#seo wonmin

The buzz of the bustling airport is an all too familiar scene so it doesn't come to anyone's surprise when Saint shuffles into some corner seat in the crowded terminal gateway and tries to tuck himself in as much as possible. The less questions passersby asked, the better; and so he ends up attempting to make himself as nonexistent as he realistically could.

Though it wasn't just the sheer volume of people that had the poor boy shriveling up today- no, rather, it was a gnawing anxiety of what was to come. And perhaps, maybe, quite possibly, it was a self-induced kind of nervousness that couldn't seem to go away.

Still, boarding the plane and sliding into what would be his seat until his next destination provided some sort of solace, the early late night view dotting the world with little twinkling dots. They, ironically, looked like the stars that would have sprawled across the sky if Saint could've seen them from his angle, but provided peace nonetheless, as the plane skimmed across the globe.

Returning to the crashing waves and the warm beaches of California was never the regret; it'd always been in the cards for Saint to return home, to get his hands on Camila again and cruise through the beachy-boardwalk towns that dotted along the western coast; roof down and all. The summers in California always deepened Saint's complexion, the golden glow never failing to reach deep within him with every summer that passed. (Of course- winter always seemed to 'undo' all these changes- but Korea seemed to have the same idea, too.)

Summer has always been nice. The three months usually ended up filled with sandy strolls and many, many waves to surf, calling up old friends, reunions made by the bonfire, toasted marshmallows and booze. (He could still recall his honey-haired friend practically shoving drinks into his arms whenever he'd started drowning in his own rabbit hole- "Here, quit moping and try to have some fun, will ya? Didn't fly all the way out here to watch you suffer over some boy!") The days flew into months to the sound of laughter and yelling of carefree young adults with little worry and lots of time.

Yet, it's even with the loud atmosphere and his friends goading him on to forget about fall for just the moment, that Saint finds himself quieter than normal, a little sullen, perhaps. Even with the warmth and the happiness, it feels a little lonely, perhaps. As if a singular sea breeze just happened to wash over Saint's form, causing a shiver down his spine, despite the weather.

Saint knows exactly why he's feeling so mopey, knows exactly how many times he'd thumbed through the contacts of his mobile, hovering over a particular contact, before giving up and shoving said phone back into his pocket with a faux smile. It's suffocating, yet the boy couldn't bring himself to get it over with.

Hell, he couldn't even shoot a text to one of the other boys- even Harlow would have been fine, despite the latter's penchant for teasing the absolute hell out of both boys-- and purely for his own amusement. Evil.

And so, somehow, some way, Saint ends up spending the three months in both a hurry to return and a desperate attempt to slow summer down- a hurry to run back into one particular man's arms, yet knowing it wasn't that easy. (If it was- he would've never left, to be clear.) It's lonely, I miss you.

The three months were meant to be an amazing time, something Saint had been looking forward to all throughout the academic year, yet somehow, fate seemed to hate every bit of him.

He tells himself, scolds himself, for tangling in this mess. He'd gone so far away from home to study in school, not fall for some tall, extremely handsome, rich kid living in an entirely different world from he. It's for your degree, this school is prestigious, you'll get a head start on your future. He'd told himself. And yet- Saint found himself signing up for so much more- friends, sure. But tangoing with one of the most influential students at school? Oh no. It certainly hadn't been his first thought freshmen year-

Jolting awake to the turbulent landing of the plane, Saint nearly jumps out of his skin once said airplane makes solid contact with the runway underneath.

Groaning, the young man threads his fingers through the dark, messy curls of his summer perm (just a fun experiment, per one of his buddy's dares-) and straightens himself out. Just some simple white tee and some dark jeans.

It doesn't take long for Saint to be standing with his luggage in arm, feet back on South Korean soil. Again, he fetches his phone from his pocket and mildly contemplates the contacts he's saved. Only to shove it back into it's original place soon after. Coward.

Biting his lip, Saint realizes he's all alone again, just the same as he'd been since the start. Surely, his friends- most of which ended up being Casper's originally, wouldn't want anything to do with him; the other boys he'd probably spent far too much time with were never truly his friends to begin with. Saint couldn't exactly phone up one of Casper's friends to pick up, could he?

Halloween with friends was always a blast in Saint's book, sitting around in a circle on their dorm room floors, bright and peculiar pumpkins sitting in front of each boy's laps as they cracked jokes; their wands already put away in favor of the traditional muggle carving instead.

The first time it happened was in their youth; neither Junsoo nor Saint had known just what the hand-carving was practical for- couldn't they have just used their magic like everyone else did?

