Beginning of the winter semester; September. I was now considered a part of the class of 2004¹.

The climactically boiling temperatures pacified as the summer season transitioned into autumn. Trees were in the earliest stages of donning crimson leaves that looked like they were with fire, and the air drifted along in a crisper ambiance. There was still the faintest bandy about the Summer Olympics from a month back. Some students debated on the topic in the common area, The two Koreas will reunite, they marched together! one side exclaimed. They kept separate scores and medal tallies; don't be so quick to judge! the other argued. The walls and hallways seemed to absorb their fracas-like noise and spit it back out to the other side. Underneath his breath, I could hear Myungsoo mutter his vexation.

Since our initial meeting, neither Myungsoo nor I took the initiative to truly converse with the other. Classes had begun, we were already inundated with work, our schedules didn't overlap. These were the silent excuses we told ourselves. Besides, I reasoned, both of us weren't the kind of people that, in their free time, crafted up gambits. Therefore, the first time we held a genuine colloquy was in the dining hall over a late-night supper. They served potato soup, kimchi, rice with mixed grains, and flavoured yoghurt. I remembered because that was the only time they served cloyingly sweet tiramisu yoghurt. 

The metal tray landed on the table with a loud clunk, the soup nearly sloshing out and the potato chunks disturbed. A few heads turned at the sudden, sharp noise that occured in the otherwise taciturn room. Myungsoo, dressed in a black hoodie and blue jeans, sat down across from me. The time was nearing ten: an ungodly hour for dinner.

"Hey." he greeted, drawing a spoon into his lukewarm soup and mixing its contents.

"Hi. How are you?" I asked.

"Okay. A-arch-architecture's difficult, I guess, but manageable." he withdrew the spoon from the broth and spooned a spoonful of rice into his mouth instead, the metal softly clanging against his teeth. The stutter in his speech when he said his major attracted my attention but it wasn't enough to pique my interest. 

"Oh. I see," I replied, my words still habitually formal, "I've seen one of the models the architecture department had on dis—" 

"Stop that."

"Stop? I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"That. The polite, formal talk. Quit it. I hate it," Myungsoo's voice abruptly sparked with vehemence and he wagged a pair of metal chopsticks at me before retiring the action to digging into the meager pile of grains before him, "You're a freshman, right?

"Right." I couldn't see where this was going.

"Then drop the honorifics. The formalities, too."

"What?"

He stabbed at a potato chunk with one of the chopsticks, scrutinizing it in its whole entirety before biting into it, "There's only a two year difference between our ages and seeing people as higher or lower isn't really my preference, all right?"

I noiselessly agreed because what else could I have done? A silence between us ensued. The conversations from the others around us seemed to fester as our stillness swelled. Myungsoo grabbed onto his food tray as he steadily rose from his seat and trashed the remains, swiftly waving goodbye to me on his way out. That subtle gesture meant he wasn't displeased, but simply he wanted me to understand exactly what he wanted.

When I returned to the dorm that night I figured Myungsoo wouldn't be there since he usually spent Friday and Saturday nights elsewhere, but also especially after our fleeting conversation in the dining hall. In lieu of, I saw him slumped in a chair by his desk, pencil in hand, sedately copying down notes from a textbook. By his actions it was evident he was in no haste.

"Back?"

I remembered to drop my speech: "Yeah. I thought you weren't going to be here." 

Myungsoo shrugged, his shoulders bobbing up and down once, "Guess not; I have notes to take for class."

I peeled the shirt I wore in exchange for a looser one, jeans for pajama bottoms. There was an hour left before the curfew and if Myungsoo were to go out he would've done it ages ago, not when the dorm head was about to check whether or not we were in our rooms. I laid in bed, elbows propped, and stared at the back of Myungsoo's head for a brief while.

Chair legs screeched against the pale linoleum floors and whatever thoughts my mind succumbed to were rapidly fallen out of. 

"It's getting late; let's go to sleep." said Myungsoo. I nodded and the lights went black. The last thing we did that night, however, was fall asleep.

¹whether or not anybody knows or cares, in korea you say the year you enter college/university as your "class of" rather than the year you graduate