Head Down

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Walking into school on your first day with a boy latched onto your body when you yourself are a boy isn't the best way to make a good first impression, Mark learns. Especially in this town.

It's awfully stupid, and he wants to kick anyone who sends a dirty glance Jaemin's way, but he bites the inside of his cheek and keeps calm. Although it might've not been the most impressionable, Mark doesn't care and let's Jaemin cling onto him, as it seems like the other isn't too bothered either. He guesses there's that factor to like about Jaemin, you know, something which isn't based off of how beautiful he is.

Jaemin ignores the stares given and words spoken, instead leading them both to the main office. How Jaemin knows where it is is beyond Mark, and he won't admit it, but he's a bit disheartened when he finds out that he and Jaemin have different first period classes. Their second and fourth are the same, so they can leave school together, and maybe if Mark's lucky he can steal Jaemin for lunch, but that was about all the time they'd get together. Mark doesn't know why it bothers him so much. It's probably because Jaemin is the only thing Mark can stand in this godforsaken town with a population of 5,937.

Nonetheless, Mark finds himself walking out of the office alone after Jaemin promises to find him during the lunch hour. He makes his way down the halls of the school and finds his classroom. He stands outside of the doors for a minute or two, letting himself breathe before letting the fact that he's about to step into a classroom, with people who he knows he'll one hundred percent despise, and introduce himself as the boy who moved from Vancouver. Mark thinks it's kind of stupid how nervous he is, but then again, Mark Lee isn't Mark Lee unless he has some stupid kind of quark.

Taking one deep breath, Mark knocks on the door and hears the chatter instantly die on the other side. He gulps his nerves down and hopes they don't come back up when the teacher, a young-ish looking woman, opens the door. Her smile is bright, and since she's a teacher in a town with a population of 5,937, Mark knows her smile is sincere. He wasn't used to that in Vancouver, but he'd be lying if he said the smile is comforting. It's more nerve wracking if anything.

Mark and the teacher exchange some casualties and formalities, her name is Ms. Song, before Mark enters the classroom. Instantly, everyone's attention is on him and Mark feels his skin get prickly. It's uncomfortable, especially with the killer gazes of some of the people who recognize him from the halls with Jaemin.  Others are just gawking at him, as if they'd never seen someone who wasn't from their town. Knowing them though, they probably have never seen anyone who wasn't form their town unless it was a movie or something.

Before the teacher can introduce him, Mark hears a boy speak to someone across the class. His voice carries, and Mark feels like evaporating into thin air once he hears what the boy says.

"Isn't that the boy who stepped on your petals, sunshine?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When the bell for the period ends, Mark wants to immediately bolt and leave. He sits in the middle of the classroom, perfect spot for people to gawk like they have been doing. And naturally, Mark hates attention, but he hates it even more now for all the wrong reasons. He's only getting attention because he walked into school with a boy clinging onto him and because he doesn't look like anyone else in the classroom. That's because he's a city boy, of course he's not going to look anything like anyone else here. Mark is clad in light wash jeans and a track jacket, meanwhile everyone else around him is wearing soft hoodies, sweats or flannel of some sort. Nothing against flannels, but it really wasn't helping the stereotype Mark has in his mind.

Shoving his notebook into his bag, he wonders how Jaemin is holding up. He's probably a city boy himself, from what Mark has pieced together, and wonders if Jaemin's suffering as much as he himself is.

He doesn't get to dwell on it for too long though, because there are soon two pale, bony hands which land flat on his desk, making a loud slap noise. Mark would flinch if he didn't have some sort of pride. Small and almost incompetent, but still there.

"You step on his petals?"

Mark wants to rip his hair out.

Why is the petal ordeal such a big issue? It happened two weeks ago, two whole weeks. And now some random stranger, someone Mark has never seen a day in his life, is complaining about him stepping on some dead, good for nothing, useless petals. Mark knew the moment he stepped foot into this town that people would be aggravating, but this was absolutely ridiculous. Absurd even. If someone was going to be upset with Mark, that was fine, Mark could handle it maturely. But someone getting butt hurt over dead petals and throwing a two week long tantrum? Mark isn't really interested in that. And the flowers weren't even pretty for God's sake, the honey suckled boy himself said that they weren't pretty flowers! Which in turn meant that the petals weren't pretty! Speaking of the honey suckled boy, he's in this room. In his first period class. Mark noticed him when that boy called him out for stepping on his petals. The same boy who's pale and bony hands are on his desk right now. Mark thinks that if someone mentions those stupid petals one more time, he might actually explode—

"I asked you, you step on his—"

Growling, Mark abruptly stands up from his chair, so much force being exerted that his chair goes flying behind him. Thank God it's only him, the bony handed boy and the honey suckled boy in the classroom. He's speaking before he can catch his tongue.

"Yes! Okay, yes! I stepped on his stupid, dead, ugly petals! Is there a problem with that?"

And if Mark were in Vancouver, this would mean nothing. His outburst? It wouldn't matter. Kids lash out all the time, and people back home were mature enough to deal with it on their own, and properly. If Mark were in Vancouver, people would probably brush off his behaviour and dismiss his actions, because everyone snaps at some point. But Mark isn't back home, which is why the boy with pale and bony hands looks like he wants to kill Mark.

"You're from the city, aren't you?"

What an assumption. Actually, it wasn't really an assumption, Mark doesn't try to hide where he's from, where and how he's the most comfortable. So he's not really shocked that this boy can put two and two together.

"And if I am?"

The boy scoffs, leaning off of Mark's desk and taking three steps back. His hands are up in surrender, and he has a cocky smirk that only boys who were raised in small towns like this could have.

"City boys are dangerous," he says, putting his hands down, one of them going to latch onto the wrist of the sun kissed boy behind him. "Don't get tangled up with him, sunshine."

His words are directed at the boy he's holding onto, but Mark can't help but feel targeted.

There goes his year-long plan of staying in the shadows.