Chapter Text
“Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”
“Dude, we’re the Music Club, not the Bible Study Group.”
Martin bites his lower lip, mortified that he’s just asked yet another dumb question at innocent strangers—this time, the members of the music club. Grinning awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck, snatches a brochure, and slips away into the crowd. He needs to put at least ten feet between himself and that stand before someone accuses him of being a Jehovah’s Witness out recruiting for the Kingdom Hall. Besides his dad’s whole Mormon upbringing that had been long forgotten, Martin has absolutely zero reason to ask anyone about their relationship with Jesus Christ. People are gonna think I’m a youth pastor, for fuck’s sake.
Wiping a sweaty palm across his face, he decides he should probably stop hovering around the extracurricular booths entirely and go somewhere less humiliating. All of this because of one YouTube Short. One tiny fifteen-second sermon, and somehow he’s developed a brand-new tic.
Peak embarrassment, for real.
At least this was better than the time he yelled Hitler had one ball! in History class, though. That one is way too embarrassing for Martin to even think about. Mr. Kim had slapped him with two full weeks of detention for disrupting the learning environment, as if Martin meant to say it. It was just another impulse, another tic he couldn’t control.
It’s okay, you can laugh. It is funny.
Martin twitches, blinking hard as he tucks the brochure into his black bomber jacket.
Oh, are you curious what it feels like to deal with his condition? Come here you’re non-neurodivergent lucky devils. Let’s take a deep breath together, close our eyes, and try to step into his shoes.
Imagine you accidentally inhale a cloud of garlic powder. Your nose starts to itch, then ACHOOO! you sneeze without planning to, and afterward there’s that weird little rush of relief. Yeah. That’s basically what having tics feels like. Martin can barely hold them back. So, trying to suppress one? It’s like forcing yourself not to sneeze, it’s uncomfortable and sometimes even painful.
Anyway, enough explanation. Just look up credible articles about this condition if you want to learn more, but don’t rely on TikTok, though. Let’s get back to Martin’s bizarre adventure at the annual Cortis High School summer festival, which is kind of a chaotic mash-up of welcoming new students and hosting a concert featuring actual K-Pop groups. He’s not here because he goes to Cortis High School—the school famous for its terrifyingly good soccer team. No, Martin is lucky enough to attend the Korea Performing Arts school. So, despite his tall, broad-shouldered, built-for-sports body (as his parents constantly remind him), he chose classical music over athletics. He’s a pianist now, thank you very much.
Therefore, the only reason he has business here at all is because he heard Noh Yuna mention that Cortis High School has an Amphibians’ Lover Club.
“There it is!” Martin exclaims, eyes glimmering when he sees the booth of the club he’s been dying to join.
Juhoon has an unhealthy obsession with amphibians. His cousin, Ahn Keonho, loves to mock him by calling him a lizard—which is stupid as hell, and Juhoon still can’t figure out how Keonho manages to be praised for his golden boy nickname at school. Lizards and amphibians are two completely different classes of animals, that’s like basic science we learned in the first grade of elementary school. The obsession started after his first turtle met a tragic end, it was cooked into a Kimchi stew by his psychotic uncle; who’s now, according to Aunt Seoyeon, is finally arrested. Ever since, Juhoon has felt an overwhelming urge to save every amphibian he can. So he created this club with a few third graders. Unfortunately, no one really cares about turtles, frogs, crabs, or any other species unless they’re soft, fluffy, and Instagram-cute like dogs.
It’s the second day of the annual summer festival, and fewer than five people have taken the brochure Song Jaewon spent three painstaking weeks creating by hand. Juhoon slumps back in his chair, the summer heat turning his pale skin a blotchy red—which, as told by Han Youngwoo, makes him look like kimchi. He uses his hand to fan warm air onto his neck, fighting off sleep as yet another student strolls right past his booth and straight toward the soccer stand. Sighing, Juhoon finally gives up and closes his eyes during his shift. Dojae and Youngwoo are probably off somewhere flirting with the second graders in the Beauty Club anyway.
“Hello. Is this the Amphibians’ Lover Club?”
Juhoon jolts awake, snapping out of his micro-sleep as his eyes fly open. He nearly stumbles out of his chair when he spots a tall, lanky boy standing in front of him with an almost blinding grin. Raising a brow, Juhoon studies the stranger. The boy’s dirty blond hair is messy, and his thick bomber jacket looks wildly out of place at the start of summer. Clearing his throat, Juhoon pushes himself up from his seat, grabs a brochure, and hands it over.
“Yes. Here’s the brochure. You can join us even if you’re not attending Cortis High School,” he explains. “May I ask your name and your school?”
“Name’s Martin Edwards,” the boy says. “I’m from Korea Performing Arts School.”
