Archive of Our Own

A Hongkonger walks into a bar.

Whatever bad punchline could come out of that scenario, Jackson would prefer it over the reality he’s found himself in.

A Hongkonger walks into detention.

It’s his first time on the rodeo, so to speak, not because he’s never broken the school rules, but more thanks to the lenient attitude his school employs toward foreign transfer students like him. It’s simple business; providing schooling for 5% of token outsiders grants them monetary benefits from the state and they don’t want to risk accusations of discrimination and the subsequent attention of the school board.

He’s walking down the hallway, eerie in its emptiness, stripped of the hustle of students’ steps and muffled voices behind the closed classrooms, until he makes his final turn to the destination specified in the official letter sent out to households of the students doomed to detention.

In front of the library, he runs into someone who’s decidedly high on the list of people he doesn’t wish to see in the morning, or ever: Teacher Jung. The letter didn’t specify which teacher would be overseeing the detention, and if he had known he might have changed his plans to show up, school authorities be damned.

“I’m glad you could make it, Wang,” Jung says, “and minutes before 11, even.”

“Aw. I’m happy to see you, too.” Jackson goes along with his feigned cordiality, though he doesn’t get why Jung bothers. He usually doesn’t hold back on humiliating him in front of the whole class and letting him know how daft he finds him. “Arrived early just to squeeze in that extra time with you! Thought detention wasn’t starting until 12, though, and we’d have at least an hour. Shoot.”

“Shut up, Wang.” That’s Teacher Jung as he knows him. ”Get in there and find your seat.”

“Do you think I’ll manage?” Jackson says halfway through the door. “This school is so hard to navigate.”

He’s never ranked his vices but his need to have the last word would likely dominate.

He didn’t think anyone else would be there yet, if he was going to have a company at all, but when he takes in the desks lined up in a square in the front area of the library, he finds the last person he’d expect to see in detention.

Park Jinyoung is the class president and the model student adored by teachers and classmates alike. He’s also, in Jackson’s humble opinion, full of shit. If he weren’t good-looking, everyone would see him as the tryhard he is, but life is unfair and he uses the asset to charm people and it guarantees him a good portion of his fanbase. His other strategy is shallow camaraderie, and the worst part is that phonies like Jinyoung are so dedicated to the illusion that Jackson can’t call them out without coming off as a dick himself. But he knows, and he would bet anything that Jinyoung relishes in Jung’s practices and looks down on the same people he showers with social pleasantries.

Jackson gets called many unflattering descriptors but no one has ever thought to call him fake, and he’ll take being real over being perfect any day.

Jinyoung looks up from the book he’s reading. With each step Jackson takes, he’s awaiting Jinyoung’s performative greeting, and with that, an opportunity to show his refusal to participate, but Jinyoung only stares back, his face void of any emotions, and by the time Jackson picks a seat in the opposite line of desks, as far away from him as possible, he returns to his book and disregards him completely.

Jackson feels a surge of twisted satisfaction at Jinyoung revealing his true colors now that he’s among the disgraced, and disgust over how he gets away with his pretense. If it weren’t for that, he’d be almost offended that Jinyoung doesn’t even bother.

The screeching of the hinges interrupts his shameful preoccupation with someone who’s just a speck of a dust in his universe and they’re joined by Jae Yongjae, if his memory serves him right. Yongjae plays the actual speck-of-a-dust role in the universe of their school, and today is the first time Jackson wishes he paid more attention when he opens his mouth to show how little he cares for Jinyoung, even and especially in comparison to the invisible students like Yongjae, and realizes he doesn’t trust his memory on this one.

“Youngjae! Welcome to detention,” Jinyoung says, putting on his mask of joviality, and it’s like he’s playing mind games with Jackson in particular and continuing the charade with everyone else so that it’s Jackson’s words against his, as always. “You didn’t oversleep, I’m proud of you.”

“Hey, teenagers need sleep, it’s science,” not-Yongjae Youngjae says and sits down in one of the vertical lines to the other two. “Hi, Jackson.”

“Hi, Youngjae, you troublemaker, you. Hang out in detention often?”

“Not really, no.”

“Cool,” Jackson says, bored with the conversation already. Jinyoung is watching, at least, which makes it worth it.

“You?”

“Nope, never been before.”

Youngjae chuckles. “Good for you.”

Jackson’s been focused on observing Jinyoung from the corner of his eye but this brings him back. “You don't believe me?”

“No!” Youngjae holds his palms up defensively. “I mean, yes!”

The minute hand on the clock turns upright on the 11 and the door bursts open, saving Jackson from the dreadful exchange. “Hurry inside, Im. Why am I not surprised?”

“I’m here literally on time, aren’t I?” Im Jaebum says, trailing after Jung, and it’s a good point but his tone conveys indifference, like he doesn’t care either way. He doesn’t acknowledge any of them when he takes the remaining empty line.

Jaebum’s and Jackson’s paths have crossed a few times before, over the occasional cigarette during free periods, shared in complete silence. He likes to keep to himself, which suits everyone else - he doesn’t have to speak, his reputation speaks for itself, and Jackson’s problematic behavior is nothing next to the crimes accredited to Jaebum.

“Are we expecting anyone else, sir?” Jinyoung says. Jackson doesn’t miss the subliminal we, Jinyoung weaseling himself on the teacher’s side.

“Yes.” The opportunism worked. Jung is curt but there’s none of the dislike he directed at Jackson or Jaebum. “I’ll give you further instructions when he gets here, so if you end up staying overtime, take it up with him.”

“Him?” Jackson says with overt enthusiasm. “Is it a boys’ night, then?”

“Day, Wang,” Jung says. “Learn the hours like the rest of the kids did in kindergarten.”

“Will try, sir.”

“Okay, then!” Jinyoung butts in. “We’ll wait, sir.”

Jackson isn't keen on having an actual conversation with Jung, but he's still tempted to shut Jinyoung up with an excuse me, we're talking. He can't believe he would stoop so low and dictate how he can or can’t interact with him.

Jung looks at him and says, “Cut out any nonsense in the meantime.”

Once the door shuts close, Jinyoung says, “This just goes to show girls are superior.”

“Paying lip service to feminism now, Jinyoung?” Jackson says. “I should inform you, if it's not clear already, that there are no girls around to wet their panties over this.”

Youngjae lays his head on the desk like he's embracing his invisible status and invoking it as a power of sorts, removing himself from the situation. Jaebum picks at his fingernails, unapologetically detached in all the ways Youngjae isn't.

Jinyoung regards Jackson with a stone face. “That's gross.”

“What?” Jackson shoots back. “Girls? Panties? Be careful, you don't want to give anyone wrong ideas. Just looking out for you, you know.”

He wants to punch himself as soon as the words escape his mouth. He's skirting the line between open and thinly disguised hostility, but that's not where his budding guilt lies. It's the irony of it all, given his own history.

Jinyoung laughs, mocking. “How nice of you.”

He would have never imagined the sentence could be uttered without a hint of sarcasm but that's exactly what Jinyoung accomplished. Jackson wouldn't be able to achieve the same if he went with an equally passive aggressive thanks. He allows the new wave of hatred for Jinyoung and the high horse he likes to be riding to distract him from regret over words he can’t take back.

