Poor Boys With Rich Hearts - Chapter 1 - SinisterSound (2024)

Chapter Text

Hongjoong vaguely remembered hearing some bullsh*t when he was little about how it was important that schools have uniforms because it kept poor kids from being distinguished as poor, and kept rich kids from flaunting the wealth their parents amassed.

At least, Hongjoong had thought it was bullsh*t.

But here he was, standing just inside of a wrought iron gate with nothing but ripped jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket with so many paint stains, it looked like that was the original design and not just Hongjoong being messy while he worked.

His sneakers weren’t tattered, but the pure green of them had been roughed up with dirt and time.

The people who passed by him in Gucci and other brands Hongjoong couldn’t pronounce either stared at him like a piece of garbage hung under their noses or ignored him completely, as if he was nothing more than a smudge on the wall- not even worth noticing.

He shouldered his bag a little higher, walking forward with a purpose.

Turned-noses and disgusted glances aside, Hongjoong thought the place was lovely.

And it had better be, for what he had to go through to get here.

Six months here had him confident as he strode through the lavish courtyards that took up every available space with winding stone paths that lead through a campus that would make anyone’s head spin- much less someone whose idea of luxury was going to the large shopping mart across town.

Hongjoong had learned how to blend in here.

He had learned how to survive as someone of such a clear lower status- though it had taken him quite some time to figure out how to do that. If he didn’t make a lot of noise, and if he didn’t cause any sort of fuss- most people left him alone.

Thus, Hongjoong walked in silence- avoiding the main path and walking around the back of Building A to the back door of Building F (how these people were so filthy rich, but couldn’t afford better building names was beyond him).

(Hongjoong had stopped trying to understand rich people a while ago.)

As he walked through the halls, people glanced over or ignored him, as they always did- and Hongjoong had to wonder how, after six months, he was still the newest oddity.

Rich people lived such boring lives, if he was the most exciting thing they encountered. Hongjoong had seen more interesting roadkill on his way to the store.

His backpack was heavy with books and textbooks (graciously provided by the school under his scholarship because there was absolutely no way he would be able to afford even one of these things on his own without starving for a year).

People always asked (and by “people” he meant every living relative and family friend aside from his mother) why he chose Seoul International University.

“Why go through so much for something that will get you as far as any college would?” his aunt demanded, on her fifth phone call that Hongjoong had failed to ignore. “It’s not that special- Why are you putting your mother through all this, just for a fancy stamp on a diploma?”

Hongjoong pressed a hand to his eyes, keeping an eye on doors of the convenience store to make sure no customer walked in to find him on his phone.

“Auntie,” he said, the diminutive sounding almost sarcastic with how forcefully he said it. “If you actually listened when my mom talked, you’d know she’s not paying a cent- that’s the whole point of the scholarship I applied for.”

“I’m not just talking about money!” she shrieked, outraged, and Hongjoong wondered if she had even bothered speaking to his mom because she sounded ready to go off the deep end. “You’re leaving your poor mother alone after everything she’s done for you-”

“Mom and I already talked about this,” Hongjoong said through his teeth- bordering on genuinely annoyed. “I wouldn’t just leave her like that, but if all my housing is paid for by the school, I can send money back to Mom-”

“You should be living with her still!” his aunt yelled into the phone, voice rising higher in pitch. “Not abandoning her like your father did to live on some college campus-”

The bell above the door of the convenience store jingled, and Hongjoong didn’t even bother telling his aunt goodbye before hanging up and greeting the customers.

And maybe Hongjoong would agree that SIU wasn’t the most… welcoming of places.

It was only in the last five years that they even began to offer scholarships, and the standards that a person had to meet and keep up to qualify for it were ridiculous.

Clearly meant to keep the rich in and the education-seeking poor out.

But Hongjoong was determined. A determined poor bastard.

He’d studied his ass off to pass that entrance exam, and he worked until his eyes were bloodshot to pass the scholarship extra-credit portions. (The application and testing fees for those alone put a huge dent in their savings.)

Hongjoong had to succeed.

He had to.

Because regardless of what his aunt thought, companies and businesses looked at people from SIU. It had just never affected his family and aunt because they weren’t among the 1% who usually attended.

But graduating from here- successfully- with a legitimate degree and good GPA?

People couldn’t look at his financial standing, then. They would see his worth in the success he had managed to reap. Employers wouldn’t see him as a ratty kid from downtown- he’d be an SIU graduate and that meant he was worth something, dammit.

It was harder for Hongjoong than most.

It almost seemed as if every odd had been stacked against him- making even his ever-supportive mother question whether he wanted to go through with this or not.

Because on top of going through all the fees and testing (and the prejudice and the stares), Hongjoong had transferred in his second year, and was trying to balance coursework that was leagues more difficult than he had ever seen, finding his way around this school that was as big as a city, trying not to let himself die of homesickness, and being given no time to acclimate before homework and tests began pouring in-

And from the very beginning, his GPA hung above him like the blade of guillotine, waiting for him to slip and lose everything. Because if Hongjoong’s GPA slipped for any reason, that was it. Scholarship gone.

Dreams…

Dreams shattered...

He’d spent the first two months here making himself sick to keep up (which only brought more stares). But after the first few months, he seemed to have fallen into enough of a rhythm that he could take a breath (but only one).

English was probably one of his least favorite classes, but he still enjoyed it. Even if it absolutely sucked having it first thing in the morning.

Especially because of Kang Yeosang.

Okay, maybe that was a little bit unfair.

Hongjoong didn’t actually have anything against Yeosang himself- in fact, Hongjoong probably would never notice the guy on his own. He sat in the front left of the classroom, and did nothing.

Literally, nothing.

He didn’t answer questions, he didn’t participate, he didn’t even bother opening his book. He just sat there, chin resting on his fist as he stared at the board- looking like he wasn’t hearing a word the professor said.

He was also incredibly, unfairly attractive (even Hongjoong could admit to this, and be angry about it in a very petty, private way). Hongjoong actually found out on his first day that Yeosang was a model for his parents’ company.

This was brought to his attention by the fact that in the middle of Hongjoong’s first ever class, the silent boy simply stood, grabbed his bag, and left with nothing more than an off handed “I have a photoshoot to get to.”

Hongjoong couldn’t believe the audacity, but the professor simply nodded, and resumed teaching.

Hongjoong had to gawk- was this what rich schools were like? It almost made him want to laugh how a school could be so f*cking hard, but so lenient.

Yeosang sometimes just got up and left in the middle of class to apparently do model work (a quick internet search had Hongjoong realizing that he had seen Yeosang before on YouTube ads from everything from clothing to cologne).

That was a little weird.

However, other than those brief interruptions in Hongjoong’s concentrations, Yeosang had done nothing to warrant Hongjoong’s anger.

No, Kang Yeosang wasn’t the problem, it was everyone else around him.

Or, rather, the people who wished they were around him.

On all sides of Yeosang was an empty desk, used to create a barrier between him and the people (both male and female) salivating over him.

This, of course, was the worst possible situation for Hongjoong because those seats surrounding Yeosang were the only ones available in the full classroom, and Hongjoong was sat directly beside him.

Jesus Christ, if looks could kill, Hongjoong would have fifteen bullet holes in the back of his head as he took his seat. He could practically hear perfectly manicured nails scraping against the desk, and dress-shoed feet kicking at the ground in frustration.

“Professor Noh!” one girl called before Hongjoong had even taken his seat. “What if we just switch, and you put the new guy back here? That way, he won’t be so close to Yeosang to bother him.”

The first hard lesson Hongjoong had learned at this school: no one here gave a damn about your feelings or what you thought.

Especially when you were a scholarship nobody with no family who could pose any legitimate threat to them.

Hongjoong had frozen, not sure if he wanted to run or fight the bitch. There was a beat of silence where Hongjoong didn’t know what to do.

And then the professor simply shook his head. “Sit down, Hyuna, all seats have already been assigned and arranged- I’m not reorganizing my seating chart.”

The hisses of anger and disgust had followed Hongjoong as he obeyed the professor’s direction to take the seat. He had tried to smile awkwardly at Yeosang, but the other hadn’t looked at him once throughout the entire exchange.

So maybe Yeosang wasn’t an asshole (it seemed) but he was pretty rude. And if it wasn’t for him, Hongjoong wouldn’t have to deal with threatening sticky notes on his chair and even a f*cking thumb tack waiting in his seat.

But the rich didn’t care what happened to you.

They only cared about what directly affected them. And Hongjoong had no power behind his name to raise a fuss with just because people were being mean to him.

So Hongjoong took it, and every other challenge that was thrown at him, in stride.

He had not worked his ass off to get here to be scared off by girls in hair rollers who were bitchy that he was sitting next to their man crush.

Hongjoong could piss a few people off, too.

Even months later, the glares of the students behind him hadn’t died down- though they were a bit quieter after Professor Noh threatened to throw out the next person who growled or threw paper in his class.

Hongjoong had quickly stopped trying to smile at Yeosang, simply taking his seat and taking notes where he needed to.

As per his usual daily schedule, the class was dismissed at the end, and Hongjoong booked it as quickly as he could from the room as people surged forward- no longer bound back by the professor’s reign now that class had ended.

The first day, he hadn’t moved in time, and he had regretted it everyday since.

Hongjoong glanced back from the doorway of the classroom- watching as a crowd of people swarmed around Yeosang’s desk, some of them simply calling his name, trying to get him to look at them, and some shoving photos in his face that they claimed were proof they were model material, if he ever wanted to do a co-shoot together.

At first, Hongjoong had wanted to laugh at the stupid display. But, really, after only a minute’s thought…

Hongjoong had to feel bad for the boy. Because Hongjoong had never seen any indication that he enjoyed or even more than tolerated the other people.

He simply sat there, silently, as they pressed against him.

Hongjoong often wonderd why he didn’t tell them to f*ck off (but then again, Hongjoong would probably find himself dead in a ditch if he tried that. Maybe his family might be mad if he did.).

But there wasn’t anything he could do for Yeosang, so he always left to begin his walk to his Art Appreciation class.

Art was…

Well, it had always been the one thing Hongjoong let himself ask for.

He wouldn’t beg his mom for toys or games, and he wouldn’t ask for extra money to go out shopping with his friends. He knew they couldn’t afford things like that very often, so Hongjoong just tried to never ask for them.

But when he had used his last canvas? When one of his brushes dried out? When there was a shiny box of brand new paints in colors Hongjoong had only seen in DIY videos?

