A/N: This is a ing monster. I know. It's a whole twelve pages. But I had to fit in the character developments and plot developments and crucial events and yada yada yada... I didn't sleep the whole night. Someone confiscate my laptop for me. 

And it's angsty... I think? I forgot what angst means, I'm sleep-deprived. And (SPOILER ALERT) you'd probably be pissed that that damned turtle still isn't talking. But all in due time, all in due... time... 

P.S. I guess you can say that this is like the 'prologue' but at the same time - you probably can't.

P.P.S. I probably did some errors.

EDIT: I've broken this chapter to two parts. To make it easier for you to read.

How long have I been awake for? Five minutes? Ten? A whole hour? I stare unblinkingly up at my room ceiling, still in bed and still in my pyjamas, my hands folded neatly over my chest. My alarm clock hasn't even gone off yet and I'm already wide awake.

I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking a lot. Of school, mostly, and a certain senior who’s ruining my life and his girlfriend and her spiteful words and my paranoia and – really, I’ve just been thinking.

I turn over and stare at the glaring numbers on my digital clock. It's precisely 6:58 am, a whole hour and two minutes before I have to wake up. Even Geobok's still sleeping, but he usually wakes up by the time I start showering though.

I decide to just get up now, avoid the ruckus which is my alarm clock. I get out of bed and reset my clock. I shed my clothes and dump them in a basket by the bathroom door, avoiding the mirror as I enter. I turn away from the mirror as I pee. I dislike mirrors. They show me my imperfections, and thoughts in my head would scream at me how I’m not like the other girls. How I’m lesser.

My body’s not like them.  I’m not like the pretty ones at school. They’re all high cheekbones and slim bodies; I have chubby cheeks and a big bum.

I have to stop thinking so negatively. I have to be more positive. Life would get better. And at least I’m not considered obesed or anything. I accidentally catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, and I stare and start poking at my soft tummy and bits. I recall back in around my middle school years where there were these two, really skinny and mean girls in my class who liked to poke their sharp, shiny, hot pink fingernails at me a lot and giggle at my 'fat'. I reached puberty quite early so I was more 'full' than nearly all of the girls my age then. I was ridiculed and jeered at for being different and curvier than the other female students. I've never completely gotten over that insecurity.

The water sweeps over me, cleaning away the thoughts. You may think I’m such an optimist. But – what I’ve learned from experience (and tons of manga and whatnot) – I’m rock bottom, there’s nowhere else but up from here. Even if it’ll take me practically forever.

I get out dripping, grabbing for my towel. After I dry myself off, I diligently brush my teeth, taking a few minutes to sneak in some flossing. White, pearly teeth smile back at me. My set of teeth is probably the only part of myself from the neck up that I actually like. But even so, I never talk at school, so big fat load of good that does me.

Geobok was groaning when I got out of the bathroom as if he was whining on why I had to wake him up so early.

I grin at him, tapping his head lightly. “Good morning! And don’t give me that look, the early bird gets the worm, you know – oh wait, you’re a turtle.”

I rummage around my drawers to find a decent pair of undies. My school clothes were already laid out on the sofa since last night, crisp and ironed. 

I hear the sounds of cooking from downstairs. That's probably mother, she's usually up by five. 

I slip into my uniform and check myself in the mirror. Although I tend to avoid mirrors when I can, this is an exception. Who knows I might come to school unknowingly wearing pyjamas or something? It happens in the movies. That stuff had to come from somewhere.

My uniform is a couple sizes too big for me. I have an older brother and sister so I got their hand-me-downs. The skirts came from my sister and my white button-ups and sweaters used to be my brother’s. I know, I can explain. My sister, Haerin, was tall – like super tall, she towered over the boys – and very flat-chested. She’s all boards. So her shirts and sweaters didn’t fit me, and – since I’m pretty short (the shortest in this giant family, I got the wrong genes) – I only managed to fit her skirts. But even that reached well past my knees.

