Junhyung finds out about it before he actually sees it.

          It’s before school, before the first bell, before everyone has to hide their phones or turn them off, meaning that his own phone is sitting on the pile of books in front of him, with simultaneous tabs to several sites. Everything is relatively quiet, with updates here and there about how so-and-so got a haircut over break or so-and-so broke up or so-and-so got together or so-and-so got a new pool. He can ignore all of those. He can ignore those because they pop up every few minutes.

          He can’t, however, ignore when the numbers in parentheses on all of his tabs suddenly go shooting up in intervals of tens. It’s even harder to ignore Joon running in to the cafeteria at the speed of track-athlete-light, ramming into the table, collapsing into a seat with Jonghyun not much farther behind—looking less stupid, but just as shocked. Yonghwa, beside Junhyung, is staring at the screen of his own phone, hands in mid-motion sorting music sheets.

          “Yoseob,” Joon pants, “He—bruise—don’t know—this—happened—just—how—what—it’s—huge—ing——you—this—Doojoon—they—France—ugh—can’t—why—he’s—Junhyung-ah.”

          Junhyung stares at Joon for a few seconds before promptly stamping useless on that case and turning to Jonghyun for a coherent explanation. “Yoseob-hyung,” Jonghyun says, eyes glued to his phone, fingers scrolling up and down the screen, “has this like ing gianormous bruise on his face—like he got the slapped by Voldemort or something.” He looks up. “Check your phone—mine’s pretty much exploding from everyone tweeting about this.”

          He does check his phone and there aren’t only tweets about it—there are pictures too—crystal clear photographical evidence, snapshots taken just seconds ago as Doojoon and Yoseob get out of the car and walk towards the school. Considering the latest photo which had a shooting time of two-seconds-ago, Doojoon and Yoseob should be in the cafeteria in about—

          Now.

          The reality isn’t much worse than the pictures, but it’s not much better either. Junhyung expectedly, appropriately, wants to ask Doojoon about this so he knows the name of who he’s supposed to maim and torture and push down mountains and burn and skin and kill. He wants to ask Doojoon why they weren’t alerted of this earlier, even though a part of him knows that Yoseob and Doojoon only reached Korea on Saturday and were probably jet-lagged while simultaneously trying to do an entire vacation’s worth of homework.

          But he still thinks that maybe—maybe—Yoseob being attacked-or-beaten-or-something-that-Junhyung-doesn’t-want-to-even-consider might just have a little priority over homework because how does it make sense that he and Jonghyun and Joon and Yonghwa and after this Dongwoon and Kikwang and Hyunseung and everyone else who matters has to find out from huge walls of spam on their phones and photos-verging-on-stalking?

          Plus, if he’d known since the weekend, it might’ve given him more time to plan the death or deaths of the involved parties.

          When Yoseob and Doojoon reach the table and take seats across from Junhyung, Joon and Jonghyun, who are still standing, stare identical wide-eyed stares. They stare and Junhyung stares and Yonghwa stares until Yoseob says, “Thanks, guys.”

          “Is there even a point in asking what happened?” Yonghwa asks apprehensively.

          The captain and co-captain don’t look particularly upset or tense about anything. In fact, if the bruise wasn’t there, Junhyung would probably be puking into his coffee cup because they’re shooting out more flying hearts than Dongwoon and Kikwang did before they went off for Christmas vacation.

          “There is, actually,” Doojoon says, arm slung casually around the smaller boy’s shoulder.

          “Basically everyone wants me,” Yoseob says, shrugging. “Nothing new, there, right? But I met up with a guy from my old school and he kind of wanted me a little more than he should.”

          A long, terrible silence follows that.

          A long, terrible silence that’s only broken when Doojoon says, quietly, lightly, “It’s okay. It didn’t happen all the way, and he’s fine—” the captain’s arm visibly curls closer around Yoseob’s shoulders and his fingers grip the smaller boy’s shoulder, “Don’t get hung up on it.”

          “Really,” Yoseob says, offering a smile, looking from Jonghyun to Joon to Junhyung to Yonghwa. “Don’t—I’m good, and you guys know I don’t bull. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

          Junhyung doesn’t think so. He thinks it’s more like there would never be any way that Yoseob would never be all right because Doojoon wouldn’t stop until the captain made sure he is. He knows that the only reason Yoseob seems so unaffected is because something happened in France that’s for their ears only, and Junhyung and Jonghyun and Joon and Yonghwa will just have to take Yoseob’s word for it—which really isn’t all that difficult considering that it all seems pretty much true. Doojoon and Yoseob, if anything, left with a thick, metal wire tying them to each other and came back with a huge metal bar cementing them together.

