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Sehun forced himself to look away. Minseok was bad news, he knew very well. Everyone knew. It was a topic Sehun’s mom was very passionate about. How can he even leave the house like that, she loved to say, I pity his poor mother. Then Sehun’s dad would go on telling what he would have done if Sehun ever had the audacity to appear with that kind of satanic appearance, and it would always be very graphic, very violent, but always out of love, of course, because he didn’t want his dear son to end up burning for eternity in the pits of Hell.
Somewhere to his right, Minseok sighed loudly over his textbook and leaned back on his chair, taking a shiny, golden box of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his studded leather jacket. He lit up one right there, in the middle of the library, raising a defying brow to anyone that dared to look his way, and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke.
Sehun’s heart was hammering against his ribcage. He tore his gaze away and tried once again to focus on his English essay. The words in the encyclopedia volume wiggled and overlapped, so tiny and cramped together that he could barely discern one line from the next. His right hand unconsciously found its way to his glasses case inside his bag, but he stopped himself before taking them out.
Another subtle glance to his right told him that Minseok was lazily putting away the cigarette butt by stepping on it with the dirtiest military boot he had ever seen, untied laces swinging around as he twisted the sole against the library’s wooden floor. That cigarette butt would definitely leave a mark. Minseok didn’t seem to notice or care that people were staring, high eyebrows scrunched together as he squinted at the textbook like he was trying to decipher some ancient hieroglyphs. Sehun withdrew his hand from the bag, glasses-less. The sole thought of drawing extra attention to himself already made him feel sick to the stomach, but looking like a nerd on top of that was the worst scenario he could think of.
After one more failed attempt to read the encyclopedia page on Shakespeare’s wife—Anne Hathaway, turned out she was kind of famous too, who would have known—, Sehun gave up on research and, pen in hand, started on his writing quest. He was no Literature genius, but he paid attention in class, and he probably knew enough to just wing it and get a passing grade. Then he could go back to more interesting things, like—
A black-and-white leaflet fell on top of his writing hand, covering his paper and effectively cutting his train of thought. It was shoddy to say the least. Big, bold letters announced some GRUNGE GARAGE thing, a poorly drawn skull with a spiked mohawk smiled scarily in a corner next to the date. SATURDAY 5TH. This Saturday. The day after tomorrow.
“You should come.” A hand set firmly on Sehun’s right shoulder, and he would had given anything in the world for the courage to turn around and look at Minseok in the eye, but he had to set for cowering under the unexpected attention.
“I... don’t know,” Sehun said, cutting the sentence short. Don’t know if my parents will give me permission. Don’t know if this is my kind of circle. Don’t know if everyone will laugh at me. Don’t know if you’re trying to pull a prank on me. Don’t know if—
“It’s just a gig, Sehun,” Minseok chuckled softly. It was somewhat reassuring, even if he was still feeling like the victim of a weird prank. “I’m playing, I want a big audience. You can bring your friends.”
His friends. Right, because Jongin wouldn’t cry at the sole mention of loud music. Sehun didn’t even know that Minseok played an instrument. His mind provided him with a very detailed image of Minseok on top of a stage, bright red lights making his skin shine as if it was covered in blood, a black, pointy electric guitar carelessly hanging from his shoulder, mast in hand. Or maybe he was a drummer, cut-out sleeveless t-shirt drenched in sweat as he smashed the drums with unrestrained strength song after song. He really wanted to ask Minseok what instrument he played, but they didn’t have that kind of familiarity, and he couldn’t had stood the awkwardness of the question. “My friends prefer other kind of... music, I think.”
“Then don’t bring them,” Minseok clapped his hands together, and Sehun finally found the guts to look up, only to be overwhelmed by the brightest, most confident smile he had ever seen. “To be honest I don’t even want them to come, your friends are lame.”
Like Sehun was any different. “I’m lame too.”
“Are you, though?” Minseok gave Sehun a once over and frowned. “Yeah, the sweater and the khakis are lame. Wear something else on Saturday.”
Sehun’s cheeks flared up, heart rate picking up again for no good reason. He kind of wanted to disappear and stop embarrassing himself. “I... I don’t have anything else to wear. These are my clothes.”
Minseok sighed loudly and combed a hand through his fuzzy, messy hair, looking around the library. Only then Sehun realized the amount of people spectating the whole interaction, dozens of eyes and ears fixated on them and waiting for anything worth gossiping with their own cliques later.
“You know what,” Minseok muttered, and reached into his leather jacket’s pocket, the same pocket where the cigarettes had come out earlier, but took out a pen this time instead, stealing back the leaflet and turning it around to scribble something at the back. When he withdrew his hand, Sehun realized there was a phone number, neatly written in black ink next to a capital M.
Sehun scoffed to himself. He barely ever called anyone, but he definitely wouldn’t be calling Minseok out of all people in this town any time soon. “I don’t—”
“I have oversized clothes that you can borrow,” Minseok interrupted dismissively, and took the cigarette box out of his pocket as he put the pen back, quickly lighting one as if it was second nature to him. “Why, you don’t want to come?”
And Sehun stared up, wanted to answer that no, he didn’t want to, he had never been interested in grunge, or the garage scene, or what Minseok liked to do on weekends. But Minseok was standing there, within reach, high cheekbones glistening under the library’s bright fluorescent lights, the defined profile of his neck stretching out for miles up to his sharp jawline as smoke poured slowly out of his parted lips. And Sehun had always hated smoking and people that smoked, but Minseok somehow made it look good, sleazily leaning against the table, leather jacket slightly too big on his shoulders making him look both small and imposing all at once. He was a trashy, decadent, wrong kind of good, all holed down jeans and bare thread white shirt like he didn’t care that he looked like he had fought wolves for those old rags. The bad kind that everyone warned him that Minseok was, and Sehun himself had tried so hard to believe.
“You’re not offering your soul to the devil, Sehun, it’s honestly just a gig.” Minseok said as if he could see right through him, and rolled his eyes. He stared down at Sehun for what felt like a really long time, seemingly contemplating his options, and then he stood up and took off his leather jacket, nonchalantly placing it around Sehun’s scrunched shoulders.
“What—” Sehun made to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t respond the way he wanted, so he just helplessly straightened up on his chair and grabbed at the leather lapels around his neck. “I can’t—”
Minseok slapped Sehun’s hands away, a pleased smirk making its way onto his face when he managed to stop him from taking off the leather jacket. “It looks even better on you.”
Sehun felt his own eyes bulge, and it must had looked cartoonish if it managed to make Minseok laugh. Sehun knew he couldn’t go home with that leather jacket on. He knew that he couldn’t show up with it in front of Jongin either, and Minseok probably knew that too. But for some weird reason, Sehun also knew that Minseok wasn’t making fun of him, but extending a hand, offering an opening, a new choice that he never had imagined before—
“If you don’t like it, you can return it on Saturday.” Minseok walked a couple steps backwards, gaze steadily fixed on Sehun’s to make a point, and then turned around and sauntered towards the exit door. “Now you have a reason to come!”