Jongup walks aimlessly down the street, his face expressionless.

It isn’t long before he spots another homeless kid on the streets, and immediately he reaches into the depths of his pockets, pulling out ten manwon and giving it to the kid.

The kid stares at the ten manwon, then at his outstretched hand, then at Jongup himself. His eyes are filled with disbelief, and somehow Jongup can feel the kid tensing up, almost as though he wants to make a run for it, away from this somewhat suspiciously generous teenager, who doesn’t even look kind to start with.

“Take it,” he urges, “buy yourself new clothes and something to eat.”

The kid still stares at it in disbelief, and Jongup sighs before grabbing the kid’s hand and stuffing the money into his adamantly closed fist before walking away.

As he walks away, he can’t help but wonder if that was how he looked like when Kyumi first found him.

He can’t help but wonder if all she’s been doing right now is simply out of pity.

He can’t help but wonder if everything is real.

He pulls out his phone, stares at it for a moment, holding his breath, before calling the number that he’d never dared to call in the past few years.

 

__________________

Hyorin stretches, yawning as the last bell rings, and the teacher dismisses the class. She contemplates on whether she should just sleep on or go home and sleep.

Unable to decide, she rests her head on the table, pencil in her hands. Unconsciously, she starts drawing hearts all over her paper, ending it with a messily scrawled ‘Bang Yongguk’ in the middle and a big heart.

Hyorin smiles contentedly, as though even writing his name out makes her feel even better.

The pencil moves again, and she frowns a little as she reads what she has written.

Do I really like him?

Hyorin frowns even more, canceling that sentence, before ripping the entire paper out and crumpling it, aiming for the trash can. It lands straight in the bin, as expected, and she sinks back down into her seat, chin resting on the table.

The image of various hearts and Bang Yongguks surface in her sea of thoughts, and Shin Hyorin immediately sits up, eyes widened.

Oh .
 

__________________

Meanwhile, two levels above Hyorin, another person is looking for Bang Yongguk.

Choi Junhong speeds down the stairs, jumping two at a time before he reaches the ground level of the campus. He pokes at his phone, repeatedly jamming his finger towards that one contact; Junhong is determined that he will not take the bus home today.

He spots that all-too-familiar tuft of red hair in the sea of multi-colored heads, and dashes through the crowd, apologetically (or not) pushing several people apart to make space for himself.

“Yongguk hyung! Hyung―”

Junhong makes a mad grab for the boy in front of him, and stops, panting.

Bang Yongguk sighs, albeit smiling a little as he ruffles Junhong’s ice-cream coloured hair.

“You didn’t pick up my calls, hyung,” Junhong accuses, combing his hair back into the way it should be.

“Really?” Yongguk chuckles, “want a ride back home?”

Junhong grins, nodding.
 

__________________

“Hit it! Hit it harder!”

A concentrated expression sits on Youngjae’s face as he grabs the hammer, muttering something along the lines of ‘I-got-this’, his grip on the makeshift hammer tightening.

A mole pops its head up, just to have itself killed almost immediately by Youngjae’s death blow.

The smile on his face widens as he dishes out death blow after death blow, nailing all unfortunate moles.

‘You made a new record!’ The machine blinks at them gleefully, bursting colors spreading on the LED board. A small plushie drops into the collection area, and Youngjae bends down, pulling it out.

“Here,” he sticks it towards Sohyun, who accepts it with a smirk on her face.

“Never knew our Youngjae had that much muscle in him,” she teases, earning herself a light smack on the head.

“Are we supposed to go back to pick up princess Daehyunnie now? And keep that in your bag, here,” Youngjae holds out his hand, and Sohyun gives him the newly won plushie reluctantly. He opens her schoolbag, stuffs it in mercilessly and zips it up. When he is done, he finds Sohyun glancing at her phone, an evil smirk on her face.

“We can just go home straight, Dae oppa isn’t joining us.”

“Why?”

“Oh,” Sohyun just smiles, “he needs to go for counseling or something. For being gay.”
 

__________________

His hand aches.

Daehyun yawns as he lifts the pencil again, bringing it towards the paper that he has been writing on for the past half an hour.

I am not gay. Reading and writing those kinds of things are wrong. I know I am in the wrong. This will not happen again.

He can’t help but scoff at the school’s response to his so-called panual view.

Man, they’re being ist. And discriminatory. And they taught us in school to be fair and that everyone is equal.

And I don’t even deserve this.

I just want my baby back.

“I’m done!” Daehyun calls out, and the school counselor comes out, a rather short and stout woman with hair akin to a lion’s mane, flaming red and explosive. She takes the paper, then eyes Daehyun carefully.

“You sure you’re just curious?”

“Yes, well, uh,” Daehyun falters, pretending to be interested with his shoelaces, “I wanted to expose myself to different sorts of literature, you see...”

The counselor nods, pulling out his student records. “Jung Daehyun. Eighteen. You got in to this school with your vocals. First year here?”

Daehyun nods, gulping a little.

“Okay, you can go for your detention now.”

Daehyun bows meekly, before shuffling his way out of the room, never lifting his head until he is fully out of the stinky counselor’s office. After making sure that the door is completely sealed, Daehyun straightens, wrinkling his nose as he smoothens his blazer out.

“Man, she was such a fish.”

 

__________________

Jung Daehyun arrives at the detention classroom minutes later, only to find a hastily scribbled note on the whiteboard, accompanied with a pair of rubber gloves and a mop.

We’re supposed to clean the whole of level two. And you’re late.

“Sorry?” Daehyun mutters, to no one in general. He picks up the rubber gloves, grumbling as he pulls them over his fingers and grabs the mop.

How do you mop without water?

___________________________________

a/n;