          The poor bastard from Yoseob’s old school probably got a concussion from hitting his head on it too hard.

          For the record, Seungho isn’t staring at Joon.

          “I think you’re staring at him,” Byunghee says as they watch the three boys finish their warm-up laps in the indoor track field, “which is okay, you know. Changsun-ah’s an attractive kid—if you’re into that type.”

          Seungho shoots him a look. “What type?” he asks flatly.

          “The retarded type,” Byunghee says, looking like keeping a straight face is life’s greatest struggle.

          Seungho wants to kick him except that would be unprofessional while students are present and plus, it’s not like Byunghee’s statement is in any way inaccurate or untrue. “I’m not staring at him,” Seungho says, folding his arms and continuing to follow Joon with his eyes. “I’m observing his running style—he has really good form.”

          Byunghee snorts.

          But it’s true. Joon has good form. He has long legs so when he runs, there’s a little bit of spring when he moves from foot to foot and Seungho can see the sinew, the muscle, in his legs stretching and working beneath flawless skin. Because they are indoors, because the room is heated, they boys can wear the same clothes they would for spring track, which means the rest of Joon’s muscles are in full view too—and out of Cheondoong and Mir, Joon is the most well-rounded.

          Byunghee takes the boys to the work-out room on alternating days, but Joon was already fit all over from the get-go, and it shows when he strips off everything for practice. Seungho can watch rippling muscles in his arms, the flexing contours of his shoulders, the definite set of his jaw while he concentrates on jumping the low hurdles that are part of the warm up. Seungho thinks there’s something captivating about the way Joon runs, and despite Byunghee’s ridiculousness, there’s nothing wrong with watching Joon run.

          You know—for athletic purposes and all.

          “True,” Byunghee agrees. “He’s always been amazing on the track—even in his first year.”

          Seungho can see why Joon is so popular when the boy is on the field—his running and sprinting is sleek, his eyes concentrated and glittering, his jumps are free and light, and whether he’s under the sun or the fluorescent lighting in the indoor field, his skin still manages to glow tanned and perfect. He’s every bit as ridiculously attractive as Junhyung has complained to Seungho about before he started teaching, and on the field, where Joon clearly loves to be, it shows more than ever. On the field, Joon is more or less a god—he’s more or less every perfectly described hero from Greek epics to Victorian novels—

          Byunghee almost falls down laughing.

          Seungho—

          Just falls down.

          “Hyung,” Joon whines, panting, heavy and already hot from just the warm-up, sprawled on top of Seungho and pinning him to the fake turf, “I forgot to stretch and now I have a cramp.”

          Lee Joon is every perfectly described hero from the epics and novels and plays Seungho teaches about except when the midnight arrives and the spell ends and all Seungho is left with is a pumpkin.

          A whiny, sweaty pumpkin that forgets to stretch even after being on the track team for his entire high school career thus far.

          “How is this my problem?” Seungho says, staring at the high ceiling. “Get off me and go stretch.”

          “So you’ll stretch me?” Joon says far too cheerily for someone who is having a series of painful cramps in their legs.

          Maybe Seungho should make pumpkin pie.

          “Stretch yourself,” Seungho says and beats at Joon’s back because why is he so heavy?

          “You hate me, don’t you?” Joon asks glumly, hoisting himself up on one arm and looking down at Seungho imploringly. “You want me to die of this cramp and never run again, right? You want me to be a cripple, don’t you?”

          “Coach, just stretch him out,” Mir says, finishing his last lap and coming to a breezy halt. “So he’ll shut up.” Cheondoong walks past with the maknae and looks a lot like Byunghee—as though keeping a straight face must just be so hard that they can’t even have the proper courtesy of not laughing at their coach’s suffering.

          Seungho finally kicks Joon off of him (“Why—ow—this—hate me—I am in pain—hyung—how could you—this—student abuse—I—couldn’t you—hyung, really now.”), and stands up. “I do hate you, by the way,” Seungho says, as Joon lies down gleefully on his back and puts his legs in the air. The coach bends each leg one at a time so that the kneecap touches Joon’s chest.

          But Joon just grins up at him, arms easily pillowing his head. “Nah,” he says impishly, “you love me, don’t you, hyung?”

