Chapter Text
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Dark blue lipstick, gray shadows, and blue eyeliner, glitter in the inner corners of his eyes. All of that attracted attention no worse than a blue suit with guipure in the hem of the blouse and on the cuffs of it. His red shoes screamed rather than tapped their heels on the floor with their appearance. Jaemin has a bright smile on his lips as all the students in his new school turn around to stare at him with their mouths open.
They, in their fashionable T-shirts, are the same, similar to each other, albeit different. Ordinary. For Jaemin this word sounded like an insult. Regular jeans, regular T-shirts, regular sneakers. Girls who try to make themselves more beautiful with the same make-up. Jaemin is different. He knew exactly how to express what he had inside with the help of appearance. What were the expressions of those people who stared at him with open mouths, raising their eyebrows in surprise and astonishment? They even had the same emotions.
Jaemin loved to attract attention, he knew how to dress to be noticed, and he also knew that not everyone understands his choice. But mom’s always said that self-expression is the most important skill in life, and then she’d thoughtfully twisted her bright pink hair around her finger with the same toxic neon manicure.
His father and his maid, Miss Oh, did not appreciate Jaemin's appearance on the first day at school. Fortunately, his father did not interfere in Jaemin’s own business and did not try to fix him. Jaeyong firmly believed that over time Jaemin himself would “understand everything” and correct his appearance. As if the ways of self-expression will ever fade into the background. It's like Jaemin has a plug for his inner world, like the one he puts on the drain in the bathroom.
Jaemin thought with a grin that daddy hasn’t seen all of his costumes yet.
Schoolmates turned to look at him, pointing their fingers uncertainly, even tho their friends could already see everything for themselves. They acted like they were seeing for the first time bright colors in clothes or heavy makeup, although Jaemin is willing to bet that half of the schoolgirls wear makeup like this to a party with the main heartthrob of the school. Or even brighter one.
Jaemin mistakenly thought he could handle their attention, but it turns out to be too much: people walk by with long lingering eyes, giggling, looking at each other, and he starts to think that he should have chosen something simpler for the first day, but it's too late. Now his only escape plan is to disappear. Which he does, immediately finding the audience of his first lesson.
His first lesson was German, which his father chose for him, wishing that in the future his son would follow in his footsteps and become a diplomat. Jaemin did not resist too much since he was given complete freedom in everything else, and he chose: music, the theory of modern art, theatrical faculty, and English literature. Jaemin showed up in the audience a couple of minutes before the bell rang, and as soon as he entered, everyone fell silent, as if someone had accidentally turned the sound off.
“Hi,” he smiles politely, holding notebooks and books tightly to his chest. Blue lips twitch as they meet uncertain and shocked eyes. “Is this room 12V?”
“German,” someone in the audience says, and Jaemin swallows nervously, nodding and looking down at the floor.
He quickly takes an empty seat in the audience, without raising his eyes to any of those presents, and they, as luck would have it, seem to be waiting for him to make at least some sound. The silence is deafening, and the whispers seem to sound into a microphone: it’s all dedicated to him. It would be cool if someone whispered something nice, but all they were talking about was that Jaemin is “weird”, “show off”, “faggot”, and “diva”. If even one word from these hurt him, he would have committed suicide long ago. These people are the same as everyone he met before. Nothing new that he couldn't handle.
Teacher enters at the sound of the bell, not looking at anyone in particular. He greets, introduces himself as Mr. Choi, and looks around the audience one by one, finally getting his eyes on Jaemin and stopping on him, making Jaemin suck his neck in. Young people may be loyal to him, but older people, like his father or teachers, were always unhappy as if he violated their personal space.
“Oh, we have a new one,” Mr. Choi says and gets up from his seat. There is no specific emotion in his eyes that Jaemin expected to see. “Guys, this is Jaemin Na. Jaemin, would you like to introduce yourself to the others?”
Jaemin swallows nervously and looks around the audience as the students glare at him.
“We already see it all,” someone snorts from the back of the classroom, and chuckles run through the air.