I only fitted Hoseok’s – my brother – clothes. But since he was also born a giant and is genetically male and prides himself on it, his clothes came baggy and a bit torn here and there. So at school, I look like some freak who can’t afford clothes – which is not the case. I could afford them (I’m not dirt poor), but my parents got to my school clothes at the last minute, I ended up forced to wear my siblings’ used ones. But after a year of that, I grew to like them. It hides my body figure and they’re comfortable. I don’t give fudge about that whole “pain for fashion” thing.

And anyways, it’s a waste to throw away all those clothes. They won’t need it anymore, too. Haerin and Hoseok are off to college. Well, Hoseok’s off to college. He wants a Ph. D in economy; Haerin scored a modelling contract and got a plane ticket to France. Hoseok was offered the same contract but turned it down. Did I mention that my siblings are so much more prettier than me?

I literally cried when they moved out, more so for me than them. They escaped the loony bin which is school, I still get a few more gruelling years out of it.

I put on my tie and turn to Geobok for approval. He sat there, pink tongue out, lounging by the lip of the sink. “How do I look? Like a queen?”

His small head bobs slightly.

I laugh and lightly pick him up with my two fingers. “You make me blush, Geo,” I say, grabbing my striped backpack with my free hand and slinging it over my shoulder. “Now be very quiet,” I instruct him, putting one finger to my lips. Tepidly, I slip him into my pocket. “I don’t want mother to find out.”

I skip down the stairs, yelling my good mornings to my parents.

Father shushes me. 

"Good morning," I repeat in a softer tone.

At least my mother responded. She turns around from the pan, flashing me a smile. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she chirrups, leaning over and kissing me on the forehead. “Have a good sleep?”

“The whole eight hours,” I lie, shoving an apple in my mouth and smiling. I’m an insomniac. No one but Geobok knows. I never thought it was problematic enough to tell my parents or anyone, really. I still feel fine after 2 to 3 hours of sleep. I hear that you could get crazy from lack of sleep but meh.

“Good,” she says, turning back again. “I’m making pancakes so I hope you have an appetite.”

I jump in my seat, happy. “Really?! Goody!” I cry, earning another hush from my father across me. I mutter a sorry and bite into my apple.

Another thing you need to know about this house is that my mother’s a vegetarian. She’s a biologist, and she also has a minor in veterinary. My mother is a bit of a control-freak and of course, since she’s the house cook, she controls the food we eat. Everyday it’s salad, salad, (a twist) fruit salad, salad, and it goes on. It’s not a wonder how Haerin’s so flat, really.

Don’t get me wrong though. I am in no way a vegetarian. After breakfast each morning, before school, I’d grab a small bite at this shop nearby the school, Samson. They sell the best burritos and there’s this cute guy there who works at the cashier. And not to brag but we’ve talked. If you count him asking me if I’d like cheese with that and me nodding in answer as a conversation – then yes, we’ve talked. Spaz out.

“Here you go,” mother says, snapping me out of my thoughts as she places a plate of hot, fresh, neatly stacked pancakes in front of me. Sliced pieces of kiwis and strawberries are sandwiched in between the slices, finished beautifully with a top of whipped cream.

“Wow, mother, you must be in some mood!” I say, gleeful. “Oh, but could you hand me a… salad? Only a piece, please.”

The waft of the pancakes even stop father from his work for a while. “That smells divine, Joori,” he remarks.

“Oh, aren’t you guys just darlings,” she gushes, taking off her apron and folding it up into a neat square, “Sure, sweetie! At least someone’s sticking to their diet,” she adds, side-eyeing father who’s poking at his food.

He looks up at us, looking lost. “What?”

Mother rolls her eyes at his behaviour then turns back to me. “The greener the better I always say,” she says, handing me what I want.

I thank her and feign scratching my armpit, veering my hand and silently slipping the slick of green into my front pocket. In the corner of my eye, I see Geobok eagerly gobbling up.

“Oh yes! I wanted to tell you this yesterday but I met Dr Hayasaki Shisou – he’s from Japan – and his work on hippopotamuses is exquisite, really. And he came to me for reference – all the way from Japan!”

I sort of drifted off after that. I do not want to hear about the mating rituals of hippos, thank you. I’ll just leave father to it, he eats this stuff up. I finish eating in five minutes flat and get up from the table to place my dirty dishes in the sink. Mother’s plate was already bare but father’s was still ¾ full, I take both anyways. Father never eats much.

