Chapter Text
The bell rings, only he seems to hear it. Jeongguk is nervous, he can tell. He and all his classmates if anyone looks at him, but they are too focused on anything else, talking to the closest person, throwing paper balls with cursing words on them, getting on top of the tables, eating, even dancing or faking a fight in the middle of the class. Each of their nineteen years of life performed in the most useless way possible.
In all honesty, Jeongguk would happily participate in any of those vulgar activities, he used to be always the first into it.
Now it's different. Now Jeongguk has to look good. Now that Mr. Song is on family matters, which the students suspect is a dramatic break with his wife (or also said that his wife found another woman better than Mr. Song and his testosterone can not get over it), Jeongguk has to pretend he doesn't get his hands dirty. Jeongguk has to give the best of himself.
As the bell rings the door opens, everyone turns away, smiles quickly erasing from their faces.
"Good morning, everyone. Go back to your places, we are about to start."
Now that the substitute teacher is the only thing that makes the alarm clock not so annoying, Jeongguk has to pretend, has to make himself look like he's the best.
Everyone returns to their place, as they have heard. Jimin messes with Jeongguk's hair before sitting next to him; Jeongguk remains impassive. Waits a few seconds until the teacher is not looking to fix his hair back. He has to look perfect, not just as a normal student. He has to be perfect in every way, at least in that class. And between breaks, in the corridors, inside the school grounds. In any place where Professor Min can see him.
"So, the last day you told me who was the class president, maybe?"
Mr. Min speaks looking down, sitting at his desk looking through the papers inside his folder while asking aloud over the slight murmur that still remains. The good thing about the substitute teacher being as young as an older brother is that the students can be relaxed, calm without waiting for a big scolding.
"It's me, sir."
Proudly Jeongguk raises his hand, the first time he feels that way by doing so. He never wanted to be the class president, he mostly hates it. The responsibility, the extra moments that he has to work if there is an issue in his class, the mediation between both parties, not like the rest of his classmates. Jeongguk never pays too much attention in class, he rather enjoys the moment by drawing some doodle in the notebook or open-mouthed gazing out the window until the bell rings again. And it's for that very reason that his friends voted him president this year. Just as a prank.
"Okay, right, thank you."
Mr. Min doesn't look at him nor his hand to the ceiling, doesn't raise his head from his papers, but Jeongguk's heart beats with that answer alone as if Mr. Min had given him the best of his gazes. As he pleases himself with the short choice of words Jeongguk presses the embarrassed smile of his lips, and lowers his hand slowly to keep it on his desk.
He already missed the feeling. He has never wanted to be the class president, now it's what Jeongguk feels most proud of.
"These few days that I've been with you guys have been quite relaxed, if I'm totally honest," continues Mr. Min, looking at his notes with a great frown on his forehead. "We should get a move on with the syllabus as soon as possible."
The murmur is not extinguished completely, most of his classmates are still looking anywhere, talking about anything but paying attention to the teacher. Jimin's high-pitched laughter too, it sounds at his side, too close, a silly giggle that accompanies Hoseok's from the other side of the table.
"Shhh," Jeongguk commands, allowing himself to turn his head towards them and lose the teacher from his field of vision for a few seconds. "Mr. Min is talking. "
"Easy, dude, he's not started yet," explains Hoseok.
Jeongguk clicks his tongue, crosses his arms on the table, again in the correct position towards the blackboard.
"But he could start at any time, we should listen to him."
"Since when do you care so much about classes?" Hoseok chuckles, still looking forward to check that the teacher is not paying attention to their conversation. "Am I talking to Jeon Jeongguk?"
Jeongguk grunts and holds his gaze straight ahead, not wanting to follow the row of teasing that usually comes daily.
"Don't mind him, Hoseokie," Jimin giggles, sweetily tilting his head to Hoseok. "It's just that Jeongguk is madly in love with the new teacher."
"That's not true," Jeongguk protests to his side.
That may not be true. But his cheeks burn when both his friends share a knowing smile.
"Oh, is not it?" Jimin continues, sliding his ass on the seat until he gets the most comfortable position. "Then why so much sudden interest in music classes, Jeon Jeongguk?"
"Shut up." Jeongguk watches how Mr. Min gets up and writes the date of the day in a corner of the board, his name below in a clear and precise handwriting, just in case someone forgot how to call him. "Don't be such a dick, he's gonna hear you saying that."
If Jimin says something else Jeongguk doesn't get it anymore, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to entertain himself in any stupidity other than in the classroom, in everything the teacher says. What Jimin said may not be true, except that it is. Jeongguk would not admit he's madly in love , but grateful. Jeongguk is grateful to have a guy like Min Yoongi as his new substitute teacher, because school suddenly makes sense now.
"To begin with, what were we talking about yesterday?" Min Yoongi's voice says, serious, loud and clear from the blackboard. Still nice, soothing. Friendly.
Jeongguk curls his toes inside his sneakers, a pleasant tingling down his stomach. It has begun. Classes now make sense if they are explained by that voice.
"Renaissance music, sir."
He takes the liberty to answer. Because nobody else is going to do it. Because he is the class president. Because fuck it, it has to be him who raises the hand. It has to be Jeongguk who always gives the correct answer, the one that stands out. It has to be Jeongguk whom Mr. Min will remember among all the students.
Mr. Min hums, nods, his hands slowly turning the pages of his notebook. Jeongguk bites a shy, excited smile. He has been useful to the teacher. And the teacher will be more than satisfied with him.
"Renaissance music, right. Thanks, Jimin."
The smile on Jeongguk's face turns static, and so awkward. There must have been an error, that's all. Jeongguk has spoken loudly, only his voice has sounded in the classroom, nobody else's. Mr. Min can't really think that it was Jimin who answered, no way. Surely he has not been able to see his name well in his sweater. Surely there's an error in the list of names and the photo of Jeongguk is next to the last name Park.
But now that is what will remain on the record. Park Jimin answering that question, helping the teacher, unnecessarily knowing the introduction of the lesson, not Jeon Jeongguk.
Jeongguk erases the expression on his face and changes it to a worried one, ducks his head and makes sure that his tag name is fully visible. Looks at Jimin, distracted face next to him.
"Uh, swap the name tag with me, mine is not working."
"What?"
"Give me your damn name, Jimin," Jeongguk whispers, orders in a whisper.
The teacher gets up again and goes to the blackboard, deliberately picks up one of the chalks and begins to write what the students assume is the title of the new lesson. Jimin frowns, looks at Jeongguk with a confused face as he doesn't move a single finger at the weird request.
