When Joon arrives at their table in the cafeteria that morning with Jonghyun at his side, they are met with the usual sight of Yonghwa and his guitar, Junhyung sleeping with his back in perfect posture, and Jinki dropping by to make sure that he has the right answers for today’s math homework. They are, however, also met with the not-so-usual sight of Doojoon, tie-less, blazer-less, and belt-less with his head pillowed in his arms—Yoseob beside him, right hand scribbling answers to essay questions and left hand through Doojoon’s wayward hair.

          Jonghyun takes a seat across from Yoseob and snorts. “I’m glad to see the soccer retreat freshened you up so much, Doojoon-hyung.”

          “ off,” Doojoon mumbles into his elbow.

          “There, there,” Yoseob says flatly, eyes intently staring at the black and white print discussing the novel they were supposed to have read two weeks ago. The co-captain is too blinded by classic literature to see Doojoon lift his head up for just long enough to cast the younger boy a withering look. “He’s just pissed,” Yoseob explains, looking up at Joon and Jonghyun, “because of the ride home.”

          “What happened on the ride home?” Joon asks.

          “Nothing,” Yoseob shrugs. “It was just kind of rainy and we got back late and he got back to my place, fell asleep, missed dinner, and woke up at like three this morning without getting any homework done.”

          “You were supposed to wake me up,” Doojoon groans. “You were supposed to wake me up and now I’m going to fail AP Bio all because of you, Yang Yoseob.”

          Yoseob rolls his eyes. “Just tell Hyori-noona you want to take it tomorrow since you were gone all weekend—that’s what I’m doing.”

          “Can I have this?” Joon asks, pointing at the steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of Doojoon’s head.

          Yoseob shrugs again and pushes it towards him.

          Joon sips gingerly, and thinks that Yoseob must have brought it for Doojoon from his own chef because the Yang family always has the best chefs mostly due to the fact that Yoseob’s family’s owns a corporation that deals with food and restaurant chains. It certainly isn’t from the school café since, as rich and swanky as this school is, the hot chocolate always tastes like cocoa powder in cold water.

          He’s halfway to wondering if Seungho likes hot chocolate when he suddenly remembers what he was doing all last night until two in the morning and slams his AP Bio textbook down onto the table.

          Jonghyun jumps.

          Yoseob jumps.

          Doojoon bolts up right and looks like he is about to throw something.

          Junhyung looks this way.

          Yonghwa misses and strums a wrong chord and glares.

          Jinki jumps and makes his pencil draw a large errant line across his homework.

          “,” Doojoon says irritably, rubbing his eyes. “What, hyung?”

          “My party,” Joon says excitedly.

          He gets crumpled sheets of looseleaf thrown at him and Yonghwa says, “Be thankful my guitar is expensive or else I’m going to throw it at you.”

          “My party,” Joon repeats in a smaller voice, glumly. His lower lip slides out. “Why aren’t any of you guys excited? I spent all night planning it.”

          Yoseob looks amused. Aside from Jonghyun, he’s the only one who didn’t bombard Joon with scraps of homework for making another dent in the table. He grins as he says, “Because you had one like two weeks ago, hyung.”

          Joon feels like one of Seungho’s rainclouds is upon him. “But parties are fun,” he says, his voice still small. “Everyone else is excited about my party.”

          “Hyung,” Doojoon says, adopting Yoseob’s English textbook as his new pillow. “Everyone else in this school is in love with you. If you decided to go camel-chasing in the Sahara, they’d all love that too.”

          Joon, in all honesty, knows that he’s popular. He knows that everyone is a little bit in love with him, but in all honesty, he doesn’t really know why. He’s never been able to figure out why apart from the fact that Lee Joon is a loveable, amazing person, except that Junhyung and Jonghyun and Doojoon and Yoseob and Yonghwa are all loveable, amazing people too but none of them are as popular as Joon.

