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Rumors and reputation, Seungmin is well acquainted with the two. He’s endured their beatings and their batterings. He’s the class president after all. You could say he’s bested them, has wiggled his way into his peers’ good graces and high opinions without ever having to truly be close to them. Really, he’s worked magic with them.
Which is why Koo Gunil’s reputation far from eludes him. He’s well aware of it even before the boy stands before the classroom, straightfaced and bandaged, greeting his new school with a black eye and a crooked nose. Everyone is, really. He’s kind of infamous in the district. It’s not so often you beat a group of boys so bad it can’t be covered up, the only solution expulsion.
No school likes tainting their precious reputation with filth like that. So, what Koo Gunil had done, must have been pretty bad. That’s the consensus, breaths held and bated as he walks through the door, chin raised, eyes unflinching as students unapologetically stare .
Seungmin stands from his desk, perfectly front in center, directly diagonal from the teacher, precisely positioned before the chalkboard. He laces his fingers before him and bows his head to Gunil. The thing he knows about school reputation is that it never favors the student, always favoring the board. So, whether Gunil has done what he’s been accused or not, Seungmin gives him the benefit of the doubt.
Gunil does not bow his head back. Does not offer any sort of courtesy of politeness. Narrowing his eyes subtly at Seungmin, hands clenching in his pockets. They’re a dark brown, startlingly pure irises outlined by purple and pink bruising. They’re a kind color, if that exists; Seungmin wonders how they’d looked when Gunil laid his hands against the boy twice his size, left him blacked out amidst the courtyard.
“Welcome to our class, Gunil-ssi,” Seungmin delivers, practiced and prim, smiling small Gunil’s way, raising a brow at Gunil’s responding flinch, “It’s a pleasure to have you.”
The incited whispers, would be eager to disagree.
+
Gunil deigns to sit in the very back of the classroom, in the corner by the window, where Seungmin observes him staring out solemnly at every minute and hour of class, no matter the topic at hand. He never seems to pay attention to any of his surroundings, emitting a sense of disinterest upon anything in his vicinity. The people in the seats closest to him, flee to pack up their things the moment the dismissal bell chimes.
It’s hard, craning his neck over his shoulder to stare in glimpses and glances, yet Seungmin finds himself falling into the habit involuntarily. Who can blame him? As repelling as Gunil’s aura is, it’s simultaneously just as compelling.
A boy shaped so gently, cheeks and eyes soft and round, cherubic, lips turned down in a perpetual precious pout. Fingers short and stubby where they tap against his desk persistently, the knuckles scraped red, wrapped in bands of white that bleed through. Seungmin watches in a timelapse, over the week Gunil is there, as the scratches and bruises marring his soft, peach fuzz skin, fade.
He listens as he walks through the halls, to the girls who giggle behind their hands and curtains of falling silky hair. Isn’t he so cute? If only he wasn’t so scary…but isn’t that part of the appeal? Seungmin doesn’t spare them a glance, the same way he spares Gunil several.
Part of him understands.
It’s that, that urges him to take on this imaginarily assigned task, as well as a general distrust. The task being: Attach himself to Gunil’s side. It only makes sense. He has duties, a broad sense of responsibility, indebted to the school. He can’t let Gunil leave his sight, go and dirty their school’s squeaky clean painted over, precious, reputation .
Gunil notices instantly. When Seungmin sticks around in the classroom while everyone else hurries to leave. When Seungmin follows a few steps behind him in the halls. When Seungmin sits a bench away from him at lunch. There’s an invisible leash Seungmin has hooked on Gunil’s wrist, and Seungmin only detaches it come the end of the school day.
In retaliation, Gunil begins to stare back. Seungmin has to admit the intensity of his gaze is somewhat unnerving. It doesn’t deter him though. Only makes the tips of his ears a bit pink when their rivaling stares clash. He’s sure Gunil isn’t looking there anyways.
He’s standing before the window, the one Gunil sits by, when Gunil lifts his head from his crossed arms, glaring. “You can leave me alone, teacher’s pet,” he mutters. It’s perhaps the first time Seungmin hears his voice. “I’m not gonna bite anyone. So you can go do better things with your life.”
Seungmin hardly gives him his attention. “I’m afraid I do whatever I want, Gunil-ssi.”