"You're going nuts, dude"
Jeongguk clicks his tongue, getting so helpless because his friends are idiots and can't get to know the concern that Jeongguk is feeling right now. He can not be a nobody to the teacher, not to this teacher. Jeongguk has to be the best. Jeongguk has to be Mr. Min's favorite one.
"I want you to read the text on the first page of the lesson. It's short, it'll take you just a couple of minutes," he says, shaking the white dust of the chalk off his hands. Carefree, always with that expression of calm. Without pressure, serious but without too much discipline. "So we can discuss it together later."
Jeongguk nods like a bird, nods at each of his words. Mr. Min is so cool. So respectable, and at the same time he's just chill. Young to be a teacher, Jeongguk wonders if this will be his first time having a class for himself. If Mr. Min has taught before, if he has met many students. Be that as it may, this is not a normal students-teacher situation, he is only a substitute, he will not be in this school for long. Jeongguk has to make sure he knows him, even if it's by someone else's name.
"Hyung," he insists, when everyone is silent and with their eyes on the text.
"What."
"Your name tag."
"I'm not going to give you that."
"But the teacher thinks my name is Jimin."
"The teacher thought it was me who answered, that's all."
"But that's not fair."
"Who cares, it was a stupid question."
"It was not stupid, now he doesn't know that I know."
"And what does that matter."
"That matters a lot."
"Why, 'cause are you in love with him?"
Someone forcefully clearing his throat behind his back causes Jeongguk to come back to the quiet reality and promptly his body heat to concentrate extremely hot on his cheeks. It's not been a classmate. Jeongguk holds his breath and looks over his shoulder in the most embarrassing way possible to find out that their teacher is standing right there.
"Having a good time, I hope," says Mr. Min, low enough that only the two of them can hear it, loud enough for Jeongguk's panic to stop him from breathing.
"Sorry, sir," Jeongguk stutters, licking his lips and automatically turning his head down and exclusively to his textbook.
Never before had it been shameful when a teacher scolded him, even when it was a proper scolding. Mr. Min's scolding sounds more like advice. A friendly warning. But being that so, Jeongguk's heart beats hard against his ribs as if he is about to fall from a roof.
"Don't get distracted, okay?" He says, adjusting his round glasses. "As we debate the subject you will discover that Renaissance music is not as boring as it seems."
Jeongguk swallows, so thickly that Jimin turns his eyes to him to see how Jeongguk's Adam's apple slowly makes the mechanical move painfully hard in his throat. Jeongguk doesn't look away from the page, from the text of Pierre de la Rue which he doesn't care about since he knows that Jimin's still looking at him with a mocking smile on his face.
He doesn't want to disappoint him, not now in these first classes, the most important ones. Jeongguk doesn't know how long Mr. Min will be with them, but his position in the professors department is short-lived. When Mr. Song stops crying and comes back, Mr. Min will have to leave. And until then, Jeongguk has to make the most of it.
*
"He's so young."
Jeongguk can hear Taehyung chewing his sandwich right next to his ear, stuck to his body to try to see as well the so incredible and interesting thing that Jeongguk is watching. On the other hand Jimin continues with his conversation, having only Hoseok as public.
"Who."
"Professor Min."
Professor Min is right now in an informal meeting inside the staff room, of which Jeongguk couldn't have a sight if it was not because they didn't take the precaution of closing the door. Mr. Min is just standing there, his ass resting on the large central pine table, holding his coffee in one hand, a big silver watch holding his other hand instead. He is young, of course, the only teacher under the age of thirty in the school.
"Did you realize just now?"
Taehyung bites into another piece of sandwich and Jeongguk pulls away a little because the lettuce and tuna chewed on his ear start to be annoying.
"No, it's just that—"
Jeongguk starts mumbling but doesn't finish an actual sentence. Mr. Min is young. Mr. Min is young and handsome. Jeongguk wonders how he will be in casual clothes, with something more comfortable than those suit pants, than the white shirt and the loose tie hugging his neck. Jeongguk wonders what it would be like to see Mr. Min outside of school. And for a moment the thought becomes weird.
"I'm going to report you for harassing," Jimin laughs from behind. When Jeongguk turns his head he throws a kiss with his hand.
"I'm not harassing anyone."
"Of course," Jimin clarifies, grabbing Jeongguk's arm to try to lure him to the bench where they are sitting. "You just fantasize about the substitute teacher."
"I don't— fantasize," Jeongguk stutters, his cheeks suddenly getting a color. "I just think he's cool."
Jimin laughs at how flustered Jeongguk looks every time he jokes about how he stares at the teacher. How his eyes turn bright, how his jaw gets slack as if he just saw an angel.
"Do you want Mr. Min to be your sugar daddy, Jeonggukie?"
"Shut up, idiot."
Taehyung takes another bite of his sandwich and Jeongguk sighs deeply so as not to lose his concentration. Mr. Min is still there, carelessly half sitting at the table, taking short sips of his coffee. If he is there, if he is a teacher in his school, most likely he has a steady life. An own family perhaps, or starting one. A good house. A car. Maybe he's the type to have two cats and share a place with his girlfriend. Or maybe he lives on the outskirts of the city, alone, with his grandmother. Maybe he's really the sugar daddy of some girl from his previous school. He is hot after all, young and smart.
Jeongguk swallows uncomfortably. The music teacher raises his hand to comb his bangs back with his fingers while Jeongguk thinks of all the possible lives of Mr. Min. And all of them feel so weird.
*
"There could be either two or three of these for each breve, which may be looked on as equivalent to the modern measure, though it was itself a note value and a measure is not, you know."
Jeongguk writes each of the words at record speed in his notebook, with a handwriting that he himself will not understand when he tries to read it.
"The situation can be considered this way: it is the same as the rule by which in modern music a quarter-note may equal either two eighth-notes or three, which would be written as a triplet," Mr. Min continues.
It's late, almost time for the class to end, and although Jeongguk was wishing from the second one as he opened his eyes in the morning that this moment would come, now he really wants the music class to end for good.
"What the fuck is he talking about?"
"Dunno, hyung, just write," Jeongguk answers, whispering to the shoulder where Jimin has his head resting, trying to look at Jeongguk's notes.
"By the same reckoning, there could be two or three of the next smallest note, the "minim," the equivalent to the modern "half note", to each semibreve."
He's trying hard, but this exceeds normal stress levels. The sigh that Jeongguk gives is so big and powerful that one of his pencils rolls by the strength of his lungs air and falls off his table to the floor, the only noise other than the soothing but unintelligible voice of Mr. Min, talking nonstop about things that neither Jeongguk nor probably anyone in the class understand. The pencil rolls a little more forward, catching the teacher's attention.