          Well—Doojoon kind of is, but still not as.

          But, in more honesty, Joon doesn’t really think being popular is useful. It doesn’t really matter to him that fourteen-hundred or so people are completely enamored with the idea of Lee Joon. He’s fine with having the five or so people that sit with him in the mornings and after school, the three or so people that are out with him on the track fields, and the one particular person that spends every day after school with him in an empty literature classroom.

          And, he supposes, the two people who he comes home to everyday after school, but he thinks that that’s a given.

          “Camels drool,” Joon says.

          “So do babies, but you like those,” Junhyung says.

          “My babies,” says Joon, “are going to be ridiculously attractive.”

          “Too bad they’ll be ridiculously retarded, too,” Junhyung shoots back.

          Joon gives wide eyes to Yoseob who is suddenly avoiding his gaze. “What’s up with him?” Jonghyun says under his breath as Junhyung goes back to sitting upright and nodding off in a position that more or less screams stiff neck for when he wakes up.

          When Yoseob continues to furiously write answers down, Doojoon looks up briefly and says in an impassive voice, “Hyunseung.”

          Joon watches Junhyung intently down the table. “Still nothing?” he asks quietly.

          “It was only one weekend, hyung,” Yoseob says, sounding annoyed. “One weekend and Hyunseung-hyung’s ex-boyfriend was there. How far did you expect them to get?”

          Joon doesn’t take his gaze away from Junhyung, as he answers, “I don’t know—just farther than where they are now.”

          He’s about to go on and say something deeper and more intellectual because clearly they all seem to only have faith in his intelligence with academically-related aspects of life, even though Lee Joon clearly knows all about emotions and relationships because he is a skilled master at moving along love lives—

          “Changsun-ah,” a hand clamps down on his shoulder and Doojoon, Yoseob, Yonghwa, Junhyung, and Jonghyun shoot out of their seats. Joon has just finished turning his head when he sees all of his friends bowing a perfect right angle towards the cafeteria floor.

          “Oh,” Joon says, looking up at Seungho’s dark circles, “Hyungnim.”

          “I have something to do today right after school, so I’ll be late, okay?” Seungho raises his eyebrows apologetically.

          “Okay,” Joon says, and Seungho gives him one of those raincloud smiles—the way Joon has started referring to when the teacher’s eyes disappear into shadowed crescents and all of his teeth show and his full lips part and a whole lot of other things that make Joon remind himself forcefully that the things he thinks to himself during their tutoring sessions just aren’t legal.

          Even though when Seungho raincloud smiles, Joon doesn’t feel like he’s a teacher at all.

          “I’ll see you second period,” Seungho says lightly, nods his head to the other boys, and then leaves.

          The other third years and Jonghyun collapse back into their seats and stare at Joon collectively for all of three seconds before bursting out into laughter all over again.

          “Oh my God,” Yoseob says, face down on the table. “Oh my God, you managed to work up to hyungnim? Oh my God.”

          “Hey,” Joon protests gloomily. “That took a lot of work.”

          “Yeah,” Jonghyun says sarcastically. “He’s aiming for ‘hyung’ next.”

          “Oh,” Doojoon says, matching the sarcasm. “Don’t get too ambitious now, Joonie-hyung.”

          Joon frowns. “I hate all of you,” he says.

          “Yeah, well,” Doojoon responds irately, “at least you’re not going to fail Hyori-noona’s test.” He plops his head back down onto Yoseob’s shoulder and groans.

          Yoseob exchanges significant glances with Joon and then the co-captain shrugs the shoulder with Doojoon’s head on it. “Come on,” he says bracingly, turning slightly to reach into his backpack. He pulls out a tie, a belt, and the uniform blazer. Yoseob puts his hands on Doojoon’s shoulders and steers the older boy to face him. The younger boy slips the tie around Doojoon’s neck, knotting it deftly, pushing it up to the captain’s neck. He goes on, sliding the belt through the loops of Doojoon’s pants, doing up the buckle, and finishing by moving his fingers upward and sideways through Doojoon’s hair so that it no longer lies wayward and askew.