“Well, Donghyuck, you’re wearing shitty sweatshirts, but that doesn’t mean you’re a bastard,” the dry-voiced man says, and the chuckles grow even louder.
“Zhong, watch your mouth,” Mr. Choi says menacingly to a guy with a long bang, who only breaks into a smile at these words and shrugs his shoulders, not at all regretting what he had said. “Jaemin?”
Teacher invites him to the blackboard to stand face-to-face with his new class. On hesitantly, but still, Jaemin gets up, and, with a proudly raised head and a wide smile, looks around at everyone. Even if these petty bastards are prejudiced against him, he will still prove to them that he is worth their attention. Next to the boy with the long bangs, Zhong, is sitting a guy in a leather jacket with a split on his bottom lip, which he licks as he glares at Jaemin with a haughty look. Hazel eyes look up and down Jaemin, and then, as if nothing had happened, he lowers them back into his notebook, scribbling a few times with a pencil.
His behavior is not something that Jaemin sees in others. He just doesn’t care about him, what is actually good. It's like he's seen someone like Jaemin more than once. As if he despises him for his appearance, but it's none of his business. And with others whistling, pouting, and humming as they look around Jaemin, this guy just ignores him when he wants to be the center of attention. At least in the center of his attention for sure.
And his deskmate, Zhong, looks like he came to a matinee with his child. He breaks into a reassuring smile as he looks at Jaemin with a light in his eyes and even encourages him with a nod of his hand to start talking.
Jaemin takes a deep breath and starts.
“My name is Jaemin Na, I'm seventeen, I moved from Jeju to finish high school here and go to college. I am interested in fashion and music, but my father sincerely believes that I will be a diplomat-”
"Do you think we're interested in knowing your entire autobiography?" snorts a guy with dark hair and sunkissed skin.
“Shut the fuck up, Donghyuck,” Zhong’s neighbor says calmly, not taking his eyes off his notebook.
Again, as if he didn't have to strain his tongue to say it. It's like there's nothing like he should interfere, but he did anyway. It's like he doesn't care, but at the same time, he decided to protect a person.
“Who said that?!” Choi jumps up from his seat. “Who. Said. It?!”
“Jeno,” Donghyuck grins slyly, shooting a glance at the owner of the baritone.
Jeno looks up at him wearily and raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“Are you sure you won't regret it?” Jeno says with a slight but dangerous smile. He leans towards Donghyuck, spreading even wider into an intimidating smirk that warns the bully that Jeno isn't joking. Even Jaemin stiffen at the gesture. “I'll be waiting for you on the school bus. I hope you enjoy how I put your ass on your own head.”
“Lee, to the headmaster, now,” teacher Minho says menacingly, glaring at Jeno as he rolls his eyes and grabs his backpack.
“Or maybe, in honor of the first day, you will forgive Jeno for his rudeness?” Chenle says, clapping his eyes charmingly.
This might be considered as flirting, but Jaemin understands that this behavior is normal for Zhong, so no one is surprised or even snorts. Teacher doesn't respond to his sweet tone either.
“Chenle, you can go with Jeno or keep quiet,” Choi replies.
“It’s ok, Lele, see you at the next lesson,” Jeno grins at him, and looks at Donghyuck as he stands up. "I'll see you after school, honey."
“Fuck you,” Donghyuck snorts, leaning back in his chair, but fear of Jeno immediately reads through him.
He walks past Jaemin, sending him a smirk – the corners of his lips slowly lift, brown eyes meet amber for a split second, then turn away – and slams the doors loudly. This contact is enough for Jaemin to understand that no matter what Jeno Lee just did, he can’t get close to him. He is like a lion in a cage: it is safe at a distance, but if you try to get closer, you will die.
