It’s an indisputable truth that Monday morning’s .

However, this Monday morning is particularly more --ish because Jihoon is about to exit one prison only to soon enter another.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't surprised by how quickly his one-week sentence passed. Honestly, Jihoon thought he'd be led to the extremities of scratching tally marks on the door of his bedroom cell, and writing letters to loved ones about how the walls were closing in and he could no longer go on. After all, it’s not like he’s had any previous experience. There was the one time he almost got suspended for shoving the arm of a self-proclaimed racist up a tuba (although, Jihoon is still under the impression that they shoved their own arm up the tuba) and that was ultimately written off as a ‘minor misdemeanor.'

But Jihoon supposes what it all came down to, was finding ways to distract himself from the crippling boredom. Hence why he’s started writing what is soon to be a bestselling memoir; ‘Maintaining A Semblance Of Sanity Whilst On Suspension’. It’s possibly his best work to date, and within its pages holds a plethora of helpful tips and tricks such as, but not limited to;

• Cut out a photograph of your principal from an old yearbook and stick it to a dart board. Proceed to mercilessly throw those sharp little missiles out of indignation. Bonus points if you hit him in his sentient Mustache.
• Aggressively perform the 1st movement of ‘Winter’ from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons on the violin. Your stepfather will most definitely shout from downstairs; "Jihoon! You need to find better coping mechanisms! Old Lady Abernathy just came over to make a noise complaint!” The key is to ignore him.
• Attempt to complete an analytical essay on ‘1984’ for your English class until you realise that comparing the illiberal government that George Orwell portrays in the novel to the illiberal faculty of your high school will probably earn you a one-way ticket to Expelled Town and, subsequently, Homelessness. You should just take a nap instead.

“I’m serious, Jihoon,” His mother reiterates, searching the kitchen for her keys. “You’re returning to school today, and you’re going to be on your best behavior. If you get into trouble one more time you’ll end up at Hillside High. The students do narcotics over there, Jihoon. Someone was shanked just two days ago outside the school gates.”

Jihoon sighs wistfully. “Lucky them.”

His mother frowns, placing one hand on her hip, the other occupied by holding Jiyeon at her side. “I need you to promise that you’ll stop back chatting teachers, and stop causing conflict over the music department, and just accept things for the way they are.”

“Do you think anything beneficial would have ever happen to the world if everyone just accepted things for the way they were?”

“I think the world would be a better place if it just listened to its mother.”

Jihoon forcefully shoves a spoon of Cap'n Crunch into his mouth.

Making this promise means submitting to Mr Wright and his unjust sovereignty. It means giving up on the #SaveTheMusicInitiative, and devastating all of those who had any faith in it. But Jihoon realises, regrettably, that trying to continue the movement would be futile, anyway. It always was futile. The protest was essentially their last resort (next to killing off the entire faculty, which Jihoon would have totally been down for if it didn’t require so much strenuous effort) and they’d tried, and they’d failed. Having hope in any of it to begin with was already a difficult feat for him. Because if Jihoon's learnt anything from the moment he was conceived - without his permission, may he add - then it would be the fact that hope only prolongs the torment of man.

Jihoon decides he’s never going to be optimistic again, and swallows the last of his cereal. “Fine,” he says, in defeat, “I promise.”

Mrs Lee nods out of satisfaction, spotting her keys next to the fish tank where Pawdrey is eyeing-off some guppies. She’s out the front door with a customary; “Make good choices and don’t talk to strangers!”  thrown over her shoulder, and then she’s off to pilates, or yoga, or something. It’s quiet for a total of 0.32 seconds, and then Jinae enters the room with a painful, saccharine shrill of; “Hey, Joonie~ ” and the tranquil ambiance is shattered into small and pitiful smithereens. She’s using the Cute/Gross voice. The Grute voice. The one she uses when asking for extra pocket money, or trying to get out of chores, or disguising her likeness to Lucifer.

“What do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something? I’m just greeting my stepbrother on this lovely Monday morning!”