          “There,” Yoseob says, slapping both hands onto Doojoon’s cheeks. “Now you don’t look like a hobo anymore.”

          “I’m going to fail,” Doojoon repeats glumly.

          “No you’re not,” Yoseob rolls his eyes and throws the blazer at his boyfriend’s face. “We’re going to talk to Hyori-noona and she’s going to give us an extra few days and you won’t fail so shut up and thank me for preventing you from getting a dress code detention.”

          Doojoon looks at him mournfully. “Thanks, Yoseobie. I’ll buy you an entire French cake next week when my new credit card comes.”

          Yoseob slings his backpack over his shoulder, eyes glued to his phone. “I need to go to my locker,” he says, and Doojoon turns his head, their lips casually coming together for a kiss as the younger boy stands. He grins, shoving Doojoon’s head to the side. “And don’t worry about the cake—just get an A on the Bio test, okay?” He messes up Jonghyun’s hair and then walks away briskly.

          “Ugh,” Jonghyun makes a disgusted sound at the back of his throat and swings his gaze around to Doojoon, hands trying to set his hair back straight. “I’m sorry, hyung, but I can never keep my breakfast down around you two.”

          Doojoon sputters. “We kissed like for two and a half milliseconds.”

          Joon laughs. “That’s not what he means, Doojoonie,” he grins.

          “Ugh,” Jonghyun says again. “I’d better be invited to your wedding after all the vomit I’ve had to swallow.”

          “It was two and half seconds of kissing,” Doojoon emphasizes, banging his palm on the table and causing Yonghwa—who is tuning his guitar—to glare in their direction.

          “Yeah,” Yonghwa says, “but it was, like, twenty minutes of married-ness.”

          Doojoon throws an eraser stub at the other boy. “Shut up,” he says. “And what does that even mean?”

          Yonghwa just grins and turns back to the sheets of music in front of him.

          “It’s a good thing, I think,” Joon says, smiling, “You and Yoseobie.”

          “You shut up, too,” Doojoon retorts, pointing. He glares down at his AP Bio binder. “I am not married.”

          “Of course you’re not, hyung,” Jonghyun says and Joon has to stop Doojoon from throwing his calculus textbook at the second year.

          Kibum is usually fairly good at predicting reactions. The accuracy with which he predicts those reactions usually depends on how well he knows the people who are to be reacting and what they are to be reacting to—which means that when he predicts the reactions of the ’91 line, he’s usually always one-hundred percent right with the exception of maybe Nicole because no boy is ever right when it comes to girls.

          However, for some reason, Kibum must be off his game today because the reactions he predicted for each member of the ’91 line when he tells them what happened with Jonghyun over the weekend don’t really happen the same way they did in his mental imagery.

          He didn’t think that Mir would throw his algebra book and make it squish Jinwoon’s doughnut with enough force to shake the table and spill Jaejin’s coffee on the music copies he has to learn by last period which makes Jaejin stand up and the neck of his guitar hits Dongwoon in the stomach who falls to the side and almost elbows Nicole in the nose.

          Kibum feels that he probably should be concerned, but instead he just laughs really hard because it is like a retarded version of dominos.

          “Wait—wait,” Nicole says once she makes sure that her nose isn’t broken, and Dongwoon has finished apologizing. “So—you—so he told you to stay?”

          “Jerk,” Mir says and continues to scrape flattened doughnut off of his math book.

          “How does that make him a jerk?” Jaejin asks.

          “Because it does,” Jinwoon says.

          “But how?” Dongwoon asks. “Isn’t this a good thing?”

          “No,” Mir says. “It’s a terrible thing.”

          Jaejin looks sadly at the disintegrating music sheets and his nonexistent coffee. He sighs and glances at Mir. “We heard you the first time. But why is it so bad?”