Art was the thing Hongjoong had let himself be selfish for (despite the fact his mom always told him he could ask for more than just that).

Hence the paint streaks that colored his jean jacket (this was not actually on purpose, like the one jacket he had reformed was). It probably only made his clothing look ever more tattered compared to the other students here, but they could f*cking suck it.

It was a nice jacket. Comfortable.

Art Appreciation was a boring class, despite Hongjoong’s investment in the subject. It dragged by with minimal hassle because it was nothing more than a man clicking next on PowerPoint slides with the dull scratching of pens against paper.

Hongjoong sat to the back of this class, and was not disturbed.

His Sketching class was not so fortunate.

Because like English, Hongjoong was forced into much too close quarters with people who were way too popular.

Jung Yunho was a massive, bumbling puppy of a person- who greeted the class brightly and with enthusiasm that Hongjoong couldn’t believe could be genuine.

But every day, without fail, Yunho entered, waving to everyone brightly and even greeting a few by name.

He’d overheard Yunho talking a few times about his family’s business- something in owning hotels and cruises? Hongjoong could see it- that overly bright customer service smile (though it looked completely genuine on Yunho, making Hongjoong believe he was just that friendly).

At least he was going into the right career.

His eyes passed right over Hongjoong most days- a few times they landed on him, but glanced over quickly, as if afraid to be caught staring.

Boys leapt up to slap him on the back and squeeze his hand in feats of strength, and girls asked each other frantically how their hair looked or if they had a piece of kimchi in their teeth, waving shyly when he greeted them.

Somehow, this was almost more obnoxious than Yeosang because at least Yeosang wasn’t reciprocating back at the crazy people.

Sketching was a more hands-on class, and Hongjoong wanted to grind his teeth to stumps as the chatter never seemed to stop- making him frequently pause so his tight grip didn’t destroy his angles he had been measuring so meticulously.

Hongjoong wasn’t even sure the other people in the class were working.

It was only a couple weeks into his classes that Professor Yang paused by his desk while she made her rounds.

“Excellent shadowing, Hongjoong,” she complimented, as she did with most people who made a half-way decent attempt. “However, if you are having trouble concentrating, you may work with headphones in, so long as you can hear any instructions I give. We aren’t some backwards public school.” She smirked knowingly.

Hongjoong stared at her in shock, and she winked at him, smiling kindly as he moved on.

Hongjoong kept his volume down, but it was enough that he could drown out the constant talking about him.

Today was no different- his headphones going in and his mind focusing on making the room he was sketching as 3D as possible, his hands meticulous and steady.

His mom always said he had steady hands. That they were an artist’s hands- even as he would fingerpaint as a child, much too focused on his movements, even if the picture still turned out like nothing.

Hongjoong switched to a softer pencil, placing it against the delicate lamp he had drawn-

Hongjoong felt something bump into his back.

He felt the lead of the pencil scratch against the thick paper- a dark streak of pencil streaking its way through his pristine sketch.

One mistake Hongjoong had made upon coming to SIU: he assumed rich people would simply ignore him and go about their day.

He was wrong. Because these rich people were snobby and cruel and didn’t care about the consequences of their actions.

Especially against a nobody like him.

He stared in horror for a moment, whipping around and ripping his headphones out-

A boy (probably named Donghun?) quickly stepped away from Hongjoong, looking like he was biting back a smile as he stared in overly exaggerated horror. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Donghun!”

Even Hongjoong flinched at Professor Yang’s voice shrieking across the classroom, her eyes livid. “Detention!”

Donghun’s expression dropped in true horror. “What? That’s bull-”

“Argue with me, and we’ll make it a trip to the headmaster’s office!” she said mercilessly. “You are done for today- leave, for disrupting class. See me later for details on your detention.”

“You can’t-”

“Now.”

Donghun cursed beneath his breath, stomping to his bag and tearing it away from the ground, storming from the classroom and slamming the door hard enough to knock a painting from the wall.

That was another thing Hongjoong had noticed. He didn’t know if the teachers were just from powerful families, or if they just had guaranteed immunity from wealthy parents pissed off that their little angels had been given detention. The teachers feared no threats that the students tried to give, though.

And Hongjoong couldn’t be more grateful.

Professor Yang was suddenly standing at the edge of Hongjoong’s table, clicking her tongue regretfully. “I’m sorry about that, Hongjoong. I doubt you’ll have time to fix it today, but if you have free time tomorrow, you may come in to finish and correct it.”

Hongjoong stared at her, mouth agape as he frantically went through his schedule tomorrow.

He had work right after classes, so his only chance was during lunch. His stomach mourned the lost food, but he quickly nodded. “I have a break right during lunch.”

Professor Yang nodded quietly, looking genuinely apologetic. “That’ll be fine. If I’m in a meeting with someone, just come in and sit quietly, alright?”

At the very least, the teachers all seemed to treat Hongjoong fairly. Professor Yang even seemed to view him as impressive for being here.

It was a very welcome change.

Hongjoong nodded, thanking her graciously. She was under no obligation to give him time to fix it before the due date. And Hongjoong thanked his f*cking stars that he would be allowed to.

He could not take that hit to his grade.

When Professor Yang left him to begin fixing the dark streak, Hongjoong glanced across the classroom.

Most of the people were still staring at him- either in shock or hiding laughter behind their hands.

However, for the first time Hongjoong could remember, Jung Yunho was not smiling.

He stared at Hongjoong silently, lips pressed together and eyes dark with something that almost looked sorry.

Hongjoong knew that Donghun sat directly next to Yunho, his empty seat glaring. He didn’t know if Yunho had been in on it or not, but he didn’t really care.

He returned to his work, shoving his headphones back in, not letting the stress have a chance to get to him. He’d worked on a deadline before, and he could do it again.

Class ended without him finishing his corrections, but he had managed to make sure every dark part had been erased carefully, and had begun redrawing parts.

Hongjoong was the first to leave again, shoving his things away and putting his sketch back on the rack it would wait on. He left the classroom without a glance back (he almost wished he had taken a moment to thank Professor Yang again, but he would do it tomorrow, for sure).

Next, he went to lunch.

Lunch was always interesting.

Somehow, it was the one thing not included in his scholarship. Meal plans were available to him at a discounted price, but it was something still way too outside of his finances (given that they had options like f*cking lobster for lunch).

So, just to add another thing for people to stare about, Hongjoong packed his lunch everyday.

He wasn’t starving, thanks to most of his other expenses being covered, but it was still a simple lunch. Fried rice, kimbap, a couple side dishes that his mom still insisted on sending him…

Truthfully, if he was having a bad day, he wouldn’t eat the side dishes, since they reminded him too much of how far from home he was.

Hongjoong hated eating in the cafeteria, and only ever stayed inside if it was raining or unbearably cold outside. But, it was the warm weather still- fall not yet beginning to creep in. So, Hongjoong merely had to pass through the cafeteria to get to the courtyard where he usually ate.

And, in the cafeteria, is where he met two more of the things that made his school absolutely insane.

Song Mingi and Choi San…

Like Yeosang, they had never really done anything to Hongjoong. Hell, Hongjoong was sure that neither of them had ever even noticed him. They had no classes together, but they were the beasts of the cafeteria.

They sat in the center of the room, and the rest of the people flocked to them. Like Yeosang and Yunho, they were surrounded constantly by boys and girls chatting, flirting, laughing. Unlike Yeosang, though, they seemed to adore the attention with gracious smiles and loud laughs.

San was (according to rumors that were passed around like an old hat here) some big martial arts guy? Or maybe his family just owned a lot of self-defense stuff? Hongjoong had heard vague rumors about his family training the people who protected the president and stuff.

And then there was Song Mingi, who- like Yunho- had no business being so goddamn tall. Even sitting down, his head stuck out among the people crowding them.

All he knew about Mingi was that his parents’ apparently handled big ass bank transactions. (Like, between f*cking countries.)

Hongjoong had never wanted to be so close to so much politics, but it came with the territory.

Anyway, Hongjoong had no real reason to hate them, but on his third day, he had been walking through the cafeteria, and some asshole ran into him trying to get to their table. Hongjoong’s lunch had splattered against the floor, food getting everywhere.

The asshole hadn’t even stopped to see what had happened, losing himself in the crowd surrounding them.

Hongjoong had gone without any sort of lunch that day, and he’d never really forgiven them. Petty, but reasonable considering it was his special beef kimbap they had ruined.

Hongjoong didn’t even glance at them, though, too used to their presence. He went out to the courtyard and found a tree off to the side that no one ever sat beneath because it had an ant pile beside it.

(It was abandoned, but if it meant he got to be alone for a goddamn second, he’d keep that rumor going.)

He sat in the grass, pulling out his lunch, and doing his usual people watching.

The shade of the tree hid him enough that no one screamed at him for staring. The courtyard was never very full- most of these people preferring to stay inside, safe from the sun and weather.

A few students were scattered beneath umbrellas (at the picnic tables that Hongjoong avoided), chatting cordially, or laughing obnoxiously loud.

Sat at a table in silence, across the way, with three other people, was Choi Jongho. They were silent, heads bent as they did schoolwork with one hand as the other hand carried spoonfuls of soup to their mouths.

Out of every “most popular” Hongjoong had seen, he had considered Jongho the most normal. Almost too normal. He was stoic and quiet, always doing some sort of homework and scribbling something down.

The only problem was that one time Hongjoong saw him punch through a f*cking watermelon during the end of summer lunch picnic (which had not been a picnic- there were wedding tents and tile flooring brought out for f*ck’s sake).

So, yeah, Hongjoong wasn’t all that eager to know him anymore. But, they almost seemed to be of the same brand of people.

Except… you know… Hongjoong was poor and wore painted jackets, and Jongho was filthy rich and in line to take over some big tech company with black suits and kempt hair.

Hongjoong reviewed some of his PowerPoints after he finished eating, until it was time to head to his next class which (thankfully) had nothing but notes to take and quiet discussion about Art History in modern context.

No pretty boys. No big disruptions.

Until his Design class. Where one Jung Wooyoung was present.

And he was popular. Most of the people here wore some article of clothing that Wooyoung’s family had produced.

People were constantly coming up and begging him to tell his mom that they loved her new perfume, or that their shoes were so comfortable, or their blouse was absolutely gorgeous.

Like San and Mingi… Wooyoung was loud. Louder than anyone.

Someone once teased him that his hair looked like a piece of chewing gum, and the cry of playful outrage had nearly burst Hongjoong’s eardrums.

