Jongin stares out of the bus window, his earphones a mess of cords crisscrossing over his chest up to his ears, and his bag, a limp backpack laying haphazardly across his lap. It isn't the first time he's had to be away from his family for a dance workshop, but it certainly is the first time he has to be away from his family for an entire month for a dance workshop in Gyeonggido. It isn't too far; just about an hour from the city proper, even, but he still hasn't slept since he finished packing the previous night. It's a mix of excitement and nerves, but mostly he's worrying if he'll miss his family too much that he won't even last the week before his eyes start leaking tears in the middle of the dance studio.

He feels tears well up even at the thought but he steels himself, straightening up in his seat and turning up the volume on his mp3 player. It can't be too far now, he thinks, checking the time on his phone, feeling wistful once more when he sees his three children on his home screen, wishing he could have brought them along.

It hasn't even been a day yet and he's already feeling lonely. He's the only one from his dance troupe who applied for this workshop and the only other person he knows that's going too is a sunbae from his previous dance school. He'll be alone at the Bed & Breakfast he's going to stay at and, somehow, for a seventeen year old boy, the thought of that isn't as exciting or as pleasant as he originally expected.

The bus slows to a stop at the terminal and Jongin wonders if he could just take the same bus back home. He sits there for a while, waiting until the last person has gone down from the bus, before he sighs and stands, stuffing his mp3 player in his pocket. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he heads out of the bus, dragging his feet over to the side where the driver is bringing down the luggage. He bows his head and offers a slightly forced smile to the elderly driver, who kindly hands him his duffle bag when he points it out.

He tugs out the wrinkled piece of paper with the address and a map of how to get to the B&B on it from his pocket, walking down the sidewalk with a small grimace. It's still a bit early, but with the summer sun beating down on him from the clear skies, he can feel the back of his neck start to prickle with beads of sweat. Once he's sure he's on the right road, and it's all just a matter of walking a few blocks, he pockets the paper once more and rolls up his sleeves up to his shoulders and hopes that the place he'll be staying at has some decent ventilation.

Week 1, Day 1

"Thank you for choosing Do's Bed and Breakfast, we hope you enjoy your stay here," the receptionist says to him monotonously as he's handing the key to the room over. He doesn't look that much older than Jongin himself, so he's guessing he's probably working here for some extra cash. Jongin mumbles back his thanks and takes the key, picking up his duffle and heads left from where he's facing the reception desk. His room key says 109 so he takes his time going down the hallway, looking over the doors that have metal numbers mounted on them, and he wonders if any of these people are his age.

He finally gets to the end of the hallway and turns to his door, slipping the key into the lock. He has a difficult time turning the key at first but when he does this push-and-turn kind of trick, the door finally opens. He'll have to remember to tell the receptionist about that later on.

Dragging his feet in past the doorframe, he looks around, taking in the quaint room. It's a small, white-walled room with framed artworks lining each wall. He steps closer to the twin-sized bed in the middle of the room and sits down on top of its blue sheets, dropping his duffle and his backpack on the floor.  The introductory meeting for the workshop starts at noon and ends before six, so he has the entire morning and evening free.

Before he can try and figure out what he's going to do in his free time, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out and, with a single glance to the caller id, he puts it up to his ear. "Oh, umma?" he answers, unable to keep the excitement from his voice, and stands up, heading towards the window sill to see what his view would be like.

"Aigo, my baby. You've never sounded so happy to get a call from me before," his mother jokes, the light tinker of her laughter flitting out through the phone. He wants to pout at her remark, but only a smile grows on his face at the sound of her voice.

"Ah, don't be like that, umma! I'm always happy to get a call from you." Their conversation goes from there while he opens up the windows and lets the breeze from the outside brush against his skin. His view outside is of a backyard with well grown bushes of flowers and even a few vegetable patches. He can only tell what they are because they remind him of his mother's own backyard where she'd painstakingly made sure that the vegetables their family ate were always organic and didn't have any form of chemicals in them.

"You don't have to worry about me not eating a lot, umma, you know I always do. Annyeong, umma." he laughs, just about to close the windows once more when his eyes fall on a figure crouched over one of the vegetable patches. He sticks his head just slightly further out of the window, eyes narrowing so he can get a better look. And just when he does, wide eyes look up at him and their gazes meet. Shock has him staring for a good few seconds at the dark mop of hair on the other boy's head before he's moving back into his room and closing the window and the curtains as quickly as he can.

He presses a hand over his chest to calm his erratically beating heart and chastises himself for getting caught staring. He sags against the window sill and sighs. "Well," he says aloud, "at least now I know there's someone here who's my age."