          “I don’t know,” Jinwoon says, rocking back and forth in his chair, eyes glued to the doughnuts that are left at the breakfast stand across the cafeteria. “I just don’t like him.”

          Nicole gives them odd looks. She turns to Kibum, who’s been blocking out the previous conversation because there’s no benefit in listening to XY chromosomes discuss matters like this. “It’s good and bad, I think,” she says at large. “I mean, you shouldn’t stay when he asks if you think it’s going to make it harder. But at least you know he still really wants you as a friend.”

          “Yeah,” Dongwoon says miserably, “because that’s the greatest feeling in the world.”

          “Greatest feeling ever,” Jinwoon agrees glumly, staring at the back of Nicole’s head.

          “Oh shut up,” Kibum says to Dongwoon, and kicks Jinwoon in the ankle. “You were stuck in a room with Kikwang-hyung for seventy-two hours and got nowhere. That’s your own fault.”

          Dongwoon’s expression turns indignant. “What is there to do in seventy-two hours?”

          “Jump him,” Jaejin says calmly, “obviously.”

          “Obviously,” Mir reinforces.

          Dongwoon hits the track athlete upside the head.

          “Jajinnie said it first!” Mir says, outraged.

          “Guitars hurt,” Dongwoon explains and returns his eyes to his history textbook.

          Kibum thinks that they are all retarded, and wants them to never change.

          He jumps a little in his seat when he feels someone poking his knee. Nicole is smiling at him, clearly pleased beyond belief and he can see that she is more or less doing that restraining thing that girls do when they want to scream but know they can’t. He rolls his eyes, but a smile fights to curve his lips as he says, “What?”

          “Come on,” Nicole says, drawing out the last word. “You’re not even a little excited? That he asked you to stay?”

          Kibum exhales, and smiles down at his lap. “Okay—fine, I am—a little.”

          “Just a little?” Nicole wheedles.

          “Yes,” Kibum says firmly, “just a little.”

          Nicole punches his shoulder. “You liar, Kim Kibum—I know you’re doing cartwheels in your brain so you might as well tell me.”

          Kibum snorts, his eyes wandering around the cafeteria. He catches sight of just what he wanted to see to prove to Nicole that all of her previous theories are wrong and will forever be wrong. “Even if I am,” he says, “there’s no point.” He jerks his chin towards the left of Nicole’s head. “Look.”

          Nicole turns, following Kibum’s gaze.

          Jonghyun is sitting with his hyungs as per usual, and members from the cheerleading squad have dropped by the table, chatting and laughing with the second year. “Oh,” Nicole breathes and her face falls. “But—no—Kibummie, that’s just because Seohyun-shii wants to talk to Yonghwa-oppa, you know. It’s not—it’s not—“

          But Kibum knows that Nicole is trying to dispel the fact that Jonghyun is blatantly flirting with Jung Jessica, a third year that was sent abroad to the same school as Nicole. Jessica is a cheerleader—is small and pretty—is smart—is unexpectedly adorable and witty—is the likes of who Jonghyun would actually end up dating.

          He shrugs. “She’s nice,” he says casually.

          Nicole stares.

          “What?” he asks.

          “She’s nice?” she repeats faintly. “What do you mean she’s nice?”

          “I mean she’s nice,” Kibum says. “What is it supposed to mean?”

          “Aren’t you—” Nicole fights for the right phrasing “—I don’t know—upset? Shouldn’t you be upset? I think you should be upset.”

          Kibum shrugs again. “Why?”

          Nicole stares again.

          “We’re not going out,” he says quietly, keeping his line of vision firmly on the rest of the ’91 line because if they hear or see what’s happening over at the third years’ table, then they will probably castrate Jonghyun with one of Jaejin’s guitar pegs and throw Jessica into the school’s swimming pool. “You know that—everyone knows that. He knows that. And it doesn’t matter how it should be—it’s not, so he can flirt with whoever he wants.”