Like his sketching class, it was hands-on, so they were free to listen to music or chat while they worked on their projects.

Even music could not drown out Jung Wooyoung’s shrieking laughter or the tumbling of rough housing that he always seemed to be participating in.

He was a bit wild for Hongjoong’s taste. And he (or someone else he was playing with) were often bumping into Hongjoong while he tried to sketch designs out.

Wooyoung was, however, the only person who had ever apologized to Hongjoong.

Granted, he barely glanced at Hongjoong, and it was more a breathless “sorry” tossed over his shoulder as he patting Hongjoong’s back, before returning to chasing someone around for their eraser.

Hongjoong had, during his time at SIU, learned that among all these beautiful, rich, famous, popular, cliquey, horribly rude people… there were certain ones who simply stood at a level above the rest.

Whether it was because their parents were more powerful or they were just people who attracted attention, Hongjoong didn’t quite know.

What he did know that those names- Yeosang, Yunho, Mingi, San, Jongho, Wooyoung- were known and screamed by every person who attended SIU. There were others, of course, but these were the ones who fell in Hongjoong’s path.

They were the ones who affected his life.

And somehow… the person who put all of their popularity to shame… was the one person that Hongjoong wasn’t quite sure about. The one that Hongjoong saw the absolute least amount of time.

Park Seonghwa was a bit of an enigma.

Hongjoong only ever saw him as he was leaving for the day.

As he walked back to his on-campus apartment, Seonghwa would always be getting into some limo preparing to take him home.

He was always dressed nicely- in crisp (or artfully ruffled) dress shirts and dark (or bright white, if he was feeling flashy) slacks. His hair was either perfectly placed without a hair out of place, or the perfect sort of sex-mussed that drove people wild.

That wasn’t the enigmatic part, though.

The weird part was that Hongjoong could not for the life of him figure out what his personality was. What part he was playing.

Yeosang was the ice prince. Yunho, the puppy. Mingi and San were the troublemakers. Jongho was the silent, intelligent one. Wooyoung was the wildcard.

Seonghwa?

He was almost icy. He was cordial and polite- never loud or rambunctious. His smile was always warm and welcoming, and the way he kissed each girl’s hand made them swoon, and the brief hug he gave each boy that shook his hand farewell was genuine.

He flitted back and forth between keeping a wall of polite company, and delving into something like warm friendship with everyone he met. He was infinitely calm, it seemed, even when doubled over laughing at something that was said.

His eyes were warm, but his posture was stiff, even among friends. Hongjoong didn’t know what the hell to make of him.

The people who surrounded him weren’t screaming, nor crowding him, but they all buzzed with an energy as they kept a two foot space between them at all times. As if there was some unspoken rule not to approach.

Were they actually friends? Hongjoong had speculated that they were just business friends, but Seonghwa seemed so warm and welcoming to them as they bid him goodbye.

For every name on anyone’s lips, Seonghwa’s was on theirs five times. Always spoken with reverence or quiet daydreaming- never the screams and squeals from most people.

It almost seemed like people respected him, more than they fawned over him. But, once more, the people were too close- clapping him on the back, but never encroaching his space until he made the first move, and then stepping back to a distance.

They acted like friends, but stood like business partners.

And no one ever went home with him.

Hongjoong had seen those other Populars go home- sometimes with groups of people (friends?) or just with one or two, even if they mostly went home alone.

But no one ever got into the limo with Seonghwa. He always went home alone. With gracious smiles and warm hugs, he would leave.

Hongjoong didn’t know what the hell was up with him, but it didn’t really matter. The only reason he noticed Seonghwa was because he passed him everyday. The others had done things to annoy Hongjoong (by extension), but Seonghwa was just… there.

Hongjoong never heard rumors about him, so he wasn’t sure where he stood or what his parents did.

Hell, maybe people were just intimidated by his looks (because, let’s face it, Hongjoong was sort of bitter that all these rich kids could look like a 10, walking into a class at 8AM without any sort of prep work).

Hongjoong lived on campus.

He was also the only one who lived on campus. Literally.

There were dorms (they were called ‘dorms’) built on the east side of campus, provided for students who wished to use them.

Of course, all the students simply lived with their parents, or had enough money to live in whatever luxurious apartments they chose to, in the center of Seoul. Things much nicer than the “dreary, dungeon dorms on campus”.

Hongjoong’s entrance hall was bigger than his mom’s apartment.

Yes. Hongjoong’s campus dorm room had an entrance hall.

He closed the heavy wooden door behind him, locking it and staring at the open space. It was modern, with no walls and lots of windows that faced the city. The flooring was all white or cream tiling. The kitchen was shiny and new with an island and stainless steel appliances provided for him.

The living room was dark wooden flooring with a large rug and a marble fireplace (everything was already furnished with a couch and armchair and tables). It had a TV he didn’t use that was the size of a window.

Down the hall, there was a bathroom, laundry room, storage room, and bedroom. All of which were also larger than his mom’s apartment. Everything was pristine and new, and made Hongjoong afraid to put his painting clothes in the washer, for fear of getting it dirty.

The storage room, he turned into an art room. However, even with how much art he had, it only took up a quarter of the room, leaving the rest bare and empty.

It made it look lonely.

The bedroom came with a queen bed, dresser, and walk-in closet.

Hongjoong didn’t have a lot of stuff. He had come here with one suitcase full of clothing, one full of art supplies, and one full of other things like knick knacks.

Even with all of his things unpacked, the place looked like no one lived there- the room swallowing up his pitiful attempt to fill it with homey things, like the pictures of him and his mom.

Hongjoong dropped his bag by the desk, pulling his laptop out and ignoring the monstrous room behind him.

He put in his headphones, turning his music up to drown out the quiet of being the only person here.

He worked on his homework diligently until he got hungry. Then he rose and grabbed a ramen cup, heating the water. He brought it back, eating while he kept working, ears blasted with music.

The homework was… hard. It was like each assignment was a final exam, and you couldn’t remember when the hell you had ever learned this.

He tried to simultaneously come up with something quick that he could eat while working on his project at lunch tomorrow.

Was he allowed to eat in the classroom? Professor Yang wouldn’t mind, right? Was it different for him? Did Professor Yang even care that he was poor? She didn’t seem to.

When his handwriting became lazy, he stopped, sliding into bed in his comfortable pajamas. He didn’t bother looking at the clock, knowing that it was way later than any human should be up.

He double checked his alarms- both for waking up and for getting to work- and laid down, staring at the ceiling.

He should call his mom soon… After this next paycheck, he should have enough to send her something.

A mixture of exhaustion, excitement, and dread settled in his stomach familiarly as he pulled the thick blanket up. If nothing else, these rich people had really f*cking comfortable beds.

In the morning: wake up and repeat it all over again.

~~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong didn’t see Donghun in Sketching the next class period. Thankfully.

He worked quietly, bobbing his head to the music as he carefully (but frantically) tried to connect the broken lines of his project, brows drawn down in concentration-

A gentle hand tapped his back.

Hongjoong looked up quickly, thinking Professor Yang had been trying to get his attention, but instead he found Yunho standing behind him- needing to crane his neck to see him from his seated position.

Yunho looked startled- as if he hadn’t actually expected Hongjoong to turn around, floundering now that he had.

Hongjoong stared for a moment, frowning expectantly as he pulled one earphone out.

Yunho continued to stare, mouth opening without speaking. His face flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I- Uh- I didn’t-”

And maybe Hongjoong had been staring too hard at his page, letting frustration get the better of him, but he simply turned away. “You’ll have to hit me harder than that, if you want me to mess up,” he muttered in annoyance.

Hongjoong swore he was usually nicer than this, but Yunho had been right next to Donghun.

“No!” Yunho burst, shockingly loud, making Hongjoong jump and turn back to stare at him.

As did…everyone else in the class- eyes either on Yunho or Hongjoong, burning into skin. Hongjoong gripped his pencil tighter as his skin heated under their stares.

He wasn’t here to be a spectacle.

Yunho shook his head frantically, glancing at the people who had now turned their attention to them. “I- I meant- I was going to-”

“Yunho, what the hell are you doing talking to him?” a boy called, grinning. “Come on- I want to show you something on Twitter!”

Yunho looked like he was being pulled in two different directions. Hongjoong pressed his lips together, wondering what other direction he could be pulled in. He turned away from Yunho, who had still yet to say anything, putting his headphone back in.

Yunho seemed anything but vindictive.

But Hongjoong could feel the entire class staring- wondering why popular Yunho was talking to the scholarship kid. Why would he ever talk to him?

Hongjoong didn’t want to be their entertainment. He’d take their anger and scorn- but not their laughter.

He saw Yunho go back to his seat from the corner of his eye.

Professor Yang told them all to pack up- stopping by Hongjoong’s seat to tell him he could continue to work.

The bell rang as Hongjoong frantically tried to take full advantage of his extra hour, everyone filing out as he remained sitting, turning his paper as his soft pencil shaded depth into the scene.

After a few minutes, though, he stood, excusing himself to the bathroom (he usually went at lunch), Professor Yang smiling graciously as she nodded from her desk. Hongjoong practically ran- feeling every second counting down of his precious time to fix things.

His hands were still damp as he frantically dried them on his pants, rushing back to the classroom-

He froze inside the door- seeing someone else standing at Professor Yang’s desk and immediately thinking it was another professor.

Both of them turned at his entrance, and Hongjoong blinked in shock at the fact that it was Seonghwa turning to look at him.

Professor Yang smiled, gesturing for Hongjoong to come. “You can keep working, Hongjoong- Mr. Park and I were merely chatting. We won’t disturb you.”

Hongjoong nodded, going to walk forward as Professor Yang turned back to something on her desk. Seonghwa however… was still watching him.

Hongjoong felt his eyes track him as he crossed the classroom, refusing to glance over for fear of making eye contact.

He was suddenly realizing that Seonghwa was a lot more intimidating when you were standing six feet from him, rather than watching across the street. Hongjoong sat and quickly resumed working, plugging his headphones back into his ears, but forgetting to play his music.

As such, he could still make out the edges of conversation across the room, and he was too focused on working to remember his music.

“-think your father will be interested in the data the different departments have gathered,” Professor Yang said, quiet out of respect for Hongjoong’s work. “I know he's rather busy, but since he’s always shown an interest in the school you chose… The Arts department has actually seen a rather large increase, compared to past years.”

Seonghwa hummed graciously, sounding glad.

