Chapter 23.

After having Chanyeol smear at least half a bottle of soothing aloe Vera cream on his sunburn after finally getting back to the campsite after a day of torture in the sun, Kyungsoo had huffed his way down to the cooking area with a large pot in his arms. Inside the pot was a pack of sealed spaghetti, a can of diced tomatoes, an assortment of vegetables to be used in the tomato sauce and a pack of minced meat that had only just thawed enough for him to use.

He quietly set about cooking a big batch of spaghetti bolognaise, his eyebrows remaining deeply furrowed the entire time he worked, flitting around the outdoor cooking area as he set water to boil and diced up the vegetables he had brought. Despite the time that had passed, Kyungsoo had spent the remainder of the day dwelling in a far from positive mindset – the conversation he had had with Joonmyeon seemed to linger persistently in his head and it had led him on a more or less negative pathway of thought. He had mentioned what had happened briefly with Yifan and Chanyeol, but rather than feeling assured by his friends as he would in most cases, the dark haired English teacher ended up feeling worse. Of course, it was mainly due to the pessimistic outlook that both his colleagues had – Kyungsoo hadn’t felt particularly confident by the time Yifan and Chanyeol were done.

“Joonmyeon would know best, after all. It’s not like we have any sort of inside knowledge.”

“Chanyeol’s right, Kyungsoo. Out of everyone here, Joonmyeon would know Jongin best. They’re brothers, it’s a given. He said what he said because he knows. You can’t really compete with that kind of familial understanding.”

Kyungsoo felt his lips turn down. Try as he might, he knew he couldn’t really argue. He was an adult, not some teenager in a silly melodrama. He wasn’t like one of those people in the films he had seen in the past that would defiantly proclaim that ‘they may be family but I know him better!’ Even thinking about doing such a thing seemed foolish, practically cringe worthy – at least in his eyes.

No – Kyungsoo repressed a sigh – he wasn’t confident enough to make such bold statements and he certainly wasn’t self-assured enough in his own opinions to do so anyway. He didn’t really know Kim Jongin, at least not in the way that Joonmyeon would and despite the time they spent together Kyungsoo knew that Joonmyeon, as the teen’s step-brother, would simply know better than he probably ever would. Oddly, it made him feel rather sad. He would have felt better if he could have easily claimed that Joonmyeon’s opinions and theories on Jongin were wrong, however, there was no way he could say such a thing. Although Jongin had seemed to open up slightly – revealing more aspects of himself gradually over time – Kyungsoo was always left wondering whether the teen was really being honest. Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowed. It was a niggling unease that seemed to have settled at the back of his mind, rearing its head every time he thought about Jongin: was his student really true towards anyone? Kyungsoo remembered the times he had been left with the impression that Jongin wasn’t even honest to himself and his frown deepened. How could someone who was constantly lying to themself be capable of telling the truth to others? Internally, Kyungsoo had already made up his mind on the matter: someone like that couldn’t be trusted. It would only end in problems.

The sound of raucous laughter broke Kyungsoo from his rather cynical chain of thought. He glanced up to see a small group of students coming down the path, obviously heading over to cook. It was a little hard to tell in the dimmed evening light, but he guessed there were at least four or five. As they got closer Kyungsoo could begin to make out certain features, albeit poorly.

“Hi, Mr. Do!”

Kyungsoo squinted, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Uh… Sehun? Is that you?”

“Yeah! Wow, you really can’t see, huh?” the bright haired teen said as he drew closer to the lit cooking area before finally stepping into the luminescent light, followed by several teens who entered behind him. Kyungsoo could recognize the black haired teenager – Zitao – from the last time he had been at Yifan’s art class and Kyungsoo winced internally, embarrassed by the mere memory of his outburst which had been overheard by the entire class. The dark haired English teacher quickly adverted his eyes in a vain effort to escape the memory. There was a pretty blond teen standing beside Sehun and behind him was a brown haired teen who was smiling with an almost vague look on his face. He held a guitar case and Kyungsoo recognised him as the student who had been sitting at the back of the bus on the way down, playing as several students (and Minseok) had sung. Kyungsoo’s eyes slid to the very back of the group and he felt his eyes widen momentarily. Jongin stood a short distance back, his eyes wary as he viewed the situation in front of him. It was obvious he felt uncomfortable and out of his element – Kyungsoo was reminded so much of Joonmyeon that he almost winced.

Sehun’s voice broke Kyungsoo from his chain of thought once more. “We’re here to cook dinner, pizza for us tonight! We decided to come down early before it gets too crowded. Luckily almost everyone is still hanging out by the beach. Mr. Kim has this sick volleyball competition going on – I’ve never seen anyone so competitive in my life.”

Kyungsoo repressed a snort. Trust Minseok to get far too into things. “That sounds like a very typical thing of him to do. Tell me, is he beating everyone?”

The pretty blond laughed, speaking for the first time. “Of course, it’s Mr. Kim. It had been well over an hour when we left and he still hadn’t lost a single match.”

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but laugh at that – the mental image of Minseok, puffed and red, fuelled to win by his sheer stubborn willpower, was probably almost one hundred percent accurate and Kyungsoo was already anticipating returning to the teacher’s cabin after cooking to find Minseok in his bed, entirely burnt out.

“Luhan, should we pre-heat two ovens? We do have quite a few pizzas.” Zitao’s voice was soft, a stark contrast from his almost sharp appearance.

The blond teen seemed to contemplate for a second before answering. “That’s a good idea. We may as well, seeing as there’s no one else here. All the pizzas will be ready at the same time that way too.”

Zitao quickly set about organising the oven setup, and already Sehun had begun to place an assortment of ingredients on top of a package pizza base.

Kyungsoo watched the teenager’s interactions, mildly amused. Luhan had instructed the guitar holding teen, Yixing, to play them some “sweet tunes” and the brown haired youth had complied with an airy smile. Sehun had be joined by the blond, Luhan, and Zitao at the other side of the cooking area at the large food preparation bench and they were all piling huge amounts of toppings onto the pizza bases they had brought along with them.

Kyungsoo frowned, noticing the almost painful absence of a certain student.

The English teacher turned, his eyes almost immediately landing on Jongin. The teen stood by one of the sinks, a small pot in his hands. Kyungsoo didn’t fail to notice the single packet of noodles that had been placed on the nearby drying rack. It was a stark contrast to what the four other teenagers were making for their meal: Sehun, Zitao, Yixing and Luhan had brought at least four pizzas along with them and a seemingly excessive amount of toppings to add, and as the monstrous, ravenous teenage boys that they were, Kyungsoo was sure that little would go to waste (no matter how extreme it seemed). Jongin was the complete opposite: a single pack of chicken flavoured noodles, a meal alone. It was actually sort of sad. The four other students were undoubtedly going to have a feast together, whereas Jongin would eat a pathetically plain and small meal, most likely by himself.

Kyungsoo felt his lips twist down. He was sure now that Jongin had been serious the night before about his diet – packet noodles all the way.

“Jongin?”

The teen looked up immediately, dark brown eyes unreadable.

“Didn’t I promise to give you something I’ve cooked?” The dark haired English teacher waved the teen over. “Don’t bother making that. Come over here, I’ll give you some spaghetti.” he smiled despite feeling a little awkward.

F