Yet Hanse, the only half-blood of the group, claimed otherwise. It's just more fun this way, you'll see. It had been their first year together, three children celebrating their first spooky day away from home; but in the comforts of their best friends, instead.

Since then, children had turned into young men. Yet nothing had changed from the first year to the sixth; other than maybe growing into their features a little bit more.

Best friends were still best friends and the muggle-method of pumpkin carving became a tradition amongst the trio. And each year, the three of them would acquire a pumpkin of their own and sit in their own little circle to chat the chilly night away. All the while slowly etching progress into each respective pumpkin.

"To another year! And the last year!" Starts the first voice, followed by a light smack against Hanse's shoulder.

"It's neither New Years, nor is the world ending, dumbass. Why did you make it sound like that?" A second voice retorted quickly, the owner running a hand through honey-colored hair that practically matched the shade of his pumpkin in the candle-lit dimness.

Hanse sticks his tongue out jokingly in response, eyes mischievous as he eyes Junsoo. "Well, for one, you never know. And two, Saint's ditching us to transfer to the school for losers, so this kind of is a new year and the last time, ain't it?"

"What- hey-" The third voice protests, current boy in question making a face close enough to mock disgust. "Okay, we all know I would stay if I could, that's so rude. You know my parents haven't been very happy-"

"Yeah, yeah, softie, we know! But you're still not gonna be around for our last year like this, so might as well celebrate and make it count while we can right?"

"You're both idiots, I swear-" Junsoo starts, only to be abruptly cut through by Saint this time. Teasingly.

"And you're down bad for that one Minasaki boy, so your point there, bud?"

All three fall silent briefly, before a soft "Oooh..." from Hanse has Junsoo reaching for his pillow to attack both boys.

It only takes one solid smack for the three to start what had always been a chaotic fight with the cushions between the three friends, wild laughter and the soft thuds of pillows hitting heads a clear indication of the absolute wildness. (Pumpkins left half-carved and forgotten, sometimes kicked around in the hectic flurry.)

It's not until they're all laying with their backs against the cold grounds, chest heaving for air, do they finally call it a truce.

The boys take their time to recoup before finishing their pumpkins for the night- far too late into the night, honestly. It's around 3 am by the time they finalize their designs and light up the poor, half beaten in the mess, things.

The last thing any of the boys do after crawling in their beds are whatever shots they can (affectionately) fire in each other's directions before fully knocking out.

"Happy fuckin' Halloween, you losers. Thanks for being my buddies for another year, yeah?" Junsoo starts from the top bunk.

"Sappy, disgusting, horrific... but same though. Happy spooks, boys." Comes the second voice, this time from a bottom bunk somewhere in the room. Hanse.

"Shut the fuck up and stop acting like you hate the affection, will you? We see you from a mile away, babe." Saint murmurs lastly between the three. He promptly ignores the noise of protest and the glare he just knows Hanse is shooting at him, from his position, through the dark. "Happy Halloween, fools. Even after I transfer, we should still sneak out and meet up for the pumpkin carving. Good night."

There are no more exchanges to be made as the dark figure continues down the halls. It's silent and Saint has to squint into the dimness to make out any part of the school grounds at all.

But soon enough, everything becomes clear when down the corridors, another door appears. With a wandless spell murmured ever so quietly through the lips of this masked man, they creak open to reveal the many other recruits settled within.

All heads turn, eyes resting on both the man and Saint himself. By the entrance, Saint notes that there's a good portion of students here- some familiar and some not. But those he did recognize- were fellow and former Durmstrang students during his time at the institute.

A familiar tuft of dark hair and a pretty face catches Saint's eyes in a split moment, however. And before he knows it-

"Jeong Hanse!"

Without thinking, Saint finds himself making a scramble for his friend, leaving the mysteriously masked man behind as he practically bounds down the stairs and into the other man's arms for a friendly greeting.

"Hey, you. What are you doing here?" Comes the hushed reply. And despite being practically barreled into, Hanse catches his friend with strong arms and a broad chest.

Standing before the grand gates of Durmstrang, the former student tiled his head upwards as a dark figure appeared before his eyes. Neither spoke, nor could Saint Seo make out exactly who was hidden behind the cloak that shrouded them in darkness; somehow, he figured it's not someone he'd recognize by face, anyway.

The young man simply stood before them without even so much as a greeting, no acknowledgement to be made yet, however. Stripped, were any signs of his alliances, no Hogwarts emblems or Hufflepuff colors in sight. Saint's hair was ruffled in a dark tousle of locks and his 'fit was more than discreet. Yet, once again, Saint simply knew it wouldn't be enough to entirely cloak his own identity. He was as bare to them as he would have been fully clothed in his Hufflepuff regalia. And they both knew it.

