Seokjin’s mother had taken a realist approach for raising Seokjin. As in, when he started talking, she told him that she didn’t know who his father was. And she had to quit school because she was pregnant with him at age 17. From talking to his aunt, Seokjin learned that his mother had several lovers, all Elites, who would spend absurd amounts of money on her and bought her a decent apartment in the Enamel. She lost the lovers and the apartment when they found out she was pregnant. He spent his first few years of life understanding how much of a burden he was to his mother, and the rest of his childhood doing everything he could to relieve some of the stress from her life. At times he even received praise, for example, she hugged him when they received the letter about his scholarship to the best high school in the city, one that even Blue Bars had to fight to enter. Yes, the people that had looked down on him all of his life would be in his same classes. From a young age, Seokjin knew not to trust Elites.

Which is why Kim Seokjin, barcode #92-4508, was currently sitting across from Kim Namjoon, heir to South Korea’s largest electronics company, at a center table in one of the finer restaurants in the Enamel.

“So wh- what are you ordering?” Namjoon stammered.

“Uhh,” Seokjin scanned over the menu, the drink’s alone were worth one week of his mother’s salary, “water?”

“I’m paying.”

“Then carbonated water,” the least expensive thing on the menu.

Namjoon nodded and looked out to the other tables.

Okay, so how did this happen?

 Seokjin was one of three Plebeians at the academy. Three. During the day, Seokjin was the subject of constant stares and would have multiple people tug on his left sleeve in an attempt to see his barcode. He didn’t tell the teachers, they already knew. Whenever he was harassed, he would lock eyes with the nearest adult. Then they looked away with furrowed brows. The only teacher who seemed to care was Mr. Kang, though he also leers during gym class, which further convinced Seokjin never to be alone with him. Since his classmates were going to stare at him, he might as well play the game. And get good grades. And confuse their pretty rich faces that can afford fancy private tutors.

Kim Namjoon had the best frustrated face.

He also stared the most.

It wasn’t until after Namjoon dyed his hair silver that Seokjin began thinking the stares might have less to do with his social status, and more to do with how kind puberty was to him. (Because, really, why else would Namjoon blatantly stare at Seokjin in the locker room? Or everywhere else?)

So when Seokjin was voted class vice president, assistant to Namjoon, he saw it as an opportunity to conduct a little experiment. Does the rich brat like him?

Judging from their run in at the club, yes.

Maybe. Seokjin thinks so? Why else would Namjoon have asked to meet at this restaurant? Fifteen minutes into the date and Namjoon only made eye contact when Seokjin arrived late. (To be honest, Seokjin almost left when he saw the marble floors and gaudy red curtains framing the entrance.) Seokjin didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad one.

At school, Namjoon would speak with confidence, even when disrupting a teacher. And when it was just the two of them performing classroom duties, he was commanding and authoritative, he always told Seokjin what to do.

But here? Here he wasn’t even talking. It was a completely different side to him.

Seokjin stared down at the silverware. Would they be worth more in the slum’s black market, or at a pawn shop in the Enamel?

“How was your day?” Namjoon asked, attempting eye contact this time.

“It was good I guess,” Seokjin shrugged.

Namjoon nodded and looked away again.

Seokjin turned the silver knife in his hand. “You?”

“Me?”

“How was your day?” Seokjin clarified.

“Umm it was okay. Thanks for asking.”

“Well you asked first, I was just conducting social norms.”

Namjoon tugged on his tie.

Seokjin examined the knife. It would probably make more at the pawn shop. Plebeians wouldn’t care if the knife had a peacock feather carved into it or not, as long as it cut meat.

Namjoon cleared his throat, “I was actually working on the research paper for history.”

“Oh.”

Another pause.

“Did you choose a topic yet?” Seokjin asked.

“I’m leaning towards censorship, or, if that’s too broad, how the Cabinet chooses which books are ‘approved’ and which ones should be burned.”

“You should go with a nicer topic. Like puppies, Mr. Kang looks like a dog person.”

“What’s wrong with censorship?”

Seokjin shrugged, “Just, I don’t know.”

Another pause.

The centerpiece was fancy too. Were those diamonds decorating the rim of the candleholder? Seokjin refrained from grabbing it and turning it in his hands. He’s sure that would be a dead giveaway of his status. Even with long sleeves covering his barcode, he was surprised when the concierge actually let him in.

“What’s your subject, for the paper?” Namjoon asked.

“Tattoos and their history of marking criminals,” Seokjin answered.

Namjoon stared down at the menu.

Seokjin looked up at the ceiling, it was a high roofed restaurant, with intricate patterns painted on to it. Seokjin looked to the neighboring table. It was a man and woman, his wife, judging by the rock on her hand. Married three years, Seokjin assumed, judging by how quietly they ate, but were still playing footsie under the table. Probably the end of their honey moon period, he guessed. She might be pretty, if only she didn’t wear so much makeup, her eyeliner was too thick. She reminded Seokjin of a raccoon.

The husband was wearing a three piece suit. Seokjin saw golden cuff links.

Seokjin turned back to look up at the ceiling. He thought about his too short slacks and cheap blue button up shirt he was wearing. He mumbled, “I don’t belong here.”

“What was that?”

“I should leave,” Seokjin stood up from his chair.

“Why?” Namjoon looked up from his menu, but Seokjin didn’t meet his gaze. He was picking up his blazer and pushing in his chair and turning towards the exit.

“Sorry for making you waste a reservation.”

“Kim Seokjin, wait!”

Seokjin turned to Namjoon. He was standing up, with that familiar stubborn look in his eyes.