Pawdrey hisses at her. (Some animals can sniff out truffles, or from the airport luggage of drug smugglers, but Pawdrey can sniff outlies.) “What kind of dressing would you like on your bull salad?” Jihoon inquires, “do you want it topped with chicken? Perhaps some avocado?”

“What do you mean?” Jinae asks innocently, batting her eyelashes and holding her face in her hands, elbows resting against the island countertop.

“When mom isn’t around, your default greeting for me is; 'Sup, Little Dip.' You never say ‘Hey, Joonie~’ unless you have ulterior motives. So, cut the crap and get on with it.”

Jinae straightens her posture and clicks her tongue in disapproval. “So much attitude.” She mutters, crossing her arms against the red and gold of her Cheer uniform. “I’m going to set you up!”

Jihoon stares at her blankly. “With what?”

“With a boyfriend, obviously.”

Jihoon glances at the chalkboard next to the fridge; sees the new Household Rule that is #27 blaring back at him in between #26 (In Case Of Emergency, Call Mom First And Then 911) and #28 (Don’t Stand Too Close To The Microwave, The Electromagnetic Radiation Can Give You Polio.)

“So you can be with Mingyu.”

“Exactly! It’s the least you could do considering this is all your fault.”

Jihoon doesn’t have the time or energy for this conversation. Nor does he think he ever will. Soonyoung’s already out the front in his minivan Gerald and Jihoon needs precisely ten minutes of absolute silence to prepare his ear holes for the onslaught that is Billy Ray Cyrus’ entire discography. Soonyoung put that dreaded disk in the stereo one time to piss them off because they never pay for gas, and now it’s ing stuck in there until the end of time itself.

“You realize you could just disregard the rule and date him secretly, right?”

Jinae gives him a look that says; duh, of course I do. “But by doing that you’d have the upper hand of exposing me at any given moment, and if mom finds out she’ll be sad and mad, Jihoon. I can’t deal with that. Unlike you, I don’t get gratification from disappointing people.” (Jihoon decides to tune her out as he places his dirty dishes into the sink and moves to pick up his backpack.) “I know some guys from outside of school who are cute and - for some weird reason - interested in you. I mean, they’re only interested because they don’t go to Wisteria and therefore don’t know how much of a standoffish jerk you are. But they’re interested nonetheless.”

“That sounds like a riveting offer.” Jihoon replies impassively. “It truly does. But I’m gonna have to pass.”

He makes his way towards the exit of the kitchen. Jinae stops in front of him. “That’s cute, Jihoon.” She coos condescendingly. “You’re acting like you have a choice. You’re going to date someone.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“You already do that by simply existing.”

Jihoon is unphased. It’s not the first time his Evil Stepsister has threatened him, nor will it be the last. It’s not like she's actually going to do anything. Jinae is practically the personification of an empty threat.

“Jihoon, if you consider this hell, you’re only on the first level. This elevator can only go down from here.”

“Cool.” He flings open the front door. “With any luck I’ll have brunch with Beelzebub.”

His dirty Adidas make their way down the stairs of the front porch, and Wonwoo reaches over from the backseat to honk Gerald’s horn in greeting.

Let’s briefly backtrack to the beginning of summer break, when Jihoon had been at his desk, working on a composition, and Soonyoung’s head had popped up upon his windowsill. “I found us a friend.” He had said, and Jihoon didn’t even bother to fix him an unamused stare before replying; “I already told you, my mom doesn’t like it when you bring wildlife into the house, Soonyoung.” To which the said boy had gleefully responded; “No! It’s an actual human being this time!”