"Okay, maybe—" Mr. Min says, crouching down to pick up Jeongguk's pencil. "Maybe I'm speaking too fast? Going to try to explain it in a simpler way."
It's a brief moment, but Jeongguk runs out of air. The moment when Mr. Min gets up, looks at the pencil in his hands and, with a gentle gesture and the most beautiful and ephemeral of his smiles, leaves the pencil on Jeongguk's table.
"Watch your weapon, cowboy," the teacher adds to Jeongguk.
And Jeongguk stops breathing. Jeongguk really runs out of air, including his brain.
Quickly, before Jeongguk begins to process his words Mr. Min has already turned around, has left the chalk on his desk to start explaining the same subject but summarised.
"Okay, um, let's continue," Mr. Min resumes. "So, we call these different permutations perfect/imperfect tempus."
Mr. Min continues with the class, continues with his simplified but equally unintelligible sentences. Jeongguk no longer writes down though. Jeongguk is still, static on his table, his eyes bright and wide open watching each of the movements that Mr. Min makes with his hands when speaking. Just looking at how he speaks, how the words semibreve, prolation, and combination come out of his mouth in the warmest way possible.
Jeongguk doesn't think so at the moment, but Mr. Min could be talking right now about the mating of the fruit fly and he would be just as amazed.
Because with that hand, the same one that now moves from one place to another, rigid and gentle fingers making visible his explanations, Mr. Min has taken his pencil. Has left it on the table, dragged it to Jeongguk. That hand has spread Mr. Min's DNA on the surface of his table and Jeongguk now can not live just as if nothing.
The bell rings, and Mr. Min cuts himself off. The class really ends, although Jeongguk is slow to notice.
"Okay, fine, we'll have to finish the topic next Monday."
The teacher sounds resigned. Jeongguk knows he must be disappointed that none of the students really cares to listen to him, because who cares now about nothing more than leaving that awful class, himself included. Yet Jeongguk lets out a resigned sigh too, empathetic.
"Dude," Hoseok calls, "move your ass, I'm hungry."
"Yeah."
Jeongguk's answer is the least convincing. His notebook is still on the table, his pens, his now holy pencil. His ass on the chair, his eyes on how Mr. Min clumsily stuffs his folder and papers into his faux-leather backpack. So kindly. So gentle with the material. Almost cute.
"Jeongguk!"
Jeongguk shakes his head and comes out of his astonishment, looks at his three friends who are waiting for him already annoyed from the door of the class. The room is almost empty. The teacher should have heard Taehyung shouting his own name. The thought makes Jeongguk's hair stand on end.
Finally he leaves his place behind, the class behind, just before looking out the door one more time. A classmate is still left inside, speaking with Mr. Min. Perhaps to make a request, perhaps to ask something about the lesson, perhaps to ask for his phone number, perhaps to ask for a date and marry him next. Jeongguk huffs and turns around before any of his friends return and drag him themselves.
Sitting on a bench in the courtyard they enjoy the last sun that they will see for today. It's Friday, an award for some, an ordeal for Jeongguk. It is no longer so interesting at home on his own. Two days without stepping on that building before was his treasure, now it looks more like a boring punishment.
"Gotta ask my sister, most probably she still keeps her old notes," Hoseok chews, along with his food. "She's taken this subject before, when she studied here."
"She did but not with Mr. Min."
"Whatever," he answers. "She gotta know about music theory more than me for sure anyway."
A couple of known guys walk near them and say hello, Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung returning the greeting right away. The school is always fun, in some way, if they are there. Now it's something else. Now the appeal of the study is more intense.
"Did you get anything from the class, Jeongguk?" Jimin breaks the short silence between them.
Jeongguk raises his head slowly, without really looking at their faces. His eyelids half lowered, his chin high.
"Cowboy," he sighs. First, there are three confused frowns. Then, a slow realization. It's Hoseok who bursts in a silly, snorted laugh. "He called me that," Jeongguk ends.
Both friends share the mock and laugh, while Jimin looks static and with an eyebrow perked up at the words of Jeongguk, who adds nothing but a timid smile tight in the curve of his mouth, dramatically looking at the imaginary horizon beyond the large school building.
"Are you serious?" Jimin says, tries it to be a joke, his eyes wide open still. "I'm starting to feel sick."
"You can say whatever you want," Jeongguk protests. "But I didn't have to do anything yet he called me that."
Hoseok stretches his arms after laughing, lifts up his legs to rest them on the bench seat.
"And this is the way that Jeonggukie falls in love, Mr. Min just had to lasso him."
"Ah, really, stop with that," says Jeongguk, not really convinced of his own request. "He's cool, okay? Of course I'd like to be friends with him."
Before speaking, Taehyung empties the can of coke that he has in his hand, completely until he can crush it and throw it into the trash next to the bench.
"Friends? He's an old man," he says, his voice rasping from the bubbles still in his throat. "Who wants to be friends with an old man."
"He is twenty-six, he is not an old man," Jeongguk proudly replies.
For a moment his friends look at each other, a comical silence at the sudden knowledge of the age of his music teacher. Jeongguk rolls his eyes.
"I'm not crazy, it's just that I'm curious."
"Oh, no, it's okay," Jimin makes up, resting his elbow on the bench's back. "We have known you for years. It's normal for you to be that creep with the person you like. Even if it's your music teacher."
Hoseok can not stand the silly giggle again, and Taehyung follows him, making Jeongguk's cheeks darken in embarrassment and frustration.
"I don't like him that way, to begin with, I just think he's cool; and I'm not being a creep, I just try to be polite and good with him, we should all be like this with him."
They are the ones who roll their eyes this time, exaggeratedly, grimacing to show a funny disbelief.
"Also, technically Mr. Min is not our teacher. He is just the substitute," Jeongguk finishes.
"Right," adds Taehyung. "And I hope he leaves soon, because I'm starting to feel the future pain in my cheek for when my mother finds out my music grades this year."
The noise of the hustle of people gradually calms down in the courtyard. There are just a few minutes left for the next class, one of the most boring of this year. And besides, now that Jeongguk just had his music class, the rest of his time here is boring just thinking about it.
"So, did you get anything?"
"Hmm?"
"From the Renaissance music lesson," Jimin continues the forgotten conversation, pressing his cheek against the palm of his hand. "Maybe your new smart president ass has been able to catch something."
