Chapter Text
“Now, class, please turn to page 68. Moon Sooyoung, please read the opening paragraph.”
Minho props his chin up on his hand and turns to look outside the windows, zoning out as soon as Sooyoung begins reading aloud the first sentence. School had just gotten back in session the week prior after a month-long break for the winter and he's already bored. Glancing down at his world history textbook every so often to avoid being called out on by Mrs. Kang as her next victim, Minho aimlessly taps his fingers against the withered pages and fills his thoughts with what he should choose for lunch at the school cafeteria later this afternoon.
After thirty-five more minutes of class moving at an excruciatingly slow place, the bell finally rings and abruptly ends Mrs. Kang’s explanation of a unit exam happening next Thursday. Shoving his books into his desk in preparation for the next session, Minho gets up from his seat as someone makes their way over to him.
“I thought class would never be over. I’m starving,” his curly-haired mop of a classmate groans as he clutches his stomach.
Minho rolls his eyes. “But you’re always starving, Chan. That’s just your constant state of being.”
Chan, still hunched over, looks up at him and pouts. “That’s not very nice.”
“Well, the truth hurts, kid. You reap what you sow.”
“I really don’t think that’s how you use that idiom.”
“And I think I’m leaving this conversation. I finally decided that I wanted mandu ramyeon today instead of seolleongtang and I want to beat everyone to it before it’s all gone.”
“Okay, okay,” Chan sighs as the two of them walk out of the classroom and into the busy hallway already crowded with students heading to the cafeteria. “You’ll have to go first, anyways. Someone from class 2-A asked me for my notes and he helped me last time with math, so I have to return the favor. Wanna hang out tomorrow though? It’s Saturday.”
“Nah, I’ve already got plans that consist of me laying in bed for as long as possible and eating a family-size bag of spicy garlic shrimp chips that I bought last night. I’m not changing that for anything.” Minho gives his best friend a mock salute. “See you after lunch, loser.”
He turns on his heels and marches down the hallway towards the staircase as he hears a wailing cry of “I’m not a loser!” in the distance.
Hopping down the steps two at a time, he almost crashes into somebody standing right at the bottom of the stairwell. The student seems oblivious to what could have been a terrible accident and an even more terrible obstruction to his prized lunch.
Minho grunts in annoyance. He’s about to just continue on his way when he notices that the student isn’t necessarily standing in the way as much as he is hiding behind the corner of the stairwell. Curious, Minho says out loud to the back of the boy’s head, “Hey, what are you doing here?”
The boy in question jumps a few inches up in the air and whips his head around so quickly in fear that Minho almost feels bad about it. Now that he’s facing him though, Minho is able to take a good look at him. Long black bangs fall across the boy’s forehead, hair not styled in any particular way except parted a bit at the side in a natural wave. His heart-shaped mouth is gulping open and closed like a goldfish gasping for air, but no words come out besides a quiet strangled noise. Moving his gaze a bit downwards, Minho spots a yellow name tag pinned onto the boy’s uniform with the name ‘Han Jisung’ printed on it.
Ah, a second year. I didn’t know they made them this small.
To be fair, he’s maybe only a few centimeters shorter. But from his round cheeks and the way he’s looking up at Minho with these bright doe eyes that suddenly remind him of that one song about the moon hitting your eye and a big pizza pie, he really does seem smaller.
“Um - uh, sorry. I - I wasn’t -” the boy begins to stutter out with his arms flailing around him.
“What are you even looking at? Is there something over there?”
“Wait, huh? Hold on -”
Minho steps around him, poking his head around the corner to see what’s going on out there. There isn’t anything particularly remarkable, only a teacher walking to the staff room at the end of the hallway and some fellow third years milling around the courtyard entrance. Taking a closer look, Minho recognizes the wide blinding smile on one of the third year’s faces. He’s talking animatedly with big hand gestures, while a small group of male classmates stand around him in awe and wonder.
Minho ducks his head back behind the corner and looks at Jisung. “That guy? Kim Namjoon?”
The way Jisung’s entire face immediately flushes red is absolutely comical. Even the way his eyebrows furrow as he yells in a frantic whisper “Why did you have to say it so loud?!” has Minho almost breaking out into a laugh before he manages to suppress it.
“Sorry,” Minho says more so out of reflex. He whispers back, “What business do you have with him anyways?”
Jisung wrinkles his nose. “Nothing concerning you.”
Minho studies Jisung’s face a little longer until it hits him -- this kid is obviously head over heels for the school’s star athlete and all-around cool kid, Kim Namjoon. Word has it that the guy even is a prodigal rapper of some sort in the underground online music community, which makes him even more objectively cooler. Minho finds it crazy sometimes that they somehow even ended up as former teammates on their school’s soccer team for two years until Minho decided to drop out the last season to enjoy his final year as a teen without any responsibilities before entering the crushing realities of adulthood.
A figurative lightbulb goes off in Minho’s head. “Hey, I could help you, you know. With your problem, I mean.”
“When did I ever say I had a problem?!” Jisung hisses as Minho tilts his gaze up at the ceiling and nods his head.
“I've had a couple of classes with Namjoon over the past three years and we even played soccer together for two,” he continues, ignoring him. “I’d say I know him pretty well.”
Jisung narrows his eyes. “And why should I believe you?”
Minho grins. “Because I’m the only chance you’ve got.”
***
“So why do you like Kim Namjoon anyways?”
Minho and Jisung find themselves sitting outside on one of the stone benches overlooking the grassy field surrounding their school. It’s still a bit too chilly in early March to be sitting outside like this, but Minho has endured colder from months of waking up at ungodly hours of the morning for practice when the sun hadn’t even completely risen over the sleepy district of Gangdong yet. He doesn’t know if Jisung is alright though from the way he’s folding his arms so tightly across his chest, but he hasn’t said anything so he’s probably fine. Anyways, Jisung was the one who picked this spot in the first place. It was one of the more secluded places around campus where not many curious ears would be lurking about listening in on their conversation.
“Yeah, so what?” Jisung says defiantly. “I like him because he’s smart, funny, kind, humble, and super talented. Why wouldn’t anybody not like him?”
Minho snorts. The explanation sounds like something repeated verbatim from a typical teen romance film. Jisung’s feelings seem genuine and innocent though, so he’ll overlook the corniness of his reasoning and focus on the game plan at hand.
“Here’s the thing: you don’t even share the same classes or clubs with him. Not only that, you’re not even in the same year and haven’t interacted with him once. We need some way to get you to be in his circle without making it seem obvious to increase your chances of meeting and talking to him.”
Jisung nods solemnly as Minho carries on. “We might not be on the same soccer team anymore nor have I talked to him much lately, but I guess you could say that we’re still considered friends. We’ve had a few classes together over the years too, so we’re pretty close. At least, more than just at an acquaintance level, which -- let’s be real -- you’re not even on.”
“Hey!” Jisung shouts, fist poised like he’s about to punch Minho in the face.
Minho throws his hands up in surrender. “An honest man never lies, and I’m a man of my word.”
“Yeah, but you sure can be a dick,” he thinks he hears Jisung mutter under his breath.
The late winter wind picks up a bit and Jisung holds himself even more tightly as he tries to fight off the cold with the threadbare hoodie jacket he has layered on top of his uniform. Despite the fact that he’s shivering, he manages to shoot Minho a heated glare.
“So what’s your brilliant plan, smart guy?”
“Yongsan. This Saturday. And Namjoon’s got one hell of a passion for horror movies.”
Minho sticks a hand out. Jisung takes it with a firm shake without any hesitation.
Minho supposes that his weekend plans might be changing after all.