Gunil clicks his tongue and stands. “Right.” When he walks away, Seungmin thinks it isn’t best this time around, to follow. So he keeps standing there, staring out the window, trying desperately to seek out whatever it is Gunil always sees there.
It can’t be nothing. Then again, who is Seungmin to be the judge?
+
Seungmin wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded. He persists. Nothing but obstinance gets you in positions like his, frankly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little freaky?” his sole friend, Hyeongjun asks one day, sipping from a juice box listlessly, eyeing Gunil like he’s nothing particularly worth noting. “Obsessive, even.”
He looks to Hyeongjun, hair tied and carefully tucked beneath his collar so the school doesn’t make him cut it. Wearing his uniform cardigan in almost every manner of weather. “I’m just making sure he doesn’t hurt anybody.”
Raising a brow, not bothering to look at Seungmin, his words landing hard enough, Hyeongjun hums, “Does he really look like he’s gonna hurt anybody to you?” He jerks his chin Gunil’s way. Gunil sitting against a tree in the courtyard, twirling the wires of his earbuds around his fingers. He’s watching a squirrel pass, frowning at it intently, keeping perfectly still to not spook it.
He looks up, meets Seungmin’s eye. Seungmin tears his gaze away, pursing his lips. “Maybe not. I’ve gotta make sure either way. That’s my responsibility, as his class president.” He tugs at the hem of his blazer, perfectly cuffed. “What he does reflects back on me.”
Hyeongjun stares at him sideways, sipping from an empty carton, the sound grating. He tosses it into the nearby trash bin, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Right,” he says, utterly unconvinced. Seungmin huffs a breath, turns and walks away from his friend, Gunil, and Gunil’s squirrel friend.
No one seems to be believing him.
+
He doesn’t know why he does it, but one day, Gunil steps out of the classroom, leaving Seungmin in there alone. So Seungmin fluidly stands from his seat, and sits in Gunil’s. The one in the corner of the very back of the room, facing the window.
He sits stiff spine straight for a moment, before slumping over the desk, arranging his arms in a particular way. Folding them over the surface, placing his chin atop them. He glances out the window, spots his reflection in the shiny glass, and blushes.
Hastily, he straightens out, flushing a vivid red as he realizes what he’s doing. He chews the inside of his cheek, seeing from his peripheral Gunil reentering the room, looking his way. His seat’s way. There’s a tense stillness tucked within a momentary pause. Seungmin trains his gaze carefully on the wooden stain of the desk.
Gunil’s steps sound through the room, even and soft, unintrusive. It’s like every part of him is a contradiction. He approaches Seungmin quietly, and Seungmin exhales soundlessly, trying in any way to predict what Gunil will do next, how he’ll react.
The backs of Gunil’s legs hit the edge, and Gunil pulls himself onto the desk. Only able to loom over Seungmin like this, with the desk and dark silhouette of his crooked jacket as advantage. “Is there any good reason you’re practically stalking me, class pres?” he asks, voice low, simmering.
Swallowing, Seungmin peers up at him. His hair shaggy where it falls from his head, usually laid flat against his ears. He’s still got bandages plastered on his cheek and jaw. The puffed collar of his uniform jacket kisses the skin of his neck. “I don’t know if you’re following me ‘cause you think I’m gonna snap and hit someone.” His brows furrow, expression taking on something pained.
He takes a deep breath, seeking out Seungmin’s eyes with his own, glare wavering. “I’m not gonna, so you can stop wasting your time, and leave me the hell alone.” Seungmin allows himself to lift his head, parallel his face to Gunil’s. The sun streams in through Gunil’s window, illuminates the brown of his eyes, turning them from simply kind to a swirling molten puppy dog brown.
Seungmin hears his heart in his ears. He opens his mouth, nothing coming out, and Gunil sees something on his face, cocking his head and raising a brow, puzzled. Seungmin’s stare darts over and around Gunil, looking somewhere else or the other when he finally manages to reply, “Please don’t sit on the desks, Gunil-ssi.”
Jutting his lips almost in a considerate pout, Gunil hums, “If you ask so nicely, pres.” But he doesn’t slide down, not just yet, leaning down just slight, rendering Seungmin speechless, precariously tilting back in the chair to avoid closeness. “May I have my seat back then?”
Seungmin’s lips part, finally feeling the heat in his cheeks full force. He barely musters a nod before he hurriedly nods and jolts up, knocking their heads together. Gunil hisses, holding his hair flat to his temple, the almost pout shifting fully into a poignant one, pushing at his lips. “Sorry,” Seungmin squeaks, before near sprinting out of the classroom.
