Youngbae had had enough.

College was supposed to be an eye-opening, horizon-broadening experience, yet he felt as excited, free and full of energy as a partially drugged lab rat, trapped in a small, wire cage.

The young student was sure that, rather than the environment that he was in being at fault, he was the root of the problem. No one else seemed to feel out of place, or lost, in the large, vibrant campus, but Youngbae felt as if he was sticking out as badly as if he was seven feet tall, amidst a group of people who stood at four feet.

First off, he was bothered by a distinct feeling of not belonging to the academic setting of the college. Youngbae was working on a degree in science-maybe he'd go into medicine, someday, if his marks were good enough- but the more time he spent in post-secondary, the more he was beginning to question if he really belonged there.

He was a hard-worker and had done well in high school- he had even managed to perform quite well on the few assignments and quizzes that had thusfar been assigned in college, but he was having a hard time trying to get up the motivation to continue on. In truth, he enjoyed learning and felt naught but satisfaction after handing in a completed assignment on which he'd done his best. But, when he caught bits of other students' conversations when walking to class (he didn't have any friends to talk with, so he was all ears for the discussions of others), he felt quite discouraged to hear how excited they were about all of their courses and job opportunities.

"I'm working on my master's in population genetics," it wouldn't be uncommon for him to hear someone say.

"Oh, wow! I still have to write my MCAT *, but I'm getting my own house, soon, and my friend's almost finished his electrical engineering program..."

Youngbae, himself, had only realized that he was taking cell biology, instead of just "regular biology", nearly a month into the course.

It wasn't that he was lazy or that he didn't care- it was just all the more difficult to prioritise and enthuse over lab reports, research projects, assignments, exams and textbooks when none of the information would steer him towards his ideal career...that really couldn't be more unattainable than it already was.

All Youngbae wanted to do was perform, with dance, song and images. It wasn't that he thought the spotlight superior to a world of under appreciated academia, nor that he was after fame and glamour- he didn't exactly hate his courses, and he even enjoyed his math class, but fine arts were simply his passion. The art realm was a great, beautiful world that he could relate to and that suddenly made the campus seem like a place of inspiration and gorgeous relevance in his life, rather than the cold-hearted, demanding prison it had become in the short time that he had been a student, there. A pen in his hand, with which he had to write an analytical essay felt much heavier and moved slowly in his hand, versus a soft, paint-soaked brush, meant to fill a heavy, quality sheet of parchment-like paper with all of the images that he dared to bare on the page, from his mind.

But-alas!- Youngbae had inevitably stumbled upon road-blockage that simply wouldn't budge.

There had been the concern that he mightn't be able to find work, should he graduate only with knowledge of the arts. It was unfortunate reality that work in the arts was infrequent, difficult to find, and often not as financially substantial as required to meet a person's needs. Unless he somehow managed to get a record deal or something of the sort, Youngbae was pretty sure that he wouldn't find many job opportunities. Regardless of the talent or skill he might have, such contracts were really only offered to those "at the right place, at the right time", and with the right appeal in image. And even if he did have such fortune, Youngbae knew that it could be several years, or even decades, before he should have such a chance.

He was quite certain that, had he attended a fine arts college, he would not have to drag himself out of bed, at six o'clock every morning, and might actually feel comfortable in truly being himself. But, as his parents were the ones who were paying the (not so little) tuition fee for his education, he didn't want them to spend money on something that may not get him a decent job. His parents were not getting any younger-and neither was he- and he didn't want them to have to worry about his well-being. He, also didn't want to have to worry about his finances. There was always the persistent argument that insisted that, while he might be happier studying his passions, he certainly wouldn't be having a ball if he had to worry about how he was going to make a living, in the future.

Youngbae had also become an unfortunate victim of the human body's lack of reliability.

Only recently, he had suffered tendon overuse, due to his dilligent and intense dance practices. Youngbae, being Youngbae, hadn't really thought that there was anything terribly wrong, despite the increasing pain in his left leg when he practiced, until he had woken up, one morning, unable to put any weight, at all, on the limb.

A trip to the doctor's had revealed severe tendinitis, to the point where Youngbae had almost ripped the essential tissue, completely. Surgery was possible, but was not guaranteed to be effective, and could potentially make the problem worse, so Youngbae had opted out. The optimistic doctor had told a shocked Youngbae that it was possible for him to recover, but he would likely not be able to dance at the same skill level- and he certainly wouldn't be dancing, at all, for several years to come.

Yes, he could still sing and produce visual art...but dancing had bn his ultimate form of expression, from which he drew inspiration to fuel his other activities. He had since stopped all other art pursuits, not wanting to be reminded of his compromised state. He was young, wasn't he? His body wasn't supposed to give out yet...

Poor Youngbae felt that he had never understood the Bible passage "the will is strong, but the flesh is weak", more than he had come to comprehend, now. It would be, without a doubt, troubling to have to put aside one's favorite activities because of a sudden lack of direction, or motivation.

It was downright traumatising to have been totally halted in one's tracks, by events out of one's control; almost like a dehydrated desert trekker, suddenly ripped away from a pool of clean, cool water, before drinking to his fill.

