It was spring time. The flowers were in bloom, the leaves were turning green, and hayfever had definitely gotten the best of you. You sniffeled quietly as you walked down the sidewalks of your neighborhood, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands and scratching your nose with the hem of your sleeve. You sighed, annoyed with your immune system's resistance to spring in Seoul, and continued down the path towards your house. You kicked a few rocks ahead of you as you ventured on, taking your time as you were in no hurry to return to the house of hell--as you liked to call it.

You shrunk deeper into your hoodie as you passed a group of thugs a few years older than yourself and allowed your long, dark hair to fall forward to hide your face as you walked pass them. Their eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than was probably necessary, but you breathed easier once you rounded the corner and they still hadn't followed you. You continued on as you pulled your hood up to shield your appearance while you made the tretorous journey home. It was safe to say that you didn't inhabit one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul.

You weren't even sure why you called it home. It didn't feel much like a home. Homes are supposed to be a place of shelter—somewhere you feel safe. Secure. Your tiny one bedroom home that you shared with your parents was anything but that. As a matter of fact, your parents weren't even much of parents. Most days, you felt like the adult—something a fifteen year old should never really have to endure. You were allowed part time work at a convenience store despite your young age, but the owners knew you and your situation so they had sort of taken you in and allowed you a few hours of work after school. However, it's not like the job really benefited you much. You had originally taken on the responsibility of a job because your parents hadn't. There were bills that needed to be paid and if you didn't cook the food yourself then no one was going to eat. Unfortuantly, your parents quickly caught on to the fact that you were bringing in money every week and soon that money was being used to support their “habits.” Most people would scold you for basically feeding your parents' addiction, but the first, and only, time you resisted them you had ended up with a shiny purple addition to your face and a night that you'd soon rather forget.

You had started to divide your paychecks in half so you could at least pay down parts of your parents bills, while still giving them money for their needs. They had questioned you, of course, but you simply told them that your hours were being cut for one reason or another. After all, you needed somewhere to live. It's not like they were smart enough to clue in on your lie anyways. Either that or their brains were too fried from the .

You sighed as you continued on, your hands resting in the front pocket of your hoodie as you watched the ground, kicking more stones in your way. You blinked, stopping abruptly when a dirty soccer ball suddenly rolled it's way towards you and stopped at your feet. You didn't look up, and just stared down at the soccer ball before another pair of feet appeared across from yours. You blinked again, seemingly stunned at the sudden appearance of another presence and you looked up to find a boy, not much older than yourself, grinning down at you.

“Sorry!” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning down and picking up the ball. “They get a little carried away sometimes.” He nodded, glancing back at a group of boys, that seemed to be around his age, gathered in a field nearby. He looked back at you when you didn't answer and tilted his head cutely before smiling again. “I'm Moon Jongup. I'm sixteen,” he stated abruptly. “Do you live around here?”

You finally snapped out of it when he started speaking. “I--... yeah.” You answered, nodding your confirmation. “Sorry. I didn't mean to be in the way.” You bowed your head slightly and moved around him to continue on home. However, he walked in front of you, backwards, and continued to watch you as he spoke once more. “What's your name?”

You blinked at him again, stopping which made him stop, too. Why does he want to know my name? You watched him skeptically, your eyes narrowing slightly. “... ____.”

He grinned. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Sweet! So I'm older.”

You just nodded. What does he want?

“You play?” He asked, holding up the soccer ball. You shook your head slowly.

“I'm not very good at sports..” you answered timidly. Truthfully, you were probably the least athletic and least coordinated person on the planet. There were infants who could balance better on their feet than you.

“What?” He replied. “Everyone's good at sports—it just takes practice!”

You were about to reply when one of the boys yelled from the field. “Jongup! Come on!”

The boy named Jongup glanced over his shoulder and waved, “Coming!” He turned back to you and grabbed your wrist suddenly. “Come on,” he grinned and began pulling you along with him back in the direction of the field.

“Uh..” you started but he ignored your protests and pulled you along behind him regardless. You stopped at the edge of the field, your wrist still in his hand. He turned to look at you and smiled at your uneasiness. “Come on. I'll help you,” he nodded. You just shook your head and pulled your wrist away from his hand. “.. I'll just watch...” you compromised.

His lips formed into a thin line as his eyes narrowed at you cutely. “Fine, but don't run off! Sit over here.” He moved so that he was standing behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you carefully in the direction of a bench and forced you into a sitting position. “You can be my cheerleader!” He exclaimed, moving into your line of vision once more before bending down, his hands on his knees and looking at you seriously. “You can only cheer for me, got it?” He smiled playfully before ruffling your hair and running off to start another round of soccer. You just stared after him in bewilderment.

...What did he say his name was again?