstein: Yeah, don’t let the Music Dept face the same fate as the Gardening Club did.

MemeWhore96: *wistful sigh* oh teh gardenin club…

MemeWhore96: it will 5eva b missed (◡﹏◡✿)

FlamingHeteroual: noah fence, but the only reason people went to that thing

FlamingHeteroual: was so they could oogle @ the way u handled those eggplants, won

Memewhore96: tbh i don’t blamne them

Memewhore96: wonnie looks daddie asf wen he handles eeggoplants ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

FlamingHeteroual: [eggplant emoji] [squirt squirt emoji] [other emoji that makes reference to imagery]

AsianEinstein:

AsianEinstein: @164cmOfAnger Let’s commit double suicide. You free tomorrow?

164cmOfAnger: Busy.

164cmOfAnger: Sunday?

AsianEinstein: Sure. I have to ask my mom though.

“Jihoon, put down your phone. We’re at the dinner table and have serious matters to discuss.”

Despite the fact that Jinae is sitting no less than half a meter beside him, with her thumbs practically glued to the screen of her own cellular device, Jihoon does as he’s told and looks up to face his mother.

“The principal,” she sighs, as if about to diagnose him with a terminal illness, “has suggested you start seeing a school counselor.”

Jihoon wishes we wasn’t alive. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Her sarcasm is apparent. “Perhaps it has some correlation to you committing an act of arson and using Shakespearean insults on your teachers.”

“It was accidental arson.” Jihoon corrects. “I don’t need counselling, mom, that’s not the problem, I-”

“You’re right,” His mother is quick to interject, shaking her head and cutting further into the piece of chicken that sits on her plate. “It’s that publicschool.” She says, her voice laced with the kind of Public School Prejudice that comes with years of cultivation. “It’s not a good environment for you.”

His stepfather spares a second away from the NFL game that’s playing on the television to grumble something along the lines of;“I went there, my father went there, my father’s father went there. It’s tradition.”  And Jihoon’s one-and-a-half-year-old stepsister, Jiyeon, who was a result of their mother trying to save her current marriage, lets out a string of sounds that probably mean; “Just because it’s tradition doesn’t mean it’s morally correct, dad.”

“I should enroll you two in that private school that Jisoo goes to!” His mother continues, “He’s such a nice boy. So kind hearted and well-mannered! He even brought me a home baked carrot cake the other day!”

Jihoon’s pretty sure that if his mother heard some of the tracks from Jisoo’s latest Soundcloud Hip Hop album - in which he performs under the name of ‘Rap God Lil Ji ’- her opinion of the Nice Christian Boy Who Lives Next Door would change drastically. Plus, Keaton Prep is for extremely wealthy, intelligent and well-behaved individuals. Jihoon doesn’t check off a single area of that criterion.

Jinae looks up with a prominent scowl; the brain-numbing clicking sounds that had previously emitted from her phone coming to a halt. “Um, you’re not sending me to Keaton because of Jihoon’s delinquency.”

The said boy scoffs in response. “Oh, please spare her, mother. Wisteria High is her life, her kingdom. You just can’t deprive her of bossing around those mindless drones she calls her friends and face with Mingyu Kim behind the bleachers.”

Jinae swiftly tells him to shut up whilst utilizing her spoon to fling mashed potato at his head. Jihoon dodges it all with practiced finesse, ready to fling some mashed potato of his own before their mother is chastising; “Cut it out, both of you!” and then suddenly pausing, as though remembering something vital and; “Who’s Mingyu Kim?”

Oh, . Oh, itty .

A thick, ominous silence falls upon the table as their mother awaits a reply. After mustering up enough courage, Jinae places down her cutlery and calmly says; “Mom,” as if approaching a wild and extremely provoked hyena, “He’s just a friend.”

Their mother gently places her own knife and fork on the side of her plate, and smiles at her children passive-aggressively. “Jihoon, perhaps you could remind your stepsister what the 27th rule of this household is?”

He’s in the middle of stabbing a piece of broccoli when he replies; “We can’t date until we graduate. Preferably from a law, business or medical school.”

Jinae unexpectedly slams her fists against the wooden table with the strength of a MMA fighter. It shocks everyone except Jiyeon, who seems to find it hilarious. “We all know that rule only applies to me! If Jihoon started dating someone you wouldn’t care!”

“Okay, but here’s the thing - I wouldn’t start dating someone. Ever. It’s a waste of time and emotions and either ends in a breakup, divorce or death.”

“See? Why can’t you be more like your stepbrother, Jinae?”

