Work Text:
"Jang Namgyu, can you wait a minute before leaving?"
The teacher coldly follows Namgyu with her eyes. He freezes near the classroom exit, turns around, observes her silently, and points at himself with a finger, making sure he heard correctly.
The woman nods slowly, adjusting her glasses and crossing her hands on top of the wooden desk.
When all the students who once filled the desks have left, Namgyu closes the door, sighing tiredly, and drags his feet until he reaches the teacher.
"Yes, ma'am?"
The teenager mutters with his best attempt at respect, but his posture and expression convey otherwise—it's as if he's silently expressing his displeasure at being held back, crossing his arms and making his best attempt to look remotely intimidating.
"You have not done well in my classes, much less in behavior."
The woman clears her throat, going through the desk drawers one by one until she finds the boy's file. Once she pulls it out, she starts sorting through and showing off sheets of paper with poor grades and vague answers.
Namgyu sighs, moving a few inches closer and squinting at the notes with a grimace of disgust.
"I swear I'll start to—"
The teacher puts a hand in front of Namgyu, cutting him off before he can finish. No matter how many excuses he tries to make, she’s already given the troubled young man too many opportunities, and there’s no choice but to speak to him directly.
"None of that. I'll assign you a work that you must submit by the deadline so I can raise your grade."
The woman announces this in a firm tone, signing a paper and passing it to Namgyu with the instructions and due date.
Namgyu sighs, grabbing the paper and starting to walk toward his seat to put his homework inside his backpack.
"And I have another condition. You must work with Park Minsu as your partner and investigate the topic together."
He hadn’t really felt more than slight discomfort until now, but hearing this specific name leaves him almost instantly frozen.
The paper crumples in his clenched fist, and he turns around, running to the desk and slamming both hands on the table.
"There's no way I'm working with that guy."
Simple and direct, his words spit from his lips. He doesn’t even try to hide his hatred for the idea of working alongside that worm.
"Do you want money? My father can get it."
He babbles, taking his phone out of his pocket and starting to search for the contact, while the teacher watches him in complete silence.
"Mr. Jang, I consider it an offense that you try to bribe me."
The woman puts two fingers on the student's phone screen, slowly lowering it from her sight with a completely monotonous expression.
"Sadly, I won't take no for an answer. I've seen your behavior in class toward Park Minsu, and it would be good for you to learn from him. He's a good student."
Namgyu's hand tightens around his phone. Nothing bothers him more than hearing those words. Pathetic, that's what the guy is. It wasn’t his fault that his classmate spent his free time, instead of going out, doing every damn homework assignment he was supposed to.
He lets out a snort of rage, similar to that of a bull, and steps back toward his seat, carelessly stuffing the paper into his backpack.
"You'll hear from my mother. You can't force me to work with someone I don't want to!"
He screams while walking out, throwing a tantrum similar to that of a toddler—quite inappropriate for a sixteen-year-old boy.
***
They're about to leave school, and his head hurts like never before. He swears that the scene from a few hours ago was the trigger for a migraine.
When he came back from recess, he had to endure the sharp gaze of the teacher the whole time. And before he left the class, she made it clear that she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Old bitch, that's why she's still single.
He told his friends what happened, and they all advised him the same thing—just don't do anything.
And that's what he would usually do, but the tone of the teacher's voice made it clear that she wasn't playing. He was in dangerous territory for failing. He couldn’t allow himself to do that unless he liked the idea of getting beaten up by his father.
The thought thrusts into his mind impulsively, and fear cuts through him like a sword—sharp and painful.
His father’s scary gaze, his greasy, shoulder-length black hair, his brown leather belt in hand.
That son of a bitch always took advantage of any situation to hit him. This would be no exception.
The survival instinct bites in his neck (similar to the snake tattooed on his father's neck), and before he knows it, his legs are heading toward Park Minsu, who is no threat and is several centimeters smaller.
His hand goes to the shoulder of the shy teenager, trapping him in the crowd.
