𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄•𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍

[Log 0-1] - Fortrose Dormitory

"Jung Wooyoung," the principal said, eyeing the boy. "If we are to accept you, you must show utmost respect and be on your best behaviour, we have a reputation to uphold."

Wooyoung fought the urge to roll his eyes. If upholding one's reputation meant expelling kids for being themselves and not going through transitional therapy, then his old school must've been in high regard.

"Of course, sir." Wooyoung forced a smile.

The principal placed the folder with the younger's documents in it on the table and sighed. "Right, boy. Let's get you a dorm."

As Wooyoung awaited the arrival of the head boy, his fingers instinctively reached up to fiddle with his sleek, black hair, a subtle gesture born out of both habit and a touch of self-confidence. The strands slipped through his fingertips, their wispy texture offering a momentary distraction from the swirling thoughts in his mind.

Wooyoung's ebony locks framed his face, falling just above his eyebrows, gently grazing his cheekbones. The midnight hue accentuated the sharp angles of his features, lending him an air of mischievousness. Wooyoung's hair, styled yet effortlessly tousled, seemed to mirror his erratic and vibrant personality.

"Geez where is he?" he mumbled, getting annoyed. He felt tempted to pull out his phone, which he knew was not allowed here. He'd hidden it in the lining of his blazer. He occasionally glanced around, taking in the sights and sounds of his new surroundings. It buzzed with activity, voices echoing and lockers clanging in the background. 

"Hello, Wooyoung?" A voice asked after him. Wooyoung's stomach did a flip at the sight above him. Clad in a neatly fitted uniform, the boy conveyed a sense of discipline and responsibility, the badge on his lapel gleaming with importance, he stood tall with a wide build, broad shoulders, and a face he could've sworn only existed in his dreams.

Every aspect of his appearance reflected a sense of order and meticulousness. His hair was neatly styled, perfected, and coiffed without a strand out of place. These jet-black locks accented his chiselled features, enhancing the aura of authority he exuded, only making Wooyoung more nervous. 

"Come with me," the taller instructed, gesturing towards the long wooden corridor. And the head boy's sharp and observant gaze didn't help his situation either.

Hangeuk School for Privileged Boys was an extraordinary complex. With old red brick buildings, massive oak floors and mahogany desks, it would've been the life of luxury for some schoolboy back in the 1980s. 

The bricks, weathered and worn, seemed to breathe with history. Some subtle cracks and mossy accents here and there, but they added character and unlikely charm to the facade. The imposing entrance, framed by an arched doorway, made Wooyoung hate this charm. It reigned supreme over him in an indignant way, he felt tiny as he stared at it. The longer he looked, the more he loathed. 

It was known for its strict routine, traditional teaching manner, and dated architecture. Wooyoung was forced to transfer here after a falling out at his last school.

Gangnam Christian School. It was both a boys' and a girls' school. Despite being a religious-run school, a shit tonne of ungodly stuff happened there.

Girls got pregnant. Kids got beat up every day, and the teachers. They were the worst part. This school, too, was run traditionally, but for the sake of Christianity, they only ever bothered to have students pray twice a day and a pastor go around and bless each class.

Not many who attended actually practised the religion. Often, many were afraid of doing so because of possibly slipping up. If you were caught worshipping improperly, you were labelled a sinner and sentenced to the worst punishment possible.