Professor Yang’s voice dropped, most definitely not intending for Hongjoong to hear. “And despite what others’ opinions may be, I think it speaks positively that our first ever scholarship student chose to join our Arts department.”

Hongjoong’s pencil froze for a moment before he quickly moved it again, bending over his work further, reaching out and playing his music before he heard anything else he wasn’t supposed to.

However, for the first time, Hongjoong heard the term “scholarship student” like it wasn’t an insult. Something that set him below the rest.

She said it like it was something that simply set him apart from the rest.

Without their conversation filtering into his ears, Hongjoong worked quicker, forgetting about his rumbling stomach and cramping hand until a hand was placed on his shoulder.

He jerked up, taking out his earbuds as Professor Yang smiled down at him. “Five minutes until the end of lunch,” she told him, glancing over his work. “Very nicely done,” she praised, picking it up. “You can’t even tell anything happened!”

Hongjoong felt a flicker of pride, regardless of how much he was sure you could see old pencil marks.

She turned the paper around. “Isn’t it impressive, Mr. Park?” she asked vibrantly.

Hongjoong hadn’t even noticed Seonghwa was still here, but he stepped away from her desk to examine it closer.

Hongjoong f*cking hated critiques, as necessary as they were. And he and Seonghwa hadn’t had any sort of issue yet, so he hoped he didn’t have to feel bitter about it.

He had no idea how Seonghwa felt about the “scholarship student.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flitted over his work- Hongjoong thinking they looked a little too calculating for just critiquing a draft.

Seonghwa’s lips lifted in a warm smile that he directed at Hongjoong. “The shading is very realistic. Not too rigid- it seems to almost melt into the page.”

Hongjoong stared for a moment, taken aback by such genuine praise as she set the paper back on his desk. “Uh- Th-Thanks,” he said, glancing down at the shading. “Are you in the Arts program?” he asked, glancing back up.

Seonghwa laughed- good natured and genuine, shaking his head. “Certainly not,” he assured him, exaggerated in his refusal, making Professor Yang chuckle. “No, I’m useless when creating art. I can appreciate it, though.”

Seonghwa’s eyes voice pointedly flickered from Hongjoong’s sketch to his face.

And then observed from his face to his waist and back up in a single flicker. His smile remained warm and innocent.

Hongjoong’s expression pulled down in a small frown. He hadn’t just imagined that, had he?

If Professor Yang had seen the little size-up, she didn’t mention it. “Are you satisfied, Hongjoong?” she asked. “This is all the extra time I can allow you, I’m sorry.”

Hongjoong quickly looked away from Seonghwa who hadn’t stopped staring at him- not obviously or creepily, but he was very much looking at Hongjoong and not Professor Yang.

He stood, nodding swiftly. “Y-Yeah, I think it’s okay. Thank you for allowing me to fix it.” He carried it to the rack, and she hummed.

“Let me know if you run into any other issues, alright?” she requested genuinely.

Hongjoong stopped where he was putting up his supplies, taken aback by the gentleness there.

“You have every right to be here, Hongjoong,” she said firmly. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, alright? You’ve worked harder to be here than more than half of these other kids.”

He stared like an idiot.

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” he wound up blurting, bowing low as he grabbed his bag. “I should go- My next class-”

She waved him off, looking satisfied as she walked back to her desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hongjoong. Mr. Park, are we finished?”

Hongjoong didn’t stick around to hear, rushing out and to his next class, frantically shoving a few bites of kimbap in his mouth on the way, nearly choking.

There was no way Seonghwa had been checking him out. He must have been distracted by all the paint stains (and, on this particular jacket, a bleach stain the size of a baseball). And his ripped jeans. And his dusty boots.

Had he put on eyeliner this morning? He didn’t. So his eyeliner wasn’t smudged-

He shook his head, knocking the thoughts away as he choked on a piece of rice as he arrived to Art History. Didn’t matter. He’d never see Seonghwa again, save for from the distance of a street.

The day flew by now that the stress of his project was freed from his mind, and after what felt like moments, he was walking from Design into the courtyard. He swung his bag around to the front, pulling out his apron for work as he was reaching the campus gate, trying to unknot the strings-

He saw someone standing in his path at the last second as he stared downwards, jerking to the side and stumbling.

“sh*t- Sorry,” he burst, heading jerking up-

Seonghwa gazed back at him, smiling cordially.

Hongjoong froze, more startled to recognize the face than anything else. “Oh,” he said, twisting the apron in his hand. “Hi. Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

Seonghwa’s smile grew- warm and glowing through his eyes. “In a hurry?” he asked. “Classes are over.”

“I was on my way to work,” Hongjoong said, gesturing over his shoulder, despite it not being the direction of his work. “Sorry, again, but I should go.”

He started backing away, hoping that Seonghwa didn’t decide to press charges for assault or something. Seonghwa wasn’t like that, though, right?

He seemed nice. His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes. Hongjoong still didn’t really understand him, though.

He smiled awkwardly, backing away and turning to continue walking on his way. Weird.

“Does your work start so soon after school?”

Hongjoong jumped, cursing as he realized Seonghwa was walking half a step behind him, arms behind his back curiously as he kept pace with Hongjoong.

Hongjoong frowned as Seonghwa tailed him in his dress shirt and slacks and messed hair and pretty face that had no business looking at Hongjoong.

Wasn’t Seonghwa usually on the other side of campus, though, in his car?

Hongjoong frowned deeper, Seonghwa lifting a curious eyebrow at his reaction.

“Were… Were you waiting for me?” Hongjoong asked at a risk of sounding self-centered, glancing back at the gate he had exited out of. There was no one else there. Seonghwa had just been standing outside the gate by himself.

And Hongjoong waited for the affronted scoff for assuming Seonghwa would ever pay that much attention to the scholarship student.

But Seonghwa’s lips merely turned up, as if amused. “Perhaps,” he answered obtusely.

Hongjoong froze where he was walking, Seonghwa stopping as well, still looking as if he was genuinely enjoying this conversation.

In Hongjoong’s mind, Seonghwa was pretty nice.

He hadn’t done anything for Hongjoong to think otherwise. And nothing about the boy was off-putting, and Hongjoong wasn’t creeped out by the behavior (he was sure rich people could do way worse).

But… if there was one thing that Hongjoong swore, it was that he would become no one’s toy.

“Why?” he asked, a little stiff.

Seonghwa shrugged, chuckling warmly. “Can’t you guess?” he questioned good naturedly. “I know you didn’t miss it in Professor Yang’s classroom.” It almost sounded like he was teasing Hongjoong playfully. Nudging him verbally with his elbow.

“Miss what?” Hongjoong demanded. “You checking me out?”

Hongjoong’s mom used to slap his mouth when he was younger because he was never one to be afraid to speak his mind. Usually, it made him sound like an asshole. But, among these upper classes, he was finding that it was the only language they understood.

Seonghwa shrugged with one shoulder. “Is it that hard to believe?”

He once again traced his eyes over Hongjoong’s face.

His gaze wasn’t sleazy. It wasn’t creepy or ogling Hongjoong- in fact, it was still gentle and warm, as if he were tempted to try to wine and dine Hongjoong.

Looking at him, Seonghwa seemed like nothing but a gentleman interested in getting to know Hongjoong better.

However, Hongjoong was not stupid.

He knew that no one of this class- much less the most f*cking popular person in this entire school filled with rich, gorgeous, willing participants- would ever be looking at Hongjoong like that.

Not while being serious.

“Thanks,” Hongjoong managed, beginning to walk again. “But I’m not interested,” he said firmly, waving goodbye.

Seonghwa continued to trail after him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Oh, God, do not turn it into one of those conversations.

Hongjoong shook his head sternly, glancing at Seonghwa who seemed genuinely perplexed by Hongjoong’s answer. “I’m flattered,” he said, choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was being genuine (despite the fact that it was impossible that he was), “but I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”

Seonghwa was still following him, and Hongjoong turned his gaze slightly sharper.

“Now, I really have to get to work-”

“Do the stars have to align for you to date?” Seonghwa chuckled innocently, walking alongside Hongjoong.

Hongjoong sucked in a breath as he turned sharply- the polite awkwardness falling away as his sharp eyes turned almost into a glare as he rounded on Seonghwa who stopped, looking startled.

“Look, I was trying to be nice,” Hongjoong snapped, crushing his apron in his grip. “But apparently you people can only understand one sort of language, so I’ll make sure you can understand me very clearly, Seonghwa-”

He glared, stepping closer, gritting his teeth.

“f*ck off,” he hissed pointedly, slowly. “I’m not interested.”

Seonghwa looked as if Hongjoong had physically struck him, but Hongjoong couldn’t feel bad as he turned, storming down the sidewalk quickly, not even glancing back until he rounded the corner.

He hid for a moment, glancing back. When no one followed, he peered back around the corner, and found nothing but empty sidewalk.

He huffed, rubbing at his face as he walked quicker towards his work, knowing he would likely be late after all that.

He jogged, wondering if he had been a little harsh… Nothing Seonghwa said had come across as cruel or taunting… Just as if Seonghwa genuinely couldn’t understand why there should ever be a point in someone’s lives where they were emotionally unavailable.

Which was probably another set of problems in and of itself, but Hongjoong would rather nip it in the bud, instead of leaving it to root around.

Aside from the fact that Hongjoong would have to be crazy to the highest degree to try and date someone of such a higher social status, he really didn’t plan on dating anyone, from any social circle.

Where would he find the damn time? His life was currently swallowed by school, homework, work, and precious sleep. He didn’t have time to set aside for emotional investment.

Certainly not with someone like the richest upper class that he happened to rub elbows with.

Seonghwa seemed nice, but it was very clear that his entire world view was colored too heavily by his status. Hongjoong wasn’t going to dedicate his precious time to trying to inform him of the obvious socio-economic differences between the two of them.

Hongjoong sprinted the last block to work, making it just in time to avoid a scolding as the girl on shift before him left with a pop of her bubble gum and not even a wave.

Hongjoong manned the counter, standing still and straightening the little stacks of notes and receipts.

Besides… Seonghwa was leagues above Hongjoong in everything. Money, status, popularity, looks- everything.

They hadn’t spoken before today, and no one else in the school could possibly know anything about Hongjoong, so Seonghwa probably knew less about Hongjoong than Hongjoong knew about Seonghwa.

Which meant that his apparent interest was either fueled by boredom and a desire to play with the newest toy on campus (Hongjoong’s blood boiled a little with that one), or he had seen Hongjoong in passing and merely attempting to start something physical.

