#PISSBABYSUPREME

it’s all about vernacular: bending and twisting your words to get the desired effect, i.e: how to tell someone where they stood without so-called “offending” them-- jihoo was still new to the practice. he’d never gotten in any real trouble for his tongue, just a light slap on the wrist (hypothetical, of course), and a renovation in the east quad from SET group to placate the vice principal. but jihoo didn’t always leave it to his father, he knew how to  appease the right people-- the lingo.

 “ah, saem” he juts his bottom lip in a pout, shoulders swaying from side-to-side in perfectly practiced aegyo as he makes his way beside her seated at the desk, lightly poking her arm with his notebook. his braces are practically glowing in a crafted smile. “why not just look past the whole flower-pot-face-mist fandango? hmm? i mean, the instructions were not clear, in my defense.”

“i’m not sharing! no! no! no! take me back, secretary kim, 어? 제발 ”

his efforts proved futile, however, as the treacherous secretary kim drove away into the sunset and shin jihoo was left sulking on his louis vuitton suitcase. he didn’t share things (not easily, anyhow) and so when he’d walked into the room and saw nam sooil standing in the middle with his stupid sweet smile, shin jihoo was livid. the universe was a cruel mistress playing an awful joke on him, it seemed. for he had to share a room with the one boy he couldn’t stand-- the boy he was also ironically “sharing” suh’s affection with (more like, vying for her attention, but that’s beside the point). he guessed he should’ve felt lucky that at least he wasn’t sharing with some stranger-- the two have been friends since middle school (read: the term “friends” is used very loosely here, okay? they run in the same circle and shin jihoo once shared gave his turkey sandwich to him but that was out of pity and definitely not because he liked nam sooil or anything). shin jihoo made sure to draw the line that day-- quite literally, pointing to the center of the room and splitting it in half. but, like everything else, he’d broken his rule and crossed the line to his own demise.

that unsavory fate being that jihoo had actually grown accustomed to his noise-making ass. he knows that when the other gets into it, that’s his cue to put his beats over his head and not disrupt the creative process. has having a roommate made shin jihoo a considerate human being?? barely. (it’s only the small exceptions; he still leaves a mess on the floor because he fails to grasp the fact that there are no maids at sunhwa-- he’s in denial).

“jihoooooo”

his sister would probably say otherwise-- “more like the shrill cry of a dying cat”-- and it seemed that son seonsaengnim agreed, when she’d given him a big fat below average mark for his singing evaluation. it was then when jihoo realized that son saem was probably tone death and therefore shouldn’t even be teaching a music class (unreliable grading scale. 0/10 would not recommend) and what prompted him to spend the rest of the term sitting in the back napping or instagram-ing.

so when the sham of a teacher calls him up after class, ji hoo stand in front of her, blinking in confusion. what fucking plants??? he scrunches his brows, staring at her for a moment before he remembers the week before when she had placed a spray bottle in front of him (and he had looked at it with the same look of confusion he had right now).

“oh!” he puts two-and-two together, and almost resists the urge to laugh. that was for the plants? he thought...

the first, was when his mom died just last year when dr. park told him he’d have to get wire braces instead of invisalign. he spent a week in his room, not eating any of the food the maids brought up and blasting leslie cheung’s a better tomorrow. he doesn’t know a lick of cantonese but he spent his childhood watching hong kong gangster movies with his mum (he’d pretend to be chow yun fat and make jinjoo the ugly, fat villain). he lost weight from his incessant protest to eat, though, so it wasn’t all bad.

the second, being slated for initiation. obviously.

and the third Most Devastating moment in shin jihoo’s life was the moment ssaem uttered those dreadful words, two minutes ago. he’s left at a standstill, confusedly blinking at the teacher before the words actually register, and then he’s slamming the textbook he had been “reading” onto the table, giving away the copy of vogue he’d hidden between the pages. his gaze fixes incredulously on the other boy, tongue-in-cheek. he couldn’t believe that he, shin jihoo a practical prince of a boy, had been partnered up with this pleb.

his lips snarl in contempt despite himself as they switch seats to start on the assignment, looking around the room desperately for an escape-- no, no, no he was not being partnered up with someone who was wearing the fugliest shoes he’s ever laid eyes on. he’s about to stand up in protest, but ssaem dashes out of homeroom and jihoo is left hanging in his own despair, hand outstretched towards the door.

망했다 ㅠㅠ

arms crossed defiantly over his chest, he rolls his eyes as won-chul or whatever the fuck his name was sits beside him, side-eyeing him with disdain. it isn’t until won-chul speaks first does he actually look at him-- but his freckled cheeks have turned red and his nostrils are flaring. 

“first of all, the feeling is mutual.” shin jihoo has far too much pride to admit that the fact that this plebeian doesn’t like him left him confused. why didn’t he like him??? was he defective?? (he’s also mad he wasn’t the first to say those words). “second of all... ew” he points his chin with a frown towards the other’s shoes. someone had to tell the poor soul he was a walking faux pas-- shin jihoo was a benevolent prince, after all it was for the good of sunhwa. won-chul should thank him, to be honest. he leans forward, arms still crossed over his chest.