“You can sit down, Na,” teacher says affectionately, pulling Jaemin out of his thoughts. “So, open the first paragraph…”
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Jaemin expected different reactions. On the one hand, it was not bad that they only looked at him. No one shouted insults after him, no one kicked him or glued chewing gum to his clothes. Yet. But he felt like a hunted animal in a circus, which everyone looks at, but is afraid to approach. Perhaps they have something in common with Jeno? If Lee was a lion that would cut off half of your arm, then Jaemin looked like a peacock at most: beautiful, bright, noticeable, but harmless.
Jaemin liked to get attention, but he didn't like not being accepted for who he was. He was sure that the news and films about violent teenagers were lies because he watched video blogs and people in school liked those who expressed themselves defiantly now. Apparently not in this city.
For lunch, he’d choose the only free table, located right next to the collection point for dirty dishes. So someone constantly rumbles near him and others pass by, holding on him with long, surprised looks. Sometimes with dislike. Sometimes with pity. They still didn’t take any particular side, but Jaemin didn’t like the alignment.
“Hi!” A thin body flops down next to him with a bright smile from ear to ear. “You are Jaemin, right?”
“Yes,” Na swallows dry toast with difficulty, immediately stretching out his hand to the juice to drink a piece, but the guy intercepts it, unceremoniously invading personal space, and pulls it towards him, squeezing it in a handshake.
“I’m Jisung Park, the head of the theater club and your new friend,” Jisung’s gentle hand releases Jaemin, and his grip was so tight that Na was surprised that he didn’t hurt him. “Everyone talks only about you, it’s not often that we come across someone so… brave.”
Jisung is wearing a tracksuit, and his hair is casually falling over his face, which makes him constantly push it to his side. A thin face with sharp cheekbones and sunken cheeks: Jaemin is sure that under the swollen fabric of his clothes is a body that can be used to count the bones.
“Am I brave?” Jaemin is surprised.
“Well, yeah, just look at what you came in,” Jisung snorts. “Shine like a star. And your lips in this lipstick! Just a black hole in our little school galaxy. By the way, an elective in the last lesson, you know? Looking forward to seeing you in action. Have you prepared something?”
Jisung chatters without delay as if his thoughts are racing at the speed of light and won't stop.
“No, but I’ll try to make myself look better than I really am,” Jaemin snorts. “I’m not sure I’ll stay here for a long time… I’d expected a completely different reaction from people.”
“Oh, trust me, they’ll get used to it, give them a month,” Jisung smiles. “What other classes do you attend?”
Jisung steals French fries from Jaemin’s tray and immediately pops them into his mouth. Apparently, the “your new friend” warning had already taken effect because Park looked like he and Jaemin had known each other for a thousand years, unceremoniously disposing of his personal belongings. Jaemin does not have time to notice how Jisung is nervously fingering Jaemin’s lace on his blouse with his other hand, grinning.
“Music, art, and German,” Jaemin recalls, struggling to navigate his schedule as he carefully removes Jisung’s hand from his clothes. Jaemin definitely forgot about half of the things he wasn't particularly interested in, but he wasn't going to obsess over them.
“G-German?” Jisung chokes on his food, tapping his chest as he tries to cough up a chunk of potato.
All his actions are fast so that Na does not have time to help.
“Yes, why?” Jaemin hands him the juice and Park takes a couple of sips greedily. A couple of thousand sips until the glass is empty.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” a blushing Jisung rumbles and exhales sharply, immediately putting a smile on his face. “We're thinking of start on a production of British plays this year, but not something banal, like, who cares for the thousandth time watching two stupid youngsters kill each other? Nobody beats the DiCaprio version,” Jaemin nods in admiration, to which Jisung smiles smugly. “If you have any ideas, then please, it will be interesting to know your opinion.”
“Okay, I'll think about it.”
“And leave me your number, I want to shower you with memes when I'm sad,” Park masterfully pulls out his phone.
“Memes?” Jaemin furrows his thick brows, his “new friend" switching to a new topic so fast he can't keep up.
“Yeah, I’m like, an expert and a connoisseur,” Jisung smirks, poking a finger at the corner of his lips. “Fix your lipstick, you almost ate all of it.”