"Hey," he murmurs casually, raising his head in greeting. "Would you mind... walking me home?"
When he finishes his sentence, he swallows an excessive amount of saliva, hating that he had to force himself to say those words. He feels ashamed for what he just asked.
Minsu looks at him in amazement, as if what's happening is a dream. But when he snaps out of the trance, he quickly looks down and nods.
"Cool,"
Namgyu clicks his tongue, roughly taking Minsu by the arm to direct him toward the new path they need to take.
After a couple of blocks of silence, Namgyu begins to speak again.
"Look, I don't like you, okay? But the teacher made me pair up with you on an assignment, and if I don't hand it in, I'll fail."
As he speaks, he makes an excessively nervous gesture with both hands, occasionally glancing at the teenager hunched over next to him—pathetic.
"So don't get this twisted. I don't like you. I don't like you at all."
His words are rushed, and he feels a slight sense of despair when he sees no reaction from Minsu, who just stares at the floor as he continues walking. No response, not a single complaint.
"Park... Minsu, right? Look, we'd better finish this as soon as possible, and then you can get going. I'm not going to treat you to lunch at my house."
After clearing everything up, they head deeper into the neighborhood. All sad little houses pressed up against each other, alleys written all over them. Nothing feels more like home than these views, however ruined they may be.
As they approach his house, he prays to himself that none of his parents are home today because the last thing he wants to do now is put up with them.
He takes the keys out of his backpack, signaling for Minsu to come up behind him. When the key twists, the door opens smoothly, and the dirty welcome mat is under his feet.
After both students take off their shoes and step inside, Namgyu is met with the not-so-nice surprise of his mother in the kitchen.
He tries to go unnoticed, but it's not enough because as soon as he sets foot inside, he catches the woman's obvious attention.
"Ooooh! Here is my handsooome boy, coming back from school!"
She greets him with a strong hug, wrapping him in her arms. The smell of cigarettes clings to her breath and curly hair, making him nauseous as he tries to push her away.
"I told you not to call me that!"
He responds in disgust, finally managing to shove her off.
"Hey, you should have more respect for your poor mother, you little bastard!"
She pokes him with a finger, putting both hands on her waist and feigning exaggerated annoyance.
Then, she quickly looks past Namgyu—at Minsu.
"You brought a friend? Why don't you introduce him to me properly?"
Minyeo grabs Minsu's hand, shaking it a few times, which seems to annoy Namgyu twice as much.
"He's not my friend."
He mutters through gritted teeth, grabbing Minsu's arm roughly and pulling him away from his mother to lead him to his room.
"What a way to treat a guest, I didn't even get to clean the house or prepare anything!"
Minyeo shouts with open arms, opening a window to air out the place and grabbing a broom to sweep.
"As if you ever did."
Namgyu mumbles before closing the door to his room, irritated. She always tried to act all nice when someone showed up, but she couldn't care less about this fucked-up place—or about actually caring for her son's well-being.
"Sorry about that. She's crazy."
Namgyu sighs, sitting on his bed and opening his backpack to start taking out the necessary things.
"It's okay, don't worry."
Minsu murmurs in return, looking around the room in amazement. The place smells like marijuana, and there are a couple of soju bottles scattered on the floor. He tries not to knock anything over.
"Your mom... you... you look like her."
Minsu murmurs carelessly, almost lost in the memory of the woman's face.
These words don't seem to go down well with Namgyu, who clenches his fists in silence, as if disgusted by what he just heard.
"Don't fucking compare me to her. Ever."
Their gazes connect—Namgyu looking at him from his bed over his shoulder before continuing to dig through his backpack, and Minsu instantly regretting what he just said.
"I'm sorry."
Minsu gives a small jeol as he bends down and puts his backpack on the floor to take out his essentials, too embarrassed to ask Namgyu if he could sit next to him.
"You know something? You never say anything, and when you finally decide to, you screw up."
His voice rises a few tones, almost shouting as he takes out a pen and begins to write on a sheet of paper, jotting down what they're going to investigate.