And Jesus Christ on a pogo stick that’s a ing first! It’s almost always the other way around! ("Look how nice your stepsister looks, Jihoon, please change into something that isn’t ripped and/or offensive we’re going to see your grandparents.” and “Jihoon, why can’t you listen to Pop like Jinae does instead of that Heavy Metal Classical music with the Satanic Overtones?”)

“Literally everyone in my grade is dating, mom!”

“If everyone in your grade jumped off a bridge, would you do the same?” Her father asks lazily; eyes still glued to the television. Whilst mercilessly smashing peas under the weight of a plastic spoon, Jiyeon says; “Bah!” which probably means;“Well, she could wait until everyone else has jumped, then she’d have a soft pile of bodies to land on.”

“Look, I really like Mingyu, mom, and I guarantee you that he’s super sweet! Tell her, Jihoon!”

It is in this moment that Jihoon realizes he could be truthful and say;“Indeed, Mingyu Kim is something akin to perfect boyfriend material. He volunteers at the local dog shelter, has straight B’s, makes a mean apple strudel, and is oblivious to the extent that it’s almost endearing rather than annoying. Almost. ” But there would be no fun in that, so instead Jihoon clears his throat and says; “He sells meth to middle schoolers.”

Jinae sends him a glare that holds the ferocity of a thousand suns and chaos descends upon the table. As his stepfather raises the volume of the television so he can hear it over all the incessant shouting, Jihoon briefly wonders why he’s even lying in the first place. After all, Jinae could date a Tattooed Biker or The Actual Pope and their mother would probably flip her equally over both.

“Fine! If you hate that rule so much I’m putting forth a new one!” Mrs Lee declares, rising from her seat. “You can date,” she points to Jinae, “whenhe dates,” she points to Jihoon.

“Why are you bringing me into this?!” Jihoon asks incredulously, letting out a groan on par to that of a seizuring pterodactyl.

Immediately after doing so he has a brief war flashback to the time he and Wonwoo had to pick up a drunken Soonyoung from a party, and the entire way home he had cried into soggy $1 fries from Teddy’s Diner because they, as the human race, could never definitively know what dinosaurs actually sounded like.“There were no MP3’s from 230 million years ago, Jihoon.”  He had lamented, as the melancholic melody of ‘Everybody Hurts' by R.E.M was bleeding through the car radio. "We have fossils, and we have bones, but we don’t have MP3’s.” 

Jihoon’s reverie is suddenly broken by a blood curdling scream of; “I take it back! I want the old rule! Give me the old rule back!” But alas, it is too late. Their mother fishes a piece of chalk from the mason jar beside the fridge, rubs out the original 27th Household Rule with the sleeve of her blazer, and writes the new commandment in cursive; Jinae won’t date until Jihoon does.

“And it will stay that way,” their mother insists, “until you’re both in the ground being eaten by worms!”

So, it’s irreversible, absolute, and a bunch of other synonyms that make reference to something that cannot be undone or altered. It’s set in stone – or, well, it’s set in chalkboard if we’re going to be technical, and just like a faulty water pipe that’s been clogged with too much of God knows what, Jinae bursts. “Now I’m never going to date! I’m going to literally die alone! At least you have your cat, you !” She screams, pointing to where Pawdrey Hepburn is fast asleep in front of the lounge room heater.

Jihoon feels the need to correct her because:

1. Everyone dies alone.
2. Pawdrey isn’t only his cat. If she’s anyones, she’s Wonwoo’s. He’s the one who named her after all. But really she belongs to his entire group of friends, for all four of them found her, and now care for her in a rotation of sorts, as if she’s a child on shared custody. (Excluding Junhui who’s allergic to fur and instead declared that he would shower Pawdrey with his unconditional love and support from a distance that doesn’t result in him contracting hives.)

However, Jihoon doesn’t get to tell her either of these things, because she’s already out of her seat, clambering up the stairs with heavy footsteps, screaming; “I have nobody and I never will!” before slamming her bedroom door so hard, that Jihoon swears the walls quiver in terror.

“You called your stepbrother an ! That’s a dollar in the swear jar!” Jihoon's stepfather belatedly calls out just as his mother slumps back into her seat. She fills up her wine glass to the brim with red liquid and takes a sip before tiredly asking; “I don’t have to worry about you being like that do I, Jiyeon?”

The said girl makes a gurgling noise before slamming her hands onto the tray of her highchair. This basically means;“Don’t worry, mom. The human body carries up to 30 to 50 trillion cells of bacteria. I have no intention of coming into contact with such filth. Male nor female.”