          Sometimes Seungho wonders how someone who stutters and spits and chokes out words in nonsensical order could ever be so popular that the first year girls in his class glare at him whenever he mentions having to tutor Lee Joon. Sometimes he wonders, but then it stops being Changsun-ah and it starts being Lee Joon and Seungho doesn’t have to wonder anymore. Although, perhaps Lee Joon by himself isn’t enough to make Joon as ridiculously popular as he is.

          Maybe it’s the fact that Changsun-ah and Lee Joon interchange places so often and spontaneously that makes Joon so endearing—so likeable and warm and open.

          Which is why Seungho has to be so careful.

          “Love’s a pretty strong word,” Seungho says back mildly, holding out his hand to pull Joon to his feet.

          Likeable and warm and open didn’t end well the last time, after all.

It’s not often that the soccer team tries to have a serious meeting because it’s not like they ever go well—it’s not like serious meetings ever really produce anything except lots of headaches on Doojoon’s part, loss of voice from nagging on Junhyung’s, and occasionally loss of consciousness on Yoseob, Kikwang, Dongwoon, and Hyunseung’s part (because of the soporific powers of Yoon Doojoon’s voice).

It’s not often that Doojoon attempts to put them through the grief of having a serious meeting, sitting down in a classroom rather than casually in a circle in one of the indoor fields, but now and again, the only way to resolve anything is a serious meeting and that’s what’s happening right now because it’s that time of the year—or maybe, more appropriately, just that time—when the soccer team needs to hold try-outs because you can’t have a six-member-soccer-team.

With Junho, Chansung, and Wooyoung graduating last year, they are quite a number short, meaning that before the training for the upcoming season starts, they have to hold try-outs—since not everyone had the same chance as Dongwoon to try-out over the summer so that he already has a confirmed place entering his first year. Their coach has more or less given them the reins to figure it out themselves and just alert him when they decide to hold them so he can tell the office and they can announce it over the PA in the mornings leading up.

          Presently, they are encumbered in the conference room within the guidance office after having been more or less imprisoned in there by their coach who told them that they are promptly not allowed to come out until everything has been decided. Thus far, it’s been mostly Doojoon who’s singlehandedly come up with what the hopefuls are going to do and in what order and what the criteria is and what time after school and how long and pretty much everything else that matters. Junhyung is looking over the proceedings with mild interest, telling Doojoon off if he misspells words while Yoseob tries to fling paper clips at the captain’s forehead using a rubber band as a slingshot.

          Dongwoon has his face buried in a Korean translation of Romeo and Juliet and Kikwang is leaned back in his seat, watching the maknae with something between curious interest and wanting-to-make-out. “Hyung,” Kikwang says, rolling a pencil across the table towards Hyunseung, “do you want to hang out this weekend or something? I don’t have any homework.”

          “Midterms?” Hyunseung pushes the pencil back. “They’re in a week.”

          “I don’t think mine are going to be that hard. Yours?”

          “I don’t know what mine are going to be on,” Hyunseung says. “So yeah, we should hang out this weekend.”

          Kikwang nudges the first year beside him. “Hear that, Dongwoon-ah? D’you want to hang out this weekend?”

          Dongwoon lowers the book, looking pained. “Hyung,” he says and Hyunseung doesn’t know whether the maknae means him or Kikwang since he’s sort of just staring outward in the general space, “this is going to be on my Lit midterm and I haven’t even read it yet. I have to read this and two other books or else I will fail.”

          “Oh,” says Kikwang. “I could just tutor you through it so you don’t have to read all of them.”

          Yoseob suddenly looks in their direction, amused. He leans to the side in his seat, one arm slinging over Hyunseung’s shoulders. “Yah,” he says, “Kikwang-ah, Dongwoonie’s never going to get anything done if you try to tutor him through Romeo and Juliet. That’s like the book of all books.”

          Kikwang laughs and Dongwoon looks in more pain than ever. “Stop it,” he pleads at Yoseob, “I’m serious here, hyung.”

          “So am I,” Yoseob grins. His eyes widen excitedly. “Yah, wait—have you two—“

          “Yang Yoseob,” Doojoon says loudly, banging one palm down on the table. “Yah—Yang Yoseob, you are the ing worst co-captain ever, so please stop ually harassing our maknae and help me plan the rest of these ing try-outs.”

          “You were ually harassed?” Kikwang asks Dongwoon, sounding genuinely curious. Dongwoon covers his eyes with a hand and the rest of his face with the book.

