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Seungcheol never thought he’d one day be living the cliché as old as time itself. He always prided himself on working hard, doing well in classes, and being one of the few on the football team that didn’t need tutoring.
And then English happened.
It was part of a new initiative the school was trying to implement, to get their students “world ready, work ready.” It was bullshit, in Seungcheol’s opinion, and he hated the class. He hated the feeling of being completely lost, and not understanding what the teacher was saying – We’re in Korea damn it, speak Korean! – but most of all he hated that he was failing.
Badly.
His coach had called him in, asking about his grades, specifically his English grade, and told him to find a tutor or he’d have to bench his best player.
“You know I don’t want to do this Cheollie, but the headmaster is pushing hard for this English program to succeed. If you can’t improve, then I’m sorry, you can’t play.”
The words haunt him even as school ends, and he gets slammed into the ground more times than he can count during training because he can’t focus on anything other than his need to get his English grade up.
“What gives Cheol? You’re not usually this bad,” Jeonghan chuckles, helping his captain back on his feet.
“Coach’s threatening to bench me because of the new English requirement,” he sighs,and Jeonghan snorts, patting Seungcheol on the shoulder sympathetically .
Jeonghan (and most of the team) had already cleared their English requirements in freshman year, but Seungcheol hadn’t joined soccer until sophomore year. He shoves the forward grumpily, running a hand through his sweaty hair before joining the rest of the team for their next drill.
It isn’t until Seungcheol’s in the showers that Jeonghan takes pity (if you can really call his annoying meddling pity) on his friend’s plight, and saves a new contact.
To: Hong Jisoo (Tutor)
From: Seungcheol
Hi, I heard you offer English tutoring?
- Seungcheol
Seungcheol doesn’t notice Jeonghan’s smug smirk as he heads into the showers, and Jeonghan snickers quietly as he watches Seungcheol leave the showers, and his phone dings with a message.
He looks at his phone, confused when he sees the message. “Who the fuck is Jisoo?” he exclaims aloud, embarrassment filling him briefly when it echoes in the empty hallway.
To: Seungcheol
From: Hong Jisoo (Tutor)
Not often, but yeah I do tutor for English
- Jisoo
“I’m going to kill Jeonghan,” he grumbles, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He doesn’t need a tutor, all he needs is to put a little more time into the subject. So what if he can barely read, or understand what they mean, let alone form proper sentences?
(Okay he might need a tutor but he’s not gonna admit that to Yoon-fucking-Jeonghan.)
He’s gonna buckle down, study the material and – !!
“MY CELLO!”
…. What?
Seungcheol winces when he feels his tailbone getting crushed under his weight. Wonderful, he can feel a bruise forming right on his ass. Looking up, he’s surprised when he sees the prettiest pair of angry doe-like eyes staring back at him, holding a giant grey case.
“Watch where you’re going!” the pretty doe-eyed boy with pink hair has a pretty voice too. Seungcheol stands up, holding his hand out to him. The boy hands him the case, standing up grumpily. “This cello costs a lot of money,” he huffs.
“Like a couple hundred? I mean, it’s just wood and some string,” Seungcheol jokes, trying to make light conversation while the cute cellist adjusts himself.
He expected a light laugh, pretty eyes curving with amusement. He was not expecting a scandalized gasp, eyes rounded in horror.
“How dare you,” he wheezes, eyes narrowing with irritation. “This cello costs Eight. Thousand. Dollars,” he grits out, finger stabbing Seungcheol in the chest.
Ow.
Seungcheol holds the instrument silently, watching as the lanky boy shakes his fist angrily, fingers running through his hair. Seungcheol can barely hold back a grin while he goes on a lengthy rant about how uncultured jocks like him can’t appreciate the art of music.
“I’m Seungcheol,” he interrupts the cellist mid-sentence, grinning brightly at the doe-eyed boy.
“I didn’t ask,” he grumbles, taking his cello from Seungcheol. “I’m Jisoo.”
“Nice to meet–” Seungcheol’s response dies in his throat. It can’t be. This cute, angry pastel-haired angel is his potential English tutor????
Jisoo stares at Seungcheol’s frozen form, brows furrowed in confusion. He waves his hand in Seungcheol’s face, and the jock snaps back to reality.
“Sorry, uh- you- I’m- uh- you- English!” he blurts, and Jisoo bites back a grin at how cute he looks flustered.
“What about my English?” he asks, leaning against the lockers, cello safely behind him before Seungcheol does any more potential damage. The silver haired – footballer? Basketballer? – looks away sheepishly, cheeks tinged a light pink.
“I- kinda messaged you about uh…. Um… for some help?” he stammers, licking his lips nervously.
Jisoo stares at Seungcheol confusedly, not understanding (more like misunderstanding) what he was getting at.
“Tutoring! I- well Jeonghannie- he messaged you on my phone about helping me with my English module?”
Oh.
Jisoo knows Jeonghan is trying to set him up. He had met the soccer player in freshman year, when he was called into the office to tutor Jeonghan’s failing ass. He’d passed, thankfully, but he now had a friend who refused to leave his love life alone.
After his last relationship ended, Jisoo decided that he was going to focus on his playing. Jihoon wasn’t a bad boyfriend, he just had big aspirations, and a stubbornness that could rival a mule. Jisoo had musical aspirations too, he wanted to become a professional cellist, but it gets old when your boyfriend just wants to lock himself in a studio, producing for 23 hours a day.
“You knocked over my cello, why should I?” he answers, frowning slightly, and Seungcheol grabs Jisoo’s hands suddenly.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to knock into you I just- I really need to pass English so I can continue playing soccer. Please, I’ll do anything,” he pleads, eyes wide and puppy-like, eager and hopeful.
Jisoo doesn’t dislike Seungcheol, or even blame him really, he just hates how goddamn cute the soccer player is (But seriously, his cello is huge, how do you even walk into it?). Seungcheol’s still holding Jisoo’s hand, and it’s dizzyingly distracting the way his thumb unconsciously stroking the back of his hand. Jisoo pulls away abruptly, nearly smacking himself out of guilt when Seungcheol’s face falls.
Seungcheol watches as Jisoo picks up his cello and slings it over his shoulders. It creates a funny silhouette, like Jisoo has an elongated head and lean, skinny limbs sticking out of the body of the instrument.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Meet me here in the library at 3pm and bring a venti vanilla sweet cream cold brew. I have to go, I’m already running late.”
He watches Jisoo until he rounds the corner, disappearing with his giant case on his back. He slumps, running his hand through his still damp hair. He sighs, picking up his duffle bag, getting ready to get home so he can crash and take a well-deserved nap.
Vanilla sweet cream? Jisoo likes sweet things.