leave it be.

“Eyyy, ssaem— I don’t think you’d want to put that up,” she leans against the bookshelf, a free hand waves away the thought in a dismissive motion, the other kept tucked behind the small of her back, fingers crossed in the face of the feared possibility that he knows. She had assumed that he wouldn’t ( to be fair, the guy looks like he’s done nothing but deal with numbers his whole life — sorry not sorry ssaem ), but perhaps this was the consequence of making such assumptions. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, she supposes, though it really shouldn’t even be that big of a deal. 

But as she’s made to stare at the neatly aligned rows of lines and dots across the page, the weight of her embarrassment ( though not visible; at least she’s good at keeping that ) only feels heavier; something that had been meant for shits and giggles on her behalf having backfired in the most unannounced direction — any chance that he doesn’t know now is probably nothing but wishful thinking. Yet she grabs onto what little sliver of possibility that remains, stubborn girl, continuing to skirt around what she had done with practiced obliviousness.

and he already knows her way will leave him with one less wall decoration.

“why wouldn’t i?” changmin questions innocently enough, glancing sidelong at the youth making herself comfortable in his office. her posture, straighter than usual, hints at something lying just beneath the surface; and already, he has a good guess as to what it is. “it’s a rather good gift.” only then does he cast a glance down at the seemingly innocuous sheet of paper. and slowly, quietly--with a gradually rising voice--he begins to read the code written across it.

out loud.

“dear han-ssaem--”

ah, dear is scratched out.

nevertheless, he continues through, unfazed by the dawning sense of horror on his student’s face--”you think i’m a great teacher, sooyoung. it’s all written right here. should i read it verbatim? or you could read it to me?” his head tilts, expression lingering on open curiosity. it’s the best glimpse that anyone might get into han changmin’s mind; a door held open for the time being, “certificates are hardly personal. it just means i pleased some professor. but i’m not teaching my professors--not like i’m supposed to be teaching my students.”

he holds said paper up, wagging it back and forth for a moment, “this is worth more.”

Nobody can truly say they’ve had the perfect high school experience if they never felt the rush of having a crush on their teacher. If they never fell out of their seat trying to get the teacher to notice their raised hand, if they never giggled in the bathroom with their friends about how hot a teacher was, if they never got called a teacher’s pet - were they really in high school?

Luckily, Genie doesn’t have to worry about not getting the full high school experiece anymore. Rather, she has to worry about her math tests being perfect, and her hair and makeup being on point whenever she decided to show up for math class.

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out which teacher Genie has a crush on. It most definitely wouldn’t be an art teacher, and the way Genie seems to always be in math classes despite ditching all the other classes that day points towards the one and only Han Changmin.

Is there really any more perfect person for Genie to fall in love with? 

She grins at the thought as she sneaks down the hallway, making sure that her own homeroom teacher doesn’t notice her and asks her to show up to class for once. She has better classes to attend. Genie’s face lights up as she peeks into the the third year’s homeroom, the teacher is not here yet, and here are only a few students who are already used to seeing her face, so sneaking into class proves to be fairly easy.

Genie sits at the back, waiting for class to start. And when the teacher enters the room, she feels her face becoming uncomfortably warm.

and he turns his attention back to the board. his lecture continues, uninterrupted—thankfully—until last second ticks off and like a chorus, the sound of books being slid off desks; of canvas bags between lifted off the floors and marching footsteps—

boots on the ground, the smell of smoke in the air—

—right out the classroom door.

changmin snaps back to reality no sooner than he feels it slip from between his fingers, while shuffling color-coded index cards in his grasp. the sensation of paper sliding against his skin is his anchor for the moment, while he calmly watches the seats empty until there is all but one.

a youth too late to escape in the rush for freedom.

“genie-ya, come down here.” he’s familiar enough with her; an eager learner even from the back, always the first to raise her hand. and maybe that should’ve raised an alarm or two, but he’s kind-hearted at best and lazy at worst in addressing such things among the student body. and that wasn’t about to change today, “what are you doing in here? you realize I have office hours, right?” lightly, he questions her while leaning against his desk, head tilted slightly—

and he, of course, makes note of her blush.