          Hyunseung thinks it’s about high time that Kikwang finally gets his own someone after always being there to listen to Hyunseung’s problems. He just hopes that Dongwoon never does anything that might result in Hyunseung having to obliterate him because Dongwoon is kind of huge and that’s too much obliterating for Hyunseung to do.

          He leans forward on the table, chin resting on top of his hands and tries not to stare at, tries to block out, Junhyung aiming paperclips back at Doojoon for trying to aim paperclips back at Yoseob because Yoseob is hurt obviously so why would the captain try to do that. He tries not to listen to Junhyung nagging at Yoseob about getting more sleep when he gets home because that makes bruises heal faster. He tries not to pay too much attention to how Junhyung’s been smiling this entire day because Yoseob is back from France—tries not to remember how every time he saw Junhyung in the halls, he was with Yoseob, asking animatedly about France and the snowboarding and—

          Hyunseung knows he’s a terrible person.

          He already knows that he’s a selfish, terrible, horrible person, but he doesn’t know how to stop thinking like this. He doesn’t know how to stop thinking about the fact that Junhyung is attached at the hip with Yoseob when Junhyung just misses his friend, when Junhyung just wants to make sure Yoseob is okay, when Junhyung just wants to spend time with him after being away all during break. Hyunseung already knows he’s a terrible person—it’s nothing new. If anything, it’s just like it was before—it’s precisely the way it was before, only this time Hyunseung knows that he himself is the one in the wrong and he shouldn’t get angry with Junhyung for anything.

          In all honesty, Hyunseung isn’t even sure why he feels this awful whenever he sees Junhyung with Yoseob—there’s nothing romantic in it, nothing with hidden intentions—it’s only friendship. The same goes for Hongki, but Hyunseung always feels awful and he doesn’t really know why. All he really knows is that any awfulness he might feel most likely comes from the fact that he continuously wishes isn’t true, but it always was and still is and always will be.

          It comes from the fact that Junhyung is too good for Hyunseung—that Hyunseung isn’t good enough, so just because Junhyung has started talking to Hyunseung again, has even asked Hyunseung to hang out, none of it changes the fact that Junhyung will still want to be with people who interest him—who’re good enough for him, who aren’t awkward, who’re funnier, who’re brighter, who’re louder and livelier.

          “You know,” Kikwang whispers with a small smile, leaning forward over the table as Doojoon says that they can all get out of his face now and go home because the captain thinks they’ve come as close as they will ever get to actually doing something productive in terms of planning the try-outs, “you can talk to him.” Yoseob tries to jump on Doojoon’s back and Junhyung starts yelling about how Doojoon shouldn’t dodge because then what if Yoseob falls and gets more bruises?

          “Right,” Hyunseung says, staring at the scene.

          “I’m serious,” Kikwang says, following Hyunseung’s gaze and frowning. “He’s always the one coming after you, right? Maybe you should try and talk to him first, instead.”

          “Sure, whatever you say,” Hyunseung says and Kikwang gives him an unhappy look. “I’m serious, too,” the third year says. “I’ll talk to him if he wants to talk to me, but I’m not going to just assume that he does. Now go and take care of our maknae—I think he’s going to faint.”

          Kikwang peers absently at the youngest member of the team, slumped over on the table, head cradled in his arms, novel thrown somewhere in the corner behind a shelf five feet away from the conference table. “You’re pathetic,” Kikwang says, fingers through Dongwoon’s hair. “But if you stave off the pathetic long enough to get to my house, I’ll give you my notes from last year. And I wouldn’t worry too much about it anyway. Yang-seonsangnim knows we’re Joonie-hyung’s friends so he won’t be too hard on his future brother-in-law.”

          Hyunseung chokes on his spit.

          Kikwang grins at the older boy.

          Dongwoon grunts and Hyunseung stands up because he was just staying long enough to make sure that their center is alive for the season, and now that he’s done that, he’s going home because he should probably find out what these midterms are about sometime before they actually start. And so he tells Kikwang and Dongwoon that he’ll see them tomorrow, slings over his backpack, picks up his books and coat, and heads for the door.

          He doesn’t get much farther than the door when he’s yanked to the side by fingers tugging at the sleeve of his Oxford. He’s yanked to the side, back colliding with the wall, and eyes meeting Yong Junhyung’s face—Yong Junhyung’s smiling, clearly considerably happy face.

          “Hey,” Junhyung says amiably.