Adding to his post-secondary misery was fact that he had not made a single friend, in any of his classes. Youngbae would have thought that, in the classes of nearly four hundred people that he attended, he'd make one or two...but thusfar, no such luck. He didn't mind doing things on his own, and he certainly didn't want to get distracted from his studies, but it would admittedly be nice to have someone who was as serious about school as he was, with whom he could share work-frustration and a few laughs with.

Youngbae had at first thought that maybe it was a cultural barrier that was slowing (or in his case, stopping) the friend-making process, as the student body was culturally diverse, but even his fellow Koreans didn't seem interested making friends with him, or even acknowledging him, for that matter. Youngbae began to wonder if there was something repulsive about him...maybe he wasn't fashionable enough, or maybe he seemed to have his nose stuck in a book too often?

But his clothes were no different than everyone else's (even if they weren't, it shouldn't have made a difference to those worthwhile to be a friend), and wasn't the whole point of university to further one's studies? He owed it to himself and to his family to do his best...

It was so that Youngbae spent every day- feeling like a friendless alien, battling to fight the natural streaks of artful inspiration that came, unbidden to his heart, and doing his best to ignore the ghost shadows of his trained, fluid body telling a story through dance.

Today had been no different- in fact, it had been worse. And it was all because of his very first lab...

The lab itself might not have been so bad, and even quite interesting, had he actually had a decent lab partner. He had tried to get a seat close to the front, sticking to the age-old postulate that the 'serious students' preferred the front of the class, but, in almost tragically comical irony, the seats had been full (he had been stuck in the influx of students scrambling to get into the room) and Youngbae had ended up at the very, very back.

His bench-mate (and assigned lab partner) was more interested in her nails than in the experiment, and Youngbae wound up doing everything himself.

For the first hour of the three hour session, she had attempted to flirt with him (even though Youngbae had seen her being walked to the class by someone who was clearly her boyfriend), then, when he had politely deflected all of her cries for attention, and eventually ignored her, she had totally ignored him, in turn, and began to text on her cellphone.

Alone, Youngbae had figured out how to use the microscope, prepare a wet mount slide, mix solutions and properly dispose of the waste material (his lab partner had left him to clean everything up, as soon as the supervisor had given the class permission to leave). Admittedly, he could learn more in having to figure things out on his own, but he wouldn't mind getting a hand, here and there, or for the girl to at least show some interest when he asked her if she'd like to look at the specimen through the microscope, rather than receiving a blatant refusal to do so. He almost wanted to say,

"I don't want to be here, either, but could you at least pretend to have some interest in the experiment?"

He was thankful that, for the first lab, there had been nothing to hand in and that it was more "for fun" than anything else (Youngbae hadn't found it fun, at all), but he couldn't stop himself from watching the other groups, with envy, as the lab teams cooperated and worked together, while he toiled over trying to focus the microscope for a good fifteen minutes, before giving up and asking for help.

And he had another lab, the coming Monday, for a total of two stressful, arduous and solitary labs, a week.

Leaving the lab room as soon as he could, Youngbae had gratefully headed outdoors, glad for the hour long spare that he had, before another class. It was Friday, thank goodness, but a weekend full of homework and studying wasn't much to look forward to, either.

Youngbae had wandered about for ten minutes, before finding himself in front of the Humanities building, where he took his language courses (he didn't much like those, either). He longed for a place to think- to sort through his burdening thoughts, undisturbed, but a quick once over of the surrounding area proved that privacy was not something he was about to get. More than anything, Youngbae longed to put down his heavy bag and lie down in the plush, green grass and maybe, if he had been alone, he would create an improptu dance showcasing his down-cast emotions...

Youngbae quickly shoved the fantasy aside. He wouldn't think about dance, he wouldn't, he wouldn't...

With a heavy sigh, he made a detour and finally found a quiet place to sit. Even though it wasn't completely private, it was better than nothing, and with everyone else seeming to be absorbed in their own conversations, romances or books, no one was going to disturb him

That was one good thing about college, Youngbae thought. He could have all the alone time he needed.

He put his bag down, sat on a patch of grass and curled his knees to his chest...only to have a foul, ripe yet metallic odor pollute his once clean breathing space.

Youngbae wrinkled his nose in disgust and even muttered a little "Ugh!", before looking up and noticing that his "thought company", who was the only one at hand to offer him company, was a large, battered and spilling over garbage can.

In a lighter mood, Youngbae would probably have found his current situation somewhat comical. But today, he was in no mood, and could only feel as if the heap of rubbish only a few metres away from him was yet another dark cloud in his storming sky.

But, as there was really no other place to seek refuge, Youngbae didn't have much of a choice, if he wanted a bit of privacy. And so, heaving another sigh, he remained stationed by the rubbish bin, pushing his face slightly against his drawn up knees, willing the scent of his clean denim jeans to shield him from the fermenting garbage and picked at the grass, with naught but misery drawn across his features.

He had to have been hiding away for roughly twenty minutes, before a concerned and familiar voice pulled him back into consciousness.