Both of which were things Hongjoong wasn’t interested in, and wasn’t planning on going through.

He would not become these rich people’s plaything. Not in any aspect. He was here to learn and work- not play around.

If a few richies got butt-hurt in the process, then that was their problem.

Hongjoong had worked too hard to get here.

~~~~~~~~

The thing about these rich colleges, compared to a public college, was that everyone already knew everyone.

Whereas Hongjoong might struggle to remember the name of one person sitting next to him, every single person at SIU knew each other. Most of them had known each other since they were kids- brought together by parents and business partners.

So, it wasn’t startling, but it was weird to think that everyone Hongjoong saw knew everyone else Hongjoong saw.

He got to English early, since it was supposed to rain later and he didn’t want to get caught in it.

His bright orange windbreaker looked like a trash bag compared to everyone else in their designer rain gear and umbrellas, despite the fact they stepped out of their cars directly into a covered port, and never got touched with water.

So, Hongjoong was damp from the light rain, and he got to English early.

However, without the professor’s controlling power that came with the start of class, the students in the class were all crowded around the front- pressing in on the desk that held Yeosang (whom Hongjoong could not see through the crowd chattering).

“Yeosang!” he heard as he approached with his bag. “Did you really model for Vogue last summer? Isn’t that huge? What was it like? Were the other models nice?”

He couldn’t tell if it was the same person asking every question or a bunch of different ones, but Hongjoong also knew that those people were all blocking his desk.

He could just sit in another seat until they moved, but then they’d probably sue him for trying to dirty their desks. So, Hongjoong shouldered his bag and began to make his way between students.

“‘Scuse me,” he muttered as they parted at his gentle prodding, looking annoyed and then glaring when they realized who it was.

Hongjoong grit his teeth as he kept slipping by. “‘Scuse me- Excuse me, I need to get through-”

He made it all the way to his desk without anyone pulling a knife on him, but a girl sat in his seat, leaning on her knees and practically beaming at Yeosang.

Yeosang sat in his desk, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, looking utterly disinterested, as if he wasn’t hearing a thing the people said.

Why did they continue to talk, if he wasn’t listening? Hongjoong had to wonder, but it didn’t really matter to him.

He cleared his throat, tapping the girl gently on the shoulder. “Excuse me, that’s my seat. Could you please move?” he asked politely.

The girl glanced back, frowning, which then turned to a glare as she realized it was Hongjoong. Her perfectly lined brows drew down in annoyance. “Excuse me?” she demanded, straightening and looking ready to stand. “What did you just say to me?”

He saw Yeosang glance at him, but Hongjoong didn’t look anywhere but the girl in his desk, his expression calm. “I asked if you could please move. I need to sit in my seat.”

The crowd was staring at them.

Hongjoong would not be their toy.

The girl scoffed, looking shocked at his audacity. “Do you f*cking mind?” she asked sweetly. “We’re having a conversation here- Are you always so rude to people speaking?”

Don’t fire back, Hongjoong begged internally of himself. Just be nice. Don’t stoop to their level.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said evenly. “But I’d like to sit. And you’re in my seat.”

Her shock only grew as she turned in the seat, perfectly manicured nails looking ready to go for Hongjoong’s throat.

“Listen,” she said, a sneer taking her smooth, red lips. “I know that the lower class can’t afford manners, so I can’t hold it against you-”

Hongjoong pressed his lips together, one fist clenching at his side.

“-but let me explain something to you,” she continued bitterly. “If you ever… touch me… again… or speak to me,” she hissed. “I will have your bank account conveniently empty and full of so many overdraft fees, your grandchildren will be paying it!” She snapped, teeth practically bared like a cat.

You could just deck her, Hongjoong’s inner demon whispered.

Yes, and be expelled, the rational part of him snapped.

So, Hongjoong merely stared blankly at her, holding back all signs of indignation and rage. The crowd was twittering with oohs and aahs, thinking she had gotten him good.

“Would you rather I took your desk?” Hongjoong asked quietly, voice low. “That one?” He pointed to the middle row, halfway back. “Because I’m sitting down. Either in my seat, or in yours.”

She laughed. “You think-”

“You sure you want my lower class germs on it?” Hongjoong asked, tilting his head. “If I can’t afford manners, I probably can’t afford vaccinations, either. I’m probably teeming with diseases. Viruses. Bugs, even. I found a louse in my hair this morning-”

The girl leapt up, gagging as he covered her mouth, staring at the desk she had been sitting in, pale and sick.

“You- You’re disgusting!” she shrieked, everyone else in the class taking several steps away from Hongjoong with similar gasps and gags.

Hongjoong shrugged, still staring at her. “I think I’m about to sneeze,” he montoned.

She screamed, racing back down the aisle of desks until she pressed against the back wall, covering her mouth and looking like she very well might be sick. “You- You-”

She suddenly leapt over the desk, running towards the door.

“I have to wash my hands, oh my god, I’m going to throw up-” A handful of her friends ran after her.

The rest of the class continued to stare at Hongjoong in horror.

Hongjoong dropped his bag by his desk and sat down heavily, sighing in frustration as he pulled out his notebook, pointedly not looking at anyone who stared holes in his head.

He would not be their toy.

He started flipping through yesterday’s notes as the crowd dispersed, moving to the other side of the classroom to talk in their own quiet chatter- probably about him, but Hongjoong wasn’t paying attention.

Hongjoong did fall still, though, when a pen tapped his arm so gently, he would have missed it if his jacket were any thicker.

He peeked over through his fingers and found Yeosang looking at him- not quite turned towards him, but it was clear that it was Hongjoong he was trying to address. He almost turned away again, sure that Yeosang had no business talking to him, but Yeosang was looking at him.

“Can I borrow your notes from yesterday?” Yeosang asked- his voice shockingly quiet and deep- not at all like Hongjoong imagined. “I… left early.”

His expression was just as inexpressive as ever, but when he spoke it suddenly made him seem a lot more… genuine.

Hongjoong glanced over at the other half of the class, frowning. “Can’t you get it from one of your friends?” he asked, jerking his head.

Yeosang’s expression didn’t shift, which was unsettling. He simply stared with dark eyes. “I don’t want their notes,” he said simply, voice level and even. “I usually get them from the teacher, but I didn’t have time to, yesterday.”

“Why not their notes?” Hongjoong asked, just to be difficult. “I’m sure any one of them would die to give you theirs.”

Once again… maybe Hongjoong was being unfair, since none of this was Yeosang’s fault, but he was also someone who just sat there and let the things that happened to Hongjoong go on. He never said a word against them.

Yeosang’s expression finally shifted, turning almost annoyed. “Does it seem like any of them are watching anything but me during class?” he questioned, nearing exasperation.

Hongjoong might call the comment narcissistic, if it wasn’t so very true.

He sighed, flipping his pages in his book to yesterday’s notes and handing it over with a sigh. “Here,” he huffed, feeling Yeosang take it.

“Thanks,” he heard quietly, and then the sound of a phone shutter going off a few times. “Here.” The book was passed onto Hongjoong’s desk.

Hongjoong hummed, flipping back to the page he was on. “Don’t get used to it,” he said firmly. “I don’t let people copy my work.”

That wasn’t even because these people were rich- that had always been Hongjoong’s issue. Being the one to do the work while others begged to benefit from it.

Yeosang hummed quietly. “You’re quite bold.”

Hongjoong turned to him sharply, glaring angrily, but Yeosang seemed unbothered by it. “I call it ‘not taking sh*t’,” Hongjoong said sharply. “Do you have a problem with it?”

Yeosang shrugged, no longer facing Hongjoong, but staring at the photos on his phone. “Should I?”

“You said I was bold,” Hongjoong said angrily.

“Why do you assume it was an insult?” Yeosang asked, flipping his phone in his hand.

“I assume any person around here speaking to me is somehow insulting me,” Hongjoong muttered, feeling his stomach grow hot. “Why are you even talking to me?”

Yeosang was quiet for a moment, tilting his head as he stared at the dark screen of his phone. “I don’t think you’d understand, even if I told you,” he murmured almost wistfully.

Was he…

Was that some sort of jab at his intelligence?

Hongjoong sat up, turning fully to Yeosang. “What the f*ck do you mean by that?” he snapped.

“Hey!” a boy yelled from the back of class. “Don’t you talk to Yeosang like that, Scholarship!”

Hongjoong grit his teeth, still staring at Yeosang who wasn’t looking at him.

“What did you just say to him?” a girl snapped.

“Are you about to attack him?”

“Kids from the inner city are more than twice as likely to be violent. My father did a study-”

“Is the scholarship kid really about to try something?”

“Quiet!”

Everyone whipped around, the professor standing with a disapproving glare, his papers tucked under his arms. “All of you,” he snapped, “stop this yelling and take your seats!”

“Scholarship was trying to fight Yeosang!”

“I won’t have this sort of behavior,” he said firmly, striding to his desk, putting the papers down roughly. “Now, sit down before I inform your parents of this behavior!”

There was grumbling, but everyone found their seats.

Hongjoong’s blood burned as the professor stared at him in disapproval, gesturing for Hongjoong to come up.

Hongjoong stood, hearing how the kids around him snickered as he strode forward.

“Hongjoong,” Professor Noh said, voice obviously disapproving.

“I’m sorry,” he said before he could go any further, hanging his head. “It won’t happen again, sir. I’m sorry, I lost my temper.”

There was a short silence as the professor sighed. “Hongjoong, you’ve likely got a more promising future than most of the kid’s in here,” he said under his breath. “Don’t jeopardize it by getting punished for something stupid.”

Hongjoong swallowed a thick ball of shame. “Yes, sir,” he murmured, face burning as people began snickering.

He would not be their toy.

“This is your only warning,” he said regretfully. “Take your seat, now.”

Hongjoong nodded, not lifting his head the whole time until he made it back to his desk. He didn’t look at Yeosang. He didn’t lift his head the whole class period, his entire body burning with embarrassment and stares of his classmates.

He would not be their toy.

Hongjoong went through the rest of his day with his head down.

Until Design class. He felt too jittery to use his headphones, and so he could hear everything as he worked.

And he heard Jung Wooyoung and his friends talking.

“-serious,” one of them hissed. “My girlfriend’s in the class- he just yelled at Yeosang. Started cursing him out.”

Hongjoong forced his pencil not to stop, too scared to be seen as hearing them, but he felt his blood burn a little hotter. He hoped it didn’t show on his face.

“Who would yell at Yeosang?” another questioned. “He doesn’t do anything- What’s Scholarship’s problem?”

“Someone said he was going to get physical with him,” a girl hissed.

“That sounds really stupid,” Wooyoung’s voice finally came through, low and contemplative. “He’s here on scholarship- any sort of fight would get him either kicked off the scholarship or expelled. Why the hell would he risk it?”

“Are you saying my girlfriend lied to me?” the boy asked, sounding annoyed.

“No,” Wooyoung said firmly. “But it just doesn’t seem like it was as dramatic as people make it out to be. Besides, Yeosang can be a real bitch when he chooses to actually open his mouth.”

The sentence effectively broke the tension in the air, all of them bursting out into laughter.

“You’re the only one who knows that, Wooyoung,” the boy chuckled, slapping Wooyoung’s shoulder. “I swear, knowing what you know about him must be a surreal experience.”

“I bet Yeosang was cute when he was younger,” the girl sighed. “Was he cute, Wooyoung?”

“He’s always been cute,” Wooyoung snorted. “Which meant when he did something wrong, I always got blamed for it. My mom called me in the middle of the night to yell at me because Yeosang left his toys out. I wasn’t anywhere near him all day!”

It really wasn’t surprising that people knew each other. Business and all that.

But it was something very startling to think that someone like Yeosang and someone like Wooyoung might have known each other since they were kids.

Hongjoong nearly sobbed with relief when the class was dismissed, almost sprinting to his dorm room, not even bothering to glance at the crowd he knew would hold Seonghwa’s departure.

What a sh*t f*cking day.

He fell on his bed, refusing to cry about it, and simply breathing deeply into the covers. It always sucked being scolded by a teacher, but it sucked more because Hongjoong had, really, been in the wrong.

He wasn’t even sure that Yeosang meant it in a sh*tty way, but… But it just sucked.

Overall, this place wasn’t that bad. But it seemed like every now and then, these people just had to remind him that he was less than them. Worthless, compared to them.

Nothing but a shiny new toy they were tolerating the presence of.

Just as Hongjoong was about to drag himself out to begin his homework, his phone rang from his pocket.

Groaning, he started fishing it out, praying it wasn’t his mom because he didn’t think he could stand to lie about how sh*tty a day it had been. But he brought it out, glancing at the screen and groaning, shoving his face back into the blanket.

Tilting his head to breathe, he answered the phone, careful to keep any and all attitude out of his tone.

“Yes, Auntie?” he asked flatly.

“Ah, so he finally answers!” she said sarcastically, despite the fact this was the first time she had called in weeks. “So, what about that sum of money you kept promising me you were going to send back for your mother?” she demanded. “Or have you already forgotten about her, moving away to some fancy-”

Hongjoong hit end call, silenced his phone, and shoved his face back in his blanket.

If God were merciful, he’d make Hongjoong suffocate.

