Chapter Text
"Move."
Keonho didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the worksheet on his desk, spinning a cheap plastic pen between his fingers.
"I said, move."
A hand slammed flat onto the wood of Keonho’s desk. Eom Seonghyeon stood there. His uniform was untucked, blazer slung over one shoulder, hair completely messy. He looked like he hadn't slept, or like he just didn't care. Probably both.
"There are thirty other empty seats in this room," Keonho said, finally glancing up. "Pick one."
"I want this one. It's by the window."
"Too bad. I'm sitting here."
Seonghyeon scoffed. He kicked the leg of Keonho's chair. Hard. "You deaf? Get up."
"You're wasting my time." Keonho went back to his worksheet.
The bell rang. Students flooded into the classroom, voices bouncing off the walls. The homeroom teacher, Mr. Park, walked in right behind them, slamming a textbook on the podium.
"Quiet down!" Mr. Park shouted. He spotted Seonghyeon standing in the aisle. "Ah. Eom Seonghyeon. The new transfer. Good of you to actually show up on your first day. Introduce yourself."
Seonghyeon shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't look at the class. "Eom Seonghyeon."
"That's it?" Mr. Park sighed. "Fine. Go sit behind Ahn Keonho. Keonho, raise your hand."
Keonho didn't raise his hand. He didn't need to. Seonghyeon was already glaring at the back of his head.
Seonghyeon dragged the chair out from the desk behind Keonho with a loud, grating screech. He dropped into it, letting his bag hit the floor.
"Page forty-two," Mr. Park announced, turning to the chalkboard.
Keonho felt a tap on his shoulder. He ignored it.
Another tap. Harder this time.
Keonho turned around. "What."
"Got a pen?" Seonghyeon asked. He didn't look apologetic.
Keonho stared at him for a second, then reached into his pencil case. He pulled out a half-chewed, red ballpoint pen and tossed it onto Seonghyeon's desk. It rolled off the edge and hit the floor.
"Oops," Keonho said. Deadpan. He turned back to the front.
Seonghyeon stared at the pen on the floor, then at the back of Keonho's neck. He kicked Keonho's chair again.
"Cut it out," Keonho hissed without turning around.
"You dropped my pen."
"Pick it up yourself."
"You threw it."
"You asked for it."
"Boys." Mr. Park tapped the chalkboard with his chalk. "Is there a problem back there?"
"No," Keonho said immediately.
"No," Seonghyeon echoed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
The rest of the morning went exactly like that. Seonghyeon tapped his foot against Keonho's chair. Keonho ignored him. Seonghyeon coughed loudly whenever Keonho tried to listen to the lecture. Keonho ignored him.
Lunchtime hit. Keonho grabbed his bag and walked out before the bell even finished ringing. He had a shift at the convenience store down the street in twenty minutes. He couldn't afford to waste time in the cafeteria.
He pushed through the crowded hallway, heading for the back exit.
"Hey."
Keonho kept walking.
"Hey. Ahn Keonho."
A hand grabbed the strap of his backpack, yanking him backward. Keonho stumbled, spinning around. Seonghyeon was standing there, holding the red ballpoint pen.
"You forgot this." Seonghyeon shoved the pen into Keonho's chest.
Keonho batted his hand away. "Keep it."
"I don't want your garbage."
"Then throw it away." Keonho turned to leave.
Seonghyeon stepped in front of him, blocking the door. "What's your problem?"
"You're in my way."
"You've got a serious attitude problem, you know that?" Seonghyeon stepped closer. They were the exact same height. Same age. Same class. But they felt entirely different. Seonghyeon smelled like expensive cologne and cigarette smoke. Keonho smelled like laundry detergent and cheap instant coffee.
"I have a shift," Keonho said, his voice flat. "Move."
"Or what?"
Keonho shoved him. Hard. Both hands to the chest. Seonghyeon staggered back, hitting the metal doorframe with a loud clang. He looked shocked for a split second before his expression darkened.