The actual human being was Wonwoo Jeon. A lanky, spectacle-wearing specimen who was expelled from Keaton Prep for a reason unbeknownst to mankind. Initially, Jihoon had surmised this reason was homicide. He didn’t have much evidence to back up the claim other than this:  

Reasons Why Wonwoo’s homicidal: Because it takes a homicidal maniac to know another homicidal maniac

1. He expresses about as much emotion as a packet of uncooked ramen noodles.
2. He says he enjoys dissecting the animals in Bio-Lab and would like to do something similar as a career.  
3. He can often be seen reading books with really obscure titles like;‘The Beginners Guide To Human Sacrifice’ or ‘How To Raise Your IQ By Eating Gifted Children.’ And Junhui had once asked; “Are you reading that to stop people from talking to you, or is it actually good?” and Wonwoo had just replied; “Yes.”

But then Jihoon came to understand that Wonwoo grows baby cacti, runs a Tumblr devoted wholly to Animal Crossing, and buys all his size-too-large-sweaters in bright, pastel colours. Which, understandably, aren’t exactly the characteristics you would associate with someone capable of murder.

Upon clambering into the minivan with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, the‘click’ of Jihoon’s seatbelt admixes with the country drawl of ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ and the obligatory bickerment of Soonyoung and Junhui that comes along with it.

“You have a tendency of idolizing people, Soonyoung. You put them up on this high as pedestal and then you get all disillusioned when you realize they can’t actually reach it.”

“That’s not true!”

“It’s a little true,” adds Wonwoo, “it’s like you see a person and you go; 'Wow, you’re aesthetically appealing, now let me impose favorable character traits onto my fabrication of your personality regardless of whether you actually possess them or not.'”

“Let me guess,” Jihoon speculates, “Junhui was reading out love horoscopes again and now Soonyoung won’t stop waxing poetic about Yuna Choi?”

“Bingo.” Wonwoo answers, eyes unmoving from the Sudoku puzzle on his phone. (FIY: Yuna Choi is apart of the Track team, a sophomore, and unfortunate enough to be Soonyoung’s Infatuation Of The Month.) “Look,” the aforementioned boy begins, reversing from the driveway and almost crashing into a mailbox, “she’s literally the human embodiment of everything worth living for-”

Jihoon thinks it’s a far stretch to expect Soonyoung to say something like; "She’s thrift stores, and autumn leaves, and that feeling you get when you’re lying on your bed and listening to your favorite concerto with a cup of chamomile tea.”

“-She’s dance, and Mystery Meat Mondays, and that feeling you get when you scratch your balls.”

It was indeed a far stretch of expectation.

“Thank you for that wonderful prose.” Junhui concludes, turning in his seat to face his cousin. “It’s good to have you back, Ji, what's your first order of business whilst on parole? Wanna hear your horoscope?” He holds up his magazine and wiggles his eyebrows so violently they become reminiscent of caterpillars having an aneurysm. Jihoon fights back a smile, (because he’s missed this, and he’s missed them, despite the fact that he’d never willingly admit it) and replies; “I’d rather be impaled.”

(And they almost do get impaled when Soonyoung swerves the minivan to avoid hitting a morbidly obese squirrel and;“Dude, our livelihoods are at stake here be careful!” and " you, Junhui, that tree rodent has more nuts than any of us ever will!”)

This aforementioned near death-experience is basically the highlight of Jihoon’s morning. The rest of it is spent in ‘The Period Of Suffering’. Or, as it’s more commonly known, ‘Gym Class’. Mr Kim - or Namjoon, as he prefers his students to call him because; “The very concept that you must adapt your language to cater to my supposedly higher status within this hierarchical environment, does nothing but reinforce the very social constructs by which we are forced to live and unable to liberate ourselves of ” - declared they’d be playing dodgeball.

P.E is, as expected, the bane of Jihoon’s existence. He could probably think of a million other things that would be more enjoyable than ing P.E. (Being castrated is one of those things.) So, at the start of each match, Jihoon has no hesitation whatsoever in standing directly in the middle of the crossfire, with his arms spread wide, waiting patiently for someone to hit him. By the end of it all, he’s been so athletically disinclined that his sweat glands realised they were redundant and checked in an early retirement.

“You still have to shower, though,” Mr Kim had said once blowing the final whistle. “You know it’s mandatory, Jihoon. I may be an anarchist but there’s some rules that I have to enforce.”