“- not making a good case for yourself, Tuan.”

Youngjae straightens up. They’re complete.

Mark Tuan is a transfer student like Jackson and popular for his looks like Jinyoung, though unlike him he doesn’t use it to his advantage. He doesn’t do much at school in general because he’s hardly there, and for some time people speculated about all sorts of illnesses until it became obvious his niche was simply skipping. Jackson suspects the missed hours count has gotten too stark to ignore and that’s how he landed in detention; he can’t imagine Mark has spent enough time at school to cause any other trouble.

Mark is an enigma in a vaguely intimidating way. People fall into various tricky categories, but when it comes to the outright scary types like Jaebum, assholes like Jung, annoyances like Jinyoung, or crushes, it’s tricky but at least Jackson knows what he’s dealing with. Mark doesn’t give out any clues as to what he’s thinking and so Jackson is left to his own devices of wild guesses.

He’s curious which seat Mark will choose after every line of desks has been claimed as a one-man territory. He predicts Youngjae’s line or his own, but Mark settles down a couple seats from Jaebum, either undeterred by Jaebum’s glare or oblivious to it.

“Now,” Jung stands next to Jinyoung and puts a stack of papers on his desk, “you’re spending your Saturday in detention and that’s your doing. Unfortunately, I’m stuck here with you so you better make my time worthwhile. The assignment is a minimum of a thousand syllables on the following topic: Would you rather burn a flag, or a book?”

His eyes skim over everyone and when they pause on Jackson, that’s his cue. “But, sir, I’m failing Math, I don’t know if I can count to a thousand.”

“I understand your concern, Wang, but that’s entirely your problem.”

Jackson holds his palm over his heart. “Teacher Jung understands me.”

“I’ll check in later,” Jung says, raising his voice, “so try to pretend you’re not the degenerates of the society and get this done.”

“Ouch,” Jackson says, a beat too late when Jung is already out of earshot and leaving the room. He abandons the chair, which was getting uncomfortable for his behind, and stretches his legs with lazy steps around the area. No one moves for the papers.

“That’s a weird essay question,” Youngjae says.

“You mean you’re not here for your arsenist tendencies?”

Mark leans back into his chair until its front legs leap off the floor. “Are you?”

His first words of today consist of questioning Jackson for arson. That’s not helping to clear the ominous air surrounding his existence.

“Someone might,” Youngjae says.

“Any of us might!” Jackson inserts the right amount of pathos into every word, though he doesn’t find the option impossible now that it’s on the table. Theoretically, they’re all messed up in here, all in detention, but their individual offenses must vary. Jaebum fits the bill for the hypothetical arsonist but if that were the case, it seems unlikely he wouldn’t face instant expulsion. His bet is on Mark; he can’t get his creepy “Are you?” out of his mind, and maybe he did stop by at school, to set it on fire, and the unofficial transfer student immunity covered for it.

Jinyoung looks up, the pen in his hand finishing up whatever he was writing. Jackson hadn’t noticed he took a sheet of paper, but it makes perfect sense that Jinyoung can’t pass up the chance to act as a teacher’s pet. “We’re not getting paranoid and playing a real life game of murder mystery.” His eyes lock with Jackson’s. “Do you want to warn me again, worried I might look guilty by saying this?”

Mark arches his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry, I’m not worried.” He mentally curses his clumsy comeback. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

“Write this shit,” Jaebum says, getting up. He takes the whole stack of papers and, to Jackson’s astonishment, begins distributing them between the five of them. Back at his seat, however, he only taps his pen against the desk, contradicting his words.

If Jackson had to burn something, he would go with the papers. He’s not prepared to progress to the boring part of the detention.

“Ew!” Youngjae’s yell cuts through the silence. Jackson has no idea what’s going on but he has enough sense to march back to his seat and makes it right in time before Jung barges in through the door.

“I didn’t think I’d have to check on you every five minutes.” He’s suspecting Jackson, that much is clear when his scanning eyes stop on him. “What is going on in here?”

He’s ready to take one for the team, considering he’s in a precarious position as it is, but Youngjae speaks first. “Just working on our essays, see?” He waves his papers, making sure to show only one side so it’s not obvious the other is equally blank. Jackson puts his arms over the papers on his desk.

The charade is so transparent that Jung must see through it. “Empty your bags. And pockets.” He starts walking to Jackson. “All of you, come on.”

“Excuse me?” Jackson doesn’t think he carries anything Jung could take an issue with but he can’t say the same for the others, Jaebum in particular.

“You excuse me that I don’t trust criminals around the school property.”

He stands up, taking small pleasure in the fact that he might be a small bastard but Jung is even a smaller bastard. He’ll dump the content of his bag with all the drama he can muster if that’s what Jung wants.

“But, sir,” Jinyoung says, “the article 6.4 of the school rules says only the principal can authorize locker searches and other related actions.”

“I am acting with the principal’s authorization,” Jung says.

Jinyoung takes his phone out of his pocket. “I have his number, shouldn’t we call him and make sure?” His eyes dart to Jackson. “We don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“No, that’s fine.” Jung seemed to have caught the look and interpreted it in his own way because he regards Jackson with disdain. “Give me your phones, you’re in detention if you remember.”

Jackson can’t believe Jinyoung screwed Jung over and managed to come out innocent. He’s torn between being pissed off and impressed so he settles for begrudging gratitude since he had their backs, as two-faced as he can be any other day. “Right! I was just wondering,” he says. “School, on Saturday? Could’ve been one of those dreams where you turn up to school naked. Ever had one, Jinyoung?”

Jinyoung’s poker face stays on and his voice is leveled, when he says, “In your dreams, maybe.”

In Jinyoung’s mind, no one can resist him, probably, and it’s maddening, even more so because he wouldn’t be wrong, and the statement catches Jackson’s interest for multiple reasons, as much as he tries to stick to annoyance.

“This isn’t a debate club,” Jung says.

“Yes, it’s detention, I got it the last time you mentioned it,” Jackson says.

Youngjae coughs.

“Your phone, Wang.”

Jung moves around the desks after Jackson gives his phone up.

His comebacks aren’t the wittiest but he still wishes the others would laugh, not cough. As it is, they feel like an extension of Jung’s perpetually unamused mind.

Something pointy hits him in his temple, and for a second he considers the possibility that he’s driven Jung crazy and now he’s attempting to stab him with a pen, but he’s standing a few meters away, his back turned while Jaebum is searching for his phone, and Jackson notices a paper airplane on the desk, and that’s what must have bounced off his head. He searches for the source. Mark and Youngjae are minding their own business, which doesn’t seem to include throwing airplanes on him. Jinyoung is observing Jung and Jaebum, not acknowledging Jackson shooting glances from him to the airplane and back.

He unfolds it with a frown. A single word is written on it, arsonist, and an arrow pointing at it.

He would have thought Jinyoung’s had enough practice in subtlety than to rehash a bad joke in bad fashion. Jinyoung finally directs his eyes to him and he hopes his own face conveys how distasteful, even disappointing, he finds this.