“Why do you want to leave so bad? We haven’t even ordered yet?” it was more of a command then a question.

Seokjin looked around the room. He his lips, smoothed his pants, then sat back down in his chair. “Namjoon people are staring.”

Namjoon looked around them, yes everyone had stopped chewing to stare at them. He slumped back in his seat and hid his face in his hands, “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for a table in the middle.”

“You shouldn’t have asked for a table at all.”

“I wanted La Sirena but it was booked tonight,” Namjoon rubbed at his temples.

“That was a sign, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

“This place is ridiculous. All the people here probably drove in their ridiculous cars, from their high floor apartments near the center of town, to eat over priced food from a plate embedded with rhinestones.”

“Those are gemstones.”

Seokjin glared, “You get the point. I feel so awkward in here.”

“What happened to Mr. I’m-so-attractive-I-can-get-away-with-murder?”  Namjoon teased.

“That was different! Clubs are different! Clubs are dirty and loud and everyone is too self-involved to care who’s around them. It’s easy to be confident there,” Seokjin slumped in his chair, “Here I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”

Namjoon nodded, “Well that makes two of us.”

Seokjin made a confused face.

“I feel like everyone is staring at you too.”

Seokjin groaned, “Thanks.”

“Hey, that’s what you get when you’re the most attractive person in this room.”

“What?” Seokjin blinked.

Namjoon’s face turned red, suddenly the candle centerpiece was very interesting, “I mean, yeah , you-  you look good tonight.”

Seokjin looked down at his hands, in a small voice, he said, “No I don’t”

“Yes you do, now shut up and order something besides water,” Namjoon waved the waiter over.

Even he had fancy cufflinks and wrote in a fancy fountain ink pen. Begrudgingly, Seokjin ordered the special. Rather, Namjoon ordered two specials while Seokjin glared from across the table.

Not even a half hour later, the waiter brought a bottle of wine and their food. It was some sort of fish, with the face still on it. The wine glass was much more interesting, there were some sort of sparkly stone embedded in them. Namjoon could probably name it, Seokjin didn’t ask.

Seokjin barely touched his plate, though he ate all the bread, that counts for something right? The wine was finished fast. Seokjin didn’t notice if it was him or Namjoon who drank more, either way they were both surprised when the bottle was empty. Even the waiter widened his eyes, though he didn’t question it when Namjoon ordered another bottle. This time Seokjin did limit his drinking, he wasn’t going to have a repeat of what happened at the club. He didn’t want to go through the awkward morning after again. Namjoon ended up asking the waiter to replug the bottle so that he could take it home. They didn’t stay long enough for dessert.

Seokjin raced out of the haughty restaurant and in the glass elevator overlooking the city. From their floor, they could see over most of the buildings in the enamel and all of the slum apartments. If Seokjin squinted, he could see the wide white buildings that made up the green houses where his mom worked. Namjoon leaned against the other side of the elevator.

Seokjin sighed “Why were we here?”

“It’s called- it should have been a date Seokjin. You know what those are?”

“Of course, just never had one in the Enamel’s top floor restaurants,” Seokjin continued to inspect the glass, his refusal to meet Namjoon’s eyes may or may not have something to do with Najoon’s earlier comment.

“Then what do you usually do?”

Seokjin shrugged, “We usually ate at one of those food stands and then had at his place.”

“You’re an easy date,” there was amusement in Namjoon’s tone.

“I never said I went out with more than one person. I have one ex, we were together for two years,” Seokjin rested his head against the elevator glass.

“What ended it?”

“He didn’t want a bastard plebeian tainting his chances of moving to a bigger building in the Enamel.”

Seokjin heard Namjoon shift in his place. Seokjin sighed, “That’s why this is a bad idea.”

“That doesn’t make this a bad idea,” Namjoon said, “It just makes him a .”

Seokjin blinked, “What?”

Namjoon spoke again, “Okay, so you have a barcode tattoo, and you live in the slums, and judging from his statement, your mom slept around,” Seokjin nodded, he couldn’t argue that last point, “but you’re smart, you’re attractive, you’re respectful. Your status doesn’t change any of that.”

Seokjin felt his own face grow hot. In a quiet voice he asked, “Then why did you hate me?”

Nam Joon shifted, “I get a lot of pressure to be number one. I was frustrated, to always come in second place.”

“Second place to a plebeian?”

“Second place to anyone, be it Elite, Blue, or Plebeian. Class status doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Spoken like a politician,” Seokjin scoffed.

“Really, if I cared about status would I really have made a reservation at that ridiculous place,” Namjoon waved his hand in the direction of the restaurant, “And a center table? If I was bothered by race, I would have invited you to my apartment to eat ty instant food.”

Seokjin laughed. Namjoon smiled, the same smile he gave Seokjin the morning after that night at the club.

“Okay, I’ll believe you for now. But next time we’ll go to your apartment and I’ll cook, okay?”

“So there’s a second date,” Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

Seokjin his lips and looked away. He heard Namjoon’s smile when he said, “You didn’t say no.”

“Oh shut up,” Seokjin hid his smile behind his hand.

Namjoon laughed to himself.

The green smog of the city was hidden by the artificial glow lighting up the streets as they drove. Nam Joon circled through some of the main streets in the Enamel, shopping districts that Seokjin had never seen before and laughed at their gaudy displays. Seokjin didn’t need to give directions this time. And while they drove in silence, it didn’t feel awkward.

When Namjoon pulled up in front of Seokjin’s apartment, they didn’t kiss good bye, though Seokjin lingered for a minute, but when Namjoon leaned in, Seokjin quickly opened the door and left.  He was still smiling when he reached his room.