~~~~~~~

But Hongjoong was nothing if not resilient.

He went back to classes, didn’t look at anyone, ignored the people who glared at him, and went to work after classes.

(He checked around corners, searching for weirdly genuine popular students who didn’t understand the concept of being emotionally unavailable.)

Hongjoong actually liked his work, despite the longer hours that made him lose sleep. It didn’t pay much, but the longer hours made up for it, and it was easy work- restocking the convenience store shelves, greeting customers, ringing up items…

Most people who came in just wanted to get in and out, which was good, and most weren’t obnoxiously rude, so Hongjoong was grateful for it. Usually, he had plenty of time during his shift to study for any tests he had coming up.

It was a good deal.

So, he was studying English, running his finger down the new list of verbs, when he heard the shop bell tinkle.

“Good evening, welcome-”

Hongjoong stopped himself as his brain short circuited.

Seonghwa stood just inside- pristine silky beige button up looking so glaringly out of place among the grill food and packaged chips.

Seonghwa was here.

He smiled at Hongjoong, nodding in greeting.

Hongjoong’s tongue suddenly unstuck from the roof of his mouth. “Did you f*cking follow me to my work?” he demanded.

Seonghwa was walking down the chip aisle (the place was so small, Hongjoong could see everything), humming to himself.

“I did nothing so underhanded,” He said, frowning at Hongjoong like he couldn’t believe he’d think Seonghwa would do such a thing.

As if…. He genuinely couldn’t believe Hongjoong thought he would do that.

As if it had never crossed his mind to even consider following Hongjoong.

“Then how the hell did you know where I work?” he demanded. “I’ve worked here over a year- I know you’ve never come in here before.”

Seonghwa idly picked up a bag of chips, reading something on the back. “The store logo is in that apron you were carrying. I saw it while we were talking.”

“That’s just as bad!” Hongjoong snapped.

Seonghwa placed the snacks back, glancing over curiously. “Are you going to kick me out?”

“I’m going to call the f*cking cops, is what I’m going to do! That’s stalking!”

Seonghwa picked up a bottle of fruit water, reading it, too. “Is it stalking that I happen to show up once at a public space that you also happen to occupy?”

“When you admitted that you knew where I worked by an underhanded means? Yeah,” he snapped, but it lost some of its fire.

Hongjoong wasn’t actually going to call the police over something like this (he doubted someone like Seonghwa could ever be charged with anything, given his status), but it was annoying.

And truthfully, Hongjoong didn’t feel uncomfortable or in danger. He was just annoyed.

Seonghwa seemed harmless, he was just so painfully upper class. So oblivious to the feelings of people outside of his sphere.

“I didn’t use underhanded means, I just saw it on your uniform.”

“You should have asked!” Hongjoong pressed, glaring. “Even if you did find out another way.”

“Would you have told me if I had asked?” Seonghwa moved to the packaged meats, examining a cheese sausage on a stick.

“No! And you would have respected that, if you were a good person.”

Seonghwa paused his browsing, glancing up with a slight frown.

He looked so genuinely, warmly perplexed, as if Hongjoong had broken out into another language that Seonghwa wasn’t aware existed.

“You’re genuinely upset that I showed up,” Seonghwa said, as if this was just dawning on him.

Hongjoong couldn’t help it- he had to laugh as Seonghwa continued to frown, as if he might have some divine realization if he stared hard enough.

“What reaction did you think I would have?” Hongjoong demanded, crossing his arms.

He no longer sounded pissed, he just thought that for someone as perfect as Seonghwa, he was really f*cking oblivious.

“The last- and basically first- time I ever spoke to you, you were coming on to me,” Hongjoong spelled out for him, because rich people needed that. “I rejected those advances, and you didn’t leave me alone. Only after I basically threatened you, did you stop pushing. And then, only days after that interaction, you’re showing up at the place I work, for who knows what reason-”

Hongjoong took a breath.

Seonghwa continued to frown.

“-that’s the sort of sh*t that gets you thrown in the back of a trunk with some sort of drug in your system,” he snapped. “So, no, I’m not really delighted to see you, considering our brief history.”

He glared.

Seonghwa continued to frown.

The bell rang above the door, and Hongjoong looked away, greeting the customer, who simply grabbed a candy bar and brought it to the counter.

Hongjoong smiled, ignoring Seonghwa for the moment, asking how their day was going- the usual service spiel- and bid them a good day as they left.

Seonghwa had migrated back to the chip aisle.

Once the customer left, he glanced at Hongjoong who stared at him sharply.

Really and truly, Hongjoong didn’t think Seonghwa was being malicious. He was just an oblivious person who wasn’t used to dealing with people like Hongjoong.

But that didn’t mean Hongjoong was going to let him utilize that ignorance.

“Are you going to buy anything?” Hongjoong asked, much more level headed than before. “What are you looking for?”

Seonghwa stared down at the two bags in his hands of different flavored chips. “I’m… deciding,” he said, as if he were faced with a puzzle. “I’ve never had any of these. I don’t know what they taste like.”

Hongjoong didn’t know how the hell Seonghwa had never had snack chips before, but then he realized that Seonghwa must be used to eating kale chips or some rich sh*t like that.

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

Really, he couldn’t call Seonghwa a bad person. Just oblivious.

“What flavors do you like?” he asked tiredly. “Sweet? Salty? Spicy?”

Seonghwa looked startled by the question, but he shook his head. “I don’t like spicy things. Sweet is good, but I’m craving salty.”

“Put down the red ones,” Hongjoong sighed quietly, pointing. “They’re really sweet. The others are good, but my favorite are the green ones down there. If you like cheese, the orange one is really popular. There’s also a bulgogi flavored one. It doesn’t taste like it, but it’s a good savory flavor.”

Seonghwa stared at the shelf, placing back the red package and grabbing one of each of the ones Hongjoong had listed, carrying the armful up to the front.

Hongjoong was going to make a comment about him being hungry, but decided against it, ringing them up silently.

Seonghwa fished out his wallet, his expression oddly somber in their silence.

“Are you really afraid to wind up in the back of a trunk?” Seonghwa asked quietly, staring at the counter.

Hongjoong paused where he was scanning, glancing up with a frown. “By you?” he questioned.

Seonghwa shrugged. “In general. Is that something you think about?”

Hongjoong laughed- quick and sharp, making Seonghwa frown. “It’s something everyone thinks about. You never know what weird person at a bar is gonna be pissed that you rejected them. Or some person walking down the street decides you’re just pretty enough. Or someone who follows you to your workplace after you reject them… that’s the start of a f*cking horror film.”

He scanned the last bag, placing it in a little plastic bag with the others.

He frowned at Seonghwa, whose expression hadn’t shifted from quiet sobriety. “Is that not something rich people have to worry about?” he asked curiously. “You’ve never been walking around and thought that the person behind you was walking just a little too close?”

Seonghwa frowned slightly, shrugging almost in confusion. “Well, first of all, I rarely walk anyway-”

Because, of course.

“And second,” He continued, something in his face trying to lighten to mood, “if I’m being kidnapped, it’s going to be for another reason entirely.” He handed Hongjoong his card without waiting for the total.

Hongjoong swiped it, frowning. “Why would you be getting kidnapped?” He handed it back.

Seonghwa took it, pausing with a deeper frown of bewilderment. “Do you… At the risk of sounding extremely pretentious, but do you not know who my father is?” he asked gently.

Everything about Seonghwa was just so innocent and genuine, Hongjoong couldn’t believe he wasn’t speaking to a child.

“I don’t see you, at all,” he reminded Seonghwa. “And the only thing I know about anyone around SIU is through rumors. Why? Should I know who your father is?”

Truthfully, Hongjoong was too poor to know most of the brands and companies most of these people’s families were a part of. Even if Seonghwa did give his father’s name or title, he probably wouldn’t recognize it anyway.

