“What do you have first period?” Suga asked over his shoulder, as he and I fight to move through the ocean of light blue and black uniformed students. Due to the crowd, we had to walk single file.

“Chinese,” I answer, easily. I was prepared for once and managed to check my schedule this morning.

“Cool. I…” Suga pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scanned it. “…have Media Arts. I think it’s on the way to your class. I’ll walk you.” he says, abruptly turning right.

“Crap.” Stopping quickly, I turn around and go down the hallway he just turned into. I almost lose him in the sea of students. But lucky for me, no one else has green hair.

“Oops. Sorry,” he mumbles, not looking the least bit sorry, once I’ve caught up to him. The jerk didn’t even bother to stop or slow down.

“You better be,” I snort, as he takes a graciously slow left this time. These halls all looked the same to me, but luckily this was Suga’s 2^nd year attending, so I was in good hands.

The hallways consisted of large windows, which were open at the bottom, letting in fresh courtyard air, only lightly tainted by a bitter underlining of the city smoke. Uninteresting and ordinary colored tiles followed us around the building, arranged to make basic diamonds and wavy lines, all surrounded by shocks of the school colors, light blue and black. Sophisticated looking black plastic signs were nailed above white siding doors, marking each classroom as Suga and I past by them. Music room 5, Algebra 1A, History Class 4E, and so forth. I stop paying much attention after the first few.

“And here we are!” Suga declares suddenly, stopping in front of a door that was marked in three different languages. English, Korea, and Chinese. All three I could read easily.

“Chinese Class B2,” I read aloud in English.

“Zhong wen shang ke B2,” Suga read aloud in Chinese. I turned and grinned proudly at him. He was remembering the Chinese I’ve been teaching him.  

Despite that small ease, I felt unease slosh around my stomach as the threat of now having to meet new people without my brother, looms over me.

Suga must have guessed my thoughts, because he reaches over and pats my head. “You’re gonna be just fine,” he whispered, as he leaned in, softly knocking our foreheads together. This was his way of saying all the things he wanted to say. As a man of few words when it came to gooey feelings of caring and feelings, this gesture was his way to be that older brother. The one that didn’t say much to you regarding the subject of love and other mushy forms of affection, but the one you knew loved you the most. 

A second warning bell halts our connection and Suga cusses under his breath. “I’m going to be late. Yoon Young. Deep breaths. You’re going to be fine,” he mutters quickly (what did I say? Man of few words when it came to the lovey dovey stuff), patting my head once more, before turning around and racing as quickly as he could to his class.

As I watched Suga shove his way through the thinning crowd, I tried to calm myself, taking a deep breath, just like Suga told me to.

All right, I thought to myself, let’s do this. With one last breath, I pushed the sliding door open…only to run straight into Yang Yoseob. Really, not the smoothest way to start my first class.

 I shot my arms out to try and catch myself as I fell, but somehow didn’t quite manage in the end, and we both landed in a jumbled, discombobulated pile on the floor. I could feel the rage and disbelief from the glares of all the fangirls in the classroom. Who would, most likely, trade an arm and leg, just to get three seconds this close to Yoseob. Not to mention, I was straddling him…

 “I’m sor—" I start, about to apologize for running into him because that’s what you do when you run into people, no matter how rude they might be, but I stop in mid-sentence when I notice how close we are. My face was just a few centimeters from his.

"J-ju-just watch where you’re going!" Yoseob shouts after a few seconds of just staring at my face. With a groan, he shoved me off him and stood without even offering a hand.

Blowing hair out of my face, I glared daggers at the back of his head as he roughly kicked the door open and left. What an .

Abruptly interrupting my hateful thoughts, a tanned hand s itself right in my face. I glance up and feel my jaw drop slightly. I was looking at my other close friend and older bro, Jackson from Got7!

 "Need help there, Yoonie?" he asked with a small smile playing at his lips.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, frowning. Jackson was not to suppose to be here. He was supposed to be in Taiwan, doing promotions with the rest of Got7. Suga and I weren’t expecting him for another few weeks.

"Why shouldn’t I be here? I wouldn’t want to miss my meimei’s (little sister) first day, now would I?" he says, playing innocent as he pulled me up and dusted off my school uniform.

"What about your promotions?” I asked, “how did you get your manager to let you come back early?”

“That’s a secret,” he teases, “now shut up and hug me. I missed you.”

I laugh and hug him, melting into his familiar arms. “Does Suga know that you’re back?”

 “He will,” Jackson snickered, anticipating Suga’s reaction as he stepped back to look at my uniform from all angles, making sure that there were no dust marks anywhere.

I smiled and reveled in the fact that Jackson was here…before tilting my head to the side. “This is Chinese class.” I say without follow through.

“Yes…? I’m aware.” He nodded, raising an eyebrow at me questioningly.

“This class is for people who don’t speak Chinese fluently.” I explained. He still didn’t seem to understand. “You speak Chinese fluently, Wang Jia Er.”  

He jumped up and acted as if I had just let out a big secret, shh-ing me with a finger to my lips. “They don’t know that!” he whispered violently.

A smile stretches itself along my face as I nod in simple defeat. I was just happy that he was here with me.

When I don’t say anything else, he just grins and leads me to two empty seats in the back row. Amused, he points to the seat closes to the window as mine and seats himself in the one next to it. It was just like him to do this. He knew I liked watching the sun shine though windows. Something about it made me feel light and airy inside.

But, just as the Yoseob crisis passes, another problem comes up.