He presses his back against the wall outside, pulse pattering against his neck, butterfly soft. He holds his hands over his chest, eyes squeezing shut. He’ll never sit in anybody else’s seat but his own again.
+
Does the incident stop him from continuing? Absolutely not. He continues to watch over Gunil, if at least only at a farther distance. Not far enough for Gunil to not be anymore aware than he was before, but far enough to prevent…any occurrence like the one before.
It was humiliating, the way he’d acted, and it won’t happen again. When Gunil is near, his stare burning through the back of Seungmin’s blazer during class, Seungmin keeps himself composed. If Gunil were to for some reason speak to him ever again, he would have rehearsed lines to spit back at the boy. Every time Seungmin thinks of himself flustering and stuttering, a little bit of himself dies inside.
He has a reputation, after all. Cool, collected, composed.
When Gunil steps out of the room during break, of course, Seungmin is close behind. Hyeongjun at band practice, he won’t be there to badger Seungmin for his behavior. For the first time, Gunil doesn’t seem all too aware that Seungmin is trailing him, focused on the screen of his phone as he looks around, and privately steps behind the gym building.
Soundless, Seungmin walks lightly, trailing his fingers over the wall, approaching Gunil discreetly. Gunil’s voice travels through the air, whispered and frantic, before calming, unhurrying.
Seungmin peeks around the corner, tilts his head and observes Gunil, frowning down at his phone, though not in the typical way he frowns at everything: a concentrated frown like he’s preventing some other expression from shining through. This is softer, earnest.
“Is there a reason you’re hiding away to speak on the phone?” he blurts, reprimanding himself for speaking too soon, impulsive. Gunil’s head jerks up, eyes owlishly wide where they fall on Seungmin. His thumb shoots to end the call, to pocket his phone, when a voice rings from it, high-pitched and tinny.
“Hyung? Who is that?”
Pursing his lips, breathing out through his nose, Gunil slides his stare away from Seungmin, resting it narrowed on the fence surrounding the edges of the campus. “Just the class pres,” he mutters, “No need to be worried, Joo. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
The voice wordlessly whines before Gunil can end the call, and Gunil tilts his head back, sighing noiselessly. “Wait, wait,” they say, insistent, annoying in a way Seungmin didn’t think Gunil and his persona would tolerate, “Let me speak with him, Hyung, let me.” Gunil squeezes his fingers around the phone, heavily debating simply not listening.
Pacing forward, Seungmin unapologetically snatches the phone from Gunil’s hand. Gunil gapes down at his empty palms, looking to Seungmin incredulously. “Hello? I’m Gunil-ssi’s classmate, Oh Seungmin, who is this?” Beside him, Gunil silently sulks, that pout Seungmin is slowly familiarizing himself with back on full display.
“I’m Jooyeon!” the voice cheerily chirps back, “You seem nice.” Gunil huffs quietly, and Seungmin side-eyes him fiercely. “Can I ask you a favor, Seungmin-ssi?” Seungmin raises a brow, glances at Gunil, humming in affirmation.
A beat of silence, then Jooyeon speaks again, voice quieter and softer, near somber. “Can you look after Gunil-hyung for me, please? He’s got a thing for getting himself into trouble. He looks all tough and rough, but he’s a big softie, y’know. He—” Gunil rips the phone from Seungmin, turning off the speaker.
He presses it to his ear, grumbling, “That’s enough, Joo. Get to your class.” A pause. “No matter how early you leave you’re always late.” He spots Seungmin watching him, turning away and hunching in on himself. “Bye… Yes , yes. Love you, bye.” Seungmin’s brows shoot up, disappearing into his bangs.
Gunil turns back to face him, opening his mouth and closing it. His cheeks gradually pinken, dusted by the sunlight and embarrassment. Seungmin thinks he’s seeing Gunil in a whole new light, sun or not be damned. Gunil shakes out his head, running a fidgeting hand through his hair.
This time, Gunil is the one who leaves horribly flustered.
+
“Do you really got any scratches left?”
Gunil blinks up at him, confused and baffled. His fingers reflexively come up to brush over the bandages still on his face. The corner of Seungmin’s lips tug up involuntarily, and Gunil stares. “Or do you just wear those to seem cool and tough?” he muses, leaning his hip against Gunil’s desk.