          “But—”

          “’Cole,” Kibum says firmly, “no.”

          Nicole’s mouth open and her eyes are imploring. “Kibummie—”

          “No,” Kibum says again, his voice rising. He throws on his backpack and stands up, picking up his books. “And I mean it, Nicole—don’t do anything.”

          Dongwoon grabs his wrist as he walks around the table. “Going?” the soccer player asks.

          “Yeah—I’ll see you third period,” Kibum says.

          “Okay.”

          “Kibum-ah,” Mir calls after Kibum’s foot has taken its first step away from the table, “Joonie-hyung’s having a party at the end of the month—you coming?”

          Kibum pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I don’t know,” he says back. “I’ll tell you later, Mir-ah.”

          “’Kay,” Mir waves, “later.”

          Kibum smiles in response, and turns to head to his homeroom.

          He gets so far as the stairs that lead up to the floor his homeroom is on when he’s tackled to the side of the staircase, and pinned to the railing.

          “Hey,” his assaulter says with a grin, and the bells begin to ring.

          “And if you permanently damaged my head, what are we supposed to do then?” Kibum asks dryly. “Although, then our IQs would finally be somewhat equal so—”

          “It’s not even first bell yet,” Jonghyun says incredulously. “You can’t start insulting me now.” He laughs. “What if you run out of all your good ones for the day?”

          Kibum rolls his eyes and pushes the older boy away. He straightens his uniform and tilts the hair out of his eyes. “You don’t run out of good ones for the day, you dip,” he says. “Because only Neanderthals like you plan their insults the night before and then don’t even get chances to say them the next day. We homo erectus can think of comebacks on the spot because that’s the point of a brain—and don’t,” he adds when Jonghyun opens his mouth, “use homo erectus to tell me you’re because that’s just stupid.”

          “I wasn’t about to say that,” Jonghyun mutters, averting his eyes.

          Kibum laughs, hand coming to rest on Jonghyun’s shoulder. “Of course not, hyung.”

          “I wasn’t!” Jonghyun insists. “I was going to ask you to Joonie-hyung’s party.”

          Kibum freezes.

          He stares.

          “Ask me?” he says quietly. “What do you mean by ask me?”

          Jonghyun looks slightly bewildered at the sudden change of expression on the younger boy. His eyebrows furrow together. “Well—I promised you that one time when you were in seventh grade, didn’t I? That you’d always be first on the lists for Joonie-hyung’s parties?”

          Kibum blinks.

          He exhales.

          “Oh,” he says, “right.”

          And then he smiles back teasingly. “What—you’re not going to ask Jessica-noona instead?”

          Jonghyun looks confused again for a split second before breaking into a matching grin, raising his eyebrows. “She’s hot, huh?”

          “A total babe,” Kibum says sarcastically.

          Jonghyun slaps his upper arm indignantly. “And she’s nice,” he says defensively. “I’m not that much of a pig.”

          Kibum snorts. “Because staring at her while she walks away is totally not pig behavior.”

          “Her backpack looked off-kilter,” Jonghyun tries again. “And I wanted to fix it.”

          Kibum raises his eyebrows.

          The second year sighs. “I know.”

          Kibum rolls his eyes.

          “She’s just so hot,” Jonghyun says dreamily.

          Kibum grins and pats Jonghyun’s cheek indifferently. “I got it, hyung.” He makes to walk past Jonghyun to go on to his homeroom when he’s stopped again, Jonghyun’s hand holding his, their fingers threading together. He tells the bells to be quiet just for one second—just for one second to stop being so loud, because his heartbeat is already loud enough and if there’s any more commotion in his body, he thinks he might explode.

          “After school, right?” Jonghyun asks, smile bright and eyes soft. “You’re coming over?”

          Kibum stares at their intertwined hands for a moment.