Jeongguk shakes his head, eyes wide open and honestly sad. He wants to be the best in his classes, the goodest, the most studious, the most responsible. But to tell the truth, Jeongguk spends the hours writing nonsense, looking more than actually understanding the teacher's words. Watching Mr. Min's lips move as he speaks, looking at the gestures of his hands. How tight his white shirt fits on his chest and arms, how soft his hair looks even in the last hours of the day.
"We should ask him for a private lesson then."
"More explanations?" Hoseok huffs. "I'm not losing any more time with Mr. Yeehaw to understand nothing."
Not really into the conversation, more in his own thoughts, but something clicks inside Jeongguk's head. Inside his chest, just when he hears certain words.
"Does he give private lessons?" He asks.
"We have the right to two extraordinary lessons a week. Each of our teachers gives private lessons for us if we need it, after our regular classes," Jimin states, just like the school's educational standards document. "It's just that no one ever applies for that."
"Smart people," finishes Hoseok.
The same comical and judicious silence returns between them, all eyes pointing at Jeongguk, who with lost eyes looks straight ahead, pouting his mouth as he nibbles the inside of his lips.
"Would you want us to ask for private lessons?" Taehyung tries.
But Jeongguk quickly denies the offer. First with the head, then with his voice.
"Uh, no, no, I don't want to waste any more time in this place."
The debate extends a little more without the participation of Jeongguk. As the teasing gets boring the conversation changes slightly until the ring of the next bell. They are the last ones left in the courtyard, as always, and the last one to enter class, as always, since there is nothing more boring than a nice economics class on a Friday afternoon.
This particular Friday, however, Jeongguk feels something different.
*
The last bell of the day sounds loud and clear between the walls of the building. Jeongguk parts his lips until his mouth is fully open, remains static and silent for a while, shrugging, then he gradually closes his eyes, eyelashes getting lazy and wet to finally yawn. The corners of his eyes get tears, his sight blurs.
Almost unbelievable but the day ended. Slowly as if they didn't want to leave class they collect their belongings, they say a polite goodbye to the teacher. It's a calm environment despite everything. There is no sun through the window, thick dark clouds cover the sunset, the night, the sky whatever the color it is. Jeongguk drags his chair with the back of his thighs and finally gets out of his seat.
In the hallway he can hear conversations of the people around him, in particular the conversation of his friends. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin, laughing weakly now that they are still asleep. He can not leave yet, however. Jeongguk can not leave the building with them, he can not go home. He still has something important to do.
"Jeonggukie?"
Jeongguk doesn't look forward, but at his feet. Realizes that the sneakers have stopped by themselves, and that now he is standing still in the middle of the corridor.
"Go on," he says, gesturing. Their faces of confusion are the only answer that Jeongguk receives. "You go on, go home without me," he insists at the silence. "I have something to do before leaving."
"What thing?" Taehyung asks. "At this time? At school?"
Jeongguk just bites his lower lip. He can not tell them what thing exactly, he can't afford no one to steal his plan. If he tells them maybe they'll go with him to do that thing too, and by doing so they'll ruin everything Jeongguk has in mind right now. He must go alone.
"Talk to you later, guys," he says.
And nothing else. He shouts a quick farewell before turning around and running to the other end of the corridor, fast and nervous steps as if someone could follow him.
"Jeongguk?!" Sounds, somewhere behind in the back hallway, but Jeongguk won't answer.
Taehyung looks at the others, shrugs into nothingness as he can't do anything else.
"I said it," Jimin points out. "Nuts."
They leave Jeongguk behind.
And Jeongguk walks away, even exposing himself to some other student seeing him having the weirdest behavior he runs to the nearest corner and quickly turns, leans against the wall to take a breath, glances sideways like a spy through the end of the wall and checks that his friends have certainly kept walking towards the exit.
All the lights of the corridors are still on, bluish-white. The lonely path of Jeongguk by the almost empty building makes him feel like walking through an abandoned asylum. At some point some other teacher walks down the hall, and more weak footsteps still sounding from the upper floor.
It is no longer time for the students here, perhaps not for some of the less important teachers either. Jeongguk does not waste time, grabs his backpack and goes to the music classroom. They've never been there, that classroom with instruments and specific audiovisual content is only for minor grades. Being in the senior year guarantees Jeongguk the theoretical and boring version of all the subjects.
The classroom is not alone. As he expected, as he hoped for, there is someone inside; Professor Min picking up the last things. He has his back to the door, yet Jeongguk just pokes his head out a bit to look at him. Mr. Min collects music sheets in folders, then those folders in chronological order in a file cabinet.
The first requirement is fulfilled, now Jeongguk just has to come in and say hello, which he's always willing to do. Now it seems impossible. Jeongguk realizes how difficult it really is to be alone with his music teacher. A shy step gets him into the room. Then another, slow, just as shy. Then two more to end up standing inside, in a good position in the middle of the room. Visible. Mr. Min doesn't see him. He completely ignores him.
Jeongguk clears his throat. Nothing. Then he does it once more, unnecessarily loud, exaggeratedly loud. Mr. Min doesn't even flinch. He doesn't look back, doesn't make any noise. Jeongguk tugs his bottom lip with his front teeth, feeling completely dumb. Should he say hi now that he's been in the middle of the classroom for minutes after his teacher? That would be even dumber.
But it's when Mr. Min begins to hum something that Jeongguk realizes. Of course, he's listening to music, he's wearing earphones.
A silly tingling in his stomach makes Jeongguk shrink in relief. He takes a couple more steps, approaches the teacher's table. He gently rests his hand on it, brushes the wood with his fingers as if he were doing something forbidden. Taking the liberty of touching Mr. Min's table, at a time like this, being Jeongguk is the only student in the room. That sounds like a priority.
When Mr. Min happens to turn around, jumping shocked on his same spot, Jeongguk quickly hides his hand in his pants pocket though.
" Fu— you scared me," he cuts off before swearing, flustered. "Didn't see you, excuse me."
The instinctive attempt to say certain word aloud stopped by his teaching position grows an interest within Jeongguk. It's endearing. His hands sweat, his cheeks have turned so red in a second and he's able to be aware of it.
"I'm sorry," Jeongguk says in a timid chuckle, "I didn't really know how not to scare you."
"It's okay," replies Mr. Min, taking the earphones off his ears and knotting them before putting them in the back pocket of his pants. Awkwardly, and clearly still affected by the shock of a strange presence creeping out from behind his back. "Tell me, what did you want?"
Just a few minutes ago Jeongguk had prepared a convincing script, a set of completely logical and well-crafted phrases through which he would expose his motives for requesting extra hours of lessons in the music subject.
