‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

First impressions are important in these contexts, but this boy just looks like he doesn’t want to be here. There’s no decorum, no putting on a show, just the bare minimum of what he’s expected to do. He did so little, yet you’re sure that left an impact on the class.

“Take a seat.”

Taesan follows the teacher’s gesture to the only empty desk at the back corner of the class, right next to you. You can see the whole class follow him with their eyes as he sits down. It’s unnerving, like a bunch of wolves eyeing their prey. There’s a buzzing in the air that’s almost tangible—the dynamics of this class have changed. Everyone is on the edge of their seats with questions or something clever to say, but the gossip has no place as the teacher begins the morning lecture.

By the first break, there’s a mix of reactions to Taesan’s arrival. Everything from curiosity to indifference, excitement to apprehension. As for you, it’s a sigh of relief. Maybe now you won’t be the new kid. Maybe this new transfer student will take some of the attention off of you, or you’ll even be forgotten completely—the best case scenario.

Maybe now, they’ll leave you alone.

It doesn’t take long for the rumors to start. It’s not typical to get a transfer student at this point in the year. In fact, it’s practically unheard of in what’s now your third and final year of high school, arguably the most crucial one marked by college entrance exams and graduation. The rumor mill has a field day with this guy, churning out all the possible explanations as to why someone would transfer schools in the middle of a year like this.

By the end of the day, you’ve heard it all.

“I think he got involved with a gang and had to go into hiding.” “I heard he attacked one of his teachers.” “He looks normal now, but he just loses it in an instant.” “Too bad that he’s a psycho. He’s kinda hot.”

You’re no stranger to these whispers. You were a transfer at the beginning of the year and heard your fair share of what the kids here at Cheongdam High had to say. If your personal experience has taught you anything, it’s that most of the noise is nonsense. Most. Beneath some of these tall tales though, there may be a sliver of truth. Sure, it may be covered by the most ridiculous theories and teenage imagination, but the rumors have to start from somewhere.

Needless to say, Taesan is already building a reputation before the week is over.

“I heard that there’s a troublemaker in your class.”

You crease your eyebrows at the statement, looking up at your study buddy from across the table. Kim Ayeon is in a different class than you, but you two interact frequently due to attending the same hagwon after school. She’s soft-spoken and has a slight lisp that becomes a bit more prominent under stress, but she’s a good resource overall for exam prep and solidarity.

“The transfer student?” you ask, to which Ayeon provides a nod.

A troublemaker. Has he actually caused trouble yet? Give the guy a break, or at least a chance to stir some trouble before jumping to conclusions. It just seems ignorant, labeling him as such without any evidence to back up their claims.

From your observations so far, he’s been extremely docile. Taesan seems like he’s just minding his own business most of the time. He’s more on the quiet or reserved side, keeping to himself in that classroom corner. You admit, he does have a cold exterior. There are times you would look over and see him glowering at the front of the class during your history class. It’s such a strong death-glare, you’re surprised that Mr. Woo doesn’t feel the daggers behind his head as he’s scribbling on the whiteboard.

Sure, he isn’t exactly the poster child for approachability, and sure, he hasn’t done anything to deny any of the allegations, but he doesn’t seem like a fighter. And certainly not a killer.

“I haven’t talked to him much,” you tell Ayeon, which is a bit of an understatement. The extent of your interactions is probably a quick “sorry” when you got in his way in the cafeteria the other day.

“Good,” Ayeon says as she flips through her workbook to prepare for the next tutoring session. “It’s probably best not to get involved.”

That’s good advice, and you’re usually keen on listening to logic. You follow it 99% of the time to varying degrees of success. But there’s always that 1% that can’t be accounted for, something wholly out of your control no matter how much you try to get a handle on it. Because as you have learned, sometimes there are just some things stronger than logic.

“Alright everybody, class dismissed. Who’s on cleaning duty today?”

You’ve never liked cleaning duty. To be fair, no one enjoys having to clean up a classroom shared by 25 teenagers after everyone has made a mess in it for that day. But you especially hated it, despite all the supposed benefits it brings to soon-to-be adults.