Pouting, blushing, doing those things lately both quite frequently, Gunil huffs. “When I get my hands on that nuisance—” He cuts himself off, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his seat. He reaches up, rips the bandaid from his jaw. Nothing left behind but a silvery white line, one that’s sure to fade in due time.
Seungmin peers at it, hand rising despite himself. He stops it, catching himself. He meets Gunil’s eye and Gunil thins his lips into a wavering line. His eyes dart to the side, and he nods. Seungmin leans down, brushes his touch over the scratch’s scar left behind. Gunil reflexively stiffens, relaxing when Seungmin pauses.
“So what happened?” Seungmin hums, “Did you really beat up those boys and get expelled? Or is it a rumor?” He traces the line, a little captivated by the way the rough scab sits against the rest of Gunil’s skin, startlingly soft and warmer than Seungmin.
Jaw flexing beneath Seungmin’s fingertips, Gunil lets out a stream of air, measured. “I did.” He removes his other bandage, revealing much the same beneath. Nothing more than the memory of a nick. “I’d do it again.”
Pulling away, Seungmin stands back and looks . Gunil without any of his bandages somehow looks simultaneously less and more vulnerable. A bit of that facade dropped, leaving him without a layer of his shield, of his armor. “You’re not a bully, are you, Koo Gunil?”
Gunil looks away, refuses to respond, but Seungmin thinks he’s got his answer either way. Seungmin smiles, small and secret, and Gunil’s throat bobs. “Tell Jooyeon-ssi it was fun talking with him. I liked what he had to say.” Gunil’s eyes close, a sigh fleeing his mouth. Lightly, Seungmin laughs.
+
Maybe Seungmin closes the distance between them. Maybe he begins to sit in the seat beside Gunil during breaks; watches Gunil bask in the sun, his lids growing heavy and his head falling against his folded arms. He’s always taking naps, letting the window’s light lull him to sleep with nothing better to do.
Maybe he begins to bring juice boxes from the cafeteria and cartons of yogurt milk and place them on the edge of Gunil’s desk when he doesn’t want to venture out for lunch, much to Hyeongjun’s exasperation. Maybe Gunil does the same when Seungmin is busy, working himself exhausted.
Maybe on a day when Seungmin has a lot of things to do, and his head is a weight on his neck, he sits in Gunil’s seat. Just to see if the sleep it’ll bring him will revive him. When he wakes, there’s a jacket draped over his shoulders, a little bag of cut fruit right at his nose beside a can of soda. He looks up; no one’s around.
He pulls the jacket over himself, ghosts his nose over the collar he can see in his mind’s eye brushing someone’s neck. He almost falls asleep again, graced with the smell of the courtyard’s trees and a hint of freshly peeled oranges.
If he were to hold Gunil’s hand, would it smell the same?
+
Exam season is rough. On top of stricter studying Seungmin needs to get done, his duties as class president pile up. A week in, and Seungmin is all burnt out, a flame near snuffed. He isn’t even sitting in Gunil’s seat, when he falls asleep in the class, staying after school to try and complete even more things before leaving.
He wakes up with a startle, a hand on his shoulder and the sun low from what he can see through the windows. Colors of sunset, blues and lilacs, prettily paint the skies. He looks up, Gunil glaring down at him in concern. “You’re doing too much.”
Rubbing his eyes, Seungmin shakes his head. “It could be argued I’m not doing enough.”
Raising a brow, challenging, Gunil stuffs his hands in his pockets and stands straight. “Come get a snack with me,” he requests, not kindly or unkindly, voice carefully unfeeling. Seungmin frowns. “I’m your responsibility,” Gunil remarks pettily, “Aren’t I?”
Buttons appropriately pushed, Seungmin sighs, packing his things away. “Alright.” Gunil smiles, and it briefly stuns Seungmin, trying his hardest not to look. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gunil smile before. Maybe that’s a strictly after school hours occurrence. It’s good enough reward for giving in so easily, he can at the least say.
Gunil leads Seungmin down the path to the nearest convenience store. Seungmin all the while watches as the sun sets. The sky is a deep evening indigo, and it only makes him slightly uneasy, to have unintentionally stayed so late at school. “Do you even like it?” Gunil asks, out of nowhere, voice as soft as the sky’s brushes of lilac.
Blinking, Seungmin looks down at him, puzzled. “Hm?”