“Alright.” Juhoon nods, jotting the name Martin (foreigner) onto the attendance sheet. “Please call the number on the brochure if you decide to join.” He adds a small smile.
“Will be.” Martin replies.
“Cool.” Juhoon scratches his nape, feeling the situation somehow has escalated into something more awkward with Martin now blinking at him repeatedly.
Is there something in his eyes? Juhoon wonders, deciding it’s best for him to drop the whole perfect hospitality act and plops back into the chair to continue napping rather than studying the stranger ahead of him. However, two minutes kick in—and Martin is still standing there awkwardly, still with the same huge grin plastered on his face. So, Juhoon opens his eyes and stares right back.
“Can I help you again?”
Martin smiles. “No- nothing, sorry. I was just zoning out, a bad habit of mine,” he says, combing his dirty blond strands with long fingers. “Sorry- I’m gonna go now. Thank you so much- have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”
Fuck. Martin’s eyes widen as he catches himself letting the extremely sensitive tic out. He shuts his lips tightly, terrified; palm covering his shuddering lips.
“Uh? No. I’m not interested in getting baptized, dude. Sorry. Thank you and come again.”
Martin chuckles. “Yeah, haha. My bad. I’m gonna go now.”
Juhoon frowns when he sees the tall boy running so fast like he’s competing at the Olympics.
Do you have a friend you lowkey think has undiagnosed anger issues?
Juhoon does. The perpetrator’s name is none other than Eom Seonghyeon. A little shit who’s been his seatmate for the past year now. See, Juhoon is actually older than the entire class of 2-5. He should’ve been in the same grade as the Three Musketeers; Kim Dojae, Han Youngwoo, and Song Jaewon—who are notoriously known for being delinquents from 3-3. It was thanks to his mother’s job as an architect that Juhoon and his parents had to relocate to Los Angeles when he was barely six years old. Living in America sucks ass, but Seoul and its atrocious heat by far sucks more ass. Juhoon sighs, picking up his racket that accidentally slipped from his fingers and clinked on the yard.
“Dude, give me at least one win!” Juhoon yells, frustrated that after ten rounds, Seonghyeon still beats him to pulp. “I need to impress Park Youngji!” he adds, swinging the badminton racket around with terrible motor coordination.
Seonghyeon shrugs, his top-less body glistening with sweat as the bell for recess rings loudly. “Your loss. I told you to start working out. You’re so fucking unathletic it pisses me off,” he says, stretching his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Juhoon rolls his eyes, then follows it with a gremlin-like grin. “But, still, how do I look? Do you think Park Youngji is going to like me now?”
Staring with a stench of disgust on his sweaty face, Seonghyeon raises a brow. “If I were her, I’d rather stay celibate for the rest of my life.”
Juhoon’s grin drops when he realizes Park Youngji isn't even remotely interested to see him playing badminton during gym class, now she's walking away while giggling with some girls. Unfortunately, Youngji doesn’t like him. Instead, she’s just like most female students in Cortis High School. Of course she likes Ahn Keonho, his own cousin whose bedroom is flooded with stuffed animals like a Build-a-Bear convention. The worst part? Youngji is the president of Keonho Puppies, sometimes bickering with Won Jangmi about which one of them has more chances with the golden boy. Pouting, Juhoon places his left hand on Seonghyeon’s shoulders as the seatmates leave the school’s yard to eat lunch.
“I’m starving,” Seonghyeon complains.
“Me too,” Juhoon replies. “Should we grab some ice cream and ditch next classes?”
Seonghyeon snorts. “Didn’t you say the Amphibians’ Lover Club has its first welcoming party today?”
“Oh, right!” the older boy scowls. “There’s only a handful of new members, though, and most of them don’t even attend our school.”
They settle into their own seats. The classroom reeks—worse than a can of surströmming mixed with durian. If there’s one thing the senile Ms. Yong taught him correctly in biology, it’s that teenagers have an outrageous amount of body odor. Juhoon’s face contorts as he watches a few classmates stroll around like they’re starring in a deodorant commercial, not knowing their armpits are probably radioactive. His stomach rumbles; he gags and immediately turns to complain to Seonghyeon, who’s casually snacking on marshmallows like he’s lounging in the Keukenhof Gardens instead of a room full of sweaty teens.
“God, it stinks in here!” Juhoon pinches his nose. “No wonder the brain-eating amoebas are wandering around like they’re on holiday!”
Seonghyeon tosses a chocolate-coated marshmallow into his mouth. “What’s with you and those brain-eating amoebas? Do you have beef with those microscopic creatures?”
Juhoon abruptly stands. “Ah, I can’t take this anymore! I’m gonna skip the next period. Wanna come?”