"Youngbae? Are you okay?"

Youngbae looked up, with surprise, no longer bothered by the odors of garbage that he had become desensitized to.

Who on earth could possibly know his name?

"S-Seungri...?" Youngbae recognized his former classmate, with whom he had graduated from high school, only a few months ago.

Seungri smiled brightly at the unhappy young man, then sat down next to him. Youngbae couldn't help but to feel surprised. He had seen several of his old classmates on campus, but not one of them seemed to have recognized him, or stopped for a quick "hello", or even to spare him a smile...

"What's wrong?" Seungri asked, not one to miss Youngbae's clearly grey aura.

"...Nothing," Youngbae started, knowing that Seungri probably didn't believe him, but not wanting to make someone else's day miserable, as well, with his negativity. In fact, he already did feel a tiny bit better that someone, at least, had noticed how sad he felt.

Seungri looked as if he was about to say something in protest, but seemed to opt for respecting Youngbae's privacy. Instead, he smiled again, then asked:

"So, how was your summer?"

Youngbae felt daft, but he really didn't know what to say. Discovering that he had dance-stopping tendinitis and preparing for his first year of training for a career he didn't think he truly wanted wasn't exactly a great summer.

He found himself telling Seungri about it, minus the part about college, and he coudn't help but to feel a little better by having someone actually listen to him.

"Man, that !" Seungri said, with a frown and genuine sympathy.

Youngbae couldn't help but smile a little at Seungri's juvenile choice of vocbulary that really did describe the situation. Telling someone of his plight actually helped him to reconnect with his identity as a dancer, by addressing the situation and, even helping him to put things in perspective, a little.

It wasn't difficult, either, Youngbae found, to tell Seungri about how much of a rough time he'd been having in college, as well.

"I know what you mean," Seungri agreed, when Youngbae told him about his work load. "I've got so many things in pre-engineering, too..."

Even his spot of bad luck with lab partners didn't seem quite as upsetting once Youngbae shared the situation with Seungri.

"And she just left, without even checking if we were done yet!" Youngbae opened up, feeling much lighter at having a release.

"Wow, some lab partner," Seungri said, in disgust. "But if you ever need help, just ask. I think our labs are about the same," he added, with a smile.

"Thanks," Youngbae smiled back. "And thanks for listening to me complain."

"Complain anytime you want," Seungri smiled, broadly. "We all need someone to complain to."

The two sat in an amicable silence, for a while, then Youngbae flushed and felt his heart skip a beat when Seungri suddenly took his hand. He smiled at the surprised Youngbae, then leaned over to place a gentle, unpressuring kiss on his cheek, making Youngbae blush all the more.

"Sorry if this sounds kind of weird... but I always thought you were beautiful," Seungri said, blushing a little, himself and smiling a little as he Youngbae's hand and ran his thumb over the other man's lips. "But you were always more beautiful when you smile..."

Youngbae blushed even more deeply, if such a feat was even possible. Never had he been deemed beautiful, and certainly not when he had just finished sharing all of his misery.

But he smiled shyly, but sincerely none the less, and found himself leaning on Seungri's shoulder, with his new (boyfriend?)'s arm around his waist, until the two had to go to their next class.

"Youngbae...do you want to check out the new open-air market down town with me, this weekend? I know you've got a lot to do, but we can just go for an hour, or something, if you want..." Seungri said, a little nervously, as they stood up.

Youngbae blushed again, recognizing that Seungri was asking him on a date, but he smiled, happily.

"I'd love to," he accepted a relieved Seungri's invitation.

"Where's your next class?" He asked, as Youngbae threw his bag over his shoulder.

Youngbae gave him the building and room number of his biology class.

"Hey, my physics class is just down the hall!" Seungri grinned. "I'll walk with you to class, then..."

The two headed off, unconsciously holding hands, until they stopped in front of Youngbae's classroom.

"I'll see you later. And have a good class," Seungri said, then gave Youngbae a quick little kiss on the lips.

Youngbae headed into his classroom, feeling quite a bit more alive than before, from having received his first kiss and being about to go out on his first date.

He was glad that Seungri had found him right by the garbage can. 

Note:

First off, this one is written for bbjehmz, who wanted to see more "Baeri" added to this site's existing collection ^_^ I didn't think I'd have time to write this so soon- and believe me, I've got tons of work to do this weekend, including a biology essay and a few lab reports... X_X but I felt the need to write this today, as I'm undescribably tired and sick of school (I'm also sick, physically- I've got a bad cold, and it sure isn't making me more enthusiastic about waking up at 6 am every morning for class... ^^" ) and I definitely need to take a step back and relax ^^ I might try to update a few other oneshots that I have up, as well. (For those of you who might have been waiting for my chaptered stories, I won't start those quite yet- chaptered stories are a little different to write than a oneshot- they require a continuous train of thought, that, at the moment, would be distrupted by my studies ^^)

Second, this is partly based off of my own experiences and feelings in my time, so far, at university, except for the relationships part. :)

Hope you enjoyed! :)

x Angela