Sehun slammed down the milk he was carrying. Coolly glancing up Jongin met with his half gaze. Namjoo’s expression reflected Sehun’s displeasure.

“You can have it,” Namjoo grabbed the carton of chocolate milk and set it on his desk.

Immediately snatching it Sehun slammed it down on Namjoo’s desk again. Steely reminding, “I told you, if I give you something you take it.”

Their stare off turned so intense the air seemed to coil. Namjoo bit down on her teeth with exasperation as Sehun relentlessly stared her down. Jongin thought Namjoo might put up a fight, throw the milk into Sehun’s face, but instead she threw the milk into her backpack and turned to stare out the window. Her lips grew stubbornly tight. At the side Sehun hotly breathed, his focus only on Namjoo before shooting him a glance then headed to his desk.

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

Jongin’s icepack grew warmer by the hour becoming almost mushy by lunchtime, but she still held it to her nose just because. Having it in her possession made her feel strangely tickly.

“You should put that away,” Chanyeol said returning to their table after a bathroom break. “I can just buy you a cold bottle of water.”

“I don’t want your bottle,” Namjoo brushed him off. “Yours was hardly comfortable.”

Holding the plastic against her bruised and swollen nose wasn’t a go to though the coolness had helped numb the pain. Today she preferred Jongin’s icepack.

Chanyeol eyed the icepack murmuring, “What the hell’s gotten into him?” then he spat with obvious trepidation, “You two used to bust each other’s all the time, aren’t you supposed to hate him?”

“Well…it wasn’t that bad,” Namjoo slid her eyes to the corner at being called out.

“He’s just intentionally being nice to you right now,” Chanyeol told, “then later he’ll come at you again. The cycle will repeat and you two are just going to start throwing hands at each other again.”

Leaning back Namjoo observed him, as if stricken by what he’d just said. Not really but she was taken by the animosity his tone carried. “I think…I think he’s nice.”

“You’re joking!” Chanyeol exclaimed.

Namjoo blinked surprising even herself. Shrugging, she said, “It’s not like I knew him before.”

“Because you didn’t care!” Chanyeol reminded.

“Aren’t we learning he’s not so bad?” Namjoo asked.

Chanyeol gasped with disbelief. “You did not just say that.”

“What? Why?” Namjoo asked.

“I can’t believe you.” Chanyeol’s frown grew. Sliding his long legs over the bench he strode away from the table leaving her baffled.

“What’s wrong with him?” she mumbled.

Despite expecting to share banter with Chanyeol he really didn’t talk to her the entirety of the day. If he was upset about something, she wasn’t sure what it was. Just because she and Jongin no longer fought wasn’t that big of a deal, was it? In a slightly odd way, she was glad not to be fighting with him anymore. The heaviness inside her felt airlifted. At least she didn’t think she had such dark feelings for him. Weirdly.

Plus, she could never expose the truth to Chanyeol about what’d happened between her and Jongin. Or that after that incident she honestly felt more like a girl now…if that wasn’t so erted to say.

The atmosphere between them was still quite awkward. Whenever she took a curious peek at him to discover him doing the same, she wanted to leap out the window. Her blood would rush, her heart would beat and she’d hear it drumming all the way into her brain. During long lectures she was more conscious of him sitting beside her than the answers being given away for tomorrow’s quiz. The more aware she was, the deeper the urge to steal another peek.

By the end of the day she forgot about Chanyeol being upset with her. Gathering her backpack, she hurried down the hall toward the infirmary where she’d stashed the icepack into the freezer. Before returning it, she wanted it back nice and icy instead of the mushy state it had turned into during her use.

“How is your nose feeling?” the nurse who’d been keenly watching smiled at her.

“I can’t feel it,” Namjoo replied, “but I think it’s getting better.”

“That’s good.” She commented. “You’ll get your pretty face back in no time.”

Namjoo merely gushed from hearing that. “Uh…thanks.” She gripped the icepack between her hands then asked, “Can I ask if you have, like, a sandwich bag?”

After exiting the infirmary Namjoo joined the throng of students. There was a crowd here, a crowd there. Every four or so heads bunched together energetically chattering. Namjoo tiptoed, tried to peek through the monotonous black and brown hairs searching for a familiar face. He wasn’t among them.

Pushing and shoving her way through more urgently, Namjoo raced down the front stairs. Wondering if he had already left and this was for naught. Then a quarter way down the sidewalk where they’d fought a few days ago, she spotted the familiar black and red threaded backpack. Picking up her pace she caught up to Jongin.

He halted. Shocked when she ran around him, stopping in front of him. Handing him the icepack, she said, “Here.”

His eyes drifted down to the offering. The icepack inside a sandwich bag.

“It gets watery, so I put it inside a bag,” Namjoo explained. When he quietly took it, she continued, “Uh…thanks for it. My nose is starting to feel better. And,” she quickly added because she couldn’t shut up yet, “I held it the way you told me to, so it feels less swollen.”

Namjoo was embarrassed. When he first said nothing, she feared she’d said too much and sounded like one of those girls that just bugged the hell out of everyone.