Jinyoung’s shapes an O with his lips, bringing Jackson’s attention to them, and his thought process takes a bizarre turn. It’s unfortunate that it’s Jinyoung who’s in possession of the admittedly mesmerizing mouth, doing who knows what, and that’s what he should focus on, his mysterious intentions and the airplane message, instead of the inconvenient imagery popping in his head.

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, gesturing to the paper-turned-plane-turned-paper, and he averts his eyes and checks the paper for anything he might have missed. It’s a pronunciation dig, then - he realizes the arrow is pointing the O in the word. Jackson might not have the best grasp of Korean pronunciation but Jinyoung can talk to him when he can speak four languages.

In his case, subtlety actually isn’t his strong suite, so he goes with the flow and scribbles a suck my dick, the first insult that comes to his mind. He’s not above mixing offensive with inappropriate.

Before he can return it as a reborn airplane, Jung steps aside with a handful of phones. “You can get them back when you’re finished. In the meantime, no more nonsense,” he says and disappears through the door.

Youngjae springs from his seat. “Ew, gum, is what I meant,” he says like he was waiting to explain himself the whole time. “There’s a gum under my desk and I touched it. I hate that shit.”

Jackson decides to deliver the plane in person. He walks over and sits on Jinyoung’s desk, setting it down in front of him and waiting for any signs of irritation about Jackson invading his personal space, but he only takes it, as collected as ever.

Jaebum gets up as well, dropping to his knees by a puzzled Youngjae’s desk. He tugs at the gum and throws the chunk to a bin few meters away.

“Thanks?” Youngjae says.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“A running theme today,” Jinyoung says. Jackson almost startles at his voice being so close. He registers that the unfolded message is laid on top of the rest of Jinyoung’s paper, but there’s no other indication that the conversation, if one can call it that, took place.

“Do you really have the principal’s number?” Mark says. “And is it really in the rules?”

“Both correct,” Jinyoung says.

“I have his number, too,” Jaebum says.

“Do you?” Jackson asks Youngjae, wondering if there is some secret favoritism toward Korean students. Jinyoung laughs, as if he’s picking the exact moments when Jackson isn’t trying to be funny.

“No. I mean, Jinyoung is the class president. And...” Youngjae trails off, clearly unable to find any explanation for the principal’s number on Jaebum’s phone.

“Of course, Mr. President.” Jackson turns to Jinyoung with an exaggerated grin. Jinyoung’s face portrays something intriguing. It’s the same resting expression he’s presented to him from the beginning, but the line of his mouth seems slightly quirked and his eyes lost some of their icy quality. Jackson wishes to study it more and looks away before anything can betray the urge.

“Since when are you two so buddy-buddy?” Jaebum says. If Jinyoung truly were his “buddy-buddy,” Jackson might find it comical how their heads snap to Jaebum at the exact same time. He doesn’t understand why Jaebum cares, but then again it might be his idea of a small talk.

“Jinyoung is buddy-buddy with everyone,” he says, his voice coated in sugar, and he takes his efforts at cracking Jinyoung further and puts an arm on his shoulder, but to no avail, he doesn’t display any visible tension. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

“I mean, I admire that,” Mark says into the awkward silence that follows, and the profession is stripped, earnest.

Jackson can’t help the incredulous face he makes and feels irrational betrayal that Mark, his fellow transfer student, the guy ditching classes and having every reason to hate a poseur like Jinyoung, admires him. They could become the hot power couple every school needs. He scoffs at the idea and Mark looks at him with clear shock. He half expects the others to chime in with their own Jinyoung worship but Youngjae is still hunched over his desk like he wants to be anywhere but there and Jaebum is just looking on. No chitchat, then.

“Thank you, Mark,” Jinyoung says, smiling.

“Well, this is fun.” Jackson slips off the table.

“Maybe…” Youngjae says and waits until Jaebum meets his eyes. “Maybe we could actually start on the essays?”

The words came out nervous, but Jaebum only nods. “Good idea, Youngjae.”

Youngjae visibly hesitates. “You know my name?”

Jaebum scratches his ear. “Yeah, why is that weird?”

“This is fun.” Jinyoung smiles wider, now with the eye crinkles he’s famous for. It’s not surprising he likes to have “fun” at other people’s expense, in this case Jaebum and Youngjae’s apparent discomfort.

“So…” Youngjae stares at his papers. “Would you rather burn a flag or a book?”

“Depends on which flag,” Jackson says, just as Jinyoung says, “Depends on which book.”

Jackson comes to a halt. “Really?”

Jinyoung raises his eyebrows, amused and challenging.

He backtracks. He might have sounded a bit too eager there. “Everyone knows you’re a bibliosexual, you’d burn your only chance at getting laid?”

To his dismay, Jinyoung doesn’t get a word in before Jaebum addresses him with something stern in his look. He wonders if it’s about Jinyoung, but it turns out he’s getting too suspicious. “Just so we’re clear, we’re not opening a debate on which flag to burn and starting a country wank.”

“Wank?” Youngjae says.

Jaebum’s face immediately softens with an uncertain expression. “I don’t mean like… It can also mean-”

“I know, just-”

“I just… spend time on the internet sometimes,” he finishes.

A laugh escapes Jackson’s mouth at how utterly nerdy it sounded coming from Jaebum, and who doesn’t spend time on the internet sometimes? but Youngjae only says, “Oh.”

He thinks back to Jaebum’s warning, regaining the momentum and everyone’s attention. “Maybe that was Jung’s intention. Put three Koreans and two foreigners in a room, shit ensues.”

Mark shrugs. “I’d burn a book.”

“One book, one undisclosed, two undecided,” Youngjae says, writing it down. They’re acting like they’ve agreed to work on the essays as a group; Jackson supposes it’s their way of procrastinating, otherwise they would have started after they first said they would. “As for me… Neither. Can I say neither? I don’t get a kick out of setting things on fire.”

“You’re missing the point of choices, Youngjae,” Jackson says, this time openly searching for Jinyoung’s expression, perfectly neutral if it weren’t for the hint of intent, calm yet different than Mark’s stoicism or Jaebum’s disengagement, before he looks away. “To be, or not to be. Suck the dick, or not suck it. Do shots at a party, or be a bore.”

“Skip, or not to skip,” Mark adds.

“No,” Youngjae says, “I just don’t see any point in this particular choice.”

Jackson sighs. “Loosen up, buddy. Get laid or something, that’ll do the trick.”

Jinyoung tilts his head. “You’re the most vulgar person I know.” His tone doesn’t sound as accusatory as the words themselves.

“Maybe you don’t-”

“Wang!” Jung is back. “Did you get lost again?”

“Oopsie, silly me,” Jackson says and plops down to the nearest seat, the one next to Jinyoung. Their shoulders brush and the nagging thought that he would kill to see any reaction slip from under Jinyoung’s facade returns.

“How are we doing?” Jung doesn’t wait for an answer and looks at Jaebum. “Anyone needs a bathroom break? Im?”

“No, sir,” Jaebum says with a tight-lipped smile, possibly the first smile of his Jackson’s ever noticed, but it’s a ghost of the positive emotions smiling is supposed to indicate.

