Chapter Text
Changmin wakes up to the monotonous drone of his alarm clock.
He is a bleary mess and not much else, with his alarm set an hour earlier than he did back in middle school. This earliness will not last; he’s only getting accustomed to the increased distance between his home and the new chapter in his life. While he cannot say he is forced to uproot everything he knows in his hometown, he doesn’t bring much else from Cheongju beyond a box that reaches to his knee, filled to the brim with clothes and dreams of a better life in Seoul.
When he gets out of his bed, he’s greeted by the usual clatter that comes with cooking, along with the aroma of food that makes him queasy more than it entices him to have a proper, fulfilling meal. It is not much different now than it was back then — his mother greets him the same, and he only catches the last glimpses of his two elder sisters before they disappear behind the door leading out, headed to work. He supposes that this time, he sees his sisters even after the sun breaks past the horizon, all because they don’t have to take long journeys to their workplace in Seoul from Cheongju now. It’s an improvement for them, a step his parents decided to take once Changmin graduates from middle school, but he can’t say he is not afraid either way at the prospect of going someplace else.
Life, he finds out, goes on either way. Changmin tamps the unease down and greets his mother as usual, uses the bathroom to wash up quickly, and returns to his room to don his uniform. He doesn’t look at himself in the small mirror situated on his desk, so when he does head out of his room again, his mother fusses over him as she adjusts the collar of his uniform and smooths out the creases in his blazer. He is much taller than his mother now, but he still feels like the same young boy all those years ago.
“Will you have some breakfast before you leave, adeul? I also prepared your lunchbox for you,” his mother says, and Changmin finds it’s easier to smile than to explain the dread that resurfaces. He shakes his head and gently embraces his mother, who relaxes in his arms as much as Changmin tenses them.
“I’m fine, eomma. It’s a little too early for breakfast,” Changmin reasons. There’s a look of concern that flashes briefly on a face creased by age and whittled away by worry. When did his mother age like this? Has so much time passed by Changmin without him knowing? Changmin tries not to give in to his mother in favour of maintaining his peace before he ends up emptying his insides. He, however, is quick to try to appease his mother either way.
“I’ll get something small to have later on in school. Before lunch.”
That response seems satisfactory enough, at the very least, judging from the soft gentle nods of his mother’s head before she easily returns to fussing over her youngest child and her only son. Changmin finds the next few minutes are spent ensuring his mother is satisfied with his appearance, keeping him at least prim and proper, before he’s sent out the same door his sisters left from with a lunchbox warm in his backpack. He declines his father’s offer to drop him off at school, because it is only a twenty minute walk away. Changmin wants to familiarise himself with the neighbourhood as much as he can. His parents don’t stop him from doing what he wants.
The walk to school is quiet.
There are the occasional strings of giggles that can be clearly heard, accompanied by disconcerting wails that punctuate the air past the thin walls and opened windows of children refusing to wake up for their school day. There is also the faint rustling of leaves and soft flower petals that populate the trees, evenly spaced along uneven pavement, when the breeze gently blows by. His footsteps are mostly silent, safe for the gentle crunching of his shoes as they meet some stray twigs. He witnesses as shopkeepers set up shop for the day, older frail backs hunched over as they haul heavy items of freshly milled and steamed rice cakes in one store, and cartons of fresh eggs in a mobile stall owned by an elderly man, selling breakfast toast for anyone awake early enough to catch him before he returns home to rest for the remainder of the day.
Changmin finds himself stopping and helping one particular lady as she struggles with the trolley alone, helping her lift the heavy load up the pavement from the gravelled road. Her smile is radiant, perhaps too much so, as she looks at Changmin and pats his back, praising him for being such a lovely young student. He tries to return the compliment somehow, but all he ends up doing is just grimacing slightly as he waved a hand in dismissal. He’s not what the lady is claiming him to be.
He resumes his walk to school, with a warm rice ball in his hand — at the lady’s insistence — and reaches the gates without another hitch in his journey. The buildings that make up the school do not differ much from the schools he’s used to back in Cheongju. It seems that there is no way of making buildings made of bricks, cement, and the aspirations and dreams of students differ much from one another no matter if they were in the capital city of Seoul or somewhere a little further away. Changmin finds some comfort in the familiarity of it all, but he cannot shake off the fact that he is still very much a stranger walking through the gates.