Then he finally spoke and his voice was gentle Namjoo experienced a weird buzz. It was mesmerizing. “You look better.” He flushed. Specifically adding, “Your nose, I mean.”

Namjoo burst out giggling. Her insides were bubbling. Everything shone brightly around her. It was a euphoria kind of feeling, like she was, in a way, being swept off her feet. Feeling carefree for the first time since her grandmother got burned.

“Namjoo!” A steely voice called out bringing her short flight to a land.

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

Soccer practice was in session, but Chanyeol didn’t want to participate. He stood outside the gym listening to the booming voice of the other players ricochet off the stadium walls. The coach was chatting with another player, lecturing him about his dropping grades. Chanyeol debated between duty or himself.

He couldn’t stand the thought about Jongin and Namjoo becoming friends. It made sense that Sehun was in the picture. They used to hang out, but Jongin? He was an outcast. He never had anything to do with Namjoo, so suddenly entering their world wasn’t acceptable. The delinquent couldn’t be more than a rival to Namjoo. The image of her being kind to him bugged the hell out of Chanyeol. Sehun was already enough to stretch him to the end of his whims, but Jongin?!

No way!

Decision made, Chanyeol entered the gym walking up to the coach and the teammate. Cutting them off with his presence.

“Uh…coach,” Chanyeol interrupted.

The coach impatiently looked at him, “Yes? You need something?”

“Yea,” he said, “actually, my mom isn’t feeling very well today, so I need to head home early to help her. I’m going to have to skip out today.”

“Where’s your father?”

“He’s currently unreachable, so…” Chanyeol let his sentence linger.

“All right,” the coach waved him off, “only today. Do you understand? No more excuses the rest of the season.”

Chanyeol internally cursed, but nodded his head before jogging back into the hall. As the coach’s lecture faded behind him, he ran out of the school searching for Namjoo. He knew the route she took home, because he always walked with her. Along the way home they could grab something from a street vendor, snack on the way. Today he could go to the restaurant to help out, talk with her grandmother, and do a bit of homework together. That would be enough to make up for his tantrum during lunch.

As Chanyeol crossed the vast yard he recognized Namjoo and she wasn’t alone. The anticipation he’d come with lowered the rate of his beating heart. Every imagery he’d built up in private of their perfect future together flew out the window when he saw Namjoo giggling with Jongin, another boy.

Everything inside him twisted as he charged toward the pair. Two beings that shouldn’t and couldn’t be together.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol began when he approached. He eyed Jongin. Caught sight of the icepack he was holding. Turning to Namjoo, “Lets go home.”

She glanced at him with her usual big, wide eyes. Innocent, naïve, and unable to read what was pulsing through him.

What had turned into a half-smile upon his intrusion never left her face. It widened a fraction when she looked back at Jongin. “Your nose looks better, too.”

The emotions in him intensified. He touched her arm to urge her away. “Your grandma’s waiting. Come on.”

Finally swiveling to go with him, Namjoo pulled away. “What’s with you? I thought you were having a hissy fit with me.”

“I was not.” He pouted.

Namjoo scoffed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice?”

“I skipped.”

Halting, Namjoo jerked his arm. “You can’t do that! You could get expelled from the team!”

“It’s not really skipping if I said my mom was hurt.”

Namjoo smacked his back making him scream. “You’re horrible!”

“Stop hurting me,” he whined, shrinking his shoulders, and then arching his chest forward. When she tried again, he leapt forward widening the gap between them with his long legs. Peering over his shoulder he with a laugh. Making a face Namjoo charged at him. He dodged her again, laughing at the top of his lungs. He ran the rest of the way to her grandmother’s intentionally pausing to let Namjoo catch up before he increased the space between them again.

If only it stayed constant between them like this, Chanyeol would never bother praying for more. But he did just that.

He ended up praying more every night, because his tiny universe was starting to change.

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

The weekend had come. Jongin slept in until late afternoon. Waking up groggy headed. For once no one was banging around in the kitchen. The television was blaring. He walked into the room to find his father laying on the couch.

A tiny turn of the head as he scratched his belly, “You’re up?”

Jongin stared at the tiny figures on the screen. He couldn’t tell what was going on, but his father seemed interested.

“You hungry?” his father asked, again, without looking at him. Pulling a wad of bills out of his wallet he stretched a thick fat arm out, “Go find some food and bring it home. I’m hungry, too.”

“What do you want?” Stepping forward Jongin snatched the money.

“Whatever you find,” his father sounded lethargic. The old man waved him off, so Jongin changed and was on his way.

The heat punctured right through his clothes when he stepped out. Jongin groaned at his choice of clothes. A t-shirt and a pair of unwashed jeans. Unfortunately, he had procrastinated on the chore. Sunday had sounded like a better choice when Friday rolled out.

He crossed a few blocks. Joining pedestrians at the crosswalk. Watching the busy city pass him in pricey cars. The people with colored heads. The birds swooping down in groups to peck at pieces of food the citizens had littered along the streets. Taking flight whenever an uncaring person crossed their path.