But he was a pureblood.

His blood status alone would pique their interest, surely.

And it does, when the man under the cloak finally pulls the hood over his head- Saint only comes to find then that he also adorned a mask to keep his face out of plain view. To hide his identity. The cryptic figure crooks a figure nonetheless, signaling for the young man to follow, before turning to make his way back into Durmstrang's grounds. Not a word spoken.

The gates close between the pair, a swirl of a breeze brushing past both men; one that sends a shiver down Saint's spine, until he'd reached the warmth of the school halls just little ways off.

They don't speak until the hall doors close fully, the click shut signifying that Saint was now trapped in, unless he could apparate without being caught before.

"So a Hufflepuff, huh? You won't survive here, now matter how pure the blood."

The crisp chills of October finally settle into the soft breeze blowing through Saint's fringes as he pulls up into an abandoned parking lot filled with various other exotic vehicles to show. The street lamps are dim and flickering under the dark sky, but the many head lights parked precariously around the venue certainly lighten things up a bit. There's a soft rev of Camila, the Camaro, just before Saint turns the key and kills the engine; almost like an announcement of his arrival- as to be expected.

Not far off, just across the clearing, Saint snickers softly under his breath at the sight of Sawyer and Eric looking cozy on the bonnet of Sawyer's car. Neither of them are regulars with Cruisin', but occasionally Sawyer shows up for the thrill; his loud voice never fails to be heard while cheering on fellow racers. The presence of Eric, however, was rare and always a treat; the mellow man never seemed to have an interest for the illegal street racing life. But that's okay, the former always seemed to keep him busy enough as it was.

The rookie couldn't help but snort softly at the way Sawyer pulls the other man closer, arms wrapped around his shoulder and head resting against his backside and Saint mildly wonders if the high-strung young man had finally grown a pair and confessed his affections- not likely. ("It's not as easy as you make it seem! It's not like you weren't a jumbled mess when you hadn't gotten with your boyfriend, yet!")

They certainly looked warm and fuzzy together. Somehow, Saint finds himself wishing nothing but the best as he eyes the way Sawyer seems to affectionately rub his face against Eric's shoulder- likely mumbling something under his breath as the talkative man always did. They're a little far off for a proper spy. Nonetheless, the rookie leans in to mutter softly in his own partner's direction, "If you look across the clearing, there's Sawyer- the one on the right- and Eric on the left. They're not usuals here, but I figured you'd like to get to know some faces anyway- we'll meet them later. But I warn you, Sawyer's... an interesting character and Eric just happens to be mellow enough to tag along usually. Smittened, I tell you." A soft laugh blows out through Saint's nose at that.

He pauses to scan around the various other clusters of faces- some unrecognizable to even himself, all things considered. He was new after all. Deciding to choose his 'battles' wisely, the next pair of young men he nudges a subtle head tilt at are busy rough-housing with one another- someone shoving his buddy away, only to receive one back like the children they very much seemed to be. And they were, to a degree, Saint supposed.

"Over there's Atticus, he's got the brightly colored pants on, kinda on the ground right now. His buddy in the light grey is Raphael. Don't look at the way Atticus laughs whenever he's with Raph- they're really close friends, but 'tticus can be pretty mean when he wants to be. Same with Raph. They just seem to balance each other enough to get along. Kind of like fire and fire, yaknow?" Saint finds himself rambling, running a hand through his fringes to brush them out of his own face. "Oh- and before I forget, they're both core members here at Cruisin', part of the main racing crew. Atticus is known for scaring the newbies- I would say, me included- and Raph is a total natural no matter the course, nothing keeps that guy from victory, I swear." Amusement with the tinge of awe swims through dark orbs as they turn to examine Casper's expression. Saint leans in quickly to peck his boyfriend's cheek. "You'll meet them soon enough, the night's only just beg- jesus fuck!"

The sound of a palm solidly colliding with the Camaro has Saint nearly jumping out of his skin and the young man whips his head around in search of the origin for the noise. His gaze immediately falls on three men, a particular bucket hat all too familiar.