“I’ll appoint one of you to supervise,” Jung says. “Jinyoung, come here for a moment.” Jinyoung obliges, leaving empty air where his body was radiating warmth by Jackson’s side. Jung leads him aside, keeping his voice down.

“Yes, sir, I’ll wake you up from your nap once we’re finished and inform you of any nonsense,” Jinyoung says, bowing a little. His pleasant behavior would be convincing if Jackson hasn’t learned better.

Jung sends him back to his seat, leaves, and if the exchange is anything to go by, he won’t return for some time. The atmosphere changes in an instant: Youngjae yawns as if the mention of a nap triggered the mechanism, and it transfers to Jaebum, who lets out a yawn of his own. Mark swings in his chair. Jinyoung pulls out a sheet of paper and his fingers begin crafting a new shape. Jackson grabs the book Jinyoung was reading earlier and left on the desk. He absentmindedly flips through the first few pages, catching complex Korean sentences, and puts it back down.

“What was that about?” he says. Jinyoung looks up, but he’s talking to Jaebum.

“Nothing. Unless we’re trading backstories, that is. About how we got into detention,” he answers the unspoken question.

A true, pregnant silence weighs down any words on their tongues; it feels like a shared understanding of something deeper under the surface, layers not yet peeled, or is it just a coincidence none of them has brought up the subject for this long? Threw in a line about the fire alarm they pulled or the test they copied?

The chair Mark brought down thuds against the floor. “I can start it off,” he says. “I’m in detention ‘cause I cut too many classes.”

No one needs to note how anticlimactic the reveal is - Mark is well aware judging by the smug twist of his lips. At least it serves as a cool shower against the stuffy built-up tension.

Jackson can’t think of a worthy follow-up, but an opportunity presents itself when Jinyoung says, “Why?”

“It’s the oldest story in the book.” He embarks on another walk through the library and clears his throat as discreetly as possible when his voice comes out raspy. “Mommy and daddy have a kid, mommy and daddy fuck the kid up, fucked-up kid does shit like skipping classes.”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint. My parents are cool,” Mark says. Jackson doesn’t realize they were all sporting similar baffled expressions until Mark looks them over and laughs.

“Why are you here, then?” he presses. “On transfer?”

“My folks like to travel. We’ve been to a lot of places since I was little and now we’re here.”

He runs out of counterarguments and he’s not proud of the bitterness that comes over him. On top of that, he made a rash assumption, though it wasn’t completely baseless. He’s met a Thai kid who’s in Korea after his father’s embezzlement scandal, a village kid moving to the city after his parents’ ugly divorce, and then there are his own reasons and he can only hope his questions weren’t too telling.

“So you never really had a home?” Jinyoung says. He should despise Jinyoung’s smartass tone but he finds himself hanging on every word.

He doesn’t see what happens next coming.

“Look, call me a fuck-up if you want but don’t drag my parents into it,” Mark says, his voice cold, but his face flushes red, betraying the heat of emotions behind it. What’s worse - somehow the thing that Jackson hates the most about the situation - is that he’s aiming it at Jinyoung.

“Sorry,” Jinyoung says. The single word is sober and he supposes that’s a mature reaction to have, but the simple shift in Jinyoung’s demeanor unsettles him, more so than Mark’s outburst.

He thinks of what to say, keeps coming up with a twist on the childish phrase, he started it, only with an I, and with each passing second the timing is slipping out of his reach and so is Jinyoung, staring at his own hands.

“I could use a drink,” Mark mumbles. “Or I’ll fucking break something.”

Another impulse sneaks onto Jackson, even if it’s pushed aside by the increasing Jinyoung-related worry, which is too frantic to ignore: there, at the back of his mind, he feels like giving Mark a hug. Beneath the aggression of his words he just resembles a rambling little kid.

“I have something, if you want,” Youngjae says.

“Something,” Jaebum repeats slowly.

“Yeah, like alcohol.”

Jackson can just picture Jaebum going, I’m very disappointed in you. In the past, even today, around the time the clock had turned 11, he would have expected it from Jinyoung, preaching and feeding his self-imposed sense of superiority, and he would have expected Jaebum to be the one with a bottle in his bag; it’s real, Youngjae is taking out a near-full bottle of vodka and prepping it on his lap after he shows it around.

He does his best to reconcile the dissonance of his thoughts on the go while everything is happening so fast. Jaebum doesn’t express disappointment, though his instincts weren’t wrong, he can see a seed of displeasure in his posture. Mark comes to life like a kitten spotting a bowl of milk. He walks over to Youngjae and tugs at his hoodie. “Let’s go.” They retreat to the back until they’re out of their sight and concealed from Jung if he were to barge in unannounced. Jaebum huffs and follows after them.

Jackson and Jinyoung look at each other. He doesn’t need to ask out loud.

Jinyoung answers with a question. “You think he’d want me there?” It’s rhetorical and Jinyoung’s smile is faint yet certain, and so irritating, because Jackson thinks Mark doesn’t know what he wants, for one, and obviously he wasn’t really mad at Jinyoung. The reasonable assumption is that Mark doesn’t not want him there.

He could tell Jinyoung any of that.

“I want you there,” he says instead. The stubborn voice in his head bemoans his change of tune, but it’s the truth.

“You hate me,” Jinyoung says matter-of-factly.

That might be true as well, Jackson can’t tell anymore, only that his dedication to the cause is wavering. “Oh my god, can we just go already?”

They find the others at a small corner of armchairs, Mark on one of them taking a swing from the bottle, Youngjae on another, and Jaebum on the floor resting his back against a bookcase. Mark confirms Jackson’s conclusions when he extends his arm to offer the bottle to Jinyoung.

“Thanks.”

Jackson feels a fresh surge of irritation at Jinyoung always being so fucking polite. Mark was at fault in their little quarrel, it hardly warrants a thanks.

“Are you sitting down or what?” Jaebum says.

Jackson has zoned out on Jinyoung taking the floor against the side of the remaining armchair, which becomes Jackson’s spot. He accepts the bottle Jinyoung is passing him and downs some of the vodka, welcoming the burning sensation in his throat, and gives it to Jaebum.

Jaebum takes a sip and puts the bottle between his spread legs. He stares at the floor for a moment, then looks around the circle. “So are we gonna discuss the fact that Youngjae is bringing booze to school?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Youngjae says.

Jaebum gives him a hard look. “What if Jung found it, huh?”

“But he didn’t. Thanks, by the way.” Youngjae’s eyes dart to Jinyoung, who shrugs.

“So what, you want to count on people to get you out of trouble all the time?”

Jackson waits a few beats to see if Youngjae is about to defend himself further, and when he doesn’t and only looks confused, he takes the task upon himself. “Jesus, let him live.”

“Thanks for the advice, that’s what I’m trying to do,” Jaebum says.

Mark leans forward “Why are you so tense about this? Daddy likes his drink a bit too much, or something?”

If that’s not the ultimate proof Mark doesn’t hold Jinyoung’s imagined slight against him, Jackson doesn’t know what could be. That’s only an afterthought, though; it’s as if Mark’s words sucked all air out of the room. Everyone freezes, waiting for the blow.

