09.

Grades had a way of making everyone anxious. Schools knew exactly just the way to make everyone sit up at the edges of their seats, bottom lip in teeth and hearts on overdrive.

It wasn’t until the beginning of spring semester that final grades came out, sending everyone who’d been slacking off back on a mad sprawl. This everyone including me.

“How was that project not an A plus material?”

Rage was a little short of what I was feeling. Rage would have ended at being upset and ranting at your closer of friends; what I was feeling, I was a tad closer to wanting to smash a certain professor’s head in.

(Because who could deny, that project had been borderline perfect.)

A low chuckle, Junmyun was by my side - Hyungjun on the other, shaking his head (because he’d gotten just barely a passing grade) - patting my back sympathetically. He understood what I meant. After all, he had been there for the filming. Junmyun knew how much work and effort had gone in making that blast music video - which, again, had been a horrible way of making performance grades.

“Hey, at least you got an A.” Hyungjun was just being a sour , shaking his head and biting back at everything I said. He could blame himself for not doing a better job on his group work. “You could have not passed and screwed life over.”

I glared, deservingly. “I wouldn’t have had to retake that class again if it wasn’t for you anyways. Which reminds me, I haven’t beat you up enough for th-”

“Oh look it’s spaghetti day. You like spaghetti, why don’t I buy today?”

Rescued by the pasta.

“You’re buying for me too, right?”

To a roll of laughter (led by a more than innocent Junmyun, trying to up the death in the atmosphere) we made toward the increasing lunch line. And heavens have it that I was going to empty Hyungjun’s wallet today - he deserved it.

With plates of food and Suhoon joining a little late - being a up, he had to stay behind to help the professor clean up the class - our usual small group of three had grown out to a four, Junmyun rolling along since the beginning of the spring semester. Good; now I wouldn’t have to feel like the third wheel between my friends’ lazy back and forths (Hyungjun had a way of absorbing Suhoon in a conversation and leaving me out). Now Junmyun could play third wheel with me.

“So anyone up to writing to the head administrator to get professor Park fired?”

“That’s dumb.” Before any of us (us being the remaining sane ones minus Hyungjun) had a chance to retort back, Kwangseok arrived behind me, reaching out over my head to steal a bite of Junmyun’s garlic bread. “The administrator doesn’t care what we have to say, as long as they get money in their pockets.”

And as much as I wanted to deny, it was true.

Hyungjun took the quick refusal hard though, glaring with another horrible idea of getting our ex performance professor out of our school. “We could kill him.”

“And end up in jail?” Judging the little wince, Suhoon had kicked him under the table. “No thanks.”

“Only if you get caught!” Oh yes, with Hyungjun’s genius stealth skills, there was absolutely no way of getting caught. Yeah right. (He was about as stealthy as an elephant with gas problems.) “We just have to make sure we’re not caught, yeah? Could snipe him or something when he’s not paying attention!”

Sometimes, it was questionable just how he’d gotten into school. For the lack of intelligence his brain held, he had some amazing sorts of luck.

(I won’t admit that I’m maybe just a little jealous - because admitting would mean losing. Or something like that anyways.)

I’m pretty sure the all of us - and everyone else on this planet, whether they knew or not - thought Hyungjun was an absolute idiot. (Though, I had this theory that he was only acting like an idiot; a theory he would without a single thought absolutely smash into a thousand little pieces whenever he as much as opened his mouth.)

“How about you make that plan and tell us when it succeeds?”

We were laughing, mostly over Hyungjun’s misery, food more or less remaining cold and untouched on trays rather than in our stomach as they were meant to go. And usually, I wouldn’t have ever let food go to waste. (Times changed.)

Somewhere between the laughing, Junmyun nudged me on the shoulder, leaning in (just over my ear) to remind me of Junhong’s kindergarten release time. Right.