Jihoon wanted to tell him just how contradictory that statement was, but decided against it in favor of following the rest of the Juniors towards the changing rooms. A bunch of Seniors were already in there, who’d supposedly just finished up a game of soccer on the oval. Jihoon presumes, as he steps out of the shower, that this is why the air around him already smells like body odor, hyper-masculinity, and old roadkill. He’s in the middle of simultaneously drying his hair and carelessly shoving his sports uniform into his gym locker when he hears Junhui ask; “Do you know Seungcheol Choi?”

“Who?”

Junhui points towards the direction of the sinks, and Jihoon follows his index finger to see The New Guy resting at the end of it. The New Guy, whom apparently, is named Seungcheol Choi. Jihoon can’t help but acknowledge how different he looks under the ty locker-room lighting. Different, but still envy inducingly attractive.

“Well?” Junhui prompts.

“Huh?” Jihoon responds eloquently.

“Seungcheol Choi. He was staring at you when we walked in. I don’t think he was checking you out, don’t get your hopes up. It was more like he recognised you from somewhere.”

“We...talked once?” Jihoon offers noncommittally, which only causes Junhui to make a familiar hand gesture that Jihoon has come to understand as meaning; 'Elaborate. Tell me more. You’re being vague and I dislike that.’  “In the administrative foyer,” Jihoon continues, “I was there. He was there. An exchanging of words took place.”

Suddenly, as though the totality of their P.E class had been eavesdropping on their conversation, there’s a bombardment of comments; “I heard he’s from California.” and “He’s being recruited to join the varsity football team.” and “I saw him pull up on a Harley-Davidson this morning and nutted on site. No homo, though.”

“I would’ve nutted too. Full homo.”

“Junhui, you’re straighter than a stripper pole.”

“Hey~” Soonyoung chimes in, “Just because he's vage-tarian doesn’t mean he can’t look at the meat menu.”

“What an off-putting way of putting it.” Wonwoo comments.

Soonyoung then furrows his eyes, his expression morphing into something so serious that it becomes almost comical. “I don’t trust him, though. He’s way too good-looking to not be a complete Boy.”

“I’m just as good looking as he is,” Junhui responds defensively, to which Wonwoo affirms; “Statistically, you’re the biggest Boy we know.”

Junhui briefly whacks him with a towel, yet makes no effort to protest. Probably because he knows Wonwoo is, as usual, unequivocally correct. “Make a move on him, Ji.” His cousin says then, but it’s his tone of voice and his teasing smile that tells Jihoon he doesn’t mean it. Why would he? They both know Jihoon can’t flirt (or perform most social tasks) for , and on the off-chance he’d actually want to, they also both know someone like Seungcheol Choi is completely out of Jihoon’s league. Plus; “He’s clearly straight.”

“Oh, Jihoon,” Junhui pities, shaking his head mournfully, “your Gaydar really is dysfunctional. I’m convinced it’s the reason you’re mistaken for being heteroual 99.99% of the time.”

Jihoon is fairly certain his faulty Gaydar really isn’t the reason, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is, indeed, mistaken for being heteroual 99.99% of the time. And this fact is reiterated whenever he’s annoyingly prompted to tell somebody his uality and instead of them replying with - “Oh! I love the gays!” or “You’re going to burn in the depths of eternal damnation,”  or even the intentionally nice but high-key ignorant; “I fully support your ‘life choice’ ” - he just gets; “Wait. Jihoon, you’re not straight?” Wonwoo asks, and it’s funny because his voice sounds ever-so-slightly surprised, but his face is conveying absolutely nothing. Junhui motions towards him as if to say;“See? Exhibit A.”

They pack up the remainder of their belongings, and Junhui chances one last glance at Seungcheol before pushing open the door of the changing rooms, leading them out of the gym, and finally confirming; “Yeah. He’s gay.”

“He’s not. Have you seen him?”