It builds character, they say. It teaches discipline, responsibility, and teamwork. While that’s all good on paper, to you, it all seems like a sorry excuse for free labor. It’s just one additional burden high school students have to carry on top of your studies, cram school, and navigating extracurriculars.

Thankfully, you’re not scheduled today.

“It’s me and Yoona!” a student answers the teacher with his hand raised.

“It’s Yoona and I,” the teacher corrects. This earns a few giggles and eye rolls from the some of the classmates. “Make sure to lock the cleaning closet when you’re done.”

With that smart aleck remark, the teacher stalks out of the room to leave everyone to their devices. Most of the students file out of the classroom, eager to leave this place at once. Others stick around to chat with their friends to make weekend plans or gush about what their biases posted during literature period.

You can’t help but overhear their excited chatter, feeling the residual elation. You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss these types of interactions. Just high school kids being kids. It’s uncanny, knowing that you were in the same position as those girls just last year. You try not to think about it often, as it leaves an ache in your chest you knows you can’t repair.

There’s no going back, there’s only moving forward.

As you finish up packing up your belongings, you notice strange movement in the corner of your eye. Glancing to your left, you see that Taesan is still in his seat, fiddling with something on his desk.

Honestly, you’re surprised to see him here today. He was missing for the past few days, leaving only an empty seat and growing suspicions. That would have been a record for the shortest enrollment as a student here at only one and a half weeks. Miraculously, he reappeared this morning as if nothing happened. He sat in his corner, not reacting much to anything. If he was aware of the rumors circulating around about him, he sure didn’t act like it.

You watch Taesan as he hovers over his backpack laid atop his desk. Whatever it is has 100% of his attention, and you can see his hands get more animated with each passing second, yanking something back and forth. You have a front row seat to this struggle, finding it the slightest bit amusing. But then out of nowhere, Taesan stops and swipes his bag off of his desk, successfully tossing all of his stuff onto the floor. You flinch as books and pencils come clattering out of the open compartment, sliding across the vinyl.

Hush falls over the classroom as the loitering students stop their conversations to dart their eyes over to the commotion. A mix of surprise and fear flash across some of their faces. A few of them stay frozen, silently judging him, while others begin whispering conspicuously as they shuffle out of the room for protection. You’re part of the former, watching to assess the situation carefully.

Taesan doesn’t seem to care about what’s going on around him. He just exhales, his cheeks puffing up a bit as he releases a deep sigh that is no doubt laced with frustration. He raises his hand up to ruffle his hair, leaving a few messy strands sticking out as he presses the heels of his palms to cover his eyes. He remains motionless in this position.

All the while, his backpack lies upside down in a sad heap near your desk. You almost feels sorry for it. Is this the work of the allegedly dangerous criminal classmate? This temper tantrum is hardly what you had in mind with all the explicit stories floating around. It’s all the same to your classmates though—he might as well have taken out a weapon with how high-strung everyone is. The air is tense and uncomfortable, like an itchy sweater you can’t wait to get out of.

Call it curiosity or stupidity, but old habits die hard. You can’t help but step in, if not just to ease the tension in the room and help return some semblance of harmony. You slowly stand from your desk and kneel down to gather the discarded belongings.

“The bag must have done something really offensive,” you joke, a sorry attempt at breaking the ice. It does nothing, because Taesan doesn’t even move his hands away from his face to acknowledge your presence.

Well, at least you’re not dead yet.

Taking the lack of response as a sign that it’s safe to approach, you continue picking his stuff up off the floor. Lifting the bag by the strap to stand it upright, you retrieve a few books and papers that have flown out and stow them back in their places. Honestly, there doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to where things are supposed to go. You’re pretty sure everything was just thrown in here willy nilly anyway, so you don’t attempt to reorganize it.

As you work, you’re extremely aware of how the whispers in the classroom are getting louder. This makes you move with more intent, snatching up the last pen you can see as fast as possible before standing up. You go to zip up the bag before realizing what was most likely the source of Taesan’s outburst. One of the zippers is stuck.