          Hyunseung blinks because it’s not like Junhyung is a perpetually peppy person so when he is happy, it’s a great cause for disconcertment—a wonderful cause, really. “Hi,” Hyunseung replies because he isn’t sure what else he’s supposed to say which is probably just as well that once again it’s Junhyung approaching him unlike Kikwang’s terrible suggestion of having Hyunseung make the move because Hyunseung at making moves. Except for on the soccer field.

          And sometimes when Doojoon doesn’t get any the night before, he tells Hyunseung that he on the field too.

          But then again, when Doojoon hasn’t gotten any for more than two days, he tells everyone that they on the field. Including Yoseob.

          Which leads to angry in the showers and the rest of the team going home in their dirt-streaked uniforms, un-showered and unhappy because no one wants to be in the vicinity of captain and co-captain angry .

          Anyway.

          “I haven’t seen you all day,” Junhyung says lightly, hands in his pockets.

          Hyunseung raises his eyebrows. “Well, we don’t have any classes together, so you shouldn’t see me all day.”

          “I see you in the halls,” Junhyung points out, looking playfully indignant.

          “Oh,” and Hyunseung doesn’t say anything else because he doesn’t want to say that he sees Junhyung in the halls too—that he saw Junhyung in the halls today all the time, and every time he saw the other boy, it wasn’t without Yoseob. Every single moment he saw Junhyung today, it was with Yoseob at his side or him at Yoseob’s side, and that was probably why Junhyung hasn’t seen Hyunseung all day.

          Why look for something useless when you already have perfection?

          “You didn’t see me today?” Hyunseung asks, managing nonchalance.

          “I mean,” Junhyung shrugs, “I was with Yoseobie a lot today—I hadn’t talked to him all break and then he comes back looking like that, so I wanted to make sure he was okay and stuff. Not just physically, you know?” Hyunseung knows—he can hear the worry, the solemnity, the concern in Junhyung’s voice, how can he not know? How can he not know when Junhyung mentions being with Yoseob all day because they hadn’t talked during break and yet, he hadn’t talked with Hyunseung all break either.

          Hyunseung is a terrible person—he knows.

          “Yeah,” Hyunseung says quietly, because he should be concerned too—he should be worried and making sure that Yoseob is okay instead of being ing selfish and ing stupid and ing terrible and this is why Junhyung doesn’t deserve him because Hyunseung is too terrible and awful and Junhyung deserves better. Junhyung wants better. Hyunseung wants him to have better. “You’re really worried about him, huh?”

          “He’s got Doojoon,” Junhyung says with a half-smile, “You know they get through everything all right.” He punches Hyunseung’s arm lightly, “But what about us? What about hanging out? I know we have midterms coming up, but do—“

          “It’s okay,” Hyunseung says in an even quieter voice, shifting his backpack a little higher onto his shoulder, “if you want to be with Yoseob this weekend. You haven’t seen him in a while and you want to make sure he’s fine, right? So it’s okay, you know.”

          He’s staring at his feet and waiting—he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but he knows that he’s waiting and nothing’s coming. Junhyung isn’t saying anything, isn’t doing anything, and Hyunseung takes that as his cue to leave. He might or might not have messed things up again severely, but the fact of the matter is that he’s not going to let Junhyung do something he doesn’t want to especially if that means wasting a weekend on Jang Hyunseung when someone like Yoseob, someone more worth Junhyung’s time, is waiting for him.

          Hyunseung walks away.

          Or—

          At least—

          He intended to walk away, but he gets about one-and-a-half steps into that intention when he feels a hand wrap around his wrist, holding him in mid-step, and twisting his arm into a not-so-great position. It’s not that great of a position for his shoulder to be in so he turns around and braces himself for whatever is going to Junhyung’s expression when their eyes meet.

          Hyunseung gets a bit of a surprise, but nothing that his bracing didn’t prepare him for already. He gets a bit of a surprise because he expected something sad, something angry, something most likely irritated that Hyunseung is acting like a douchebag, but instead he just gets determined—he gets firm and unwavering and maybe even slightly nervous, a tiny bit hesitant. He gets all that, and he wants to say that the lack of irritation and anger is fine enough, but he gets more. He gets—

          “I’m sorry,” and Junhyung’s gaze bores into him.

          Hyunseung’s forehead creases. “No, I—“

          “I am,” Junhyung cuts him off. “I’m sorry, and don’t say you’re sorry, because you’re right. I do want to hang out with Yoseob this weekend.” His jaw tightens. “But I want to hang out with you more.”