"Uh," he says instead. "I wanted a lesson."
Mr. Min frowns in non-understanding mode.
"Excuse me?"
"A private lesson."
His forehead remains wrinkled, but now he takes a step back.
"Ah."
"I mean—" Jeongguk continues, clearing his throat this time for real. "I've heard that we can get private lessons after the regular classes if we request them."
"Oh, yeah, yes," Mr. Min says then, a more relaxed expression taking over the clumsy words. He approaches Jeongguk, rests against the side of his leg on the table. "I can give my students extraordinary lessons on Mondays or Wednesdays, if you need any."
Jeongguk's stomach now doesn't tickle, now it twists back and forth inside him like a washing machine.
"Great. Then I want lessons on Mondays and Wednesdays."
Automatically the teacher goes to his faux-leather backpack, takes out his notebook and a pen. Then, in some strange way, he looks up at Jeongguk.
"But, um, what's wrong with my classes? What's your problem, specifically?
"Um." Jeongguk presses his lips, shuts them pursed. His eyes wide open, blank. "I don't understand anything," he chooses.
"You don't understand anything," Mr. Min repeats, keeping his gaze heavy on Jeongguk.
"Exactly.”
It's not entirely a lie. Jeongguk doesn't even know if he understands the littlest bit of something, he didn't try. He never took the time to understand such hard lessons. His sole purpose in class is to pretend formality, to pretend understanding, to pretend that music theory is his passion because Mr. Min is right there in front of him to look at his face meanwhile Jeongguk must appreciate him in all his glory as the masterpiece that he is.
Mr. Min writes down anyway, tilting his head thoughtfully.
"I've tried to study these days, but," Jeongguk adds, standing on his tiptoes in an attempt to see after the barrier what the teacher is writing in his notebook. "I really don't understand and, well, I need professional help to answer my questions."
The pen keeps writing, Jeongguk wonders what he is writing about him, if he is writing each of the words he's saying.
"So," Mr. Min says as he taps the pen against the paper for the period. "In that case I can help you."
"Thank you."
"Uh— Jeongguk?"
"Yes?"
In the silence of the class his yes rumbles against the four walls, fast, high, high-pitched. An excited, lovely yes. Jeongguk feels a chill. So far the teacher had never said his name more than calling the roll, and now he has something very important to tell him.
"That's your name, right?"
Or that Jeongguk thought.
"Yes, yes, that's it."
"Okay," Mr. Min swallows, "great. Noted, Jeongguk."
Jeongguk smiles, forcibly fond.
"Okay."
Not because he is not smiling inside, no way, but because if he showed the real excitement and shame that fight inside him like a super typhoon against Godzilla right now Mr. Min would think that Jeongguk is the weird, creepy guy their friends claim him to be.
Jeongguk simply shows the most sympathetic and polite of his closed-mouthed smiles. And Mr. Min smiles back. And nothing else. In the silence they can hear the clock ticking from the class next door while they smile at each other in the most feigned way possible.
"Um," Mr. Min breaks, still the corners of his lips awkwardly curled up as he speaks. "Nothing to do now?"
"Oh— yes, yes, I should go, yeah," Jeongguk breathes out, his smile not enduring, rather becoming a trembling laugh. "Sorry, and, uh— thank you, and, bye."
With a couple or three final bows Jeongguk slowly leaves the room, his heart pounding inside his chest for what has just happened and for what he has done without warning, only the vague idea that perhaps, in some beyond his normal classes, he could spend exclusive time with his cool music teacher.
Jeongguk runs again through the corridors, this time to find the exit as soon as possible. With a sick wide smile on his face, but this time a real one. A weak and trembling smile, too, since now he has a Monday and Wednesday date with Mr. Min after school.
*
"You've been studying?"
The voice sounds inconsistent, a sudden intermittence. As if that kind of phone problem should continue to exist in this century. Jeongguk pouts, bites the inside of his cheek. Pouts again. Shakes his head. No, this one doesn't look so good.
"Studying?" He answers, "for what?"
"Music, obviously."
Jeongguk takes off that sweater and throws it on the bed, discarding it completely. That one doesn't look so good. The clothes that he chooses have to match, the whole outfit has to be perfect.
"I thought, you know, now that you want to impress your teacher maybe you would be studying up a bit," Jimin finished, low and playful from the speaker.
With a quick gesture Jeongguk leafs through each of the shirts in his closet, selecting one of dark color, another of pale color.
"I want to impress him, but I can't just go against the laws of nature."
Jimin's chuckle sounds through the call, the phone lying on the bed, like the last discarded sweater. It's Sunday, late in the afternoon, but that doesn't matter. If he is honest, Jeongguk has been nervous since Friday when he got home. When he himself had to tell his parents that on Monday and Wednesday he would arrive a little later because he will have private lessons with the music teacher.
It's not a punishment mom, Jeongguk explained. It's self-demand. This year I should do my best for my subjects. And of course Mr. Min will help a lot to that.
"We should do something now, before the exams period begins."
Jeongguk buttons up his dark shirt, leaving the last button loose. Not bad. It's really cool, but Jeongguk doubts, looking at the other shirt. Having his teacher in mind, he's not sure about what he likes, simple stuff like if he likes light or dark colors better. Jeongguk knows nothing about Mr. Min beyond his tie and his leather backpack, his specs, his shiny watch.
"Something like what?" Jeongguk asks.
He doesn't know if he is married, if he goes out to party with his bachelor friends instead. He doesn't know if he smokes, drinks, does drugs or goes to amusement parks. Jeongguk only knows that he is friendly, kind in his classes. Nice, funny. Attentive. And so fond.
"Going out? A coffee? Alcohol? We still have to celebrate your birthday."
Jeongguk gives a big sigh and looks in the mirror, from top to bottom, to the final outfit he has chosen.
"Sure," he answers. "Tuesday, Thursday or Friday?"
It's the almost perfect outfit for his date with Mr. Min. It would be, if it wasn't just imaginary. Because it's something he's never going to be able to wear. Because Professor Min is, indeed, his teacher. And because it would be so weird to see him in a place other than the school that Jeongguk feels chills just by the tiniest thought.
"Saturday, obviously," Jimin says from the bed in his room, from his own house over the phone. It's Sunday and he's really bored, even though Jeongguk, on his part, can not stay still for a second.
*
Jimin reaches up, stretches his arms to the sky, until it looks painful. After lying down, he rests his head on Jeongguk's thigh. The grass is cold, but today is the only time they can enjoy it. The only green piece in the courtyard, the little lawn that allows them and another group of students to sit under the sun. Today is especially sunny. Jeongguk has to blink a couple of times because sometimes it's even annoying.
