Twenty lines in and Kibum was ready to throttle someone. The supervising teacher was slumped over on the desk, already asleep. Things were happening outside. The world was happening outside. There was some cheesy musical slated to start in an hour or so and it promised to be dreadful-- and Kibum wanted to be front and center so he could collect new fodder for his... impressions. Then he'd go to dinner with Nicole and Jonghyun. Jonghyun was staying over for the weekend, and it was going to be the fifth such weekend to successfully commence and end without Halmeoni finding out that the other boy had smuggled booze into her grandson's room.
But no. He had to be stuck in the freaking science lab with Jung Yunho, all because he'd rolled his eyes in the vague direction of the temperamental Chemistry teacher fifteen seconds before the bell rang.
Kibum put his pen down, held his nails up to the fluorescent light. Frowned. He had caught his thumb on the edge of the lab bench on the way in, scuffing the smooth polish. And stupid Jung Yunho was sleeping like a deaf baby. Kibum knew, because he'd experimentally floated a few mild insults into the cool air of the lab room when he noticed the man's head lolling forward.
Kind of embarrassing that he'd had a crush on the guy a couple years back. There were things you didn't talk about, but then there were things you didn't think about.
He was about to start the twenty-first line with great reluctance-- who needed to know this much about peptide bonds, really?-- when someone walked in.
The newcomer seemed to have no idea at first that anyone was inside-- Kibum was sat at the very back, and there was a bench laden with glassware in the middle. The newcomer was lanky and had a poor imitation of a quiff atop his too-small face; completing the look was a black leather jacket and rolled-up rockabilly jeans.
Kibum smiled. The one Jonghyun had told him reminded him of cats and cream, because Jonghyun's most reliable quality was sometimes his sleaziness; but in these moments Kibum felt more like a fox among pigeons.
He watched the soccer team captain face the door, consider it carefully, then turn the latch all the way so it was fully shut. His entire body was tense, a departure from his usual self-assurance in class or on the field. And for good reason.
Choi Minho couldn't sing to save his life. Kibum had chosen to stay far away from their school's frankly cringe-worthy fluff productions, aware that his tastes ran slant of the student population's at large, but he met Jjong at the music room every Tuesday and had accidentally overheard Minho's attempts at singing. It puzzled Kibum that someone should so completely lack any sense of embarrassment.
It was as if Minho thought he could pretend to be, afford to be, transparent.
Minho finally turned around, rubbing his palms together, and nearly had a heart attack. By the time he realized the teacher in the lab was fast asleep, Kibum had let slip a snorting laugh that sounded almost too loud even in his own ears. Turning the sheet of paper over, he scribbled HEY DANNY on it in giant letters and held it up with one hand.
Minho looked mortified. Then recognition and anger flashed quickly across his eyes. Those big eyes that couldn't hide a thing if they tried. Not that there was much to hide. Kibum was keeper of the school's poster boy's biggest secret, and Minho knew it.
With a nervous glance to the front of the room, Minho made his way over to plonk down at the desk to Kibum's left. Unfortunately, this close Kibum could smell the other boy's Gucci Pour Homme.
Oh.
Minho snatched the sheet of paper from Kibum's desk, and the pen. He wrote, IF YOU TELL ANYONE I'LL KILL YOU.
Kibum mock-grimaced at him and snatched the paper back. Minho's fingers were long and very sweaty; in his haste Kibum ripped the side of the sheet. Kibum wrote, ABOUT WHAT?
Minho turned red. As red as the Manchester United jersey he'd shown off during recess a month back. Kibum quite liked it; enough, in fact, that he reached across the gap with his foot and slowly slid it up the other boy's ankle, past the hem of his pants.
Contrary to expectation, Minho just stared back at him. Kibum licked his lips impatiently. He didn't miss a thing, and there was talk all over the school that Minho wasn't really living and breathing football anymore, which was surprising because he'd spent his school career juggling sport disgustingly well with studies. Kibum had especial hatred reserved for snotty all-rounders like him; it didn't help that Minho was showing up at a bunch of the same gigs he and Jjong went to. One time he'd spotted Minho, drunk off his ass and hanging off an older boy's arm-- probably a classmate of his brother. Minho seemed to spend more time with his hyungs than peers his own age.
Kibum had a few theories about why that was the case, of course.
Minho pulled his foot back, away from Kibum's, and wrote some more. I KNOW YOUR SECRET TOO.
Kibum raised a brow. Both his brows. And started, because the drab figure at the periphery of his vision had moved. Minho's body was inches from his own-- that damn cologne-- and they were both leaning inward from the edges of their chairs; now how had that happened?
Jung was looking at them, puffy-faced and mildly confused after his nap. "Choi? What happened to your uniform?" He looked at his watch. "Never mind, detention is over."
Minho was all bows and greetings; Kibum immediately stood up too, grabbing his purse from where he'd slung it at the back of his chair. He was almost out the door, flicking through the barrage of missed calls and texts Jjong had left him, furious behind Minho's ramrod-straight back, when Jung called him.
"Yes, Seonsaengnim."
"The lines, please."
Kibum looked down at his sheet. Twenty lines of peptide bond trivia out of a hundred written, the rest of the space crisscrossed with messy hangeul in two different hands.
At the very bottom, the other hand had scrawled I KNOW YOU WERE THE ONE WHO LET OUT ALL THE BIO-LAB FROGS AND DUMPED THEM INTO THE AQUARIUM IN HEENIM'S OFFICE.