"You want a fight?" Seonghyeon challenged, dropping his bag.
"I want you out of my way." Keonho didn't flinch. He didn't have time for this rich kid bullshit. He had bills to pay. His dad's medical debt wasn't going to vanish just because some transfer student wanted to mark his territory.
Seonghyeon stared him down. The hallway was empty now. Everyone else was in the cafeteria.
"Fine." Seonghyeon picked up his bag. He stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear. "Go."
Keonho didn't hesitate. He walked out the door and didn't look back.
The convenience store was dead. The AC hummed loudly in the background. Keonho stood behind the register, scanning barcodes and checking his watch. Three more hours.
The bell over the door chimed.
"Welcome," Keonho muttered automatically, not looking up from the inventory sheet.
Heavy footsteps stopped in front of the counter. A bottle of premium water and a pack of cigarettes slapped onto the glass.
Keonho looked up.
Seonghyeon stood there. He was out of his uniform, wearing an oversized black hoodie and jeans. He looked tired.
"You work here." Seonghyeon stated. It wasn't a question.
"Obviously." Keonho grabbed the water. "ID for the cigarettes."
"You know I'm a student."
"ID. Or I don't sell them."
Seonghyeon groaned, digging into his pocket. He tossed a crumpled ID card on the counter. Keonho barely glanced at it before scanning the pack.
"Six thousand won."
Seonghyeon handed him a crisp ten-thousand won bill. "Keep the change."
"I don't need your charity." Keonho counted out the exact change and shoved it across the counter. "Four thousand won. Take it."
Seonghyeon looked at the coins and bills, then at Keonho. He grabbed the money, shoved it in his pocket, and picked up his stuff. He didn't leave, though. He cracked open the water and took a long drink, leaning against the counter.
"You always this hostile?" Seonghyeon asked.
"Only to people who annoy me."
"I just bought something. I'm a paying customer."
"You're loitering. Drink outside."
Seonghyeon smirked. "Make me."
Keonho stopped sorting the receipts. He looked Seonghyeon dead in the eye. "Do you have nothing better to do? No friends to bother? No giant house to sit in?"
Seonghyeon's smirk vanished. The mention of the house hit a nerve. Keonho saw it happen. The instant shut down.
"I don't live in a giant house," Seonghyeon said, his voice completely flat.
"Sure."
"I don't." Seonghyeon grabbed his cigarettes. "I live in that dump down the street. The one with the broken gate."
Keonho paused. He knew that building. It was cheap. Roaches in the walls, leaky pipes. It wasn't the kind of place a kid with a designer hoodie and expensive cologne lived in.
"Why?" Keonho asked before he could stop himself.
"None of your business." Seonghyeon turned his back. He walked to the door, pushing it open. He stopped halfway through and looked back over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Ahn Keonho."
The door swung shut.
Keonho stared at the empty space for a long second. He grabbed a cloth and aggressively wiped down the counter.
"Whatever," he muttered to himself.
The next morning, it was raining.
Keonho hated the rain. His shoes had holes in the soles, and the walk from his apartment to the school was a straight uphill climb. By the time he walked into the classroom, his socks were soaked and his hair was plastered to his forehead.
He dropped his bag by his desk and sat down, shivering slightly.
"You look like a wet rat."
Keonho closed his eyes. He didn't even have the energy to fight today. "Shut up, Seonghyeon."
Seonghyeon kicked the back of Keonho's chair. "Your shoes are leaving puddles."
"I'll mop it up later. Leave me alone."
Seonghyeon didn't say anything else. Keonho put his head down on his desk, trying to sleep before homeroom started. He had worked until 2 AM closing the store. His head pounded.
A few minutes later, something heavy and dry hit the back of his head.
Keonho bolted upright, ready to punch Seonghyeon in the face.
A clean, dry towel was sitting on his desk.
Keonho turned around. Seonghyeon was looking out the window, spinning his phone in his hand. He didn't look at Keonho.