But Seonghwa laughed. Something a little breathless, a little disbelieving… almost a little relieved. He stared at Hongjoong with eyes that were almost giddy.

“You really don’t know who my family is?” Seonghwa clarified, looking amused and delighted.

But Hongjoong didn’t feel like he was being mocked. It was almost like he had said something ridiculously funny without even realizing it.

“No?” he said, holding Seonghwa’s bags out with a co*cked eyebrow of confusion. “Why? Who is he?”

Seonghwa, though, shook his head, smiling quietly with bright eyes. “No,” he said quietly, taking the bags from Hongjoong’s loose grip. “No, I like it better that you don’t know.”

It felt like sharing a secret. Like Hongjoong was somehow special for not knowing.

Seonghwa looked like he was taking a breath of fresh air as he smiled at Hongjoong, bowing respectfully. “Thank you for your service,” he said, rising with eyes that sparkled with excitement. “And your chip recommendations.”

And then Seonghwa was walking away, pushing open the door and pausing, glancing back with a heavier smile. “Don’t worry,” he assured him. “I won’t bother you at work again.”

And then he was gone without Hongjoong having the coherency to say a single word.

Hongjoong didn’t know what the hell just happened. But he knew that it was weird beyond all comprehension. Was he still mad at Seonghwa?

Honestly, after that conversation… he almost felt bad for him.

Because it was clear that Seonghwa was missing half a f*cking world of information. Which, to be fair, so was Hongjoong.

They were a Venn Diagram that didn’t touch. Two circles standing next to each other.

Seonghwa’s circle was overlapping and swallowed up by the other circles of SIU.

Hongjoong’s still stood alone, never crossing with any of the other circles. But it felt like Seonghwa’s circle had momentarily slid alongside Hongjoong’s. Giving him a brief glance of Seonghwa’s world, and giving Seonghwa a brief glimpse of his.

If someone as rich as Seonghwa was getting kidnapped, it must be for money purposes, right?

Hongjoong’s phone felt heavy in his pocket for a moment, the urge to take it overwhelming for a minute.

Who was Seonghwa’s family? Surely a quick search of his name would tell Hongjoong. It would be that easy.

But why did Seonghwa look so delighted by Hongjoong not knowing? Why didn’t he tell Hongjoong? Why was it a good thing that Hongjoong not know? It couldn’t be anything bad, right? No one is SIU was part of the goddamn mafia or anything.

Hongjoong kept his phone in his pocket.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t look him up. But he didn’t. Because, yes, he could find out about Seonghwa’s family. But…it wasn’t right to use those underhanded means. Even if it was just coincidental that he see something about his family.