“ what did i tell you? ” 

( it’s a tad ridiculous, what with the stern tone and unwavering gaze fixated on the furry figure wandering by his feet. a sigh, and he shifts the plate from the counter, a leg crossing over Dustin who’s standing at almost half a metre tall and is currently attempting to paw at the other plates. another sigh, this time an almost exasperated one. sometimes he feels like he’s a father of three. )

( a lazy afternoon, but they’re expecting a guest. it’s been a while since they’ve gotten this active and all at the same time. he’s been in the kitchen since two hours ago, going through the list of dishes so that they’re well-prepared when the other shows. besides, he has yet to meet sooyoung’s favourite teacher ( meeting with whom he has been postponing for the sole reason of not wanting to appear bitter that his own daughter doesn’t show him any favouritsm. the irony’s strong in this one ), and this is the perfect setting. )

( he’s in the midst of balancing the plates in his hands when the door bell rings. in his haste of getting out and avoiding Dustin who simply refuses to stay away, he drops the spoon of pepper paste on the poor, unsuspecting dog, a glaring smudge of red across the sable coat of fur )

“ …soo, clean Dustin up ! ”

( just another mine to skirt around, he supposes. a different kind—but one equally as devastating in the grand scheme of things. sooyoung’s invitation threw him for a loop in precisely the same fashion; an offer of something changmin isn’t all that sure he knows how to accept. the finer details of being human still escaped him, after all. but he arrives on their doorstep not one second too early or too late, for the simple reason that she had asked. )

( and there is no decision quite that simple. )

( pressing his fingertip to the lit button by the door, changmin waits patiently enough for a response on the other side. straight-backed, donning pristinely pressed slacks and a dress shirt, he gazes at the decorated glass of the door until he sees a shadow cross on the other side. in his hand, perhaps appropriately—perhaps not—rests a bottle of white wine and a basket of fresh summer fruits. )

( when the door swings open, however, his thoughts are not on the importance of etiquette or whether her father would allow sooyoung a glass, but instead on the phantom standing on the doorstep. bright eyes, a defined upper lip. broad shoulders and a broader smile; he looks a little older—a touch thinner than the man he remembers so vividly but changmin still finds his breath stolen by the lungful; his heart still flips wildly, in the space of a second--between a greeting he doesn’t quite hear as it passes from his mouth and the instinctive dip of his head. )

( it is just as much a way to hide his shock as it is a— ) “ hello. “

( reality, of course, comes rushing back in those moments with a vengeance; granting him an agonizing sense of clarity. he doesn’t believe in miracles. in fact, as he meets the man that he is certain is jung sooyoung’s father, changmin is only sure that the heart can break twice. )

“Ssaem!” She calls out — for his back is turned away from her — all bright eyed, armed with an even brighter smile; she doesn’t think to pay mind to see what he’s doing.

That is, until she takes a closer look and suddenly realizes exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh my God.” 

Her light tone is dropped for the weight of pure, utter disbelief.

We can’t ever have nice things, can we?

this time however, his antics come at little to no cost to him. a simple wooden frame? check. a single pane of non-reflective glass? check. a piece of paper pricked with countless tiny holes just an inch off center—and a matching space on his wall just across from his desk? check and check.

truthfully, nothing else had crossed his mind in the moments of his discovery earlier that week. it sat on his desk, unassuming until he’d taken a closer look and realized—with equal parts amusement and wonder—that jung sooyoung knew morse code.

and of course, she thought she’d found a way to sneak the sentimentality past him. a sly girl, her efforts were met with admiration in lieu of confusion and changmin resolves then to enlighten her in the most unsubtle way possible. the empty frame sits on his desk, half put together by time his door opens and he casts a single glance over his shoulder.

he pauses then, offering little more than a sideways tilt of his lips in answer—“sooyoung-ah, you’re early. come help me with this.”

and he steps aside to reveal his set up, catching the yellow sunshine filtering through his blinds.

loose limbs cling to warmth, her trusty stead for the night after falling victim to personal limitation. it hadn’t been planned to unfold this way; yet it would be him of all people she relinquishes herself to.

time flits between seconds and minutes, distorted with liquid poison. it takes time for her to register, but she does eventually find her words, thoughts escaping from the mind and out to reality. 