"My sister told me about a nice club. It's pretty central, a trending place."
"A club?"
Hoseok sips through his straw, digs a hole into the grass to stick the plastic cup to his side.
"To dance."
"Jeongguk doesn't like to dance."
"Says who?" Jeongguk replies, placing his leg properly so that Jimin is comfortable.
"You never dance in front of us," Jimin replies, voice sharp for the position.
It's sunny, and all students shine like reflective signs when they pass in front of them. In addition, a group of teachers have shown their faces into the courtyard as well. They walk towards them, especially bright. They shine like stars because the sun itself is between them, Mr. Min in the middle of the group, with his pale skin and his white shirt, brighter than any of them.
"It's his birthday party, he has to dance," Taehyung adds.
Mr. Min moves lethargically, sharing slow steps with his colleagues, chatting animatedly about something. Jeongguk doesn't know what he will talk with the other teachers, who are too old for him. Surely his friends are as young as him. A gang of twenty-six years old, fresh, successful post-college guys.
Eventually the music teacher separates from them, walks forward, towards the only piece of grass in the school. He is not going to stop by them, but he is going to pass very close.
"So there will be no cake?" Jimin asks.
"There will be beer instead," Hoseok answers, "and shots," turning his head quickly to look at Taehyung's disapproving expression. "And cocktails."
They are already legal. Adults, technically. They can go to that kind of place now. They can drink in public, legally, they can party like any other adult man. It's just that until recently they couldn't, because of Jeongguk having such a late birth date. Feels weird still.
Mr. Min's hair wiggles in the breeze. He speeds up his steps towards their place, Jeongguk's heart accelerates to the beat. He looks up, Jeongguk looks too, and meets his eyes. Just at the moment when Mr. Min wants to make eye contact.
"Enjoying the sun?" he smiles, waving his hand as a quick greeting as he passes by. "See you later."
Just like a friend. Just like the friend Jeongguk wants for himself. He returns the greeting, a big smile and an affirmation. Jeongguk can not speak, but his cheeks flush and his eyes redden like two big shiny hearts.
"See you later?" Hoseok mimics, confused, just when Mr. Min is already walking in the opposite direction. With the same grimace on their faces all his friends look at Jeongguk.
"Oh, you didn't hear about the breaking news?" Jimin comments, a lingering, playful tone, putting the back of his hand in his eyes to avoid the sun's rays. "Here your dude Jeongguk is a go hard or go home. He's asked Mr. Min for private lessons."
"What?!"
The four eyes that looked at him confused now open widely, surprised.
"Really?" Taehyung asks, amused. "So this is serious?"
Jeongguk's pink cheeks turn dark and hot.
"Jesus, no, what are you saying," Jeongguk stutters, "I'm not doing anything, I just want to—"
"Spend time with him?" Jimin finishes for him.
The three of them wait silently for Jeongguk's response, a flustered Jeongguk that licks his lips between sighs. It is useless, they are not going to understand him because they certainly don't want to.
"Something like that," he chews, moving his eyes away.
Some weak laughter escapes from the mouths of Jimin and Taehyung, going along with the sound of the leaves, the sunny but cold wind whipping the branches of the few trees of the place.
"That's creepy, Jeongguk," says one of them.
He already assumed the comments beforehand, he has had them to a greater or lesser extent since the first moment he showed his special admiration for Professor Min. The jokes, the teasing of his friends.
"Hey, for real, I just want to be his friend," he refutes. "He's my teacher— substitute teacher, for fuck's sake, it would be fucking weird to just imagine having something with him."
What started as a joke at the beginning is still the same joke, but amplified. What started as a false statement at the beginning is now the truth. They know that Jeongguk likes the music teacher, more or less. A silly, childish liking, yet the best target for jokes.
"And what if he is the creep one?" Hoseok enters the conversation, "what if he tries to flirt with you? That would be unprofessional."
"Oh my god," Jeongguk complaints, his ears even redder than his cheeks. "Stop it. More likely he's not even gay."
Mr. Min himself walks in the distance, back to the group of teachers waiting for him in the middle of the courtyard. Shining, his white shirt shining, his pale skin, untouched by the sun, shining more than ever.
"What do you think," Jimin says, turning his head to look at Mr. Min in the most comfortable way. "Maybe he got a family?"
"Kids?" Taehyung asks.
Suddenly the scene becomes silent, the four of them staring at their music teacher from the only green patch in the schoolyard. Hoseok hums, thoughtful.
"Look at his expensive watch at his age, I'm sure he doesn't have kids," he says, without blinking. The rest agree with him. "But there's probably a wife."
"He looks more like a rich, sexy bachelor to me."
They take long seconds because Professor Min's image with endless options around is suddenly very engaging, but they eventually bring their eyes to Taehyung's opinion. Jimin raises an eyebrow, a mocking and inquisitive smile.
"Oh?" He starts, "we got a rival here?"
"Why, jealous?" Taehyung answers by sticking out his tongue.
"Not me, but our Jeonggukie could fight you."
"Yeah, go off," Jeongguk protests from the abyss, huffing, the skin of his face slowly taking on its natural color.
The sky becomes cloudy as the minutes pass, quickly, at the same pace that Mr. Min and the group of teachers decide to enter the building. Someone else's comment remains in the air, Jeongguk listens but ignores it. He is slowly achieving his goal. Meeting Mr. Min, to be a little closer to him. Maybe become his kind of friend.
After all, the way he talks, the way he treats them all, Mr. Min seems anything but a teacher.
*
Jeongguk licks his lips, once, twice, three times, dries them and licks them again. He doesn't even notice, he just runs his tongue and his teeth slightly down his lower lip in an instinctive motion, nervous, restless, as if this were an exam and not a harmless after-school lesson.
As if Jeongguk were to see the love of his life and not his music teacher.
"Calm down, fucking Jeongguk," he tells to himself, taking a breath that he will breath out right away.
It's the right time. Two minutes left, actually, but Jeongguk can hear his teacher inside. The lights are not on because the afternoon is so weirdly sunny that it's beneficial to save energy. His shadow moves through the translucent window of the door, and Jeongguk dies inside a bit.
Don't be stupid, he thinks. It's a stupidity. It's the biggest stupidity and you're looking like the biggest stupid.
His arm raises alone, by inertia, and before wanting to stop himself Jeongguk has already knocked the door.
"Come in," sounds from the inside.
Jeongguk wants to die for real.
Slowly he pushes the door of his class as if it's the door of a castle guarded by a dragon. He pokes out his head, first an eye, then an ear, then stretches his neck to see what happens inside.