Admittedly, Changmin is lost. Not just mentally, but he’s physically at a standstill himself after he passes the gates.
There are no signs he had previously hoped would exist to lead him deeper into the school compounds. What is left is him, the gates behind him, and the long, arduous path up ahead. What if he ends up in the wrong building? It would negate his effort to go to school early to familiarise himself with his surroundings. Perhaps it would become a surefire way to leave a negative impression on his future classmates and teacher, too.
Changmin closes his eyes and tries not to think too deeply. An unfortunate truth persists in the back of his head — he overthinks by default, trapped within the confines of his poorly put together tendrils of his mind.
“Hey!”
The voice is too loud and cheerful. Changmin knows it is not directed to him, but rather, from one cherished friend to another. He steps to the side, eyes still squeezed shut as he tries to stay out of the way. There are footsteps that sound in the crisp spring air, rushed against rough concrete floor before it eventually slows to a complete stop. Changmin can’t hear anyone else respond in return, but he believes that the intended recipient will respond soon.
“You look lost. Do you need help?”
It’s the same voice. This time, the voice is not as loud, but it is definitely much closer. Changmin’s eyes shoot open in surprise. He’s spooked enough by the sudden manifestation of another person right in front of him that he lets out a soft sound in surprise. This is where Changmin is also a little less truthful, for he knows he is never soft, never quiet when he is surprised. The product of his lying is expressed all over the stranger’s features and an equally loud exclamation. Perhaps, when he looks back on this in the future, he can laugh.
For now, though, he is horrified, heart beating all too quickly against his rib cage in an erratic rhythm. Changmin doesn’t know what to do.
Maybe he is lucky in this regard. The stranger, clad in the same uniform as he had, seems to collect himself quickly enough that Changmin loses his chance to break off into a sprint in an attempt to run away. He is half a step backwards from doing so, before the boy in front of him reaches a hand towards Changmin, soft eyes widening to an almost comical size.
“Wait! Don’t run away. I’m not here to scare freshmen off on their first day of high school,” the stranger reasons. Changmin registers a touch of a whine in his tone, but beyond that, he is still bewildered by the whirlwind of a fellow student he comes across on his very first day.
“How did you know I was a freshman?” Changmin quips the same time he wishes a hole would manifest underneath his feet and swallow him whole. This is it, he reckons. It is the beginning of the end, caused by his lack of aptitude in wayfinding, so green to the school that he’s convinced it shows up on his skin.
“You were standing in front of the gates for a long time,” the stranger continues. It’s one blow to Changmin as he tries not to grimace at the fact that he’s attracted far too much attention to himself, “...and, you are very early.”
Changmin is a little affronted at that. Is earliness now a sign of being new? He doesn’t catch himself quickly enough when he frowns in displeasure.
“Oh! But most importantly of all, your name tag. It’s the colour the school uses for freshmen this year. I think I should have mentioned that from the very beginning.” When Changmin looks up at the stranger, he sports a sheepish, mildly apologetic smile — or at least, that’s how it appears. He belatedly recognises the tension in his brows and jaw in the face of a stranger and relaxes his expression enough that he’s, at the very least, not frowning at the stranger anymore.
It is then that he lets his gaze drift downwards, noting the dandelion yellow name tag that he sports neatly on his blazer jacket. The three Hangul characters spell out his name in black — ‘Ji Chang Min’ — and they expose his identity to anyone who cares enough to look. When he lifts his head to look up, he lets his gaze shift to the stranger’s name tag too. He’s not sure what he expects, but his name tag is indeed a different colour. It is a cobalt blue, with white Hangul characters spelling out the stranger’s name too — ‘Kim Young Hoon’.
When he finally shifts his gaze upwards towards Younghoon, he is met with a sunny smile and an outstretched hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Changmin-ah! You probably read my name by now, but I’m Youghoon. I’m part of the group of juniors in charge of the freshmen orientation this year!”
Younghoon, Changmin realises, is far too cheerful and happy for him.
Although he accepts the outstretched hand in his, Changmin isn’t sure if his smile is genuine enough as he greets the elder student. Either way, he is entirely reliant on Younghoon — who is happiness personified — to ensure he survives at least the very first day of his new chapter in life.
Changmin only hopes that his storm does not dampen the elder's sunshine.