But Jaebum only shakes his head, annoyed. “Not really, but fuck you anyway.”

Jinyoung laughs, his knee bumping into Jackson’s calf and sending shivers down his spine.

“To be honest…” Mark pauses. “I’ll need a swing for courage before I say this.”

“Learn not to be a dick next time you ask for something.”

”Seriously, Jaebum, can I have the bottle?”

“It’s mine and I say you give it to him,” Youngjae chimes in and Jaebum doesn’t argue with the logic.

Mark takes a gulp. “Yeah, so… I didn’t tell you the whole story earlier. It’s kind of hard to talk about ‘cause, like, my family ‘situation,’” he puts air quotes around the word, “is pretty fucked up.”

When Jackson glances down he can only see Jinyoung’s partial profile, but he could swear all color was drained from his face. He tries not to think about it too much when he sneaks the tips of his fingers on Jinyoung’s shoulder. Jinyoung doesn’t acknowledge it, like Jackson’s come to expect, but he decides to take it as a sign he isn’t bothered by the gesture, even if the discreet support he’s trying to convey gets lost in translation.

“My mom died when I was little and I never really got to know her, and my dad… Well, I grew up with my aunt and uncle and all they ever told me was that he died, too.”

No one dares to move or breathe too loudly. Jackson fixes his eyes on the carpet in the middle of their circle, falling into a tunnel vision-like state where he can only register that one spot, Mark’s voice, and the little contact he has with Jinyoung’s shoulder.

“I didn’t feel like some tragic orphan, I loved the family I had, but it always felt like something was missing, like I didn’t have any purpose in life. Then, one day, my aunt and uncle got murdered.”

Someone, Youngjae or Jaebum, mutters, “Shit.”

“Nothing was keeping me in my hometown anymore so I got out of there and started getting my shit together. I met a girl and fell in love and life was nice for a while. But then I found out what really happened to my dad. He wasn’t dead, no one just wanted to tell me he was this evil dictator.”

Jackson and Youngjae both happen to look up and they exchange glances.

“Not only that, my love life went to hell, too. It turned out that the girl I was into… was actually my twin sister, who grew up with a different-” Mark screeches as Youngjae reaches over and begins slapping Mark’s thighs - Jinyoung’s entire body below Jackson startles - and they both fall into maniacal laughter. Even Jaebum’s lips twitch upward and then into a full-mouthed cackle, and Jackson joins in, howling.

“What the fuck is happening?” Jinyoung’s says with a trembling voice.

Youngjae calms himself down and takes pity on him. “Fucking Star Wars! Luke Skywalker- He- Mark-” He erupts into more giggles.

Jinyoung gasps. “You shithead! Give me that.” He snatches the bottle out of Mark’s grasp and drinks.

Jackson wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of Jinyoung’s most likely murderous glare. Or, he corrects himself, maybe he would. The mixture of feelings that hits him is overwhelming. Part of him, sliced with residues of months as Jinyoung’s classmate, applauds Mark for one-upping Jinyoung, shattering the wall. Part of him wishes he could have done that. Part of him can’t believe how cute Jinyoung is, not knowing the famous plot of one of the most iconic movies across generations. Part of him wants to murder Mark himself for messing with Jinyoung’s emotions, twice.

“So you’re a pathological liar,” Jinyoung says.

“No, my parents are cool, you guys are just assholes who wouldn’t accept that.”

Jackson realizes that his fingers are still caressing Jinyoung’s shoulder, the whole purpose of it now turned ludicrous in retrospective, and he yanks his hand back.

When, a few moments later, Jinyoung turns around and looks up at him, he feels like the definition of in flagrante and his face must look ridiculous, but Jinyoung only passes him the bottle and that’s the end of it.

(He loses the track of it once he gives it up to Jaebum, but it travels complete circles, one after another, emptier each time it lands in his possession. There’s only so much vodka in a single bottle passed around by five people so there’s no chance he gets wasted, but he can still feel the alcohol work its way into his system, setting him looser.)

“If Jung comes,” Jinyoung says, “leave it to me. I’m really good in self-control. Even when I drink.”

He already sounds tipsier than how Jackson feels, but he can believe that.

“Or maybe I should throw Lucas Skywalker here under the bus.” Jinyoung kicks his leg toward Mark. He’s far enough not to be affected and only mimics his attempts.

“Luke. Lucas is the… Nevermind.” Jaebum shakes his head. He adds, quieter this time, “I’m guessing you don’t want to watch it.”

“You mean... with you?”

Jackson’s attention snaps to Jinyoung, trying to comprehend whatever is happening here, but since the top of Jinyoung’s head can’t give him any answers, he turns to Jaebum, whose face is just as unreadable.

“But you don’t care about space opera. And you refuse to watch movies with anyone, ever.”

If this were a movie, Jackson would assume the editor was on crack, cutting out scenes pivotal to understanding the plot, and he hates the scenes that made the cut.

“Yeah. But I could, with you, I would.”

“I’m not following,” Youngjae says.

“Did you just,” Mark says, “arrange a date?”

The worst of Jackson’s fears come true when Jaebum remains silent, second after second after second. It doesn’t make sense, he’s never seen them interact in school whatsoever, but he can’t argue with reality.

“No,” Jinyoung says. “We used to be friends. Best friends.”

He relaxes at once, only now realizing how tense his body was growing, and with that he knows he can’t ignore the inevitable effects of today’s events. He doesn’t hate Jinyoung anymore and he’s heading to a conclusion that doesn’t make much sense either and this time it’s the actual reality, and the only solution he knows is rolling with it.

“Friendship is weird,” Youngjae says. “Like, what are friends? How do you tell? I don’t even know if I have friends. Are you a friend?”

He directs the last question at Mark, who shrugs.

Jaebum seemed to have shut down since his talk with Jinyoung but now he groans. “You’re one of those? Get philosophic when you’re drunk?”

Jinyoung laughs. Jackson was always hung up on how fake his laughter was - was it? - that he didn’t notice its melodic quality. “You love it,” Jinyoung says.

Jackson freezes. Jinyoung can read minds.

“Shut up,” Jaebum says.

Jaebum can read minds, too.

Or he’s getting carried away and the vodka isn’t helping the hidden superstitious side he drowns out with rationale when sober. He decides to trust the latter option.

“I don’t know if philosophic,” Youngjae says. “I don’t usually drink much, just enough.”

The signs of a smile around Jaebum’s eyes disappear and he clenches his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, do you wanna hear my backstory, or not?”

“Nobody said we didn’t, buddy,” Jackson says at Youngjae’s defiant tone.

“Yes, this is why I’m here!” Youngjae points straight at him and he begins threading through his memory in panic, wondering if he somehow caused his descend into detention. He doesn’t remember anything of the kind, but then again, he thinks with shame, he didn’t even remember his name.

Someone’s been calling for him. He focuses on Mark’s annoyed face.

“Can you quit stalling?”

He looks down to where Mark is staring. Where he’s hugging the bottle. Where Youngjae was pointing. He resumes the bottle’s journey. “Sorry. Please continue.”