Excusing ourselves, shoving my plate (doing the same with Jumyun’s despite his protest) at Hyungjun to put away (laughing and sticking my tongue in tease), I took Junmyun by the wrist to run away before any protests stuck in. It wasn’t nice, as put by Junmyun, but Hyungjun wasn’t a very nice friend either; and now we were even - even if it was a little not fair on my end of the deal.

Kindergarten began in the morning. Waking up, Yongguk would cook for us, having already set out bowls of rice and soup, running wild in the kitchen, somehow doing the cooking and washing dishes at the same time (he was magical, Junhong and I’d concluded). We’d (we being just Junhong and I, Yongguk ate while cooking - and washing the dishes, again, magic) eat, gathered lazy and still a little drowsy from sleep, before waving Yongguk off for work. And while putting the dishes in the sink to soak was supposed to be our next task, more often than not, he and I would opt for the couch, rolling around until the very last minute to wash up and panic, tripping at least three times before completely ready for the day. Slipping the dishes in the sink, a little too late, we’d only then head out the door.

A little down the street, Junmyun would be there, Yifan in one hand and a whole patch of lollipops - the kid was unstoppable, demanding candy since Junhong had last shoved candy down his throat - in the other. We’d run over, mumble apologies for being late (Junhong was quickly becoming too much like me) before making another dash toward Junhong and Yifan’s school - because, again, we’d be late.

Sending the kids off - letting out a huge sigh of relief if and when Yifan didn’t demand all of the candies in Junmyun’s hand (because that would mean having to visit the convenience store before picking him up again - Junmyun and I’d finally find relief. Then would begin the slow, lazy walk and conversation to school.

Looking back, Junmyun and I spent a good percent of our day together, joined allies mostly for the kids.

It was too obvious how well we’d gotten along these days.

“Do you have candy on you?”

Patting down his pockets, Junmyun turned to me, quick fear crawling in his brown eyes. Well , because all I could offer here was a useless, “Uh.”

Turning on our heels, even with the kindergarten clear in our sight, was automatic and sadly rehearsed, breaking out into a mad sprint back to the convenience store. While Junhong could wait for candy until later, Yifan was a whole new different deal; Yifan would throw a huge fit and send Junmyun to the hospital.

“God, I swear I’m using more money on Yifan than I’m getting from my aunt. She has this queer idea that Yifan actually likes me.”

Swinging the little black baggy provided by the part timer at the store, I glanced sideways at Junmyun. He complained more about Yifan than school (and being an under budgeted college student - victim to government’s cruel ideas that raising our fees was a good idea - this was a big no, government was everything to blame).

“Why don’t you just stop watching him then? I mean, his kindergarten’s not on break anymore.”

He turned a little, a tiny sheepish smile, “That’d mean I wouldn’t have an excuse to hang out with you anymore.” And before I’d gotten a chance to ask, he ran off, pulling at my wrist with a snicker. “Come on, don’t want Yifan any more cranky than he already is bound to be.”

Sometimes, I didn’t get things. Despite the countless number of books I’d read up on reading human psychology (animals were complicated and consisted so much less of proved facts and were just of pure assumptions), I’d never really understand what was going on in their heads. Junhong, Yongguk and now Junmyun.

(Why would he need an excuse to hang out?)

By the time we got to school, Junhong and Yifan (Kris), were all clothed thick in their jackets and waiting for us, sitting by the sandbox with hands full of … … sand - if that wasn’t obvious. The minute Yifan caught sight of us, he was up (glaring, hissing) and throwing his handful at Junmyun, throwing childish curses (“Stupid! You’re late!”). Lucky for me, Junhong was less evil - I mean, emotional.

Junhong ran up to me, his backpack - the oversized thing, probably large enough for him to sit in - bouncing on his back and screwing his steps. He tripped just once before coming to crash up against my legs, yapping out a squee.

“You’re late,” he mumbled, face stuffed up against my knees, slobbering a little against my pants. “I got worried.”