Sucking on his teeth, shrugging his shoulders, Gunil averts his gaze. “I dunno. Being class president. Why do you do it? You don’t seem to get anything out of it.” He kicks at the cracked sidewalk, scattering small pebbles and fallen leaves.
Sucking on his cheek, Seungmin replies, “Who wouldn’t want to be? Isn't it a good thing to be?” They reach the store, the bright fluorescent lights blinding compared to the saccharine outside world. Soft music muffles their steps, and Gunil grabs Seungmin by the wrist, tugging them quickly to their destinations. Drinks, and snacks.
He snorts as he pushes Seungmin in front of the fridges, wordlessly urging him to pick something out. “What’s a “good thing to be”? That could be a lot of things, Seungmin. Far different than class president.”
Seungmin stares at him, baffled, disgruntled. His eyes tracing Gunil’s barely there faint smile. “Well…I guess,” he mutters, “But a class president…It means you’ve earned something. You’ve proven yourself. That’s…that’s good .” He’s been thrown off course. People don’t usually question your accomplishments. They just congratulate them.
Not Gunil. Never Gunil. “True,” he mumbles, focus honed in on the racks of chips and candy. He squats down, picks off something baked and corn flaked. He peers up at Seungmin through his frizzy bangs, gaze piercing. “Do you like it though?” He holds up the bag, and Seungmin takes it, holding it while Gunil rises.
“Like it? You don’t—you don’t have to like everything you do, if it’s good or useful,” Seungmin grumbles. Gunil purses his lips contemplatively. With an agreeing hum, he nods, once again grabbing Seungmin’s wrist, tugging him up to the cash register where he pays before Seungmin can even open his mouth to offer.
They sit on the curb outside the store, the night air crisp, midnight blues nipping at the tips of their ears and noses. Seungmin shivers, rubbing a hand over a bare arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. Gunil makes a noise, bending down and slipping off his windbreaker. "Ah, Gunil-ssi no—”
Too late. Gunil wraps it around him; he’s immediately enveloped in warmth, warmth and that peeled orange peeled grass smell. He pulls it around himself instinctively, frowning petulantly when he does. “Are you not cold?”
“I run warm,” Gunil hums, stabbing his straw into his blueberry milk carton. “So why do you do it? Why do you do so much work if you don’t even like it? I mean I’ve got my reasons for things.”
Crossing his arms over his bent legs, drawing in the jacket closer to him. “So why do you walk around with bandages and let everyone think you’re a bully then?” He opens the plastic of the small cake he picked out, nibbling at the soft bread. “…Why did you get expelled?”
Tensing ever so slightly, blinking slowly, Gunil sips on his milk. “If you answer, I will, Seungminnie.”
Lips parting, cheeks going a little pink, Seungmin hopes Gunil can’t see any of his reaction to the casual nickname in the dark. “Okay.” He chews more, thinking carefully. “Truthfully…truthfully, I’m only class president because I don’t know what else to do, and it’s…”
“Good?” Gunil finishes, smile playing on his lips as he spits his straw from his mouth, resting his chin on the back of his hand. Seungmin sighs, nods. “I’ll leave you alone about it then. It’s okay though, you’ve got plenty of time to explore what you like. I mean, maybe join your friend’s band.”
Seungmin raises a brow. “Hyeongjun? How do you know about him?”
Gunil smiles to himself, secret. “I gotta pay some attention to my stalker’s friends, hm?”
Seungmin flushes dark. He pushes his cheek in his hand to hide it. “I was only—Y’know what, I’m not defending myself. Again .” He huffs exasperatedly, and Gunil laughs quietly, the sound deep and airy like the obsidian clouds above.
“It’s okay.” Then he stops, stares off into space, carefully not acknowledging Seungmin’s imploring stare. “I did get expelled, and I really did…” He winces, turns his head away. In return, Seungmin only scoots closer, bumping their elbows, training his eyes on the sparse ground between them to relieve any pressure of Gunil’s confession.
“I really did hurt all those guys. I—I had to.” His voice gots all breathy, and Seungmin drops his things, brushes his hand over Gunil’s, only a little shocked when Gunil actually takes it.
Gunil deflates a little, leaning into Seungmin a bit, his chin brushing Seungmin’s shoulder. He talks quiet, barely a whisper. “They were Jooyeon’s bullies. And they wouldn’t…they wouldn’t stop. They only got worse when I began to stand up for him, and I felt…I was the one who had to deal with it from there. No one else was.”
