Hatred - 2Min/Minmin

24

SEUNGMIN:

Seungmin woke up with a bitch of a headache. This was the closest he had felt to death. He spent the morning vomiting, grunting and moaning, dehydrated like a century old granny.

He was rolling on the floor, the cold mosaic calming him down when the Jaundice boy walken in. He made Seungmin side on the bed, marshalled his gang, none of whom seemed hungover, and they had nursed him back to normalcy.

"Are you coming for the class?" asked Jeongin.

"I will decide," said Seungmin. Lazily, he looked over the times. It was Wonpil's class. He dragged himself out of the bed and washed his face. He owned Wonpil an apology for the last night.

He had been pain in the ass, he remembered, begging him not to drop to college, to go on a long drive. He remembered Wonpil talking to a policeman, playing his professor card and wriggling out of the situation.

He was fifteen minutes late for the class and Wonpil still wasn't there. The moment he walked in and took his seat, he sensed the class shift in their places, their voices lowering to a murmur.

He could feel the stare of his classmates, and heard stray sentencces with his name and Wonpil's. And that's when he knew what it was all about. He remembered those moments faintly when he had walked through the college gate with Wonpil the night before, leaning on him because his steps were unsteady and he was seeing things in triplicates.

He had thought the college was deserted and sure no one saw them. But he also knew it took only one person to concoct a rumour and make it spread like wildfire.

"Did you see this?" Jeongin came up and fired up  a video on his cell phone. It was Seungmin and Wonpil stumbling through the corridors.

"People are saying you seduced him to get a spot on his research team."

"Are they blind? Wonpil would get seduced by me? Fucking retards."

Despite knowing the truth, his eyes welled up. Everything intensified in his head. Despite his talent, the years of hard work , he would never be able to live this down.

His options were clear—to wait fir things to settle down or to clear it out. The first was a defensive move and Seungmin didn't play defensive. He reminded himself of the twenty-three trophies he has won in debates in the last decade, shredding his opposition to pieces, making them crawl on to his side and he felt the anger rise and gust through his veins. He saw Minho sitting on the last bench, feet propped up, without a care in the world.

The tears were gone. Seungmin's split personality took over. Like a manic werewolf he tore through his sobs and bared his canines. He walked to the teacher's table and wrote on bold letters on the Blackboard and underlined it—PROF WONPIL IS HOT.

He sat on the teacher's table. He often leaned over the podium to how relaxed he was. He had ten simple rules. He pointed at what was written on the board.

Debating Rule No. 1: Start with a fact and  hook your audience with a question.

"Let's not pretend otherwise right? He's hot. And let's start the conversation with a fact. Nothing happened between me and Wonpil, and I regret it. Let me tell you why."