Flying is easy, Hoseok muses as he glides through the semi-cloudiness of Seoul’s morning sky. The wind threads through his brown hair as it splays unattractively across his face, but Hoseok loves it. And it’s not like anyone sees me from up here.

The school looms into view when the clouds part and it looks too near for comfort.

“, I overshot!”

Frantically, the lone figure in the sky dives nether-wards and propels himself down, aiming for the slight amount of foliage behind the school’s basketball court. It’s a tight landing space, but it’ll have to do.

The ground nears and Hoseok has the sinking feeling that he’s not going to make it. He braces himself for the impact, but it never happens.

The fall is somewhat cushioned, and not as deadly as he had imagined, but it’s in no way graceful. The sweetly curdling stench of garbage fills his nostrils with distaste and Hoseok sighs into his jajangmyeon-stained hands.

“ me,” he says, “ me in the .”

Flying is easy, landing is not.

“Namjoon, I need backup,” Hoseok croaks into his receiver as he leans against the wall of the area behind school, glaring lazers into the garbage bin.

“Where did you land you fluttery into again?”

“The garbage bin behind school. Give me your deodorant.”

“It’s chemistry, you asshat!” Namjoon whispers scandalously into his receiver that’s concealed in his hoodie. “I need to take notes!”

“You don’t need to,” Hoseok deadpans. Namjoon was smart enough himself.

“Fine, I’m coming. Meet me in the toilet, don’t turn into Barbie’s Mariposa butterflies while I’m on my way.”

“Wow, you look like .”

“Why, thank you,” Hoseok replies Namjoon’s unfortunately true assertion when he throws Hoseok a set of uniform from the student council room.

Hoseok performs a weak attempt of drying his hair after a one-minute shower in the cramped end cubicle of the boys’ toilet. It doesn’t really work.

“But it suits you, you know,”Namjoon says as Hoseok struggles out of into the clean shirt.

“What suits me?”

“You, landing in the garbage bin.”

“What.”

His face is already distorted into a mess of convulsion before he says the punchline.

“Because it’s where trash belongs!”

Hoseok grimaces as he tugs on his haversack and opens the door, stepping out into the hallway. “Why am I your friend?”

Namjoon looks pointedly at Hoseok’s uniform.

“… Right.”

“And I’m risking demerit points, accompanying you after your Great Trash Bin Escapade out in the hallway during lessons,” Namjoon says.

“Oh shut up, you’re just scared you’ll run into Seokjin-hyung.”

Namjoon scowls and turns Fifty Shades Of Red.

But sometimes, Namjoon’s the only one he can trust.

Hoseok remembers Gwangju like an eagle remembers the direction of the wind.

He remembers those days when he was younger, more carefree. When he didn’t need to hide his flying, when his mother would cheer him on as he levitated consecutive feet above the grass, when he in his six year-old self would float towards the scoreboard and perform a slam dunk.

He remembers Yoongi-hyung  and his water-manipulation, he remembers the year 2045.

Korea was in an uproar when the authorities started the crackdown on those with superhuman Abilities, deeming their gifts unsafe and needing of proper training. The government had set up their own institution in 2035, a place where they could recruit these “mutants” and turn their harmful powers into something useful for society.

He’d only been thirteen then.

At the start of the regime, they had only exerted their authority over Busan and Daegu because it was where there was a rampant amount of rising Superhumans. There was a legendary case of the fire manipulator, Jeon Jungkook, aged ten, who restored firelight to a whole village, who lighted up the town square during times where the government had neglected to. According to the president Jun Hyun Moo, Jungkook had started a revolution as a kid, garnering the mutants