11:25 AM, October 8th

“Hello everyone. My name is Ryeowook Kim. I was born and raised in South Korea and I am seventeen years old.” I give the class a beam, though really I don’t understand why people force me to do this for every single class.

Day two. Period three. Mandarin Twelve. C wing, room one-fifteen.

The teacher seems satisfied enough with my brief introduction, saying, "Thanks for that, Ryewook. Why don't you take the empty seat next to Sungmin?"

She pronounced my name wrong, like most teachers do. No one seems to notice though, and I'm a little tired of correcting people on the pronounciation of my name. Though I think that I'll slam my head on a desk if it happens again. Why did my parents choose this sort of name? It's even unusual for Koreans.

I slide into the desk next to Sungmin. He is as small as me, wearing a bright pink shirt and regular jeans. He has black hair and large eyes which make him look a lot younger than he probably is.

I can feel many pairs of eyes staring at me, like a laser burning into the back of my neck. I'm aware that my hair is an odd shade of red-brown, I look a little feminine and I'm probably too skinny to be attractive to anyone at all, but still doesn't mean people should be looking at me like that. At least I have a motto to go by in life. I made it up when I was about six years old. I recite it to myself: Sometimes it hurts to be me, but I am who I am and as long as I believe in myself, that's all that matters.

Sungmin is fixated on me as well, completely unabashed when I notice him. I don't have anything to do but ignore him and turn back to my notes, focusing on writing down the perfect lines of the Chinese characters and pinyin underneath them in pen.

A small, thin piece of paper makes its way onto my desk, dropped inconspicuously from Sungmin's fist as he makes his way up to the teacher to ask her something. I stare at his face for a second, which manages to remain perfectly straight, before unfolding the paper to see what is on it.

The characters are hurriedly scrawled and somewto read, but they are unmistakably Korean in their circular shapes and sharp corners.

Hi! I'm Sungmin.
Nice to meet you! So far, you seem to be a pretty normal person, unlike some of the other idiots in my grade. Come and eat lunch with me and some friends?

Right after that, there are two short lines in English, in similarly rushed printing.

P.S. Sorry if you don't read Korean and I've just wasted your time here.
P.P.S. This teacher is notoriously strict on note passing and texting, so don't let her see this.

I could just go back to sitting alone at an out-of-the-way table in the rotunda like yesterday. It wasn't especially exciting, but at least I knew it wouldn't be suffering. Should I risk not enjoying today?

As soon as Sungmin settles back into his desk, I slowly look in his direction and give him a barely perceptible nod. Hopefully he understands.

The rest of the one hour and twenty minutes seem to pass very slowly, in a fog of Mandarin tones and pronounciations that I write down dutifully in my notebook but fail to retain. At precisely twelve-forty, I am jerked out of my daze by the sound of the bell ringing for lunch.

There's a tapping on my shoulder. I look up to see Sungmin giving a little wave with his fingers, never mind that he's right next to me. All of the other students have gone already, so we're the only ones left in here besides the teacher.

I'm guessing that since you seemed to have understood my note, you also understand what I'm saying right now? He says, grinning at me cheerfully. His voice is deeper than I'd expect it to be from his babyish face.

Yeah, I do, I reply. I add, If that wasn't obvious from how I just responded to you.

He laughs, perhaps a little too happily. He's certainly a regular ball of sunshine, isn't he?

"Sungmin and Ryewook, if you're going to converse in Korean with each other, don't do it in here. This is a Mandarin classroom." The teacher says to us sternly from her desk.

"Right. Sorry about that." He says to me, "Let's go, okay? Some of my friends are waiting outside."

"Okay."

As soon as we step outside the confines of the small classroom, a blast of noise seems to hit me in the face. I remember it being loud yesterday, but not this loud! I have to practically scream at myself to even think. Sungmin is inexplicably unaffected as I follow him through the corridors towards the rotunda. When we come close to reaching the stairway, he suddenly turns right, heading towards the B wing.

Doesn't everyone eat at the rotunda?

Sungmin! I try to call over the din of students talking and eating, but most of my words are swallowed by the sound. Where are you going?

I'm amazed that he even managed to hear. He turns back toward me, saying, We're heading to where I normally eat lunch, of course. I don't recommend eating at the rotunda. Usually only the really popular grade twelves and grade elevens eat there, pretty much everyone else just finds other places around the school.