          He looks up.

          He forces a smile onto his face.

          “Of course, hyung.”

          After eighth period ends, Junhyung plans to go home, do homework, and then bury himself in a beanbag playing video games until his eyes burst from poor lighting. He plans to go home, do homework, play video games and turn off his computer and phone because he doesn’t want to be reminded of the fact that Jang Hyunseung exists. He also doesn’t want to be reminded of the fact that Jang Hyunseung exists and hates him.

          Nowhere in his plan does it say that Lee Joon jumps on his back as soon as he gets close to the whereabouts of his locker.

          “Joonie-hyung,” he says wearily, resisting the urge to flip Joon flat on his back in the middle of the hallway in the hopes that maybe people will stampede over his ridiculously attractive face. “Not now.

          “It has to be now,” Joon says, sliding off of Junhyung and settling for one arm around the soccer player’s shoulders. “I have to go to tutoring in half an hour and you’re leaving anyway.” He yanks Junhyung forward towards the lockers, and Junhyung catches a few girls giggling before purposely bumping into Joon’s free side as they pass toward the opposite direction.

          Joon’s head turns, his eyes confused. “Oh,” he says, “Sorry.”

          “No—it’s okay,” one of the girls say and they continue on, smiling.

          Junhyung fights the urge to roll his eyes because sometimes the world is just stupid for ridiculously attractive people.

          “Have you noticed that this school is a lot more crowded?” Joon asks, still with that confused expression. “I keep getting bumped into.”

          “No,” Junhyung deadpans. “I think your head is just inflating so it distracts people from where they’re trying to dodge.”

          Joon looks insulted.

          “Can you hurry up and tell me whatever you have to say?” Junhyung goes on before the stupid reaches high levels. They reach his locker and Junhyung pulls away to start turning to his combination.

          “You know my party?” Joon says. “The one that’s going to be awesome and ic and will rock your pants so hard that—”

          “I know the one,” Junhyung cuts him off quickly because there are people around and he doesn’t want anyone hearing the retardation that was probably going to come out of Joon’s mouth—although he also knows that girls don’t really mind retardation if it comes with a ridiculously attractive face.

          “Well,” Joon smiles, “you’re coming, right?”

          Junhyung stares in mid-motion of putting in his English binder.

          “You have to come,” Joon continues.

          “Why?” Junhyung asks, eyebrows furrowing.

          “Just tell me you’re coming—promise?”

          Junhyung blinks warily. “Fine—I mean—okay, I guess.”

          Joon’s smile turns a few watts brighter and Junhyung feels like he has to squint to save his eyesight from being ruined. “Good,” he says, slamming his palm against Junhyung’s locker door briskly.

          And then the track athlete’s face crumples.

          “What now?” Junhyung asks.

          “That hurt,” Joon says in a small voice and holds the hand that he hit against Junhyung’s locker to his chest.

          Junhyung stares.

          He bites his lip.

          Because if he laughs now that’s just mean.

          However, Yoseob and Doojoon are in the same homeroom as Junhyung and their lockers are right beside his—and neither of them really care about how mean laughing at Joon’s stupidity is so when they show up at that precise moment, they are both holding each other and trying not to keel over laughing.

          “My pain isn’t funny!” Joon says in a louder voice, outraged and sending spit flying in five different simultaneous directions.

          “It’s hilarious, hyung,” Doojoon says, one hand in the back pocket of Yoseob’s uniform khakis. His other arm easily balances two textbooks, which become four when Yoseob piles his own two onto Doojoon so the smaller boy can open his locker.

          “Look on the bright side,” Yoseob says, pulling open his lock, and letting the door of his locker swing open. “You can ask Yang-seonsangnim to kiss it better for you.”

          “Shh,” Joon hisses, looking three seconds away from actually clamping his hand over Yoseob’s mouth. “What if he passes by?”