I seated myself beside him, asking how Taiwan was, but I still felt slightly uneasy. I could feel each and every death glare, but something else was off.

The death glares I was used to. Being a female childhood friend of 2 popular stars didn’t come without a price. Concerts and school were nightmares for me. I was often bullied by the fans. That was why Suga, Jackson, and their parents made me transfer to Seoul Arts High for my lest 2 years of highschool, so that they could protect and be around me. Despite my strong protest and insistence that I could handle myself. However, lucky for me, it didn’t seem like anyone here has recognized me yet.

The moment I was about to bring up my unease to Jackson, a girl with bleached blonde hair, apple red lips, too much eyeliner, and spiked high heels, stalked up to my desk and slammed her hands down. I notice that the top few buttons on her uniform are ed, displaying her cleavage. Or rather…lack thereof. Behind her, as small group of identical looking girls gathered. They were all oozing contempt.

“Who the hell do you think you are, touching Yoseob like that? Huh?” she asks, looking at me like I’m a piece of gum she found stuck to the bottom of her absurdly high heels. Beside me, Jackson’s hackles raise up, but he reins himself back in.

Did running into him count as touching him? I wondered. “I ran into him. I don’t think that counts as deliberately touching him,” I say with a light smile. I was used to this aggressive possession some fans had about their biases. But for some reason today, I didn’t feel like defusing it. I wanted to see what she would do.

I enjoyed the look on her face as she fumbled for a good response. “A-are you kidding me? You were so faking that fall. You even landed in his lap.” She looked back to her groupie for confirmation. They all nodded on command.  

“Wow. I must be one good actor.” I say coolly, propping my chin up on my fist, “by the way, his lap is comfortable if you wanted to know.”  

“H-how dare you!” she shrieks, “y-you. Y-yo-you, yo—”

“?” I say, standing up and looking her straight in the eyes. I could see fear and the need to be seen. “? Shameless pig? ? Go for it. Have your pick. I’ve heard it all. So go on. Take your shot, little girl.”

Her jaw hangs open for a second before she recomposes herself with a scoff, faking confidence. Even her little groupie looks intimidated. “Who the hell do you think you are newbie?”

I shrug, suddenly bored. I thought for sure she would’ve done something drastic. Ignoring her, I turn back to Jackson, ready to continue our conversation about Taiwan. And to his credit, he picks up the conversation without a beat. He’s halfway into a vivid description of the bathrooms and how a guy looked at him funny, when the girl interrupts him.

“Hey y. That’s a really cool story, but why don’t you ditch this attention ? I mean wouldn’t you rather be with us cool girls?” she asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder and winking for the effect.

Beside me, Jackson frowns and stares at her for a few seconds before asking, “what’s your name?”

“Wow. Straight shooter. It’s Charlotte.” She fumbles a bit with the English pronunciation, but she still smirks at me as if she had won his interest.

“Well, Charlotte, I would take you up on that offer, but I don’t really like, much less want to talk to, rude people, especially people who interrupt others.” Jackson’s voice is polite, but there is a hidden edge to his words.

“Oh…I didn’t mean to be rude…” she trails off as she bends down in front of Jackson, pushing her nonexistent s together to lengthen her still nonexistent cleavage.

Jackson’s eyes don’t even flicker. “Maybe not, but I still don’t like you, meaning I still don’t want to talk to you. So please leave.” He pauses and leans in closer to her face, his tone going dark. “And if you ever talk to my girl like that again, I will come after you.”

She stands up so fast, I’m worried her fake eyelashes might fall off. “Y-you aren’t being serious.”

Jackson smirks with a glare so scalding, it looked like he was trying to burn the air between them. “Try me.”

I guess she didn’t think he was lying anymore because she swiftly turned around on the point of her heels, and pushed past her cronies towards her desk.

After a few moments of silence, I glanced sideways at Jackson, who was fiddling with a lose thread on his school uniform, pretending like he didn’t just threaten someone’s life. He must have felt the weight of my stare, because he smiled and said, “yes?” without looking up.

“You just threatened her.” I stated.

“I did.” He answers, still not meeting my eyes.

“…your reputation.”

“What about it?”

“You’re an idol.” I felt the need to point out.

He blinks, looking up finally and right at me. “It hasn’t stopped me before.”

That was true. Despite my insistent protest and reassurance, both Jackson and Suga have made many public threats statements about fans mistreating or bullying me. Clearly, they have habit of doing things against my wishes.

I sighed, shaking my head. “I wish you wouldn’t do that though. I want you to maintain your image.”

His eyes widened. “You don’t get it do you?”

I cocked my head. “What?”

“To Suga and I, even though being an idol is our dreams and it is very important to us. And it is what we have been training for more of our lives for.” He turned his body towards me and took my hands, squeezing them gently. “But the day we put our idol career before you, is the day Bambam stops complimenting himself. So like when the clouds fall out of the sky.”

I couldn’t help it and cracked a smile for him. And he grinned back just as wide. “Do you understand?

I nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Good.” He said, pulling me into his chest with a content sigh.

“Nice glare though.” I mumbled into his chest.

“Why thank you.”

After a second, I asked. “Your girl?”

His breathing skipped a beat, but he brushed it off quickly, “it seemed like the right thing to say.”

“You coul-” I broke off in mid sentence when I heard the sliding door creak open. Jackson let go of me and I turned along with the rest of my classmates, as a stern looking teacher with her hair done up in a tight bun, stepped into the room. Class had begun.