Jongin peered into crowded eateries. Places that boasted expensive menus. He saw seven-dollar cups of small beverages and various snacks over five dollars. Smelled coffee which caused his stomach to churn. Adults were strange in the ways they were formulated to enjoy the world on earth. One day he would be like that, but that kind of world was still eons away.

Would he waste a few bucks on a seven-dollar cup of small coffee? Would he wait in a congested line in the mornings just to order a blueberry muffin? Sit in an expensive restaurant just to show off and flaunt, experience what it felt to be successful? Be surrounded by friends and toss his head back to laugh out loud?

His father wasn’t like that. Maybe he would end up a clone of his father. Did the thought of that spook him?

Jongin had yet to decide.

The scent of spices and sweets hit him full force when he landed on the next block. Restaurant signs belonging to local and affordable eateries hung outside the buildings. Jongin scanned for his area of choice. While deciding what he craved for most he stared at the building bordering the corner of the block.

Appearing old and weatherbeaten it jutted out sharply into the corner street. A tan wooden paneled place that consisted of wide-open windows. Along the glass he spotted arrangements of bread and sweets lined up one next to the other. His stomach gurgled.

Stepping over the crack in the road Jongin headed to the restaurant. It was empty when he pushed the door open. The bakery, it turned out, was orderly. Swept, cleaned, mopped despite its stubbornly crummy look. Even the aged wooden floors were kind of shiny and well kept, scuff free. The scent of fresh bread overwhelmed what should have been the smell of musk and mold and old. So fresh he could feel the heat barely wafting off the foods. Coming with it chocolate and sugar which awakened his young appetite.

A heavy brown curtain leading to the kitchen moved catching his attention. The sheath was swept aside and his stomach dropped to the floor when he and Namjoo ended up staring at each other. In her arms was a huge silver tray with oven fresh cookies wrapped in plastic and knotted with ribbons by the dozen. He noticed immediately her hair was up on her head in a tight bun that not a strand broke free.

“Uh…” he breathed. His brain short circuited upon this unexpected meeting.

Her lids fluttered before allowing the curtain to slip off her shoulder. Ignoring him she came around the front counter. Jongin felt weirded. A little like he’d been given the cold shoulder without meaning. Neither moving nor walking out he stood near the center display like a .

Concentrated in her own world Namjoo walked over to the display nearest the street window laying out the dozen cookies. Jongin stumbled to the side when Namjoo finally looked at him.

“What?” she asked.

“Huh? What?” he stammered. Shaking his hand, he excused, “Nothing.” When she eyed him with a frown he clarified, “Really, I didn’t know you work here.”

Namjoo turned away to tug this bag and that bag of cookie pointlessly. Jongin wondered if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Now what?

Then he felt like someone had just stabbed a pole into his back when she looked at him again. “Are you going to buy something?”

Embarrassed at last, Jongin randomly picked up whatever was nearest to him without thinking. “This.” He held it out only to realize it was a loaf of bread. Not really what he wanted.

Without comment Namjoo walked around the counter and waited for him to make his purchase. This was unexpectedly weird. The first fact being that she wasn’t in her school uniform. The other being that she worked when she wasn’t at school. Subconsciously he reminisced his earlier ponderings about whether he’d turn out like his dad in the future. Laboring tirelessly and coming back home to have a beer, eat, go to sleep, wake up, and do the same thing.

He perked up when Namjoo spoke.

“I said that’s eight dollars,” she repeated.

Jongin immediately reached into his pocket recalling his father had just given him twelve bucks. Enough to buy a cheap meal of fried chicken and a half dozen of grilled pork ribs home considering which restaurants he visited. Sometimes he could buy more to share with his father. Today he didn’t want to disappoint the old man.

“Uh…” Jongin hesitated. Gripped onto the bag of bread and wondered how embarrassing it’d be to ask to switch it for something else.

The curtain to the kitchen opened and an old woman appeared, calling, “Namjoo!” A brief pause ran like an electric current throughout the empty bakery. The elder woman’s eyes lit up. Eagerly moving toward Namjoo she gently hit her shoulder, “Take that off.” She smiled at him but all Jongin saw was the marred side of her face.

“Ow! Grandma!” Namjoo whined.

“Why, hello,” her grandma ignored her. “Give the young man the bread. He looks like a student.” Looking at him the grandma slid forward a free bag of sugar-coated cookies. “Take this, too. We already made too much today.” Urging, “Go on.”

Free food. Usually he’d jump in joy. Someone pitied him enough to give away food, but a sense of shame downed him. Actually, he’d never seen Namjoo’s grandma before. He’d just heard talks from Jihye, the pretty long-haired sophomore who had lied to Namjoo that he’d stolen money from her, insinuating the fight between them.

Now he was ashamed for talking about her grandma the way he had.

“Thanks.” He quietly muttered.

“You go on and have a good day,” Namjoo’s grandmother said.

Taking the bag of cookies along with the loaf of bread, Jongin turned to head out. Listening to Namjoo bicker with her grandmother.

Reaching the door Jongin pulled it open coming face to face with Park Chanyeol who’s wide instantly grin faded.

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***I sense drama and drama coming ;D

***And we shall stop here. I'm onto my work week, see ya'll next week!

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