Killian. With Luca and Harlow linger just behind. The first of the three sporting his signature shit-eating grin as he leans over the trunk of Saint's vehicle. "Christ dude, you scared the living shit out of me just now. Better not have dented Camila or I swear--"

"Chilllll, she's fine and you know it- you're just mad I scared you while you were with your boy, huh?" comes a teasing voice as Killian laughs lightheartedly. The tall man shuffles off the car nonetheless, eyes falling on Casper in the passenger seat. "First time at Cruisin' Club? I gotta say, the rookie's really found himself quite the handsome face to bring around, hm? Care to share with the rest of us?" A sharp tut and the imprint of Saint's tongue against his cheek has Killian chuckling again in amusement, but moving on nonetheless. "I kid, I kid- the name's Killian- but they just call me Kel. I'm the president of Cruisin' Club, welcome and it's nice to meet you. And that's Luca and-"

"Well, well. It looks like you finally made it Casper, surprised to see me?" The playful lilt of Harlow's voice cuts in, much to Killian's visible faux annoyance. He receives a gentle elbow, but it doesn't deter either of the two. "Kinda funny how we just can never escape each other's presence, not even outside of school, huh- did you miss me that much, already? How sweet." there's much mirth in Harlow's usually gentle, honey-like voice, not a trace of malice to be found. In fact, he finds it quite hilarious- how his friend couldn't seem to catch a break from him. Though Harlow could really only blame himself for that- he was everywhere. Quite literally. Reaching over the car, Harlow can't help himself but to hop up onto the trunk and affectionately ruffle Casper's hair. "Welcome to the Cruisin' Club, bub- though I'm sure you're not here to join, are you?"

"Who's racing tonight? Are you, rookie?" The third and final of the trio finally cuts in. Irritable as he sounds, Saint finds himself sticking his tongue out in half-joking mockery, knowing Luca meant well, despite his usually more withdrawn, clipped comments. As if to reassure, Saint reflexively finds himself giving Casper's hand a little squeeze- it's just Luca. Nothing surprising there, though Luca's tone isn't always so abrasive.

"I think Danne's got the first one tonight, but I haven't seen him, so he's probably warming up. And I've got the second- you think I'd wake up Casper, and drag him up here if not for a race?" the young man laughs, quickly holding up their joined hands, despite the whistle from Harlow. "Nah, I definitely got the second- and I'm gonna win it too. There's no way I could lose when I've got my lucky charm."

(A collective 'ooh' and 'ahh' and one fly away 'someone's getting a good railing tonight, I just know it' from the crew has Saint reaching for something in the back to throw at them- an empty water bottle sufficed just fine.)

It's nearly 11 PM when the door of a small, quaint little apartment on the 7th floor swings open, the figure out a young man- a boy- stumbling in through the door; exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

Though he'd kept himself out late into the night, hoping the time well spent out of his lonely little temporary home would ease the dulling ache in his chest, the moment the heavy apartment door clicks shut, Saint Seo finds himself dropping his book bag onto the floor unceremoniously and quite literally collapses against the cold, hard surface. As if on cue, the ache intensifies like a cinder catching on fire, a knife stabbing and twisting into the Californian's heart like a heartless monster having its sick fun.

(It's not the apartment itself, Saint tells himself. He was undoubtedly privileged enough to have such a nice living space─ alone. Without anyone to see or hear his cries; he was lucky. He was lucky. Yet, in that moment, it doesn't seem to ease the wounded boy in the slightest.)

Curling in on himself, the wave of emotions he'd been holding behind a pained, teary eyed look all day finally crashes through his wall made of willpower and a broken sob wracks the poor boy's body.

It's as if everything he'd done to build up his wall and prepare for the worst had no meaning, no significance, in his well-sculpted plan of simply being 'fine' with the current situation. The sheer determination he'd been depending on all day finally begins to crack and break away as nightfall brings him back into the loneliness he'd been avoiding for as long as he possibly could.

Alone.

At the mere thought, fresh tears spill over Saint's cheeks once again, ones he'd long since given up trying to wipe away as another half-choked, half-stifled whimper bubbles up from his throat in despair. He was alone- barely legal and alone in a new country across the globe from home. Not only was he a foreigner in an unknown land (despite wearing the same 'face'- sort to speak- as everyone else), every day, Saint finds himself entering hostile campus grounds, among the rich and the famous and the cruel, with little to his name but his parent's hopes and dreams for his success.

His parents.

With shaky fingers, Saint thumbs out his mobile device, swiping through the contacts with much difficulty. His vision blurs with first distress and soon a sense of hopelessness when he realizes it's only 6- or was it 7? in the morning in Laguna, California. The boy couldn't recall, nor could he bring himself to rouse his parents that early because he was crying. He couldn't disappoint or worry them when they had wanted nothing but the best for their son- for him. How could he burden them with the thought that nothing was as nice as they all had initially expected? That Saint was suffering torture in what could have been glory?

Throwing his mobile carelessly across the tiled floor and away from his body, Saint allows himself the stifled hiccups as his shoulders quaked. A hand runs mindlessly through his now mussed dark locks, fists locking tight in his own roots in anguish- no tugging, but an anchor nonetheless.