He's about to speak again, but his mouth instinctively closes when he hears the front door open and slam shut, followed by an angry male voice.
Shit, that's his dad.
His body tenses as one scream leads to another—Deoksu complaining that he's back home again and there's nothing for dinner, and Minyeo telling him to go to hell.
Shit, shit, shit.
He stands up from his bed, hating the way his legs wobble, wondering whether or not to interfere.
Minsu, confused, stands up as well, looking at the door with curiosity at the shouts coming from outside, occasionally glancing toward Namgyu.
When the sound of a glass bottle crashing against the floor resonates, Namgyu doesn't think twice about getting up, pushing Minsu aside, and leaving his room.
When he appears, he breaks up the argument between the two adults, who both look at him as if he were interrupting something.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" Deoksu shouts, taking a step toward Namgyu.
"Who do you think?" Namgyu spits defiantly, stepping back as his father moves dangerously close.
"Don't talk back to me."
Deoksu laughs ironically, taking another step forward until they're face-to-face, neither breaking eye contact.
Before either of them can do anything else, Minyeo gets between them, pushing them apart.
"Hey, hey, what did I tell you about disrespecting your father? You should have stayed in your room."
She scolds him like a child, wagging her finger judgmentally while her other hand rests on Deoksu's chest, gently pushing him away.
"It's just a discussion between adults. You shouldn't interfere."
Namgyu pushes her finger away with a cold grimace and turns to go back to his room.
"Then don't be so fucking loud!"
He screams the words as he disappears, slamming the door behind him.
When he enters, he finds Minsu sitting on his bed. The moment Namgyu looks at him, Minsu quickly averts his gaze, staring at the floor as if playing dumb.
"You should go home. There's no way I'm doing anything now."
He speaks as he walks to his drawer, taking out a cigarette and a lighter with trembling hands.
Not caring about Minsu's presence, he sits on the floor, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag, hoping the anxiety weighing on his body will melt away.
He runs his arm across his face, covering his eyes as he exhales, trying to ignore everything around him.
"I don't want to leave you alone."
Minsu whispers, sitting awkwardly beside him, stiff and curled up with his knees to his chest.
"You're fucking weird, man."
Namgyu lets out an awkward laugh, blindly taking another drag—too tired to respond with anything comically cruel, settling for straight-up honesty.
"Just don't tell anyone about this."
Minsu simply nods, even though Namgyu isn’t looking at him. But he wants to believe that his silence is enough of an answer.
"I can do the homework for you."
Minsu's lips purse as he plays with his hands—the proposal is completely altruistic, no trick or hidden motive, just real kindness.
Namgyu moves his arm slightly, taking a peek at him.
"Don't feel sorry for me just because my parents are shit."
And instead of satisfying him, the proposal offends him greatly. Oh, look, my parents fight. Inevitably, that made me a problematic child.
"This doesn't make us friends."
Namgyu points at Minsu with his cigarette, then lazily at himself, wiping a hand across his face.
"I know."
The space fills with tension when neither of them speaks. Minsu can swear his shoulder is lightly brushing Namgyu’s, sparking a hungry curiosity.
Before he can hyperfocus on the freckles scattered across Namgyu’s nose or how one of his black locks curls slightly, he stands up, breaking the moment.
"Come on, I’ll walk you outside."
He stretches slightly, burning the tail of the cigarette against his wall and leaving a black stain before walking slowly to the door.
Minsu follows hurriedly, like a puppy, not daring to say anything.
As they pass through the kitchen, Minsu catches sight of Deoksu slumped on the sofa, sucking on a glass bottle. Their eyes meet, and for a second, Minsu freezes—like he’s just locked eyes with the devil himself.
Once they're outside, Namgyu stands at the door, hands in his pockets.
"See you next time."
He gives a brief hand gesture, and Minsu responds with a small, nervous bow.
As Minsu walks away, growing smaller and smaller in Namgyu’s vision, he swears something strange opens in his chest—it hurts.