Chapter Text
Keeho has moved schools before. Back when he was just a kid in elementary, he’d moved from a small school in the outskirts of Ottawa right to the heart of the province; Toronto. It hadn’t been so hard. Yeah, he’d been forced to leave all his friends behind (which he’d done in tears) and make new ones. But he’d learned that friends are actually easy to make. So long as you don’t care too much about them, you can be a part of every friend group.
This is different, though. Instead of moving from one place to another within a city, Keeho has moved countries. For his last year of high school, he’d moved to South Korea. He’s on his own, living in a small apartment, and receiving a monthly deposit from his parents back in Canada.
Every day Keeho is hit by a new culture shock. The requirement of honourifics; a system that doesn’t really exist in English. It’s perfectly normal to open a conversation by asking for someone’s age; a topic that could be considered offensive where he’s from. The constant bowing to greet people. The people who will, completely unsolicited, walk up and say you look good; asking if you’re famous. Making friends here is going to be a lot harder. In fact, despite being an extroverted person, Keeho wouldn’t be shocked if he ends up a loner.
Today is the first day of class and Keeho is already running behind. Walking down street after street, he finds himself completely lost. The first warm rays of early March sun are beaming down on him; not hot enough to make him sweat but still they leave the impression of winter being over. He checks his watch and finds it’s 8:39 AM. His class started at 7. It’s not his fault the bus dropped him off so far away. And that he didn’t write down directions for himself. And that he slept in. After asking for directions from a kind old lady, getting lost again, and then asking for directions again, he finally finds the school.
He glances down at his watch again and winces. 9:14 AM.
The high school building is old; just like every other building in this neighbourhood. Pale grey walls made of concrete bricks and round pillars holding up a wide arch of stone that marks the entrance. What’s even funnier is that, when Keeho enters said building, he finds the interior is completely different from the deceiving ancient architecture outside. Inside are low lit halls with carpeted floors, walls covered in club invitations and award placards and pictures of previous graduating students, and completely silent hallways; all inviting Keeho to venture further inside. It sort of reminds him of a grand mansion.
He immediately starts walking down the halls looking for the main office. This, he actually does find rather quickly. It’s completely empty save for an angry looking woman standing behind a counter. She’s writing something down, muttering to herself.
Keeho hesitantly approaches the counter. The woman doesn’t look up from her work. He clears his throat a little and says, “Umm, excuse me, ma’am?”
“Yes?” she says, still not looking up.
“I’m a new student here,” he says, “I just moved from Canada.”
Finally, she looks up. There’s annoyance in her tone when she says, “You’re late.”
“Sorry… I got lost.”
After a long sigh, she picks up a slip of paper and a pen, “What’s your name?”
“Yoon Keeho.”
“Alright, give me a couple minutes, Keeho,” she stands up and moves across the room into another room. Keeho just awkwardly stands there, waiting. After what feels like a lot more than a couple minutes, she returns; grumbling to herself, “Usually I would go through a ledger to find your name. But the school wants to start using these computers or whatever they’re called.”
Keeho doesn’t really care. He thinks computers are great. He remembers having one back in Canada. They’re aren’t a common household item so his friends would always come over to check it out. The lady is still talking away and Keeho tries subtly checking his watch. It’s 9:31 AM.
“…and I bet you by the 2000’s these computers will have taken over the world,” she finishes. Then she shakes her head and holds her hand out, “Anyways, you’re in class 4-A. I’ve written on here where you need to go. Since you’re late, the class might be somewhere else though.”
Keeho takes the slip of paper in her hand with a thanks and promptly leaves the room. What a waste of his time. As he’s walking down the hall, he reads what’s on it; somewhat struggling to translate the Korean letters.
Yoon Keeho
Classroom 4-A
Take the stairs to the fourth floor and it’s the class at the end of the hall.
It’s pretty self explanatory. As you move up a grade in high school, you also move up a floor in the building. That keeps all the students separated by age so that honourifics are easier too. Everyone on your floor, you can call a friend. Or at least that’s how Keeho thinks it works.
He makes his way up the stairs and walks down the hall until he comes upon the wall sign that says 4-A. The door is open and, through the window he can see, there’s nobody inside. Keeho’s heart sinks in disbelief. Is it lunchtime? No it can’t be. If so, some students would be spending their break in class. Where is everyone?
Then he walks up to the doorway and realizes there is someone in there. A boy sitting at one of the desks off to the side of the room. His black hair is cut relatively short and he’s looking down at his desk; studying a textbook and not paying any mind to Keeho. He’s dressed in the school uniform: a white shirt under a black blazer, simple black trousers, and a matching black tie, Oh thank goodness.
Keeho, summoning his extroverted side, takes a single step into the room. He opens his mouth to speak but… no words come out.
Why? Because the boy has raised his head and lifted his gaze to look Keeho in the eyes. He shouldn’t be rendered speechless by such a menial action but he is.