Seungmin stifles a hitched breath, using his other free hand to pull Gunil’s head into his neck, letting it rest there, feeling Gunil’s shuddering sigh through the borrowed jacket. “That’s…really shitty.” Which is a terrible response, but it prompts Gunil to giggle lightly into his skin, and that’s…that’s really nice.
“Yeah it is,” Gunil concurs, sitting up, “But I dealt with it, didn’t I? I don’t really care what’s come of it. As long as the school gets people to leave Joo alone now. Finally.” He pops a chip into his mouth, chewing quietly.
Frowning, Seungmin wrangles the frustration inside him, having no right to it. “It shouldn’t have ended like that. It’s gonna be on your record forever. And I bet they weren’t properly punished. You shouldn’t have to—” Gunil leans up, presses a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek. Seungmin goes instantly quiet, jaw falling slack.
“Thank you, Seungminnie, but I already know. You’re sweet though.” He fishes out his phone from his pocket, Seungmin eyeing the arms he doesn’t see so frequently from beneath Gunil’s jacket. The one now draped over Seungmin’s shoulder. For the second time, he’d like to note. He’d like to note a lot of things currently, but his mind draws an indefinite blank.
Gunil shoots up. “Oh! I have to go soon if I want to catch the bus in time. Thanks for coming with me, Seungmin. It was nice talking to you.” He walks away backwards, keeping his grin within Seungmin’s line of sight, focused on Seungmin. “Please rest well tonight, will you?”
Dumbly, all Seungmin can do is nod and wave, watching as Gunil runs into the night, a bus following shortly behind, blinking lights and a humming engine. Seungmin looks to his side, sighing at the mess Gunil had left behind. He picks it up, but not before sliding his arms into the sleeve of the jacket, zipping it up tight.
+
Getting Gunil and Hyeongjun to exist alongside each other is an odd feat, but it’s one that becomes easily accomplishable once Seungmin brings up the fact that Gunil is all too aware of Hyeongjun’s band. A light sparks in Hyeongjun’s eye then, only growing in intensity when Gunil admits he’s practicing drums, he just hasn’t taken any lessons.
“We don’t have a drummer,” Hyeongjun had said softly, only Seungmin really able to parse the audible thrill in his voice.
Gunil had smiled at him, holding up his hands and flexing his fingers, the skin of his knuckles freshly pink. “Maybe I’ll look into auditioning. I’ve been waiting for my hands to heal.” And Hyeongjun had mutely nodded, and Seungmin knew the moment Gunil’s hands were in tip top shape, Hyeongjun would find some way to lure him into his precious band room.
Needless to say, getting Hyeongjun and Gunil to be somewhat amiable friends and less awkward acquaintances, successfully serves in further closing the distance between Gunil and Seungmin. That means more opportunities for Seungmin to wear Gunil’s jacket. More opportunities to see Gunil’s smile, see his laugh.
More opportunities for Gunil to get a little too close, Seungmin’s breath hitching as he remembers the sweet and chaste peck to his cheek. It warms him, if Gunil’s jacket isn’t already doing so.
The seat in the corner of the back of the room, next to the window where the sun shines brightest, is as much Seungmin’s as it is Gunil’s. Seungmin doesn’t even tell Gunil to stop sitting on the desk. Maybe that makes him a bad class president.
Maybe he doesn’t really care.
+
It’s funny, despite his reputation, the rumors, Gunil had a perfect record of attendance. Honestly, he probably had near perfect grades too. It made sense, the more Seungmin gets to know him. Gunil was and never has been a bad student. He probably was a better student than Seungmin. That’s why the teachers never bothered him for keeping his head low and “not paying attention”.
That only makes it all the more worrying when Gunil doesn’t come to school one day, without warning, without any way for Seungmin to reach him. That’s fine though, it’s only a day. People sleep in, people get sick.
Then it’s two days. Then three.
Then an entire week.
Seungmin’s really worried now. “Maybe he went on vacation,” Hyeongjun tries, pitifully, “Maybe he is sick but he’s perfectly fine he just can’t tell you because you were too stupid and too smitten to think of asking for his number.” Seungmin glares at him feebly.