“Ah,” you make a sound of recognition, trying to fill in the awkward air. “This is what all the fuss was about?” You know exactly how to fix this. All it takes is the right angle and a just the right amount of leverage. You plop the bag on Taesan’s desk to get a closer look. “Work smarter, not harder…”

You’re mainly murmuring to yourself as you examine the malfunctioning zipper. You grasp the mechanism with one hand and a part of the backpack’s canvas fabric with the other. With a little bit of elbow grease and the correct positioning, the trapped seam releases from under the zipper with a quick tug.

“Aha!” Pleased, you close the backpack with a satisfying zip. “See? No big deal.”

Your smile drops when you raises your attention back at Taesan. You were expecting him to still be in the same position, pretending like you don’t exist. Instead, his hands are lowered to his lap and he’s staring straight at you.

What really takes you aback is his expression. It’s not the rough face of a gangster like all the other kids would have them believe. No, you find yourself staring back at the face of a boy, round-eyed and a bit fatigued. Dark circles underline his brown orbs as he looks up at you in…confusion? Or maybe that’s how you feel right now.

“Ahem.” You clear your throat, hoping he’ll use his words instead of just staring. Something tells you that you shouldn’t hold your breath.

You give it two seconds, and it’s just about the longest two seconds of your life. That’s when the whispers get just a little too loud, the burning stares of your classmates get a little too uncomfortable, and you decide that this is about as much perception you can tolerate from them for the day.

Your smile returns, albeit a bit forced this time. “You’re welcome,” you say, despite not getting a word out of Taesan. Turning on your heel, you keeps your head down as you grab your own backpack from your desk. You walk out of the classroom as soon as possible, keen on leaving this awkward situation. It’s only when you stalk through the hallway and step out of the building that you notice how much your heart is racing.

You’re usually full of great ideas, but maybe interacting with Taesan wasn’t one of them.

The next few days are uncomfortable to say the least. It feels like you put a target on your back in front of the whole class, one that you tried so hard to remove for the past few months. You’re pretty sure a bunch of them have an ongoing bet about who Taesan will snap at first, and you’ve made it high on the ranking.

It’s put you on edge, even though you haven’t done anything wrong. You notice Taesan looking over at you more often now in class or passing by in the hallway. It could just be your hyper-awareness kicking in. Part of it could be that you’re paying attention to him more, too. You can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing about you each time your eyes accidentally meet. Are you looking at him more now? Are you the problem? All you were trying to do was save that poor backpack from abuse.

Unsurprisingly, everyone steers clear from Taesan even more so after the zipper incident. And equally unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to mind. It was apparent from day one that he doesn’t care about making friends. His aura isn’t necessarily welcoming or friendly—so why is it that something about him tugs at you?

You can’t put it into words. It may be the fact that you have an inkling of how it feels to be in his position—you were there not too long ago, after all. Your flavor of avoidance was a little different though. If Taesan were a wild animal, you would liken yourself to the plague. Maybe that’s why you have a soft spot for the boy. All you can think about is how you would want someone to reach out if it were you. It’s a lonely role to play.

“Here,” you say as you offer a mechanical pencil to Taesan.

He’s been digging around in his backpack for a little too long after he should have gotten started on the in-class writing assignment. It’s clear as day that he’s not able to find a pencil. The rustling beside you is almost impossible to ignore.

Taesan stops and glances down at the offering. This particular pencil has a snake pattern on it, a cute cartoon head on top with a small tongue sticking out of its mouth. You can almost feel the judgment already, but it’s your only spare.

“It won’t bite,” you reassure, trying to keep your volume low. You swear the corner of his mouth quirks up as he takes the pencil from your grasp, his fingers brushing past yours slightly. Taesan takes a second to meet your eyes, his gaze appearing more pointed than it did the last time he acknowledged you.

“Thanks.”

That was probably the first word he ever spoke to you, barely above a whisper. You turn back to your paper to busy yourself with the assignment, but your mouth suddenly feels dry. Typical that when an interaction actually goes well, no one is paying attention. Oh well, you didn’t do it for all the busybodies of the school. It was just a good deed, the offering and acceptance of an olive branch. Whether it works or not, only time will tell.