Minseok (now going by Xiumin, he’s in China after all) steps through the larger-than necessary school gates uncertainly. Of course he’s uncertain, he can barely speak the confusing language, and he’d hadn’t brushed his hair, or had enough money to buy the school uniform, and to top it off, he had to wear his chunky glasses because his mother had went to him that morning and hey honey, I accidentally threw away your contacts so wear your glasses instead so now he just looks like a lost hobo in Las Vegas or something.

Xiumin ignores the fascinated stares the rest of the student body throws to him as he climbs one of the two gigantic red-carpeted stairs to the second floor, where all the reading rooms are (according to the map).

He hears whispers of ‘wow, a genuine commoner’, and ‘it’s the transfer’ and ‘where’s his uniform’ emitting from the various students perched daintily on the steps or the broad marble railing. While the guys are clad in the sheen of expensive faded purple material (which looks like silk) and the girls in beautiful dresses of pale yellow, he’s just wearing his stupid dark brown knitted sweater over a rumpled white button-up.

He feels like a cockroach in the whole ensemble of elegantly-dressed people in the grand building. He thinks, maybe he’s gonna get stepped on the moment he gets noticed.

But he thinks he’s already noticed enough.

Does that mean I’m already dead? Xiumin wonders for a while.

He giggles hysterically to himself. Ghostie Xiumin. Everyone beware. He’ll steal your homework and do it for you. He’ll tell the teacher about the homework due. He’ll blind you with his awkwardness. Ghostie Xiumin.

Xiumin decides to stop his giggling before he comes off anymore weirdly. People are already stumbling over themselves to get out of his way for fear of catching the weirdness.

Xiumin sighs, the feeling of fear creeping back into the space left by the laughter as it departs from his body.

With his sort of luck, he’ll probably be the nerdy loner with no friends again.

Barely squeezing past a group of gaggling females at the top of the staircase, he heads for Reading Room One to study, before the first lessons begin in an hour.

That’s occupied by a whole bunch of students gathered around a snack table or something.

Reading Room Two’s taken by teachers in a meeting.

Reading Room Three’s locked.

Reading Room Four doesn't even exist.

Xiumin bangs his head against the wall and lets out a frustrated groan which reverberates around the corridor. For such a gigantic place, there sure are insufficient rooms.

He clutches his Trigonometry book closer to his chest and gazes forlornly at the crumpled and soggy map he’d dropped into a cup of Earl Grey tea earlier on.

The only other places he could study in are the Library, which isn’t really an option at all because it’s two blocks away and would take him just about an hour to get there, and the School Garden, which is out of bounds at the moment.

Xiumin glances up the corridor wearily and pushes his glasses up his nose.

Right at the end of the elaborately decorated walkway, a sign glints with promise right above a large pink door.

Xiumin gasps and runs there so quickly it’s like he has wings.

On the sign, ‘Third Music Room’ is carved there in elegant cursive script.

Xiumin nearly faints from excitement. Music rooms. They just scream of abandonment, of peace and tranquil, of undisturbance and quiet.

Xiumin loves abandoned music rooms.

He kind of skips towards the pink door and pushes it open with glee.

There’s a tense silence for a while, as Xiumin looks around in the darkness. He congratulates himself internally -more like squeals- on the excellent find which obviously bodes more self-studying time and steps into the room confidently. An immediate rush of cool wind which gushes over him stops him dead in his tracks and he hears twin pops of confetti bursting in his ears.

At the same time he screams and falls over, he hears what sounds like a chorus of eerie homoual men, right in front of him.

“Welcome.”

He feels himself hit a solid, cool wall of stable-ness before the illusion is shattered, literally. A cold, swooping feeling of impending doom swoops low in his chest as he hears and feels expensive china teapots and cups fragmentalize right under him.

The last thought that runs through his mind is a very short, concluding one, as his exposed upper arms and forearms are pricked by what feels like a bed of nails and he hears all of his Trigo notes flutter all over the place.

Oh, .

*******

So, this was the first chapter! Not the best, I admit, but It'll get better (I hope) ^__^ Uh...yeah. Thanks for subscribing :D Comments are loved :3 Speshur present if you can guess who's who lol ¬‿¬