They’re in the courtyard. Hyeongjun has decided to join Seungmin early in the morning before school starts, most likely to make sure Seungmin doesn’t start walking up the walls with stress. He hasn’t even been able to properly focus on his studies or duties. It’s a matter of time before they give his position to anybody else.
He almost doesn’t mind. He’s got these thoughts, in the back of his head, of resigning. Joining Hyeongjun’s band. Seeing a glimpse of what it is that makes Hyeongjun shine like nothing else. They grow by the day. People could say Gunil really is a bad influence. If encouraging happiness was bad. He’d already had Seungmin questioning what was “good” or not anyways.
Then he sees him; the familiar silhouette of his jacket and hair against the distance. Alongside him is a boy Seungmin doesn’t recognize. As lanky as Hyeongjun and just as much taller than Gunil. Seungmin rushes to his feet, only Hyeongjun beside him keeping him from springing forward.
It’s the tall boy who ends up running his way though, waving excitedly. “Are you Seungmin-ssi?” he asks, breathless, and Seungmin recognizes his voice, only slightly deeper than it was over the speaker of a phone. It’s Jooyeon. He takes Seungmin’s hand, shakes it eagerly.
“Yeah, yeah that’s me,” Seunmin replies, slightly caught off guard. “What are you doing here?”
Jooyeon grins, gummy smile and teeth blinding. “I transferred here. Maybe I’ll even be in your class!” He turns his gaze to Hyeongjun, and Seungmin just knows Hyeongjun is ill-prepared for any of the intensity of that, shrinking in on himself underneath such a viciously extroverted display. “Or your class. Who’re you?”
Hyeongjun blinks, takes a moment to readjust. “I’m Hyeongju—”
“Oh, you’re the guy in the band. Oh my god, how do I get in on that? I’m playing guitar right now, but I’ve been really interested in figuring out the bass. Do you have a bassist? Or a guitarist? I bet you have a guitarist.”
“…I’m a guitarist.”
“Really—” Seungmin tunes out Jooyeon’s tinny thrilled voice, looking beyond him at Gunil slowly approaching. He bursts forward, brows furrowing. He takes Gunil’s face in his hands immediately, a frown staining his face like spilt ink.
Ducking his head, pointless to try and escape Seungmin’s grasp, Gunil flushes a little. “It’s no big deal, Seungmin.” But the bandages are back on his face in different places, and this time, it’s obvious they’re not just for show. Blooms of violet peeking out from beneath their curling edges.
Seungmin glares up at him. “What happened?”
“I told him he didn’t need to,” Jooyeon whines. Seungmin turns his head, looks back at him. Jooyeon stuffs his hands in his pockets, training a shy stare on the ground. “Some people were bothering me, and he…” He waves a hand, the rest self-explanatory. Seungmin searches him, spies the bandaids on his knees peeking out from beneath his shorts.
“It’s not like I threw the first punch,” Gunil grumbles, trying and failing to shrug Seungmin off. He’s got the remnants of a split lip, a red nick along his bottom lip’s skin, red not given the chance to heal. “But at least now, they can’t bother him anymore. He’s coming here, and he’s staying here.”
“You’ll bet your ass no one’s gonna be bothering him here,” Seungmin bites, pulling Gunil to the nearest bench, leaving Hyeongjun and Jooyone behind. The two stand there next to each other, like polar sides of a mirror, watching as they go, unsure of how to proceed. “Hyeongjunnie! Take him to his class. He won’t know where it is.”
Visibility biting back a groan, Hyeongjun nods, and turns to Jooyeon, beckoning for them to get going.
Seungmin sits Gunil down, brushes his thumb over the bandages, Gunil wincing only slightly. “Are you okay?” Seungmin asks, softening his already soft predisposition of a voice. Gunil melts into his hands, and Gunil snorts out a small smile.
He nods faintly. “Yeah, m’fine, Minnie. It sucks, but it’s not gonna happen again now.” He opens his eyes, fluttering his lashes up at Seungmin. “Kiss them better?”
Seungmin huffs, cheeks pinkening. He grips Gunil’s face, debates how to react. Gunil blinks at him, smile growing sheepish, soft. Seungmin rolls his eyes, bends down, and kisses Gunil on the lips. “There. Better?”
Gunil gapes up at him. He pats his lips together, unable to comprehend it. His eyes turn up, crescent shaped and fond. “I don’t know. I think it’ll take a little more.” Seungmin sighs, but he does comply.