Re: hs au ficlet someone requested
Twenty lines in and Kibum was ready to throttle someone. The supervising teacher was slumped over on the desk, already asleep. Things were happening outside. The world was happening outside. There was some cheesy musical slated to start in an hour or so and it promised to be dreadful-- and Kibum wanted to be front and center so he could collect new fodder for his... impressions. Then he'd go to dinner with Nicole and Jonghyun. Jonghyun was staying over for the weekend, and it was going to be the fifth such weekend to successfully commence and end without Halmeoni finding out that the other boy had smuggled booze into her grandson's room.
But no. He had to be stuck in the freaking science lab with Jung Yunho, all because he'd rolled his eyes in the vague direction of the temperamental Chemistry teacher fifteen seconds before the bell rang.
Kibum put his pen down, held his nails up to the fluorescent light. Frowned. He had caught his thumb on the edge of the lab bench on the way in, scuffing the smooth polish. And stupid Jung Yunho was sleeping like a deaf baby. Kibum knew, because he'd experimentally floated a few mild insults into the cool air of the lab room when he noticed the man's head lolling forward.
Kind of embarrassing that he'd had a crush on the guy a couple years back. There were things you didn't talk about, but then there were things you didn't think about.
He was about to start the twenty-first line with great reluctance-- who needed to know this much about peptide bonds, really?-- when someone walked in.
The newcomer seemed to have no idea at first that anyone was inside-- Kibum was sat at the very back, and there was a bench laden with glassware in the middle. The newcomer was lanky and had a poor imitation of a quiff atop his too-small face; completing the look was a black leather jacket and rolled-up rockabilly jeans.
Kibum smiled. The one Jonghyun had told him reminded him of cats and cream, because Jonghyun's most reliable quality was sometimes his sleaziness; but in these moments Kibum felt more like a fox among pigeons.
He watched the soccer team captain face the door, consider it carefully, then turn the latch all the way so it was fully shut. His entire body was tense, a departure from his usual self-assurance in class or on the field. And for good reason.
Choi Minho couldn't sing to save his life. Kibum had chosen to stay far away from their school's frankly cringe-worthy fluff productions, aware that his tastes ran slant of the student population's at large, but he met Jjong at the music room every Tuesday and had accidentally overheard Minho's attempts at singing. It puzzled Kibum that someone should so completely lack any sense of embarrassment.
It was as if Minho thought he could pretend to be, afford to be, transparent.
Minho finally turned around, rubbing his palms together, and nearly had a heart attack. By the time he realized the teacher in the lab was fast asleep, Kibum had let slip a snorting laugh that sounded almost too loud even in his own ears. Turning the sheet of paper over, he scribbled HEY DANNY on it in giant letters and held it up with one hand.
Minho looked mortified. Then recognition and anger flashed quickly across his eyes. Those big eyes that couldn't hide a thing if they tried. Not that there was much to hide. Kibum was keeper of the school's poster boy's biggest secret, and Minho knew it.
With a nervous glance to the front of the room, Minho made his way over to plonk down at the desk to Kibum's left. Unfortunately, this close Kibum could smell the other boy's Gucci Pour Homme.
Oh.
Minho snatched the sheet of paper from Kibum's desk, and the pen. He wrote, IF YOU TELL ANYONE I'LL KILL YOU.
Kibum mock-grimaced at him and snatched the paper back. Minho's fingers were long and very sweaty; in his haste Kibum ripped the side of the sheet. Kibum wrote, ABOUT WHAT?
Minho turned red. As red as the Manchester United jersey he'd shown off during recess a month back. Kibum quite liked it; enough, in fact, that he reached across the gap with his foot and slowly slid it up the other boy's ankle, past the hem of his pants.
Contrary to expectation, Minho just stared back at him. Kibum licked his lips impatiently. He didn't miss a thing, and there was talk all over the school that Minho wasn't really living and breathing football anymore, which was surprising because he'd spent his school career juggling sport disgustingly well with studies. Kibum had especial hatred reserved for snotty all-rounders like him; it didn't help that Minho was showing up at a bunch of the same gigs he and Jjong went to. One time he'd spotted Minho, drunk off his ass and hanging off an older boy's arm-- probably a classmate of his brother. Minho seemed to spend more time with his hyungs than peers his own age.
Kibum had a few theories about why that was the case, of course.
Minho pulled his foot back, away from Kibum's, and wrote some more. I KNOW YOUR SECRET TOO.
Kibum raised a brow. Both his brows. And started, because the drab figure at the periphery of his vision had moved. Minho's body was inches from his own-- that damn cologne-- and they were both leaning inward from the edges of their chairs; now how had that happened?
Jung was looking at them, puffy-faced and mildly confused after his nap. "Choi? What happened to your uniform?" He looked at his watch. "Never mind, detention is over."
Minho was all bows and greetings; Kibum immediately stood up too, grabbing his purse from where he'd slung it at the back of his chair. He was almost out the door, flicking through the barrage of missed calls and texts Jjong had left him, furious behind Minho's ramrod-straight back, when Jung called him.
"Yes, Seonsaengnim."
"The lines, please."
Kibum looked down at his sheet. Twenty lines of peptide bond trivia out of a hundred written, the rest of the space crisscrossed with messy hangeul in two different hands.
At the very bottom, the other hand had scrawled I KNOW YOU WERE THE ONE WHO LET OUT ALL THE BIO-LAB FROGS AND DUMPED THEM INTO THE AQUARIUM IN HEENIM'S OFFICE.
Kibum swore.