pretty boy | taekook

jeon jeongguk

chapter two ;; jeon jeongguk
jeongguk's perspective
°☆.。.:*・°☆

I considered today to be my lazy day, as in Monday. I was too tired from not getting enough sleep last night (go figure). Figure hunched over and carrying a twenty-pound backpack, I trudge through the hallway along with the rest of the crowd. Other people are much more energetic than I am, but that's how it usually goes.

Earbuds remain jammed in my ears to some calming melodic tune. Crowds have never been my thing. Too much chaos and not enough pristine order. Too much sound and not enough voice in me to yell shut up. Though I'm a respectful person and it's not all up to my ideals. If someone wants to be extremely loud and annoying, so be it, I just won't take my time to outwardly acknowledge it.

A shoulder bangs into mine, small body lurching forward at the forceful impact. Arms extending out on instinct to cushion the fall, I never reach the ground. For once I kept my clumsy balance, but whoever slammed into me sure doesn't seem to care. It's a boy. I can tell that it is. Only boys can posses such a force while running.

As the boy zooms past me, brown and green hair springing about, his body quickly flicks to look at me, "Sorry." His voice projects haphazardly before turning back around and running again.

I walk to my over-crowded locker in the middle of the hallway, inwardly frowning at the people I have to push through in order to get to it. That is, until someone wraps their arm around my shoulders, bringing me extremely close, "Greetings Jeongguk!" His voice rings familiar and confident.

"Hi Jimin." I quietly respond and glance over at the boy who's large cheeks turn his eyes into crescents.

"Here, I got this." Jimin says, letting go of the tight grip around my tiny frame, "Everyone, back up." Jimin loudly expresses, putting his arms out so the large group divides into two, "Precious cargo coming through." He adds at the end, turning back, "See? Easy."

"Thanks." Trailing through the almost clear path to my locker, I mumble.

"No problem," Jimin beams once more, "I'll see you later, okay?" Before I can respond, he's running off. Jimin's been this way since playground years, running to other places all he could.

Jimin was the only one to give effort towards my existence back then. That fact remains true till this day and is shyly coaxed into the chest.

----

A blue sticky note hangs from my four fingers, the sticky edge clinging onto the skin as my arms swing about. All they gave me was a class number when explains I'd been transfered, no heads up or sense of direction. I'm guessing that they expected me to know the numbers by heart. The thing that frightened me the most is the fact my sticky note is blue. Blue is the locker color down where the Seniors are. It could've been a coincidence I'm sure, but I can't help but become even more nervous from the possibility.

Looking down at the number once more, I know that I'm in deep shit now. I roll my eyes in defeat while biting down on my lower lip. It reads 'Room Number #125', which only confirms my assumption before. Each grade class numbers start with different ones, ranging from nine to twelve. Mine starts with twelve, meaning that I need to head straight for the Senior hall.

Most people would tell me that I'm okay and the eldest groups don't really bother the young because they're too focussed on going to college or whatever. Personally, I find that to be a bunch of bullshit. Of course they focus on the younger people. I even focus on the people younger than me. It's just human nature to compare yourselves to them, snickering at their foolish behavior. I knew exactly what I had to prepare for, and my mind could only assume the worst.