Good people… didn’t just take that sort of information when it had been previously denied to them.

~~~~~~~

Hongjoong left his last class and immediately got a call from his mom while strolling through the courtyard.

Which was concerning. Because he called his mom on the weekends, but it was only Friday, so why was she calling?

Hongjoong froze where he was walking, answering it quickly.

“Mom?” he asked before she could even get a word in. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Kim Hongjoong!” she yelled, making Hongjoong wince. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” she demanded. “You’re lucky I’m not down at that school right f*cking now- Do you know what I just received in the mail?”

Hongjoong’s stomach dropped as he tried to think of anything that might have come. Was it about the fight from before? No, no way a college would send that-

“A f*cking check!” she continued before Hongjoong could spiral further. “A f*cking check from you, written to me-”

Hongjoong nearly collapsed onto the sidewalk, one hand clutching his heart in relief. “Mom!” he snapped, stomping his foot angrily. “Don’t start calls like that! You gave me a heart attack! I thought something was wrong!”

“Something is very much wrong!” she snapped. “I told you I didn’t want you sending me money, Hongjoong- That’s your own money that you earned-”

“Yeah, and you raised me off of your own money that you earned,” Hongjoong rebutted with their age old argument.

“You’re my son!”

“And you’re my mom!” he said sharply, kicking at the sidewalk. “I’m serious, Mom- that’s only a little more than half of my paychecks. I still have plenty to live on. We discussed this- all of my bills are covered except for food-”

“I don’t need my son giving his hard earned money-”

“Yes, you do,” he returned, his voice dropping slightly. “Mom, you and I both know-” He hesitated, pressing his lips together. “Mom, I want to help,” he said, voice returning to its regular volume. “It’s not even that much money-”

“Which is why I want you to keep it,” she said firmly, but she, too, had stopped yelling. “Goddamn it, Hongjoong, I don’t want to be a failure-”

“Who the hell said anything about being a failure?” he demanded, head jerking up, wishing he was home. “Mom, you raised me alone,” he hissed. “On your own. With no one to help you in any way- That’s not failing. I want to help you, Mom. As a way to pay back everything you did-”

“You’re not supposed to pay it back,” she said, voice turning thick and Hongjoong could practically see her pressing a hand over her eyes like she did when she was stressed. “Hongjoong, you’re not supposed to have to pay back your mother…”

There was a long silence.

Hongjoong chewed his lips, staring at the ground and just wanting to be home. His mom… was alone, now. His aunt was right, there. She was actually alone now.

“I want to, Mom,” he said earnestly, quietly, squeezing the phone. “I really want to. I don’t need all that money. Just… Just take it for now, okay? Let me send you some every now and then. I promise I’m keeping enough for myself, but…. I’ve got my expenses covered. You don’t.”

Another long silence, and he heard a frustrated sigh on her side as Hongjoong waited. It didn’t matter- he’d send it anyway, but it would make him feel a lot better about it if she did take it.

He wanted to help.

He wanted to pay back the most amazing woman he’d ever known.

Another long sigh. “I hate that I raised such a kind child,” she murmured, voice wet. “How are you so kind, but so foul mouthed?”

Hongjoong laughed, feeling like he might cry as he kicked at the ground. “I learn from the best, Mom.”

“I was never that vulgar around you!”

“When my dad was brought up?” he snorted. “Yes, you were. I learned to love and care for everyone, but take no sh*t, Mom. Isn’t that the lesson you wanted me to have?”

She chuckled, which lifted Hongjoong’s spirits a f*cking lot. “You’re impossible,” she sighed.

Another long silence as Hongjoong smiled brightly.

“When’s your next break?” she asked hesitantly, despite the fact that they both knew exactly when it was.

“Christmas,” he said quietly. “It’s still a few months, Mom.”

“I know,” she said heavily. “I know, I just… I miss my baby.”

Hongjoong scoffed. “You can’t call me a baby when I’m taller than you.”

“By two centimeters.”

“Mom!”

She laughed, for real this time, echoing in the phone as Hongjoong huffed. “I love you, sweetheart,” she said through laughter. “I love you, but I should go. I have an appointment.”

Hongjoong didn’t want her to go. But he nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

“Love you, baby.”

His lips trembled slightly. “Love you, too, Mom…”

The line went dead as he hung up. Hongjoong lowered his phone. He sighed, straightening and fixing his bag on his back.

He happened to glance behind him. And what had previous been an empty courtyard now showed Choi San standing a few feet away, staring at Hongjoong with an uninterpretable expression.

San stared directly at Hongjoong, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack. His jaw was tense.

Hongjoong stiffened. Was he listening in on their conversation? His eyes darkened as he glared at the boy who was clearly too close to be passing by.

San seemed unremorseful of the fact he had been eavesdropping.

“Did you hear everything you wanted to?” Hongjoong snapped, fixing his bag and storming off.

Choi San didn’t move, but Hongjoong was pretty sure this was the first time he’d ever seen the boy not smiling and laughing.

~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong was doing homework during lunch. It was annoying without a table to work with, but he would never risk his precious solitude by going over where people actually sat.

He flipped through his book, finding the reference he needed, but he kept glancing around.

It felt like someone was watching him. And Hongjoong had gotten quite good at knowing when people were staring at him. He felt the way his skin prickled. But he didn’t see anyone around him.

He glanced up the final time, glaring, ready to see if someone was hiding in the stupid bushes, but then he looked a little farther than his immediate vicinity, going to stare at the picnic tables along the building.

He saw Choi San sitting beside Jongho, talking to him. Staring directly at Hongjoong.

He lowered his eyes as soon as Hongjoong glanced up, speaking to Jongho and glancing back at Hongjoong until Jongho also glanced at him.

Hongjoong stared pointedly, resisting the urge to get up and confront them. He couldn’t risk another fight, but were they seriously just going to stare at him?

They continued to act as if they hadn’t been looking, but Hongjoong didn’t glance away. Finally, San lifted his eyes, staring directly at Hongjoong, and this time, San remained staring.

For the second time, he wasn’t smiling.

Hongjoong slammed his book shut, grabbing his bag and standing, glaring very obviously at them before storming away, going to find somewhere else.

He would not be their toy. He would not perform for them.

Hongjoong had work that evening. It was a late shift- one that he didn’t take often. Usually, he only worked until 10, but because someone had called out sick, so he took their shift to work until 2.

So, he stood during the dead hours of the morning where no one came in, but one drunk man who wanted a bag of gummies. He stared off into space, too tired to try and study more. He just wanted to sleep. And he knew classes were bound to be hell to stay awake in tomorrow.

Hongjoong was practically falling asleep, the clock just barely past midnight when the bell above the door tinkled.

He sat up quickly, jerking awake as he rubbed at his eyes. “Welcome,” he managed through the exhaustion in his throat.

“Oh.”

Hongjoong lowered his hands, and found Seonghwa staring at him in surprise.

Hongjoong stared for several seconds longer than necessary, trying to figure out what was wrong with this picture.

And then he frowned. “You said you wouldn’t come back.”

And maybe it was the sleepiness talking, but Hongjoong didn’t find himself annoyed. He just wanted to remind Seonghwa that he had, in fact, told Hongjoong he wouldn’t be coming back.

Seonghwa winced. “Well, you never work past 10, so I didn’t think you’d be here-”

“Why do you know my work schedule?” Hongjoong groaned, placing his face in his hands, running fingers through his hair in exhaustion.

He wasn’t even annoyed. He was just really f*cking tired. And Seonghwa was here.

Seonghwa merely shrugged. “I just noticed that you were never here when I drove by near midnight-”

“Were you stalking my work?” Hongjoong sighed, wondering why he was bothering to ask.

“Your work,” Seonghwa assured him, nodding. “Not you.”

Oh, that was much better. Hongjoong laughed dryly.

“I was honoring my promise,” Seonghwa said firmly, eyes tight with honesty. “I…” He glanced away almost bashfully. “I… really liked those chips you recommended. I wanted to get some more. But I planned to come when I thought you wouldn’t be here,” he excused quickly.

Hongjoong’s fingers tapped the counter lightly as he stared.

And then he snorted, covering his face with one hand as Seonghwa looked startled. “Seriously?” he demanded, voice shaking with laughter. “Seriously? Why not just go to another store?”

“I didn’t recognize any of the bags and I couldn’t remember the name…”

“They’re probably different brands,” Hongjoong sighed, feeling like sleep deprivation was making him a little manic as he practically giggled. “Same chip, different look.”

Seonghwa blinked. “Oh. I didn’t realize…” He wet his lips, glancing away. “I- I’ll be going then-”

God, the more that Hongjoong spoke to him, the more he just felt bad for the guy.

“Stop,” Hongjoong sighed, bowing his head to rub through his hair. Seonghwa turned quickly. He gestured him back over. “My manager will kill me if I kick out a customer for nothing,” he told him. “Get your chips and anything else you wanted.”

Seonghwa hesitated, expression conflicted as he glanced back at the door. “But I make you uncomfortable,” he said, like an alien repeating an answer he had been told was right.

Hongjoong was too tired for this, groaning long and hard as he let his head hit the counter. He then hit it again just for good measure, trying to clear his foggy brain.

He sat up slowly, his head smarting as he rubbed at it. Seonghwa looked like Hongjoong had just performed a tribal ritual.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Hongjoong said evenly, staring at Seonghwa with a little more amusem*nt than annoyance. “I just need you to understand that some of the things you’re doing are questionable.”

“Questionable enough to make you uncomfortable,” Seonghwa filled in.

“No,” Hongjoong replied easily, shaking his head with a quiet sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry I was rude before-” He paused. “Not the bit where I told you to f*ck off,” he amended. “I meant that one. But, the last time you came in… You’re weird, Seonghwa, but I don’t think you plan to stuff me in a trunk.”

“Weird,” Seonghwa gaped, perfectly sculpted brows rising in shock.

Hongjoong snorted, shaking his head. “You missed the point, but good job listening,” he chuckled. “Seriously, just get your chips or whatever you came for.”

Seonghwa still hesitated, and if nothing else, Hongjoong felt a little better knowing that Seonghwa actually would have left, thinking that Hongjoong was uncomfortable.

Again, not a bad person, it seemed. Just painfully from another world.

And honestly… it almost felt like trying to teach a kid. Hongjoong had babysat through high school for a while. Like trying to teach the kid that certain things were right and wrong.

In a child’s mind, it was perfectly fine to hit another kid simply for annoying them. Hongjoong had had to explain why- in the world outside of your own- you had to take other people into account, even if you didn’t understand why it was exactly wrong to do so.

Seonghwa wasn’t going around hitting people, but he was viewing the world through a child’s eyes: I followed this person to their work because I wanted to talk to them. Why is that bad? I was curious, so I followed them.

And here, Hongjoong was trying to explain to this grown person that outside of Seonghwa’s own curiosity there were feelings and dangers that people would associate with that, regardless of his intent.

Seonghwa grabbed only half of his previous haul- the red and green bag- but then turned to Hongjoong, looking apologetic to speak to him. “Do you have recommendations… for something sweet? A dessert?”

Dear God, he was like a child.

Hongjoong, however, sighed quietly. “Gummies or chocolates? What flavor?”

Seonghwa glanced around for a moment before looking at Hongjoong directly. “Strawberry,” he answered with such conviction, Hongjoong laughed again.

It wasn’t that serious, but Seonghwa was treating convenience store shopping as a battlefield.

Hongjoong pointed. “We have strawberry milk back there, and strawberry creme rolls in the aisle over. I think the next aisle has some strawberry gummies, and across from them should be fresh strawberries.”

Seonghwa grabbed one of each.

This time, Hongjoong chuckled as he placed them all on the counter. “Do you actually eat all this stuff?” he asked as he rang them through.

Seonghwa looked startled by the sudden addressment, but nodded. “I didn’t actually plan on buying anything the first time I came in here. I always figured convenience stores were rather… dirty.” He winced. “But then the packaging looked intriguing… The chips were… very good. Now, I’m curious about what I’m missing out on.”

He glanced around the convenience store as if seeing a world of possibilities.

Hongjoong hummed. “Well, it’s a bit of an acquired taste, but you haven’t lived until you’ve had the bingsu from across the street.” He nodded out the window.

Seonghwa turned curiously. “Do they have strawberry?”

Hongjoong chuckled, lips kicking up. “Yeah, they do. My mom used to get a mix of strawberry and blueberry. I always thought it was too sour, but she ate the whole thing everytime.”

Once more, Seonghwa handed over his card without hearing the total. He stared at Hongjoong as he swiped it, his face holding a curious light, as if Hongjoong was a slowly sharpening image that he still couldn’t quite make out.

“Why… are you sometimes nice… and sometimes not?” Seonghwa asked gently, his voice so genuinely curious.

Hongjoong paused where he was gathering the bags, frowning slightly as he glanced at Seonghwa who stood still and stiff… like a statue.

Hongjoong’s first instinct was to get defensive. But he just sighed, taking the bags and sitting them on the counter.

“Listen,” Hongjoong said quietly, feeling as if he teaching a child once more. “I’m here for one reason,” he said clearly. “I worked my ass off and almost put my family in debt to get here. I’m here to graduate with a degree that means something, and I can only do that if I make it through this place without failing or getting eaten alive.”

Seonghwa was still staring blankly, processing each word from Hongjoong.

Hongjoong huffed, running a hand through his forehead. “Look, I’m not stupid,” he said bluntly. “I’m lower than you guys in every way. But I’m not here to make friends, and I never expected to. Not after I saw how these people saw me.” His expression darkened. “I’m nothing but a toy to half these people. Either a toy to laugh at or a piece of garbage that stuck to the bottom of their shoes.”

Seonghwa’s lips pressed together gently as his brow pulled down ever so slightly.

Hongjoong pushed the bags forward. “I’m at a disadvantage here in every way,” he said quietly. “And I’m not going to let people think that means they can walk over me. I worked too hard to earn a place they were handed. So, when someone enters into my space in the wrong way, I’m not going to just let them invade it.”

“Did I… invade your space?” Seonghwa asked carefully.

“In ways,” Hongjoong said, nodding. “First of all, you followed me, but we addressed that. Before that, though, you asked me out and then kept pushing, even when I said no.”

“I wasn’t meaning to pressure you,” Seonghwa said quickly. “I was genuinely curious about what you were talking about-”

“Yeah, I got it,” Hongjoong said, waving a hand. “Someone like you would have never been rejected ever in their lives, but where I’m from- if someone doesn’t take the first ‘no’ as gospel, you have to start defending yourself.”

“Or the trunk.”

Jesus Christ.

“Yes, Seonghwa,” said flatly. “Or you get the trunk.” He sighed quietly. “I don’t hate any of you people. But I know that- and I’ve realized even more after speaking with you- that even without meaning to, you people are always going to see me as something to pass the time, and nothing more.”

“A-After speaking to me?” Seonghwa demanded, frowning. “When? When did I treat you as something to pass the time?”

Hongjoong saw nothing but clear confusion in his eyes, startled by how his actions might have been interpreted. “Well, first, you asked me out,” Hongjoong scoffed, smirking as he shook his head.

“How is that trying to pass the time?” Seonghwa asked in innocent bewilderment.

Hongjoong snorted, gesturing between the two of them. “Look at us, Seonghwa, and tell me I should assume anyone like you would ever associate with someone like me outside of trying to play around because they’re bored.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened as his mouth fell agape. “I- I didn’t-”

“The power imbalance here is too great, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said firmly. “There is absolutely no legitimate reason for someone like you to actually want something with commitment with me. I’m poorer than you, nowhere near as handsome, less popular, less influential- you have nothing to gain by being with me. Therefore, the only thing you could possibly gain is entertainment. Which I refuse to provide. That’s not what I’m here for.”

Hongjoong kept his voice level as he pushed the bags towards Seonghwa, urging him to take them. Seonghwa’s hands caught them as he continued to stare in blatant shock.

“I- I would never-” He stared at Hongjoong, mouth flapping.

Hongjoong waited and stared.

“That wasn’t why I asked you!” Seonghwa finally managed to burst. “Do you only believe in relationships where both parties are mutually beneficial?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong said firmly, eyes narrowing. “Because otherwise it’s not a relationship, it’s a parasite leaching off another, or it’s a predator playing with their food for a while.”

“That wasn’t what I was intending,” Seonghwa said firmly, squeezing the bags tightly in determination.

Hongjoong pressed his lips together.

Once again… not a bag guy. Just really clueless.

“The reasoning doesn’t matter,” Hongjoong said slowly. “I gave you my answer.”

“An answer made on false assumptions,” Seonghwa pressed. “Is that fair-”

“Why don’t you want me to know who your father is?” Hongjoong broke in, arms crossing over his chest. Seonghwa’s mouth clicked shut, looking nervous.

“Did… did you look him up?” Seonghwa asked slowly, staring at Hongjoong as if he had suddenly pulled a weapon.

“No,” Hongjoong said flatly. “Because you didn’t give me permission to. Which is the right thing to do when someone refuses you information.”

“What does that have to do with what we were talking about?” Seonghwa pressed helplessly.

“Your decision to want to date me is not based on anything but surface appearances and assumptions,” Hongjoong said lowly. “I know nothing about you, and you know nothing about me. You actively do not want me to know certain things about you,” he pointed out.

Seonghwa flinched.

“You based your desire off of what you saw of me- which, given that my appearance is the only thing you could possibly know…” He huffed. “That alone means that you can’t possibly be looking for something deeper than a satisfaction to whatever part of me you found most attractive.”

“That’s not-”

Hongjoong thrust the receipt at him. “Have a good night, sir.”

Once more, there was no anger there. Just finality. Hongjoong was finished with this conversation. He couldn’t explain something like this to Seonghwa. They were just too different.

Seonghwa looked ready to protest, to rebut with something, to continue fighting… but his shoulders fell in surrender as he took the little paper with a quiet expression.

“Thank you for your service,” he said quietly without another argument, bowing and turning and exiting the shop.

His head was low. Something almost like regret weighing his shoulders.

Hongjoong watched him go, stomach unsettled and sick.

Hongjoong felt a lot more awake than before, but somehow he wanted to sleep more than ever.