We make our way past two Asian girls who look incredibly similar, but on a second glance one has a more wavy ponytail and glasses. Both of them are sitting and hammering on the buttons of their Nintendo DSes.

Ah, Jongwoon's not here yet? Sungmin asks a boy with roundish cheeks as we walk into the alcove that sits upstairs in between two classrooms. The noise is somewhat muted, allowing me to actually think and speak at my normal volume.

No. I texted him, he's waiting in line to buy lunch or whatever, he replies as he puts his phone back in his pocket. Hey, Ryeowook from Mandarin class, right? He says as he turns his head toward me. I'm Henry Lau.

Nice to meet you, I murmur softly. Are you not Korean? Your last name doesn't sound like it.

No, I'm Chinese. Actually, I have no idea why I even know how to speak Korean, he chuckles as he takes a sip of what looks like bubble tea. But Min and Jongwoon prefer speaking it to each other so I just go along with it.

Hey everyone, says a vaguely familiar, tall boy as he comes in with some cafeteria food in hand. He has messed up black hair and a dorkish, yet somehow attractive face that reminds me vaguely of a cat. Who are you? He asks me politely.

Sungmin answers for me, His name is Ryeowook. He's the new kid.

Hi, I say. Yes, I'm Ryeowook. Are you Jongwoon?

Mm-hm. They call me Yesung though, he says, not elaborating on who 'they' might be. As he says this, he leans backward, accidentally knocking over Henry's bubble tea and spilling it all over the counter.

"!" Henry swears, snatching his binders out of the way. "Watch where you lean, Jongwoon!"

Again, Jongwoon? Sungmin lets a breath out of his nose in exasperation.

You can save your comments for later, Lee Sungmin, he sighs. Ryeowook, could you help get some paper towels from the washroom?

Where is it? I ask him in surprise as he gets up.

Don't worry; you can't miss it. It's right where the B wing connects to the balcony and it's got a big sign over it, he says.

Walking quickly, I head towards the balcony where Jongwoon said the bathroom was. Halfway there, I run into a large crowd of boys and girls blocking the hallway. They look to be grade tens and elevens, but because I'm so small most of them are at least the same height as me.

"Excuse me-!" I attempt to get through, but they're not budging since they're talking too loud to even hear me speak. After a while, I resort to jabbing someone in the side with my bony elbows to make him aware.

"Hey, you overgrown fetus!" He snarls down at me. I must have picked the wrong guy. He's well-built, and almost seems to tower over me, even though we're about the same height.

He raises his fists, as if he's going to hit me. I take a deep breath and steel myself to deflect his blow as he brings them down. It doesn't hurt all that much, but the sheer force knocks me back enough that I hit the ground, the wind knocked out of me. His fists rise again and again.

"Watch who you mess with, you little b-" He is cut off by the sound of his friends prattling excitedly and gesturing.

Who are they pointing to? I see a solitary boy, much taller than I am, with untidier hair than Jongwoon's and glasses. He stands silently behind me, holding eye contact with me.

He's holding out his hand. I have no idea who he is, so why would he help me?

I gasp out a breath as I take it, and he proceeds to help me up in front of everyone. As I grasp his arm to get up better, he winces - an almost unnoticeable reaction that no one else notices, but I definitely felt it shake through his muscles.

Somehow, no one tries to hurt me again while I stand up. They all seem to be watching this odd exchange between me and a person I've never met.

I look him straight in the eye. "Thank you," I say gratefully.

He doesn't reply. He simply stares back at me for a few seconds before leaving me behind.

------

And finally garche4291 makes their return to the KyuWook fandom. My sincerest apologies for not updating for almost a year, but my update schedule has grown so sporadic that this is almost to be expected >.<

I think it's pretty obvious from this that I balls at high school AUing. Ah well, I have to improve at least a little over time, right?

I'm still making this KyuWook, rest assured, but my biased-heavily-to-YeWook heart wants YeYe and Wook to at least be friends xD

And yes, I've pretty much given up on trying to keep a writing schedule for myself. Soooo... the best I can tell you is, the next chapter will come out when I have a chapter to upload (going by Proton Jon's example here). As much as I'd like to update at the frequency of 'update soon plzzzz !!!!11!1' comments being posted, it's not gonna happen because I simply don't have a steady enough stream of inspiration to write like that.

Yeah. That's about all I have to rant about say. Sorry if I sound like an asshat.