My parents are still talking after I finish washing up the plates. I don't bother interrupting, I merely peck each of them on the cheek, and made my way out the front door, not even saying goodbye. I'm pretty sure they don't even notice I'm gone as they're so rapt in talking about hippo s.

I was walking rather hastily, nearly breaking into a run. The school gates are already in sight by the time I reach Samson. I plan to just walk past (since I already had my morning fill) when the cute cashier I said about strolled outside.

I think I jumped when he and I make eye contact. He has those brooding, intense eyes that all those characters in the cliched movies have, the ones who walk around in leather jackets a lot and has a knife strapped to their thigh. Our eyes lock with each other's for a long moment. What’s even more unexpected is that he suddenly starts talking. To me.

“Hey, it’s you. Coming in?” he speaks in that deep, too-y voice of his.

The first thing that crosses my mind is, OMG – he recognizes me? Then a little part of me dies.

I see that he has his nametag on. He usually never wears his nametag. Bang Yongguk. No wonder he seems a bit familiar. I thought it was just because I’ve been visiting the shop for so long now but it's actually because he’s the Bang Yongguk of YG Academy.

I’ve heard his name tossed around in school lots of time before. He’s considered pretty popular. Heck, all the boys of YG Academy are considered 'pretty popular' to some extent. YG Academy’s this super prestigious all-boys school across the road from Hajima High. Both our schools are considered huge rivals when it comes to soccer and math. But most people never really know about the second one. From what I hear around school, Yongguk was a senior – graduated just last year, I think – and I recall hearing that he used to be a prodigy of some sort  in school. 

Yonnguk’s always making attempts at conversation. May it be adding a “the weather’s nice today, isn’t it?” or completely dissing a rude customer before me, he actually does try to converse with me. But since I'm born introverted and get tongue-tied easily (especially the ones who are male and cute and overall opposites of me), I usually end up responding with an absent-minded nod, saying nada or spouting complete and utter nonsense.

I take a deep breath and say, “Hrgbflr.” Spouting nonsense it is then. What is wrong with me – I am pretty sure that I’m the only one who can pronounce half the stuff that comes out of my mouth.

“Hagleblefur?” he echoed, grinning at me as he swiftly takes out a cancer stick and lights it. “I’m not sure if that’s on the menu.”

I had to hide the cringe on my face when I notice the box of cigars poking out of his back pocket. So that's why he's outside. He’s probably on his break. Doesn’t he know that that stuff he’s smoking can kill him? Maybe not immediately, but in a few years yes. 

I shake my head vigorously in response, making unnecessary hand motions.

Yongguk seemed bemused. “Oh, oh, so we’re playing charades now,” he teases.

My face is flaming red and before I can stop myself, I blurted, “Did you know that at every six seconds, a person dies from tobacco?” That was the first time I properly respond to him and I end up offending him. I wonder if he actually does have that knife now. Just kill me, please.

His mouth twitches in a small smirk. “Actually, I do know that. I take statistics classes. The most boring I’ve experienced ever. Never take a statistics class, I warn you.”

“…You’re not offended?”

A chortle escapes his lips. “Not really, no, I’m not an idiot. I know the danger of tobacco. The crap has about 4000 ing chemicals in it and 250 of its known to be harmful to the human body,” he pauses, taking a long drag and I take it as my cue to speak again.

“Yet you still…”

“I guess I just like living on the edge.”

I stare at him and he stares back. I look away.

“That and most people are driven into because they’re sort of forced to, you know. Not forced physically, no, but…” he drifts off, his eyes seem to refocus and looking me over as if he just finally noticed that I'm just some high schooler, just another dumb, naïve teen, “you’ll understand when you get older, kid.” Throwing his finished stick to the ground, he then grounds it  into ashes.

He turns, about to make his way back inside, when he speaks up again. “Better get your pretty little to school before the bell rings,” he sing-songs, stepping back into the shop.

I think I squeaked – did he just call me pretty – and drag myself away.

EDITED.