The Lost Sense

Première

Low voices spread like signal waves around the large university stair-type classroom. Words from the epicenter flew around the vaulted room, such asphysiotherapy, alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma, vascularized composite allotransplantation, 1916 Polio outbreak, Per Henrik Ling.

The sounds of like tap dancing men coined on the alternatively arranged burnished wooden boards, mixture of wood, cement, paint and plastic ivies. Large framed science charts and element tables cluttered everywhere, with shelves on walls, it was a library and classroom at one. Tall permanent windows and soft curtains were motionless, made the silence more severe; the seriousness of the environment completely becomes unbearable.

Students are ridiculously aligned in three rows, where at the first is the few students who really wanted to listen to the professor, next is those who never hesitates to bring their Biology 101 notebooks, and the last is where those who know the subjects well, and would rather sleep in their long tables or listen to the professor half-mindedly—neutral parties if you’d say.

“Hey.” A husky voice collared Suho’s neck, who was busily taking down every little word the professor dictates. His hands were shaking badly as he was non-stop writing throughout a straight line of two deadly hours. Professors came in like they were just switching faces, and a thirty-minute break doesn't really break any bones.

He replies with a hum, yet the persistence went on. “Hey, Junmyeon-hyung.”

Suho drops his pen at the top corner of the paper after landing a period on the last tail of the sentence. He removed the pressure between the material and the desk, and awfully played with the muscles of his eyes, fighting off his mental drought. He buried his exhausted face on his warm hands, followed by throwing of his back flat at his chair.

“I’m glad you made me conscious.” Suho greeted his seatmate as he looks at him, eyes as old-looking as the corner details of the ceiling, and simpers his stress away at him.

“I’m Chanyeol.” Chanyeol introduced himself in a lower voice noticing that the professor started moving in two repeating directions, proffering his hand at a level of almost touching the floor.

Suho winkled his memory to remember the familiar face in his mind, but found himself mentally scratching his brain. Even though, Suho reaches for the other’s and made a shake. He drops his head down after on the desk, lying between his two flat arms.

"Isn't this gonna end earlier? We still have 8 hours of this mayhem." Suho uttered then pouted, with his eyes half closed, seeing only the nose and the mouth of the younger one.

They both propped their chins and listened for a few seconds, as it was the same sound that they didn’t want to hear.

Chanyeol leaned closer to Suho, ignoring his forethoughts and pursed his lips in to his ears, almost funny. "I've seen you walk by a street at Dongchoeng-dong, is it possible you live close by?"