Junhui gasps melodramatically. “You can’t judge someone’s uality on their appearance, Jihoon! You of all people should know that!”

“Then what exactly are you judging it on, Junhui?”

“Well, my investigative team saw him listening to the soundtrack of Call Me By Your Name last Wednesday, and he has a rainbow pin on this ancient- satchel that he carries around 24/7.”

Soonyoung hums thoughtfully. “That is pretty gay.”

“Or,” Wonwoo is quick to interject, “he could just appreciate fine cinema and the natural phenomenon that is an arc or circle which exhibits the colors of the spectrum in concentric bands, and is caused by the refraction and dispersion of the sun's light by rain and/or mist.”

Junhui rolls his eyes so hard Jihoon half expects them to fall back into his brain. “Just trust me, guys, okay?” He urges, “Maybe he’s not 100% gay, but he’s at least a little gay. A pinch of gay. I can feel it in my soul.”

“You have a soul?!” Jihoon asks, feigning shock.

Junhui pushes him into a shrub.

It’s just after Soonyoung retrieves him from the leafy abyss of a Buxus microphylla (the shrubs scientific name, according to Wonwoo) that Jihoon hears his name being called out from behind them. He swiftly turns to see Nayoung Im, the Captain of Performing Arts. She’s in Jihoon’s AP Music class and is a genuinely pleasant person despite being rather popular. Jihoon is momentarily confused as to why she’s trying to establish verbal communication.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you,” She tells him, smiling, “but you haven’t been here because you set a building on fire and everything.”

When did a few flames getting involved in a protest turn into setting a building alight? Jihoon thinks to himself, The ing school newspaper and their Fake News...

“I know we have to get to our next classes soon, so I’ll make this quick," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the budget cuts the Music Department is facing, the Art and Drama departments will soon also be facing. Mr Wright is even going to demolish the Amphitheater to make room for a swimming pool, and they’re starting deconstruction in March next year.”

Jihoon cringes at the very prospect. Just when he thought the circumstances couldn’t get any worse, it seems whatever higher power there is laughs, sits back in it’s seat, and grabs a bowl of ing popcorn.

“I have this idea that I came up with whilst I was non compos mentis, but idealistically it would change Mr Wright’s mind about all these funding cuts, and semi-idealistically it would give all The Arts the goodbye they deserve. If they have to go, they shouldn’t go out with a whimper, they should go out with a bang!”

She throws some confetti in the air, as if to add further pizzazz to her compelling monologue, and Soonyoung watches it fall to the ground with all the wonder of a small child. Is that a thing with Drama Nerds? Do they just keep confetti in their pockets at all times? Hoping that an opportunity will present itself to use it? The bell rings. Jihoon blinks back at her, still trying to process everything that had spilled from her lips. He’d promised this morning that he wouldn’t get involved with anything like this. He’s supposed to let it go, goddammit. He’s never supposed to have faith in anything being different ever again, because all that ever does is result in disappointment. And if Mr Wright got word of him participating in the overthrowing of his repressive establishment again, he could be expelled. He could be shanked.

Junhui doesn’t know this when he drapes one arm over Jihoon’s shoulders and says; “You had him at non compos mentis," and Nayoung’s eyes light up like an affluent suburban neighborhood on Christmas Eve.

“Awesome! I’ll pidgeon-mail you the details soon, Jihoon!”

And in some alternative dimension, where he wasn’t distracted by the absurdity of what Nayoung had just said, Jihoon wouldn’t have missed the death glare Jinae sent him from across the yard. In fact, he would have seen the way it was similar to the death glare she's been sending him for the entirety of the past week. Except this time there’s something darker. There’s something more sinister, determined and ruthless. Perhaps, if he had seen it, he could have prepared himself for what was to come. Because in her eyes rests the silent promise that his life is about to turn to complete and utter .

And Jinae always keeps her promises.

A/N: This is basically the last introduction-like chapter! So the next one is when things will finally kick into gear!
Any feedback is much appreciated!