Oh shit he’s pretty, Keeho panics, blinking rapidly. This boy’s eyes are big and shining with purity. The look he gives Keeho is a simple plain stare but it makes him freeze. Just his gaze is enough for the approaching boy to feel shocked.
Keeho just ends up standing there; somewhat ogling. He’s been thrown so off course by how beautiful this boy is that he’s lost all train of thought.
By this point, the sitting boy must be very confused because he lets out a, “Yes?”
And, oh shit, his voice is attractive too. It’s soft and deep and rests heavy in Keeho’s mind and it takes everything in Keeho to get out a response, “Uhh.. sorry, I uhh… didn’t mean to bother you.”
With that, he whips around and speed-walks away before he can make a bigger fool of himself. Despite how badly he wants to get one last glimpse of the guy, he doesn’t dare look back.
What is wrong with you, Keeho? he thinks. Never has a guy made him blank like that. Just the suggestion of becoming flustered because of a man makes his skin crawl. Maybe it’s because he’s nervous about being in a new country. He realizes his heart is racing and tries to calm himself down; which he does by continuing to walk down the halls looking for his room. He checks the time on his watch again and realizes, Shit, that was my room. I have to go back there.
It’s the first day and he’s already made a fool of himself; despite how badly he’d strived for the opposite. Keeho apprehensively turns back around and returns to the classroom.
And that pretty boy is still there, sitting at the same desk. This time, as soon as Keeho walks in, he looks up; catching him before he can turn around and leave. He cocks his head, simply observing Keeho. Then he actually gets up and walks up to him, “I’m guessing you’re Keeho?”
Keeho feels more embarrassed than anything. He gives a little nod and says, “Yeah.”
“You’re late,” he notes. He’s lean and proportionate and oh so handsome. His mannerisms are gentle and graceful, hands neatly and respectfully placed in front him. But he has immense presence; those eyes seem to pierce into Keeho’s very mind.
“Sorry… my alarm didn’t go off this morning,” Keeho mutters, feeling nervous under his gaze.
The boy gives him a look. It seems he doesn’t buy the excuse. But instead of asking any more questions, although it seemed he was about to, he turns away from Keeho, saying, “Come with me.”
Keeho silently follows him.
He leads him to the back of the class and points to a locker; number 17. If Keeho’s the last student then this class must be pretty small.
“This is your locker. Here’s your key,” the boy says, holding a small metal key between his fingers. Keeho holds out his hand, palm up, and he drops the key into it, “There’s a fine if you lose it so don’t.”
“Thanks, I won’t,” Keeho says, putting his backpack in the locker and locking it away. Then he turns to the boy, “What’s your name?”
“Choi Jiung,” the boy answers. And, oh god, one light smile and once again Keeho is completely distracted. Just the simple upward curve of his lips has Keeho captivated. Then Jiung tilts his head towards the desks, “Seats are assigned according to number so you’re sort of in the middle.”
That’s funny. Assigned seating usually doesn’t go past middle school back in Canada. Unless the teacher is super strict. But Keeho nods and asks another question, “Where is everyone?”
“PT,” Jiung answers, looking Keeho up and down. Keeho feels his heart pick up with fluster at the action. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Finishing his once over, the boy says, “Where’s your necktie?”
“Don’t know how to tie it,” Keeho answers, once again feeling a little embarrassed. That’s another different thing: in Canada, there are no uniforms. So he’d never needed to learn how to tie a tie.
“I guess they won’t mind since it’s your first day,” the boy mutters, returning to his desk, “But some teachers are pretty particular about dress code so you better figure out how.”
Keeho follows him and sits on top of the desk beside the boy’s, “If everyone’s at PT, why are you here?”
“They told me to stay back and wait for you.”
“Sorry. If I hadn’t been late…”
“It’s fine,” Jiung assures. He picks up his pencil and goes back to studying, “I enjoy exercise but I like studying better. And I’m class president so it’s kind of my responsibility. I’ll show you around later, too.”
Keeho nods at that. This boy is a goody two shoes it seems. With his short cut hair and his perfect attire. He’s the stereotypical class president. Who on earth actually likes studying? What even is there to study on the first day of school? He’s so curious that he leans a little forward to read what’s on the textbook. But he’s filled with confusion when he realizes he doesn’t understand a single word.
“It’s Japanese,” Jiung provides, writing into a notebook he has on top of the textbook, “You should prepare what you’re gonna say; they’ll be here soon.”
“What I’ll say?”
He lets out a low hum for a yes, “The teacher will probably ask you to introduce yourself to the class.”
“Oh great,” with that, their conversation ends so Keeho moves a couple desks back and takes his seat. He starts mulling over it, Crap, I hate icebreakers. How am I supposed to make friends anyway? Everyone must already have their friend groups.
Keeho ends up just sitting there, worriedly staring at his empty desk. Not a single idea of how to introduce himself enters his mind.