I pat him on the head, prying him off and squatting to his height to give him a pat on the head. “Sorry?” Because even if I were late, it’d only been by a couple of minutes - five at most.

Nodding, Junhong easily decided to forgive me, turning to rescue Junmyun when a loud yelp and whimper came from their direction, setting to tugging a near hissing (Junmyun was right, Yifan is a demon) friend off of mine. Tossing the two the bag of sweets - of which, I had the mistake of carrying (should have let Junmyun have it) - I helped him up, laughing at the complete mess his hair had become, peppered in sand.

“He’s a demon. He’s an absolute demon, I swear. Do you believe me now?”

His eyes had gone wide, a little wild from the supposed hell he’d just experienced.

Just wait until Yifan got a little older, enough to reach up to Junmyun’s hip instead of knees.

(Though, I feared the same, when Junhong would grow crotch height and decided excitement be a legitimate reason to crash into my front. I wouldn’t be able to explain him to him quite right why exactly he wasn’t allowed to headbutt into my crotch anymore - if anything, I’d be too down on the floor screaming, leaving Yongguk to explain why.)

Brushing Junmyun off and popping a lollipop - two on Yifan’s case (the kid was going to die from diabetes someday) - in Junhong’s mouth, we waved Yifan and Junmyun off, promising to meet again tomorrow morning. Oh, and leaving an empty promise to be on time tomorrow, a promise made practically every day (and forgotten just as easily).

(Sorry Junmyun.)

Taking Junhong’s backpack off of him, he reached up to take my hand, clinging off it, trying to swing it between the two of us.

“Today, today,” he began, squeaking at the first syllable to catch my attention (no need, he was all I thought about these days), “Junhong made a new friend!”

Just today, I decided against fixing his new found habit of speaking in third person (and repeating himself). “Really?” Because even he deserved a break from constant nagging - because I’d apparently unknowingly filled in the nag my mom used to do at me for my poor habits. “Who is he?”

“His name is Sanghyuk. He’s about,” he paused, pulling his free hand to reach a little above him, “this tall. And he has a pretty Hongbin unnie!”

“A pretty -”

Usually, I was good about not laughing at Junhong’s little mistakes. Usually, I’d just go over them, ignoring his mispronunciations (sometimes correcting him), and making the necessary comments back.

But today was a little over doing it.

“A Hongbin unnie?”

He didn’t seem to the get the reason why I was laughing, nodding back with wide eyes and asking if I knew who this pretty unnie was. I just didn’t have the guts to tell him that he wasn’t supposed to say unnie (noona); and that this Hongbin probably wasn’t even a girl.

(The reason question was why Sanghyuk had decided to refer his older brother as his sister - and why he’d spoken in the female tense.)

Instead of explaining, I pat his head, shaking my head and biting back another roar of laugh. He’d learn later. Hopefully.

When Junhong’s class ended, as well as mine, our next schedule would to crawl back home and roll around the couches, him watching tv while I rocked feebly at homework, until dinner time rolled around. Sometimes, we’d order out, asking for delivered lunch boxes (or, dinner boxes in our case), while other times, we’d just heat whatever Yongguk had made that morning.

But today, today I’d gotten a good scolding from Yongguk this morning, just as I always did every once or twice a month. Mornings like today meant that I’d better go out for groceries before Yongguk figured out a way to haunt me in my dreams for rice and tofu.

“Hyung, hyung!”

I’d let go of Junhong’s hand, having him promise not to wander too far, for the total of two seconds before he was off in the other side of the supermarket, returning, running and tripping, with a box of chocolate cookies. Great, because we needed more junk food to keep him from eating his regular meals.

“Can we buy cookies?”

But I just didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

(How could you say no to that face?)

“Fine, but only that, okay? Nothing more.”

The chances were, Junhong’d go running off the second he found the flavored Pororo drink, but he nodded yes anyways (lies), climbing on his tip toes to reach into the shopping cart and tip the box in. “Promise!”