Home, I want to go home. Someone please─ anyone, somehow, please just... take me home.

(By the time the nineteen year old finally picks himself up from the door and his own self-wallowing pity, the clock has already struck midnight. He's downright drained of all life by the time he'd taken a quick shower and taken care of his nightly routine, mind numb of all things but maybe some sleep and the repetition of tomorrow- er, later today.)

"So you see, I was hoping you'd be interested in sharing a snippet of your manuscript with us in the Gala this upcoming weekend- not much, I assure you, as I am sure myself that you'd like to keep the majority a secret until publish date." A pause ensues for a moment when a young man across the table tucks his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation. "There will be many world-renown authors and professionals attending, this opportunity will be the one you've been waiting for... Not to mention, I do think your own visuals would be a great addition to the theme of this Gala... if you can understand. We're a very high-class luxury society, attending is big news and looking dashingly handsome is part of the 'code."

Sitting across the table this evening, sporting a mustard yellow blazer and fluffy dark hair that matched his inner shirt, the aforementioned young man beams quietly at the praise, chin slowly turning away when he feels the flush dusting across the bridge of his nose and cheeks; expression light, but bashful. It's clear he's no more familiar to the attention of the high-class than the average civilian-- it's sweet, his bright eyes and shy smile. The man finds himself waiting patiently for a response, hand reaching for the wine glass as if for a sip, but eyes trained to the latter's features nonetheless. Yet, he still misses the embarrassment tinging Saint Seo's cheeks, how the latter picked up on his vaguely backhanded comments.

"Thank you for the offer, Professor- I really do appreciate the proposal. But I believe you're looking a little too deep into something that isn't quite there." Saint hesitates the split second, before continuing, as if to avoid being cut off prematurely, "The manuscript you caught a glimpse of earlier today has very little to contribute to such a prestigious gatherings- they're just some notes I've been taking down of local reef health. You must know this already, all circumstances considered, don't you professor?" the young man's choice in words is cautious, formal- a little stiff; knowing the status the professor held could mean disastrous ends if wronged. "So it seems almost as if there are ulterior motives here- is there another reason for me to have the privilege of attending such luxurious events?"

Saint notes the way the much older man's face tightens at his inquiry, jaw set firmly as if to keep himself cordial. Reflexively he himself braces for the worst- somehow, it doesn't come (much to his relief). "All I'm saying is that you'd make a great addition as part of this year's attendees, the script is just an excuse, really. Are you sure about giving up your chance for an invite? It's the only one you'll get."

A slight chuckle leaves Saint's plush lips and again- the young man looks away as his eyes crinkle blissfully. He's amused, anyone could tell, with his dark hair falling into bright eyes, shoulders tilted away when he leans into his chair. There's an all too knowing snicker playing upon Saint's lips as he also reaches for the glass of wine, swirling the red liquid around in his glass, before proceeding─

"Sure thing professor, I'll attend─ on the account that there will be two tickets available, however. I'm sure my partner would be more than happy to attend such... privileged events with me─ he's been to many himself, so perhaps he'd be a more appropriate figure. I would presume anyway."

"Oh- and then there's Santa Monica! The pier is super fun with carnival games and a boardwalk- not as nice as Laguna, but still- the waves are always nice in Southern California, especially for surf season-" The words tumble out of Saint's mouth with seemingly no end until the boy abruptly interrupts himself, a sheepish grin splitting across his face once he realizes how long he'd rambled for- definitely much longer than intended. "Sorry, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself a little bit. It's only been a semester, but it feels like it's been so long away from home and the sunshine already. I literally can't wait for summer to arrive." There's a pause when the young man decidedly leans in to the warmth of his boyfriend, nose pressing along the column of Casper's throat, a soft sigh leaving pretty pink lips, a little wistful, perhaps, but content. "Oh- and maybe I'd finally be able to take you for a drive around town in Camila- the bumblebee camaro at home." Saint chuckles quietly, tacking on the last tidbit quickly, as if to diffuse any misunderstanding.

Lifting his head a bit from the shoulder he'd been leaning against, Saint brings his fingers up to delicately cup Casper's cheek. Fingers brush across soft cheekbones admiringly, slowly.

With twinkling eyes, the boy couldn't help but lean in to press his lips sweetly against his lover's, only the idea of sharing summer and home swimming blissfully around in his mind.

"You know I love you, right?" The sheepish grin never leaves, even when Saint goes back to tucking his face into the crook of the other boy's neck, perhaps a light flush dusting his cheekbones at his own sudden confession.