          “Then you tell him that we were talking about me wanting to pursue a career in education,” Yoseob says sarcastically, putting his lock back onto his locker, a binder in hand. He opens his arms and lets Doojoon shift the books onto him so the captain can have a go at his own locker.

          “I hate you guys,” Joon says glumly, still nursing his hand. He turns to leave.

          “Where’re you headed?” Doojoon calls after him, voice shaking with impeding laughter.

          “ off, Doojoon-ah,” Joon shouts back and causes a passing Jung Jihoon-seonsangnim to thwap him upside the head.

          “Don’t curse,” the teacher says imperiously.

          “Sorry, seonsangnim,” they hear Joon say quietly, and Yoseob and Doojoon burst into laughter again.

          Junhyung looks at the books in Yoseob’s arms and says, “You haven’t finished Hyori’s homework?”

          “I finished,” Yoseob says, “but I need to study for the test.”

          Junhyung nods. “I’ll see you guys later, ‘kay?”

          “No—wait,” Yoseob says hurriedly, and exchanges glances with Doojoon who finishes up his locker business, tugging at the lock absently to make sure it’s secure before retaking his books from Yoseob.

          The two kiss briefly and Doojoon claps his hand on Junhyung’s shoulder. “See you, tomorrow,” he says briskly and leaves the now-empty hallway.

          Whenever Doojoon leaves without Yoseob at his side, it’s always a cause for worry on the part of the third party involved. And since Junhyung is this third party, he’s extremely worried because he has more than just an inkling on what Yoseob is going to say to him and he doesn’t want to hear any of it. They stare at each other for a few minutes, Yoseob giving him a significant look that translates somewhere between curiosity of what happened between Junhyung and Hyunseung during their time rooming together and disapproval of how Junhyung is carrying on as if nothing has happened.

          “I refuse to let you give up,” Yoseob says finally.

          “You didn’t meet Kwon Jiyoung,” Junhyung says.

          “How amazing at soccer he is has nothing to do—”

          “I never meant the soccer,” Junhyung interjects and he hates how his voice is rising, how there’s desperation that’s starting to lace itself in there. “I meant him. I was an to him, and he was nothing but ing nice about it—and it’s just ing no wonder that Hyunseungie couldn’t stop thinking about him even when he was with me because it’s like losing a diamond and getting a rock off the street for a replacement.”

          Yoseob looks blank. “How the are you a rock?” he asks faintly. “In what universe does that make sense? In what ing universe are you to think about yourself like that?”

          Junhyung doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything because Yoseob shouldn’t be concerning himself over this. None of the others should be involved in this. He doesn’t understand why they are all acting as though it’s Hyunseung’s fault—as though there’s something that can be fixed. He doesn’t understand how none of them understand that if Hyunseung doesn’t want anything to do with Junhyung anymore then that’s just that. Trying to get him back with Junhyung just makes things worse—just causes more trouble for Hyunseung.

          After all, it’s not like he hasn’t noticed that ever since this started, Hyunseung has been avoiding their table in the mornings completely. He doesn’t even know where Hyunseung goes in the mornings anymore. And Junhyung thinks this is ridiculously unfair because they are Hyunseung’s friends too. Hyunseung shouldn’t have to feel chased away just because he doesn’t love Junhyung anymore. You can’t make love happen—you can’t fix it if it’s over for one side.

          Junhyung takes out his jacket from his locker, and then closes it, slipping the lock back in. “I have a lot of homework tonight,” he says quietly, not looking at Yoseob. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Yoseob-ah.”

          “Hyung,” Yoseob calls after him, “hyung!”

          The first thing Joon does when Seungho comes through the doorway is attach every limb he has onto the teacher. He doesn’t let go when Seungho walks to his desk, doesn’t let go when Seungho asks him to let go, doesn’t let go when Seungho tells him that this is starting to border on inappropriate, and only lets go when Seungho starts hitting his head with his bag.

