Heyyyy readers! I am back! I should be updating again by Sunday and we've got school off for a holiday, so I should update next weekend, too. Thanks for reading and all the sarangs, 

Drg-lee

  Excited with the prospect of what he considered a date with Minho, Taemin doodled childishly in his notebook.
            “Lee Taemin! What’s the answer to number seven?” The teacher called, crossing her arms and gazing harshly at the boy.
            Taemin stood up. “One-hundred and thirteen,” He mumbled, not too enthusiastic about being interrupted. The teacher waved her hand, dismissing him, and he fell back into his chair. He sighed comfortably, and without noticing, he’d scribbled Minho’s name all over his note book.
            Choi Minho. Minho. Choi. Choi Minho. Again, he huffed his breath and pinched himself to make himself pay attention to the lesson.
           
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            In the other classroom, Minho day-dreamed, too. Everyone was used to the daydreaming Minho (as he had almost never paid attention in any class) and the teacher didn’t bother to call on him anymore. Minho went through all of the motions of caring about school. If he happened to be listening, he would jot down a few words that had broken through to his consciousness. But because they were just words breaking through a stream, none of it ever made any sense to Minho when he went home to study.
            He did his homework, usually, but he’d calculated the amount of homework he needed to do to get a B in the class. Due to laziness and apathy, Minho was a straight B student, with the exception of his gym class, which he excelled in.
            As if to prove a point, Minho looked down at his paper which was covered in messy writing and confusing words.
            S Korea made 1948. Japan Korean 38. Russia is north America is south. Korean war, S Korea.
            He raised an eyebrow, and looked up at the teacher, as if this glance would force him to come over and decipher Minho’s confusing notes. Instead, he found page numbers written on the board and this was promptly written down. As he leafed through the textbook, he found his notes were pertaining to the formation and establishment of South Korea. Finally understanding, he closed the book, brought his pencil to his mouth, and stared out of the window once again.
            He let his mind wander to fleeting thoughts of what he wanted to eat for dinner and then finally settle on the maknae, who was currently daydreaming of Minho. It wasn’t until class was dismissed that Minho noticed Taemin filling his mind.
            It puzzled him for a moment, because he was unaware of his own wandering thoughts, but then he remembered that he needed to go eat and if he was thinking about Taemin, lunch would be a good place to see Taemin.

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            Key made no effort to even pretend he cared about school. He was rich, his parents and grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles were all rich. Why would he really need an education? He would inherit the company, be rich, and die rich. School was pointless. In fact, at this very moment, he was outlining the things he would buy when he returned to the local mall. He’d seen a pair of black Reebox shoes, a company Key was very loyal to.
            It wasn’t that Key wasn’t eager to learn, because if something interested him, unlike science, he would pay attention. Art class appealed to Key, because it was just another kind of beautiful fashion, but instead of cloth, his sense of style was plastered into pottery, or thrown onto a blank canvas with differently based paints, which he mixed and matched to his leisure.
            Key thought of art as more of a fun class than a real class, and all of his other classes he considered free hours. Key often walked out of classes, leaving most of the students distressed at his boldness. Today wasn’t the case, as he found himself more suited to staying in a particular place and listing things to waste his money on.
            He knew it was contradictory to spend hard earned money on shoes and clothing when he had a boyfriend who illegally sold alcohol to keep dehydrated soup on the table, and Key did all he could without being too obvious about helping Jonghyun out. In fact, just this morning, he’d left a few thousand won in Jonghyun’s locker.
            It was all he could do to help. If he could, Key would take Jonghyun and his mother, and hide them in his room, and feed them real food. But he couldn’t and his parents would kill him, so he tried.

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            When the bell rang and class ended, Jonghyun dragged himself to his locker, his designated meeting spot with Key. He patiently waited, leaning against the cool grey metal, when he found the younger male walking towards him, a straight, bored face plastered on his face.
            “What? What’s wrong?” Jonghyun asked, taking Key’s face into his hands.
            “Nothing, I’m just bored.” Key bluntly stated, shrugging his shoulders.
            Jonghyun nodded agreeably and turned to open his locker. “Key, I keep finding money everywhere! It’s crazy,” He remarked, excitement clear in his voice.
            “Maybe you have a secret admirer,”
            “Who gives money for secret admirers? Aren’t you supposed to get letters and love notes and stuff?”
            Key shrugged, and unlike Jonghyun, his features showed no hint of surprise that the money was there.
            “It’s a... a different admirer. Everyone has their own style, Jjong.”
            Jonghyun accepted this and folded the money. “Let’s go eat, Kibum.”