"Dry your hair," Seonghyeon said, still looking outside. "You're getting water on my desk."
Keonho looked at the towel. It was thick and smelled like expensive laundry detergent. The same smell that came off Seonghyeon's uniform.
"I didn't ask for this."
"Use it or throw it away." Seonghyeon shrugged. "Don't care."
Keonho hesitated. His head was freezing. He picked up the towel and roughly dried his hair. It felt good. He didn't say thank you. He just tossed the damp towel back onto Seonghyeon's desk when he was done.
"Whatever," Keonho mumbled.
Seonghyeon caught the towel and shoved it into his bag. He finally looked at Keonho.
"You work tonight?" Seonghyeon asked.
"Yeah."
"Same time?"
"Yeah." Keonho narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"No reason." Seonghyeon leaned back in his chair. "Just asking."
Mr. Park walked in, yelling for everyone to sit down. The day started. Keonho tried to focus on the math lecture, but his mind kept wandering. He kept thinking about the towel, and the broken-down apartment building down the street, and the weird, unreadable look in Seonghyeon's eyes.
At lunch, Keonho skipped the cafeteria again. He went to the roof. It was still drizzling, but there was an overhang near the staircase that stayed dry. He sat down on the cold concrete, pulling a crushed triangle kimbap out of his pocket.
The metal door creaked open.
Seonghyeon walked out. He spotted Keonho immediately and walked over, dropping down next to him without an invitation.
"What are you eating?" Seonghyeon asked, staring at the plastic wrapper.
"Tuna mayo."
"Looks gross."
"Tastes fine." Keonho took a bite. "Why are you following me?"
"I'm not following you. I like the roof."
"It's raining."
"So? You're out here."
"I'm broke and this is free." Keonho gestured to his food. "What's your excuse?"
Seonghyeon pulled a massive, elaborate bento box out of his bag. It had three tiers. Bulgogi, rolled omelets, perfectly cut fruit. It smelled amazing. Keonho's stomach growled loudly.
Seonghyeon paused, holding a piece of beef with his chopsticks. He looked at Keonho's stomach, then at Keonho's face.
"Want some?" Seonghyeon asked.
"No." Keonho looked away, taking a defensive bite of his sad kimbap.
"Don't lie. I heard that." Seonghyeon shoved the bottom tier of the box toward Keonho. "Eat it. I hate bulgogi."
"Who hates bulgogi?"
"Me. Now eat it before I throw it off the roof."
Keonho stared at the meat. He hadn't had real beef in months. His dad's hospital bills ate up every spare cent.
He reached out and took a piece with his fingers. It was cold, but it was the best thing he had tasted in weeks. He ate another piece. Then another.
Seonghyeon watched him quietly, eating his rice and omelets. They didn't talk. The only sound was the rain hitting the concrete roof.
When the bell rang, Keonho wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Thanks." The word tasted weird in his mouth.
Seonghyeon packed up the empty box. "Don't mention it. I told you, I hate bulgogi."
They walked down the stairs together. Not as friends. Not really enemies anymore, either. Just two people occupying the same space.
"Hey," Seonghyeon said as they reached the second floor.
"What."
"I'm out of cigarettes. Sell me some tonight."
"Bring your ID."
"I did last time."
"Bring it again."
Seonghyeon rolled his eyes. "You're a pain in the ass, Ahn Keonho."
"Right back at you, Eom Seonghyeon."
Keonho walked into the classroom first. He sat at his desk. A second later, Seonghyeon dropped into the chair behind him.
The kick to the back of Keonho's chair came a minute later. But this time, it was lighter. Almost like a greeting.
Keonho didn't turn around. He just reached into his bag, pulled out a new, blue ballpoint pen, and tossed it over his shoulder without looking.
He heard Seonghyeon catch it.
"Blue?" Seonghyeon asked.
"Deal with it."
Keonho smiled, just a little bit, down at his desk where no one could see.