MVV | YG [✔]

02. Yeonjun

Fragile was stamped across Beomgyu's body, the letters bold and painted in red. His anxiety was palpable enough that I could taste it against my lips and feel it quiver on the tips of my fingers. It made this pea-sized room feel even smaller, and Beomgyu looked as though he was drowning in his own uncertainty.

His eyes were hidden behind a mop of curly black hair, but through those locks, I saw the way they darted from wall to wall, looking for an escape. Slim, pale fingers were knotted together, and they tugged anxiously at the denim that covered his legs.

He appeared much younger than his nineteen years, and nothing like the label his fellow students had christened him with.

Vicious.

It'd been scrawled across his file in various degrees, penned between the margins of his tragic story. I questioned which lines were true and which ones were falsified for the sake of the school's reputation.

Beomgyu couldn't stop staring at it, and something in his wide gaze told me he wondered the same thing.

His eyes were big, almost too big for his face. Long lashes swept the tops of his cheeks when he squeezed them shut, and it was several moments before he opened them again.

Color had seeped from his already pale skin. His lips were cracked, and they quivered when he ran his tongue across them in worry. He was a delicate thing, glass-blown and fragile. I worried if I blinked too hard or breathed too heavily, he'd shatter at my feet.

The thought was a kick to the gut, so strong and unexpected it left me breathless.

Beomgyu made a meek sound, one that only intensified my abrupt compulsion to wrap him in safety.

It was... unsettling.

I'd been a psychologist for nearly a decade, and though I'd always possessed a certain degree of care for my patients, I'd never felt captivated by one like I did Beomgyu. Perhaps it was his mystery or all the lies he seemed to be tangled in. Fact and fiction weren't synonymous, but in regards to Beomgyu's file, I couldn't tell which was which.

The door burst open with a loud creak, and Beomgyu nearly crawled from his skin. Headmaster Choi Haesoo stood on the threshold, his oversized shadow eating half of the room. I recognized him from the portrait hanging in the foyer. His smile then was just as phony as it was now.

"Headmaster." I stood. "How can I help you?"

He clasped his hands in front of him, eyes thin as they pointed in the direction of his son and then back to me. "May I speak with you privately for a moment?"

"Certainly."

I glanced at Beomgyu as I rounded my desk, noting his stillness, and that he hadn't so much as twitched since his father stepped into the room.

I followed him into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a soft click. "What can I do for you, sir?"

He thrust his hand at my chest, and I noticed the thick gold rings he had wrapped around each of his fingers. "I'd like to introduce myself. I'm sorry I couldn't be present at your interview but the board had wonderful things to say about you."

I returned his handshake. "Thank you."

"I'd apologize for the abrupt timeline but chaos has become a rather pertinent part of Cheongdam's brand."

"It's not a problem."

Ten days separated the day I'd gotten the job and the start of the new semester. The thick of the transition occurred just after Christmas, and I'd fallen under the impression that Cheongdam always operated at a breakneck speed.