Youngjae scrunches his nose. “It’s not really an exciting story. School sucks and that sucks ‘cause I love school. I’m great at tests. I do well on essays if the topic isn’t totally dumb, you know? I’m awesome in academics and I don’t feel the need to be the center of the attention like one of those stupid clowns you see.”

Jackson’s foot flinches and Jinyoung must have felt it because he lets out a low laugh Jackson isn’t sure the others could hear. “Okay, we get it,” Jackson says, “you’re a genius. Yet you’re here with us fuck-ups so maybe save the bragging for the yearbook.”

Jaebum sends him a warning look. He resists the urge to argue and just makes a silly face in return, enjoying Jaebum’s mild exasperation.

“I agree, I am a fuck-up, too. I might be great and all that but then we have to do presentations or quizzing in front of the whole class and I freak out and it’s like I can’t do it and I figured out that having a shot beforehand helps with the nerves just enough that I can.”

“But why do you even care?” Jackson says. “You said it yourself, you nail everything else so a couple of presentations won’t sink you.”

“You don’t get it, good for you. But my future depends on it, my… I have two successful older siblings, that tends to put pressure on you.”

“All right, but that’s kind of an extreme solution,” Jaebum says. “Jinyoung?”

The two communicate with their eyes for a bit, and then Jinyoung says, “Have you tried talking to your friends before the class starts? Have someone calm you down, give you a pep talk, stuff like that.”

Youngjae laughs. “Didn’t you hear? I don’t get friends. Friends not found.”

“Well, fuck you, too,” Jinyoung says. “Here I am trying, thinking we were good and all.”

A small, tentative smile brightens Youngjae’s features. “I wasn’t sure.”

Everyone falls quiet.

Both their sentiments resonate with Jackson. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment when each of them crossed over into the friend territory, but they have and he can’t imagine it otherwise, yet it’s something he couldn’t bear to acknowledge before someone else would.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jackson says after a while.

“Mark...” Jinyoung says. “So the part with the girl, the sister, that was a lie, too?”

Mark widens his eyes. “Yes!”

“Any real girls?” Youngjae grimaces. “That came out more judgemental than I intended. I was trying to have a conversation.”

“Not really. I’m not great at socializing lately.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought so, considering you’re really attractive, objectively speaking,” Youngjae says.

Jaebum spits out his drink and wipes his chin with his free hand.

“So is he, subjectively speaking.” Jackson glances at Jinyoung, who lolls his head back.

“Who?”

“Subjectively?” Youngjae says. “Are you saying he’s actually ugly, or that it’s your personal opinion?”

“Okay!” Jaebum stands up. “How about we take five before we continue?”

None of them take issue with the suggestion or protest against the abrupt stop. Jaebum beckons Youngjae to join him and they head out between book aisles conversing in hushed tones. Mark sinks lower into his armchair and closes his eyes. Jackson and Jinyoung aren’t alone again in the true sense of the word but they might as well be.

He leans down until Jinyoung’s hair tickles his cheek. “Hey.” He doesn’t bother to fix the roughness in his voice. “What was that, about me hating you? You’re the one who hates my guts.” There’s a mole on the side of his jaw that he never noticed before. He tries and fails to remember what his grandma told him about the placement of moles and what it says about a person’s destiny.

“I’ve never hated you,” Jinyoung says and pauses long enough that Jackson thinks he’s finished speaking, but he adds, “I just don’t respect you.”

As soon as the words reach him, his pulls back. “Fuck you, then.”

“Good lord.” Jinyoung sounds impatient, and rolls his eyes when he turns around and sees Jackson cross his arms. He can’t believe he’s acting annoyed with him all while insulting him, and why does he feel like his righteous hurt is coming across as petulant rather than angry? “Come on.” Jinyoung stands up and reaches for his wrist. He can’t handle Jinyoung having such direct evidence of his speeding pulse so he jerks it away but gets up nonetheless.

They move further from the armchairs and Jackson leans his back against the wall next to a notice board with information about the library. “What?” He’s struck by the change of positions and Jinyoung standing tall over him. The difference in their heights must be a few centimeters at most but it’s still intimidating after sitting above Jinyoung for so long.

“I didn’t respect you. Past tense. I think.”

“You think?” Jackson barks out a laugh. “How comforting.”

“Take what you can get.” Jinyoung smirks. “I don’t want to make you too comfortable anyway.”

He’s doing an excellent job, and Jackson never would have imagined he’d enjoy Jinyoung making his life more difficult but, as many times today, he’s forced to reconsider. “Why didn’t you, then? Am I so bad?”

Jinyoung’s face takes on an instant edge, the smirk not as much fading out as being clouded by something more serious, and he regrets he asked.

Jinyoung answers in a roundabout way. “I hate and don’t respect people like Jung.”

“Okay?” Jackson says, dread replaced with confusion. “You might have noticed I’m not exactly on good terms with the guy either.”

The corners of Jinyoung’s mouth fall. “It’s just beyond me why you degrade yourself for him, dumb yourself down, act like he’s right.”

“I…” It takes him a while to find his words, and Jinyoung’s scrutiny isn’t helping the matter. “I always thought you agreed with him.”

The look Jinyoung gives him is so appalled it’s funny, but he can only wonder if he was standing so close just a moment ago. “You wanna hear a sob story?” he blurts out. “The prelude, I’ll save the main dish for everyone.”

He’s not sure if he’s not imagining it, if a single person’s face can be capable of such subtleties, but Jinyoung’s gaze softens and that’s what encourages him to continue.

“It’s another classic. Boy meets boy. Boys do the dirty like the red-blooded men they are.” Jinyoung heaves a sigh. Jackson grins despite himself before he delves into the heaviest parts of his story. “Boys get found out. Rich daddy sends the faggot he fathered to another country to fend for himself in one of the dozens of mansions he owns, and who cares if he can even speak the language, right?”

When Jinyoung grabs his wrist this time, he lets him. The recount of his painful past feels almost underwhelming compared to here and now.

“To be, or not to be,” Jinyoung says. Jackson follows the words on Jinyoung’s mouth before looking up.

“That’s… random. You’re weird, I never realized that.”

Jinyoung sighs again. “You’re so difficult.”

“Is this the part where you say you’re regretting this already?”

It was a joke, mostly, and Jinyoung looks appropriately amused but still his unnerving brand of intense. “No.” The syllable lifts in a chirpy tone. He breaks the eye contact and peeks over his shoulder. “Let’s go, the gang has gathered.”

“Okay.” In a split of a second, he makes a decision, lifts himself up on his tiptoes and presses a peck on the unsuspecting Jinyoung’s cheek. He’s both embarrassed and giddy in the aftermath, leaving Jinyoung behind and heading back to the others.

He can’t say Jinyoung looks any different when he returns to his impromptu seat by Jackson’s armchair, a good minute later, and smiles at everyone, but then he spots the tips of Jinyoung’s ears blushing red and beams to himself.

“Yo, Youngjae,” Mark says. “You never actually said how you got into detention.”

“Right, you never seemed visibly drunk during class.”