I had him hold onto my jacket from then, to keep him from getting lost between a mass of legs and carts (in reality, to keep him from finding anything else to buy that would lead to me getting the look from Yongguk). And with him between my legs, nearly tripping over him a couple times, we made through the list Yongguk provided, feeling an awful like a newlywed husband, out with his son for a pregnant wife.

(Except, in our case, Yongguk wasn’t pregnant.)

Getting in the checkout line and asking for a delivery, we set out of the store with only just a single bottle of Junhong’s Pororo drink and a packet of cookies. Something told me he wouldn’t eat dinner after this, but judging the look in his eyes, he was just seconds to throwing his fit if I said no.

(I didn’t want a troubled Junhong.)

We were may three steps out of the store when a far too familiar (almost scary familiar) voice held me back. “Himchan? Is that you Himchan?”

That queer feeling, like when a wave of memories, whether they be good or not, crashing straight into my face, that’s exactly how it felt when she was calling for me. A little like deja-vu.

“Himchan!” Her hands were around my shoulders in seconds, her brown hair fluttering around. “It is you!”

Jieun, Song Jieun.

Jieun had never really been a close friend of mine, growing up. She was the almighty star of our school, the model student. Meant to be seen, but totally out of reach and untouchable. To be honest, the first time I’d ever gotten to talk to her ever had been when Yongguk had introduced her to me. And even that had been a total accident; Jieun and I’d never really supposed to meet.

“It’s been such a long time since we last met!” She was smiling, her lips stretching to hang on her ears (almost). “How have you been doing? Oh we absolutely have to chat over coffee.”

But I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee.

I wasn’t supposed to talk to Jieun anymore.

“Oh? Who’s this?”

Before I had a chance to reject her offer, she’d already stooped down to Junhong’s height, peering from past my legs at a hiding Junhong. Well .

“Hi there? What’s your name?”

Junhong looked from between me and Jieun, blinking three times in repetition. “Junhong.”

“Well hi there Junhong? I’m Jieun noona.”

And I really didn’t know what I was supposed to do. So when Hyosung came out of the store, mumbling something about Jieun running away without paying, Jieun had already stolen Junhong from me, running off and laughing.

What else could I do, but run after her, Hyosung quick on my heels, making out an apology in her stead. And in minutes, we all ended up around the nearest coffee store with cups of coffee (minus Junhong, who had a nice warm cup of milk).

Great, just great.

“I didn’t expect you to get married so early.”

In the store, Jieun’s complete attention was poured completely on Junhong, cooing at each and every one of his actions, whether this be him blowing bubbles into his milk or toying with his now empty Pororo bottle. She ended up completely ignoring me.

“I didn’t,” I sighed, trying to take my eyes off of Jieun and Junhong.

(They were making me anxious.)

Hyosung’s eyes went wide at my (supposed) confession. “Oh!”

“No!” Well, that’d caught my attention. I turned to her, waving my hands in front in a violent denial. “He’s not mine. I mean, well, he is, but he’s not my kid and just - it’s a misunderstanding, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.” Because for sure, she’d never be able to guess who Junhong really was.

(She’d never be able to guess that Yongguk was Junhong’s dad. That Jieun was his mom.)

We didn’t stay for long. As soon as Junhong’s milk was finished, just on time, he began complaining that he was tired (probably the first time I’d ever been happy of him complaining). That as an excuse, we were gone.

On the way back, he demanded he be carried back, but even then I couldn’t find myself complaining.

Better than toughing it out with Jieun and Hyosung, not really able to say anything.

“Hey Junhong? What if Jieun noona was your mommy? Would you like that?”

I wasn’t sure how exactly I’d be able to explain to Yongguk that Jieun had seen Junhong. Was I even supposed to tell him? He probably hadn’t expected that Jieun would still be living here when he returned.

Small world.

“No,” yawning, nuzzling into my nape, Junhong mumbled, just barely loud enough to catch. “Junhong already have mommy.”