"Come in," Mr. Min insists, the echo due to the exclusivity of them two in such a large room.
Like an ashamed puppy he nods, a couple of times, he obeys and enters the class, closing the door behind him. Mr. Min is sitting in the teacher's chair, his elbows resting on the table and his chin resting on his knuckles. Staring at how Jeongguk is approaching, how carefully he leaves his backpack on one of the tables.
"Jeongguk, right?" Mr. Min says.
"Yes, Jeongguk," he repeats.
It's so cool, the way Mr. Min says it. Not like the other teachers, not like his father. Jeon Jeongguk! Why didn't you do your homework?! Sit down, Jeon Jeongguk. You've failed the exam, Jeon Jeongguk.
"Okay, Jeongguk, just sit wherever you feel like."
Hesitant Jeongguk looks around. He could sit in his own desk, right in the middle, in the front row, closest to the blackboard. But that would mean not being right in front of Mr. Min, so he chooses the first desk on the left, next to the window. Jeongguk leaves his things on the floor and the textbook, a couple of pens.
He is very nervous, his hands sweat, although he doesn't have the remotest idea of what they are going to do. He never had private lessons before, he never had a teacher especially for him. He doesn't want to look stupid, but Jeongguk is completely lost.
"Well," Mr. Min sighs, in a slow momentum getting up from his chair. "Let's see where we started."
Jeongguk follows him with his eyes, briefly, watching as the teacher approaches his place. Watching how he turns to the table next to him, watches as he takes the chair next to Jeongguk.
"Where did you exactly start having problems?"
Mr. Min brings up the chair across Jeongguk's table and sits on it, right in front of Jeongguk, facing Jeongguk, just face to face, arms on the surface as if he were going to interrogate him. Jeongguk's eyes sting because he can not blink.
"Uh, um, from the beginning, maybe?"
From the beginning, Jeongguk repeats in his head. Because his hands are sweating and his legs are numb, because Mr. Min is very close and because Jeongguk started having problems with him since the fucking beginning.
"From the first lesson?" Asks the teacher, frowning, more disappointed with himself than angry. "Wow, okay. It's fine."
Mr. Min raises his hands and grabs Jeongguk's textbook, turns it over until the words are looking his way. And begins to leaf through, to turn pages slowly looking for the first page of the lesson.
"I guess I don't teach as well as I should, huh."
His voice sounds low, louder than a whisper, but Jeongguk hides his hands between his thighs because at this rate Mr. Min could see the skin of his arms crawl.
"Oh, no, no, that's not true," Jeongguk stutters, though somewhat calmer. "Your classes are just great."
His voice is so high-pitched that Jeongguk feels for a moment embarrassed to speak, to breathe so close to Mr. Min. Just after a few long seconds where Jeongguk thought he wouldn't say anything, Mr. Min smiles, gasps as he runs his fingers over the page trying to find a specific text.
"Well," he says. And Jeongguk has to look down because his expression is looking so oddly cute that he can not stand it. "You don't look like a dumb boy. Are you? I don't think this is your fault."
Then Jeongguk no longer cares about the sound of his breathing, because technically he has stopped breathing. Mr. Min looks up, eyes sparkling, corners of his lips slightly curved up. Jeongguk loses his lungs and his heart.
"Uh, no, it's just— I get distracted quite easily and, it's not like you— it's not that your classes are boring, it's just—"
Jeongguk really wants to die. Jeongguk regrets having come here, regrets having asked for private lessons, since it's ridiculously clear that he can not even maintain a coherent conversation with Mr. Min without ending up talking like a preschooler.
"Look, we can start from here," interrupts Mr. Min, turning the book over and showing it to Jeongguk. Gently tapping with his index finger a piece of the page. "You can read this text, and when you finish I'll help you understand everything you could not."
So helpful, so kind, so fucking handsome and cute and— focus on the damn Renaissance music, Jeon Jeongguk, he says to himself, tightening a very big frown inside his head. You just turned nineteen, for fuck's sake.
"It's cool for you?"
"Yes, yes, of course," replies Jeongguk.
Mr. Min creaks his fingers and sets himself as when he first came to class, but just forty centimeters away. Elbows on the table, chin on his knuckles, glasses making his eyes look brighter. Jeongguk swallows thickly, licks his lips for the fiftieth time. He's so cool. So young, and so friendly with his students.
Nevertheless, maybe for Jeongguk he is there for a less ethical reason, but for his teacher, Jeongguk is there to learn. Because he seems to need Mr. Min's help. And Jeongguk can not disappoint him, nor let him feel bad again.
"So, the style of this stage is fixed as a model for the religious music of its time. The famous authors are concentrated in the Contemporaries of Palestrina, as we have seen, like this Orlando di Lasso we talked about before, or William Byrd..."
Jeongguk nods repeatedly at Mr. Min's words.
"That's clear, isn't it?"
"That's very clear," Jeongguk answers, raising his pupils and lowering them quickly before maintaining eye contact is embarrassing.
Mr. Min stretches his arms until the articulation of one of his elbows makes a noise.
"Good," he says. And holds his breath in that position, yawns close-mouthed and blinks quickly to dismiss it. "Then there's only one text left."
Delicately he rubs his eyes, enough to satisfy that need but not too much to not be rude. It's already late, just a few last colors of the sun in the sky are still there. Jeongguk doesn't know how much more Mr. Min can endure here with him, Jeongguk really thought he would stop the lesson quite before.
He is happy, however. He can't lie, this is so nice. He prefers it like that. With Mr. Min here, sitting in front of him, practically both breathing the same oxygen, Jeongguk wants to never go home. Definitely he's not going to move his ass from that damn chair until the teacher commands him to do so.
Mr. Min covers his mouth with his hand and lets out another small yawn, his face turning slightly pink.
"This," he says, breathing out, tapping the page, "read this. The dissolution of the Renaissance style."
But Jeongguk doesn't want to exhaust Mr. Min either. He is happy to be sharing this lesson with him alone, but no way he wants to become that annoying kid who made the teacher work hard just for having a little brain.
Jeongguk looks down, focuses his eyes on the text. It's long, it's very long, and probably very boring too. When the teacher told them that Renaissance music was not so boring Jeongguk could only believe that the only good thing about it is that it's Mr. Min who explains it. The words dance when he tries to read the first sentence, the letters blur. Jeongguk shakes his head and sniffles, rubs his nose, tries to concentrate.