“And he would know,” Jinyoung adds to Jaebum’s observation.

“Punk.”

Jackson is torn between being glad Jinyoung and Jaebum have patched up whatever conflict drove them apart, and hating that he’s tormenting Jaebum and not him. He slings his arm over the armrest and brushes his fingers past the back of Jinyoung’s neck, and he leans into it in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment.

Youngjae has been staring at Jinyoung since he made his dig at Jaebum, and now he returns to Mark’s original question. Jackson can’t tell if the content of the banter goes over his head or if he’s choosing to ignore it. “Locker search. I was dumb to keep it there.”

“So is a principal who doesn’t give a fuck about his students and punishes them instead of finding out what’s wrong and actually helping,” Jaebum says.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem as bad as, like, Teacher Jung. I broke the rules, I’m not making excuses for myself.”

“Let’s talk about why I’m here!” Jaebum says with uncharacteristic vigor. “I pissed in my dad’s car.”

They chuckle, almost hesitantly, only Jinyoung doesn’t. “Nice, but how did that get you into detention?” Jackson says.

“My dad’s the principal.”

“Principal Im is your dad?” Youngjae says. The question is redundant, but Jackson himself needs a second to process the information so he doesn’t judge.

“Yeah, and you’re right,” Jaebum’s laugh is hollow, “he doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It’s hard to explain him,” Jinyoung says quietly. “I’ve known Jaebum since we were little and his dad seems really polite, but…”

“You always used to say that people forget that ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ includes books that turn out to be a waste of paper, too,” Jaebum says. Jackson can only assume Jinyoung is returning his smile.

“And let’s just say that, as weird as it sound, pissing in his car was Jaebum’s way of dealing, and he’s already done everything a person could possibly do for your parents to love you and, like, that shouldn’t come with any requirements.”

He sounds so certain, one could say presumptuous, for someone who hadn’t spoken to Jaebum for years, and what’s even more surprising is that Jaebum doesn’t point out any flaws in his assessment, whether with words or body language.

“I used to envy Jaebum’s grades, he would never place lower than 5th in school, but it was ridiculous of me since he worked so fucking hard for that and what good does it do when your parents are assholes?”

The plural is intriguing since neither Jaebum or Jinyoung have elaborated on Jaebum’s mom’s role in this, but Jackson doesn’t want to inquire when he doesn’t trust himself not to keep certain parts of his own family tale murky.

“I didn’t leave why you think I did.” The words spill out Jaebum with strange rapid clumsiness and he’s looking at Jinyoung so directly as if he needs to tune out the rest of them to say it. “It was them. Well, me, it was me, but… It wasn’t you.”

“Oh.” Jinyoung doesn’t say anything else but Jackson doesn’t interpret the simple acknowledgment as dismissive.

“If your dad’s fucked up, I get why you’re doing this,” Mark says. “I manage to fuck up for no reason. So hey, the Star Wars thing wasn’t all bullshit, I seriously have no idea what I’m doing with my life.”

“Does anyone?” Jackson says.

“Even I don’t,” Youngjae says. “I just feel like I should.”

“I do.”

Jackson palms Jinyoung’s shoulders. “Okay, Mr. Perfect.”

Fingers of one of Jinyoung’s hands fumble over Jackson’s, before they both pull them back. “Good timing for my backstory, huh?” he says.

Jackson started the day off curious about how the mighty had fallen, prepared to unravel the shatters of Jinyoung’s idealized image, and by now the curiosity’s evolved into thirst for learning about Jinyoung’s background; the motive changed but the question mark at the back of his mind has stayed, and his heart thumps faster, knowing he’s about to have it answered.

Jinyoung giggles into his palm. “I tried to burn a book.”

“Come again?” Jackson says for them all.

“Is that…?” Youngjae pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you the reason for the awful essay topic?”

Jinyoung nods through his persisting laughing fit.

“Jung can be clever, I’ll give him that,” Jackson says, and Jinyoung stops laughing and twists his head to look at him, all his features turned stern. “But… not cleverer than you? Me? I don’t-”

Mark coughs. “Back to the book?”

Jinyoung pats Jackson’s knee, turning back to the circle. “I stole a book from the library, went to the bathrooms, locked myself in a stall, and set it on fire. I know I should’ve at least waited until after school but I was too high on the adrenaline. The fire didn’t get much before someone got suspicious and reported me so it was a pretty pathetic venture, but I don’t even care.”

“Why did you?” Youngjae says, gaping.

“Mother dearest, a renowned expert in her field, wrote a psychology book about me when I was little. Quite detailed, quite... analytical. Lots of research went into it, too. She’d love to write a sequel. I don’t think anyone here knows it’s about me and I never see anyone in the psychology aisle anyway, but I just got fed up one day and…”

“Set a book on fire,” Mark says, sending them all into laughter.

“I knew it,” Jackson says. “I knew there was an arsonist among us.”

The version of the story as Jinyoung presented it sounded so jovial that Jackson isn’t sure Jinyoung would welcome any other approach from the rest of them and so he keeps the tone that way, postponing his immediate desperation to learn more. He relishes in the way Jinyoung’s shifted on the floor throughout the story that his back is now resting against Jackson’s leg more so than the armchair, and the way he appreciates Jackson’s remark with hearty laughter.

“Jackson.” Jaebum smiles. “You’re up.”

Jackson loves them all, he thinks. He couldn’t help Youngjae define friendship or predict what they mean to one another now and what it will mean tomorrow. He just knows he wants it to mean something.

“This might seem weird-”

“I failed to burn a book.”

“... ‘cause I’m not a huge nerd like Youngjae-”

“Hey!”

Mark shushes them.

“... but I’ve been sort of sleeping in school, this one classroom they never lock, but it took two days and someone found me. I have a big fucking house, you’re welcome anytime, by the way, it’s just…” The words get caught in his throat and he struggles to voice the implications he’s laid out in his half-assed storytelling, how the loneliness of the big fucking house got to be too much, even when his only other alternative was a place where he couldn’t find the sense of belonging he had craved either. He’s struck with shame after the others shared pieces of themselves they kept tucked away and he falls mute at the chance to repay them.

“For real?” Youngjae says. “Or just Jinyoung?”

The embarrassed confusion at the mention of Jinyoung accelerates the return of his speech function. “What?”

“Is that invite for all of us? I’d love to get out of my house sometimes.”

“Not to be cheesy but you’d be doing me a favor.” He slipped it in on a nervous impulse but it was born out of honesty, and it’s worth Mark’s mocking “aw.”

“I hate to say this,” Jinyoung says, “but we should actually write the essay if we don’t all want Jung to keep us here overnight.”

They don’t hurry and ease themselves for the return into the bleak reality by allowing a few more moments of wordless apathy, and when they reach the abandoned set of desks at the front, it feels like stepping into another universe.

Jackson eyes the papers. “Aren’t students supposed to take a creative approach to essays? ‘Cause, you know, I’m not into burning books but I’d burn the book, too.”

“Yeah, man,” Youngjae says.

Jaebum pats Jinyoung on the back. “You know my opinion on the subject.”