Jaemin immediately grabs his backpack like his hands are on fire and pulls out a mirror and make-up bag, he can't afford to look out of place. Everything is important in his appearance: from glitter in the corners of his eyes to the cleanliness of his red shoes. Jisung continues to eat his food and then opens the calculator and counts something in it until Chenle Zhong enters the dining room. After it Park's jaw opens and his eyes follow him. For the first time, he does not move, but freezes completely, and seems to forget to breathe.
"Could you tell me what's going on here? At your school?” Jaemin asks, wiping away the last of his lipstick with a tissue, and glares at his new friend as he looks up from the mirror. “Jisung?”
“Huh?” Park stares blankly at Chenle, not daring to look away. “What?”
“What do I need to know about your school?” Jaemin repeats and kicks him in the shoulder, giving him a particular frown that threatens to wrinkle his foundation. “Jisung?”
Park turns to him and finally enters this reality.
“Well... We have a very conservative school with a long story, that accepted changes only 5 or 7 years ago. But we have free form and art and language direction. School rarely accept new students, only those who are suitable or who have been paid to study here. Is that how you got here? Are you an excellent student?”
“No, my father is a diplomat and…”
“Aaaaaah, is your father Jaeyong Na?” Jisung guesses.
“Yeah,” Jaemin admits angrily.
He had a special relationship with his father, and he hoped that they would not be compared. He would like no one to know who his father is because Jaemin never wanted to have high expectations attached to him. But he was the only son, heir, and man, so that's what always haunted him. And that's something he never justified.
“I get it. Well, so, we are the best in the area in terms of the number of honors students, also we have the best football team in the area and the best theater group. I will not poke fingers, whose merit is this,” Jisung circles his finger around his head.
Jaemin smiles at him. Jisung is nice. Not fake nice, he’s really just this cute and active weirdo boy that you can meet at any other school.
“Who should I be afraid of?” Jaemin looks around and notices that Jeno is eating on the grass near school away from everyone, sitting on the lawn and listening to music through headphones. His leather jacket is under his head instead of a pillow, and his arms are thrown back, from which the muscles tense up and you can study anatomy from him. Jaemin swallows hard, imagining how hands like that could easily grab someone and break them. “Here he is. He seemed dangerous to me.”
“Renjun? Huang?” Jisung frowns, following Jaemin's finger. “Oh no, Renjun is a good guy, everyone loves him. He is the captain of the soccer team and Chenle's best friend-”
“Chenle Zhong?” Jaemin guesses.
“Yes… Do you know Chenle?” Now Jisung is frowning, which doesn't suit his young face at all. “Everyone knows Chenle, but… DO YOU KNOW CHENLE?”
“He’s in German class. But I didn’t ask about them. This guy, Jeno Lee,” Jaemin points in the same direction, and Jisung looks closely, finally noticing the mentioned Lee behind the students in the window overlooking the school lawn. “He is also in German class.”
“Ow,” Jisung says sadly. “Jeno... I don't know much about him, like, he's a boxer and a football player, a striker, and he plays like a god. But he’s a loner. Many people have disliked him since elementary school… He mostly hangs out with college guys and talks a little with Chenle. I've never seen him with anyone other than him, although the players are a very close-knit team and Renjun always invites Jeno to parties, but… at school, he keeps to himself. And at parties, always next to Chenle. That's all I know about him.”
“And he always looks like we’re all unworthy of him,” Jaemin notes theatrically and sighs.
“Perhaps it is true,” Jisung snorts, shrugging.
Jeno turns his head towards the cafeteria and Jaemin glares at him. He knows that Lee couldn't see through the window, but for some reason, he looks away, afraid of meeting his eyes. Jeno licks his cracked lip one more time and close his eyes, swinging his legs from side to side, enjoying the sun and music.
This guy was someone who was close to everyone, but at the same time was far from them. Jaemin would like to be the same. Someone who was respected and feared, but at the same time so far away from anyone. Sadly, Jaemin has once again proved to be just a ridiculous joke.