In spite of everything, he is also very tired. Tired of reading authors of mass, about rondeau and the School of Burgundy. Tired of studying, tired of having to do it with such an appealing distraction just a few centimeters in front of him. Tired of tiring Mr. Min. He has not stopped trying to hold the yawns since they started, and in the end he ended by cutely giving up.
Jeongguk smiles to himself, and quickly bites his lip to hold it. He has to read, just read the text, not smile at the book. But it's so hard now. So exhausting, he feels blocked, much more after having lost these minutes thinking nonsense instead of reading. Surely Mr. Min is waiting for him, surely he is realizing that Jeongguk is completely lost even with the text rubbing on his face.
Jeongguk clears his throat, tries not to make too much noise. Then licks his lips, and looks up, just a little. But then, he sees that. Manages to capture that image, and in a single second the lungs of Jeongguk swell because it is the most beautiful image he has ever seen.
Mr. Min has his face resting on the palm of his hand, which is supported by the elbow on the table. His lips smooth, pink, slightly parted; the soft, chubby cheek pressed against his hand, slightly raising one of the lenses of his glasses, soft skin beneath the thin metal. His eyes closed, pretty eyelashes brushing the skin. His breathing so calm.
Jeongguk sits up straight, letting out a loud sigh. But Mr. Min still doesn't move.
He is completely dozed off.
Jeongguk's eyes light up. He can not believe it; Mr. Min is really dozing off, asleep during the class because he was so tired and still is the most precious thing. His hair touching his eyebrows gently, some split strands revealing part of his forehead due to the inclined position of his head. His hand strong but delicately gripping his cheek, his black tie loose but still around his neck.
Jeongguk crosses his arms on his desk, rests his head on his forearm to see better. Tugs his lower lip between his teeth. Then thinks that Mr. Min would be better if he takes it off, that tie must be so annoying after so many hours of work. Jeongguk would like to be able to take it off for him, the tie and those uncomfortable glasses, give him a pillow instead. Jeongguk would offer himself to play with his hair so that Mr. Min will fall asleep again if he is awakened by his fault.
He looks so calm, so serene, placidly asleep. He looks so good. So gorgeous. So precious.
And Jeongguk feels so sorry. Jimin was right. His heart clenches hard when Mr. Min's eyelids tighten slightly in a bad dream. He's madly in love with his music teacher.
Fuck.
His phone vibrates from his pocket. Jeongguk jumps on his chair.
Fuck, fuck.
With a cold sweat he turns it off, whoever the call is from, because the minimum noise could wake him up. And although Mr. Min would be better at home, asleep on his own couch or in a proper bed, wearing his pajamas and not that tight white professor's shirt, Jeongguk doesn't want to wake him up. Now that he is so close and so still, so vulnerable, Jeongguk needs to look at him for hours.
He is so young, but at the same time so respectable. He could ask anything to Jeongguk with that deep, gentle voice and Jeongguk would give in at the very moment. Jeongguk wants to believe that this is the real Min Yoongi, without secret families, without a past of drugs and titty bars. Just him, carrying his faux-leather backpack, entering every morning by the school door. Calm, impassive, a coffee in his hand, a big watch in the other.
Mr. Min's eyelids shake again in a small spasm, and Jeongguk gasps, looking at each of his movements with a fine-tooth comb. Each of the features of his face, his eyelashes, the incipient beard of his chin. Although he seems placidly asleep, the position must be very uncomfortable. Mr. Min's head could slip away at any moment and scare himself, and Jeongguk will not grab him because touching his teacher would be so weird.
He must wake him up before it's too late, although it's already too late. It's been many, long minutes since Jeongguk started reading the text, more than he should, much more, and if Mr. Min wakes up now he's going to ask why the fuck Jeongguk has spent all this time like the biggest of the creeps watching his teacher dozing off only forty centimeters apart from his face.
Jeongguk must move. Get out of there in silence, leave the scene of the crime, so that when Mr. Min wakes up he can no longer judge him.
Carefully, so carefully, Jeongguk grabs his book by the bottom, drags it towards him and closes it, in silence, in the maximum silence that he can get in slow motion. He keeps it in his backpack, then his pens. Exhales the contained air and inhales again, slowly, inaudible.
Without dragging the chair Jeongguk gets up, so slow that his tense muscles hurt, but he manages to get off the desk without any noise. Mr. Min is in the same position, breathing peacefully, serious, but sporting a happy face. It's a real shame, leave it like that. Leave that image there, leave the most beautiful painting ever painted, the most perfect sculpture abandoned just like that. Jeongguk knows that this is the best of his opportunities, but it can end up very embarrassing if he stays there until his teacher wakes up.
Slight steps through the class until he reaches the door, so tense, his shoulders hunched, his lungs clenched. Jeongguk looks back and it's already dark, and Mr. Min has not moved an inch. His belly hurts, nerves and pity. He has to leave now, his teacher will wake up at any moment.
The door opens and Jeongguk breathes outside, just before grabbing the doorknob for the last time. He brings it closer to him, almost closing the door, and takes a last quick look through the crack, the class almost completely dark and Mr. Min alone and lost sitting, sleeping in front of the first desk in the front row.
Immediately Jeongguk regrets his plan, and tries to step back. Jeongguk can not leave him there that way, he would have preferred now the uncomfortable explanation of why he devoted himself to looking at Mr. Min instead of waking him up. But suddenly, the bell rings, the last of the day, for those extracurricular specialization classes. And Mr. Mir jumps in his place, opens his eyes quickly with a surprised expression, being the bell like a war alarm. Straightaway his eyelids fall again through fatigue. His face of confusion is the funniest, and the cutest.
"Oh, what the fuck," he says, muttering and looking around, trying to locate himself in spacetime.
Jeongguk feels a chill. It's not just a swearing. It is his music teacher sighing a fuck in the most cute and sexy way possible at the same time.
"Fuck," Mr. Min repeats, lower, this time taking off his glasses and rubbing hard his eyes and forehead with his hands.
Jeongguk's toes curve behind the door, peering through the smallest slit in the world like a stalker because he can not just move his ass out of that scene. Now he feels so, so sorry. That Mr. Min has been abandoned, woken up alone in the middle of an empty class, that now Mr. Min must think he has made a fool of himself in front of his student.
Mr. Min drags the chair with the back of his thighs and Jeongguk panics, steps back and begins his return home without thinking twice. He will excuse himself tomorrow. He can tell Mr. Min tomorrow in music class that he had to leave urgently. That he didn't even realize he was asleep. That he is a great teacher and that he should receive an award. That he would pay for those private lessons if he asked for it. That he will be more than happy to meet him next Wednesday.