“No, thanks. I don’t want to smell the foul reek of turtles in your silly little club.” Seonghyeon laughs, ignoring Juhoon’s rant about the importance of amphibians in the world’s ecosystem.
There’s one thing Juhoon hates more than Seonghyeon’s short temper. No, it’s not the times he has to sit in the back of the car with a mountain of luggage because Ahn Keonho is a big baby who absolutely must bring his entire stuffed-animal crew on every family trip. No, it’s also not Ms. Jang, the chemistry teacher, who keeps scolding him because his resting face apparently looks like he’s trying to pick a fight. And no, it’s not even the post–gym class stench of 2-5. It’s this, the one thing he wishes no one would ever find out about.
Arms crossed, Juhoon stands by the door of the Amphibians’ Lover Club room, scoffing as he hears Dojae announce:
“Our friend Juhoon’s grandma is a shaman! You should go see her!”
Juhoon steps closer, spotting the Three Musketeers circling around an unfamiliar boy he’s never seen before. He frowns, slowing to a stop when he realizes the blond-haired kid being thoroughly interrogated is the same weirdo who stared at him like a creep at last week’s annual exhibition.
Martin awkwardly grins, not sure if it’s a tic, or just a coping mechanism he does every time after he needs to lie to other people about his condition. “Oh, really? That’s, hic, cool!” he exclaims, tapping his chest slightly after he tries to suppress the painful hiccup tic.
Jaewon’s eyes glimmer with excitement. “Yeah, Martin! You should invite us as well. I wanna see the cleansing ritual! Dude, Juhoon said that she can get possessed by their patron deity God! Like in the Exhuma movie! Isn’t that cool?”
Youngwoo scooches closer, hitting Martin’s right shoulder with his burly fingers. “You’ll be fine. Juhoon’s grandma is a master of kicking a demon out! This damn demon that has been haunting you to make you create these weird noises and movements is going to be sent back to hell. Let’s go meet her next week after the opening ceremony of our club!”
Oh, shit. I’m so cooked. Martin nods along like he’s totally on board with this plan these random guys invented without his consent. He has just lied again, this time, by telling that his poor body is being infested by a wrathful demon. In reality, though, we all know it's just Tourette's Syndrome Martin's too embarrassed to explain about. He coughs into his fist, neck jerking. He showed up at Cortis High School exactly at 1 PM, just like the brochure he picked up last week instructed. This was supposed to be the welcoming party for new members of the Amphibians’ Lover Club.
Yet to his surprise, the room looks way too empty to be any school club’s official space. A few frog and turtle posters cling to the walls, almost giving up. Several small cages sit on a table: an axolotl named Brian, a salamander named Momo, and an unhatched platypus egg whose name is still under debate. Martin slouches, intertwining his long fingers with the fabric of his uniform pants while the three sunbaes continue bantering excitedly about the possible demon-cleansing ritual. Hell, Martin hasn’t even met this Juhoon who’s apparently the grandson of a once famous shaman.
“Alright, fun’s over. Which one of you told this kid about my family lore?”
Martin’s neck jerks as he turns toward the voice. Oh. So this is Kim Juhoon?
It takes him a full three seconds to process it. Han Youngwoo had gone on and on about how Juhoon supposedly smokes more cigarettes than Popeye, yet the culprit standing in front of them has lips so pink they could make Princess Peach file a jealousy complaint. Then there was Kim Dojae, who bragged about Juhoon being professionally trained as a tenor in the States. But the voice that just came out of Juhoon’s mouth sounds low and alluring, it’s enough to make Martin wonder if he’s being personally targeted by the spirit of Mozart. And Song Jaewon had said Juhoon was loaded—born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But the boy here is wearing a simple blue hoodie, the one Martin recognizes as a cheap local brand, hanging off his slim frame all soft and cozy and unfairly adorable.
Martin blinks. Suddenly everything makes sense—why Martin zoned out staring at him last week at the exhibition, why his brain shut down like an overheated fridge. Kim Juhoon is quite literally, prettier than any painting Martin’s ever seen. Fantastic, Martin thinks, heart dropping straight into his shoes as he's grinning. I chose the right club.
"Now, why the fuck are you smiling like that?" Juhoon asks with an annoyance tone, shattering Martin's fantasy about kissing those pink lips.
Well, damn, I need to work really hard to gain his trust. Martin removes his grin, offers a tiny smile, and immediately regrets doing so when he's now become the witness of Juhoon pulling Dojae and Jaewon's hair like those two sunbaes owing him money.
"I told you fuckers to stop telling people about my grandma! Leave this poor kid and his demon alone!" Juhoon screams, his right feet meets Youngwoo's laughing face.
The three sunbaes pleading for forgiveness as Martin watches with horror. Shutting his lips tightly, the tall boy takes out his phone to text a trustable adult. Mom, come get me, I'm scared.