          “Hyung,” Joon says, rubbing his head glumly. “Why?”

          Seungho stares. “I was about to die,” he says. “Now sit down and take your books out.”

          Joon sits and starts sorting through his backpack, watching Seungho himself unpack and begin to write on the whiteboard. He knows that Seungho is a considerable amount of years older than the third years, but even with that, he thinks that Seungho could easily pass for a second year if he really wanted to. Joon doesn’t really know why he likes to think about how young Seungho can pass for—he supposes maybe it’s planning for the future, which as of now doesn’t exist yet because Joon still needs to work on getting Seungho to be completely and irrevocably in love with him.

          “What?” Seungho says suddenly.

          Joon blinks. “What?” he says back.

          “You were staring.”

          “Um—oh. Oh. Oh—was I?”

          Seungho smiles and Joon’s heart starts to beat furiously fast, “Yeah—a little.”

          Joon grins, leaning forward, elbows on his desk. Seungho is sitting on the edge of the teacher’s desk, legs outstretched in front of him, the novel in one hand. “So,” Joon says, “what was the thing you had to do before this?”

          Seungho looks momentarily surprised. “Oh—that,” he shrugs. “They had a few too many first years with messed up schedules and some classrooms were too full so they wanted me to take on another class.”

          Joon wrinkles his nose playfully. “Ew—first years.”

          The student teacher laughs. “I bet you were the kind of first year that made the third years say that all the time.”

          “I was an amazing first year,” Joon says, offended. “And I was ridiculously attractive.”

          Seungho looks at him oddly. And then cracks another smile. “Okay.”

          Joon blinks. “I was,” he feels he needs to defend, “Really.”

          “Okay,” Seungho repeats, looking amused now.

          Joon pouts glumly. “You don’t believe me.”

          Seungho raises an eyebrow.

          “I hate you,” he says. “You’re the worst teacher ever.”

          “Go to chapter fifteen and tell me three plot points that happened and how they pertain to the theme of the story,” Seungho says, grinning and Joon can more or less see the rainclouds puffing happily above him.

          And Joon wishes they would stop doing that because it’s distracting and he can’t think about plot points when all he wants to do is bring those rainclouds home with him.

          Junhyung doesn’t know whether this is because Life hates him or because Life is trying to give him the same poking signals that Yoseob is, but whichever one it is, Junhyung thinks he really could’ve done without. He thinks he really could’ve done without Life putting Hyunseung at the same gate entrance that Junhyung told his driver to pick him up from today.

          Hyunseung’s hair is damp, and Junhyung supposes he was in the weight room or out on the field and decided to shower at school instead of at home. He’s wearing all of his uniform still, and doesn’t have a sweatshirt or a coat, just the thin school blazer. His arms are folded around himself, and he’s leaning against the farthest end of the gate, completely facing the opposing direction because of course he doesn’t want to look at Junhyung.

          But even from the distance, Junhyung can see the other boy shivering—his hair is wet and he’s just showered so it makes sense that even if it’s only a bare autumn breeze today, Hyunseung will still feel frozen. Junhyung sees his driver pull up near the entrance, and he doesn’t know how long Hyunseung’s been here or how long Hyunseung will be here. He just knows that Hyunseung’s driver usually takes a while to arrive because Hyunseung lives farther away from the school than the rest of them do.

          He glances at his driver and then back at Hyunseung’s figure. Junhyung exhales, walks to his car, drops his backpack onto the seat, leaving the car door still open. He pulls off his jacket and puts it on the bench a foot away from Hyunseung. Junhyung is careful to face his eyes anywhere but the other boy because he doesn’t think he could handle being that close to Hyunseung and meeting gazes with him.

          Junhyung doesn’t turn back to see if Hyunseung takes the jacket or not. He just pretends that he can’t feel his chest caving in on itself—stinging sharper and sharper—and gets into his car. “Just home,” he tells his driver quietly.