“Looks like we decided what we’re writing about,” Mark says.

If anyone were to walk into the library in the next minutes, they’d see a picturesque scene of five diligent students hunched over their work. From time to time they trade sentences of universal sentiments they can all include in their “Park Jinyoung defense,” as Youngjae calls it, and Jackson adds his own flavors to the text here and there. If a “psychologist of a mother” earns him more detention, so be it, though he doubts it; the transfer student immunity should grant him a few months without repercussions.

His passionate drive helps the words pour out with unusual speed, and when he looks up from his finished work, he sees that Jinyoung just put his pen away. He tips his head to the side and Jinyoung nods. They retreat into the nearest aisle.

Jinyoung brought the book he was reading with him, and before Jackson can open his mouth, he thrusts it in his hands. “Take this. Don’t burn it. Or at least read it first.”

Jackson squints at the title he didn’t pay attention to earlier. Jimmy and the Boogeyman: A Fascinating Tale of a Child’s Neurosis. Underneath it, Critically acclaimed, and, Now republished with Jimmy’s authentic diaries, a unique insight into Jimmy’s mind! “Were you…?” Jackson blinks, failing to comprehend it. “You got into detention for trying to burn a fucked-up book about you and arrived reading it?”

Jinyoung bites his lip. “I never said I wasn’t difficult, too.”

When Jackson studies the book more closely, he now notices a few pages in the middle half-eaten by flames, others hardly scraped. “You weren’t kidding when you said the burning didn’t go so well.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He barely has time to register Jinyoung’s hand is on his waist before Jinyoung is crashing his mouth against his. He receives it utterly ungracefully, letting out a loud puff from his nose, the book he’s still holding is pressing into his chest, he probably bit his own tongue from the impact unless Jinyoung was a literal man-eating beast this whole time, and he’s focusing all his effort on not stepping on Jinyoung’s feet or falling on his ass so he can’t even savor Jinyoung’s proximity. He doesn’t think he can save this so he wiggles out with a shriek.

“You don’t kiss people without a warning!” He slams the book on one of the shelves. “I swear I’m a better kisser than that!”

“Fine!” Jinyoung’s hand slides further to his back and the other cups his chin. Jackson can see a flash of the mole and then just his eyes transfixed on him. Jinyoung nuzzles their noses together, breathing against his mouth. “Is that enough for you?”

His pride dictates that he subvert the situation, he wasn’t planning on repeatedly finding himself in Jinyoung’s traps, before or after his shift in feelings, but then a hum escapes him before he realizes it and Jinyoung is kissing him properly. He can’t tell which comes first, his jaw falling slack, or Jinyoung’s thumb hooking on his lower lip and pushing his mouth open, but, in any case, nothing stands in Jinyoung’s way when he darts his tongue inside and meets Jackson’s, the sensation of it resonating through his entire body.

Jackson brings one of his hands up to his shoulder blade and the other into his hair. Jinyoung’s lips feel even softer than they look and he leaves an experimental bite and a swipe of a tongue on them before planting pecks alongside his jaw, and then he’s back, haphazardly kissing at his mouth, fitting their lips together at times, missing at others, getting caught in overwhelming warmth and the taste of residue alcohol. Jinyoung holds him by the nape of his neck and they end up moving a few steps until Jackson’s back hits a bookcase.

He’s not prepared when Jinyoung darts his fingers under his t-shirt, sending a fresh thrill down his abdomen. He sucks in a breath, putting a pause to their mouths still pressed together, and Jinyoung lets out a muffled laugh. That motivates him to press and stroke his tongue against Jinyoung’s with more vigor and he tugs at his hair, and Jinyoung’s hand under his t-shirt grips his side in a way that doesn’t seem deliberate.

Someone coughs behind them and Jackson tears himself off Jinyoung, falling self-conscious even before he can see who their accidental audience is. It turns out to be Jaebum. It’s not easy to play cool when he’s still reeling from the experience, his mind moving in a daze and his body feeling Jinyoung’s abrupt absence. A quick glance tells him that Jinyoung’s usual prim appearance has gone awry. His valiant efforts to appear dignified are undermined by his disheveled hair, wet lips, and burning ears, and Jackson suspects he looks even worse off.

“What?” he says when the clock keeps ticking by without anyone breaking the awkward moment.

“The essays,” Jaebum says. “Everyone’s…”

Jinyoung blinks. “What are you doing, then, just standing here? Let’s get this over with.” He brushes past them.

Jackson becomes the proxy receiver of Jaebum’s incredulous look. “Hey, don’t blame me for his…”

He trails off when Jaebum turns to leave, ignoring him, and so he gathers the book Jinyoung entrusted him before joining the others, trying to suppress the grin sneaking onto his face from replaying the fresh events now that he’s past the immediate embarrassment.

“Well, this is it,” Mark says.

“Oh no, it’s not, young man.” Jinyoung’s already managed to sort out the most obvious damage, though Jackson would like to believe he played some part in the reappearance of Jinyoung’s eye crinkles, carved deeper than ever. “We’ll need to discuss this skipping situation and how we’ll be able to see you if it continues.”

Jackson’s had doubts about how the connection he’s discovered in the four of them would hold up with passing time, how the upcoming Monday would play out, if anyone visits his house after all, and only now it dawns on him that they have Park Jinyoung, the relentless socialite, on their side.

Jinyoung gives them a once-over. “Okay, you crazy kids. I say you’re dismissed. I’ll go wake the beast and take care of the rest.”

Youngjae gives him a thumbs-up and swings an arm around Mark’s shoulders. Jaebum hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. And, Jaebum…” Jinyoung hums a melody Jackson recognizes as Kiss the Girl from The Little Mermaid, having spent his first few weeks in Korea shut in his new bedroom watching Disney movies.

Jaebum makes a swatting motion with his hand. “Whatever.” He joins Youngjae and Mark, who were watching them with matching expressions of fascinated onlookers, and ruffles Youngjae’s hair.

Jackson squeezes the three-person brigade in hugs. “Go ahead, someone should keep Jinyoung company.”

Jaebum makes a face at the word “company” and prompts the others to a swift exit.

“Smooth,” Jinyoung says.

Jackson reaches to press down a few messy strands Jinyoung missed in his self-inspection but Jinyoung leans back and ducks it.

“I was helping,” Jackson says.

“All right,” Jinyoung says in this condescending voice Jackson should want to punch away, the Jackson who walked into detention reminds him out of habit, and his current urge to kiss it away instead should be weird, but then, Jackson, past or present, has never liked to dwell on shoulds and shouldn’ts.

“You’re a good kind of weird,” Jackson says, because he wants to say something and summarize the improvised romance he’s found himself in, inspired by Jinyoung’s final words to everyone, and when Jinyoung purses his lips at his ineloquence, Jackson deems kissing appropriate.

Suddenly, he thinks of something and stops, putting up a palm between their mouths. “Jung has our phones.”

“So he does.”

“The others left without them.”

“So they did.”

“You really are difficult.”

“You’re the one thinking about other people while kissing me.”

“Wow.”

So maybe it will take some time getting used to liking Park Jinyoung, but he is quite up for the challenge.