“ i can’t believe we’re adults. ”

for it’s all too easy to travel down memory lane with company at her side. 

“ you used to be thiiiiiiiiis little. ” her words slur with drunken sweetness, arm dangling as low as she can in this state to properly show him. soft giggle emerges as fond memories of their youth replay in her mind, innocence and years that have long since gone.

“ you could barely lift the tables back then when the classrooms had to be rearranged. ” 

hand reaches up to hold his chin, giving it the slightest shake.

really, it was almost impossible to think that they went that far back.

but her question is answered with an amused hum, words emphasized with the shift of her body to rest higher on his spine—“yes, I am the same boy.” he’s not. he never will be that boy again, but he supposes they’re talking on the exterior—the body he stands in is just a little more aged; a little hardier—and that’s good enough.

“and now I don’t need that kind of help, since I’m carrying you.”

his fingers curl idly around her outer thighs to hold her against him even as he endures her firm grip on his chin—“are you trying to take it off?” teasing, changmin gives her a sidelong glance, turning his head to face forward again, “you’ve gotten stronger too. noisier.”

she doesn’t even get a chance to finish that mental pep talk before her feeling a small breeze open in front of her and suddenly she’s staring at a desk and the teacher in front of the desk. 

“….”

the awkward silence hangs in the air as soeul stares at professor shim before her and feels the room go cold. if she could wring the life out of something, it would be the poor paper in her hand right now. “uh……um i have something to mention…” and pauses before just blurting it out really fast “my love for you is like the derivative of a concave up function because it is always increasing!” 

crap what was the next thing?

quickly she unfurls the paper in her hand and reads it before looking up and repeating it, “we’re going to assume this concave up function resembles x^2 so that slopes is actually increasing….”

she could feel herself growing smaller than her 157cm self with each word and hoping that she could magically pop like a bubble away from this all.

he’d known, when he realized he’d graded the wrong tests the night before and found himself hoping that no one was eager enough to ask for their results right then.

no one was.

and he’s lucky enough to make it to the end of his last class without any more mishaps. a hot cup of coffee accompanies him to his office with a briefcase full of papers and for the first time since he’d pulled himself from bed, things seem to be looking up. changmin slips behind his desk and begins the rather tedious task of sorting them out while soft music plays in the background—instrumental trip-hop that eases frayed nerves almost as well as a bottle of soju.

but that would’ve been going backward.

his work is interrupted, however, by the soft sound of his door opening. the lever of the knob slides out of place with a squeak and he reminds himself to fix that, even as he gazes upon the student who enters as if she’s stepping into the lion’s den. not that he can blame her, even if he doesn’t quite understand the reason for her visible trepidation—“soeul-ah? what brings you here?”

but the words barely escape before changmin is rendered silent by her words; a rehearsed speech that almost steals his attention away from the movements of her fingers. dark eyes flick back and forth between her face and the white-knuckled grip she has on them.

it takes everything he has to swallow the chuckle threatening to spill from parted lips.

his face warms, embarrassment for the both of them vying against the humor of the situation. clearly, she’s lost something—be it a wager or her mind.

“so, you love me?”

it’s risky business, time has told, to entertain any gestures made by the student body. but the twenty-six year old, jaded as he is; broken, can’t help the light tone he takes as he raises his hands to rub his jaw. the gesture is habitual, one meant to hide the upward twitch of his lips—“am I understanding that correctly, soeul-ah? I have to wonder at what point the vertex is on that function.”