Archive of Our Own

London, October 1992.

There’s something oddly charming about the way chaos lives in the walls of St. Joseph’s Boys’ Academy, like the whole building was cursed with teenage energy and has never quite recovered. Brick towers weathered by time, windows too tall for practicality, and hallways that always, always echo. Even when no one’s in them.

But there’s never a time when no one’s in them.

Because at 6:38 AM on a Monday, all hell breaks loose.

Socks are flying out of windows.

Someone’s riding a skateboard down a wooden staircase.

And from the West Wing dormitories, an eruption of noise rises like a battle cry.

“WHERE’S MY OTHER SHOE?!”

“Oi, you took my textbook—”

“BRO THAT’S MY LATEX GLOVE! WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE THAT!”

“Shut up! Some of us are trying to emotionally recover from Maths!”

In short: the boys are not okay.

Dormitory A3, West Wing, aka the Jungle.

This dorm houses the highest concentration of sleep-deprived teenage boys, violent deodorant spraying, and illegal Walkmans on campus. It smells like Lynx body spray and regret. It’s loud. It’s warm. It’s barely functioning.

Inside, beds are half-made, trousers are on light fixtures, and someone’s taped a poster of Madonna onto the ceiling.

“JUNGWON, I FOUND YOUR REPORT UNDER MY SOCKS!”

That would be Sunoo. Volume: Max. Speed: 2x. Priority: Drama.

Currently half-dressed and dramatically waving a crumpled piece of paper like it’s the last will of a dying king.

Sunoo has three modes: loud, louder, and pass me that powder. He’s Jungwon’s best friend, chaos incarnate, and also somehow the reason the fire alarm went off last week. (“That was ONE TIME!” he claims.)

On the bed near the window, meticulously folding his uniform, Jake doesn’t even flinch.

Calm. Logical. He’s the only one in the dorm who can actually use the phrase statistically speaking without getting punched. The one who balances the madness. Also the one who reminds Jungwon to breathe when he’s five seconds away from murdering someone.

He just mutters, “I told you not to give Sunoo your stuff. He sheds.”

“I DO NOT SHED!”

“You do,” Jake and Jungwon say in perfect unison.

Then, there was the headboy, Jungwon.

Clipboard in hand, pen behind his ear, back straight even while sitting on the edge of his bed like he was about to command a fleet of warships. His tie was already perfectly knotted. His socks matched. His schedule was printed and laminated. He had exactly zero patience for anyone in this room.

He glared at the wrinkled paper in Sunoo’s hand. “Anyway, I literally gave you that five minutes ago. Why is it under your socks?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” Sunoo wailed. “WHY DO YOU KEEP MAKING ME A PART OF THE SYSTEM?!”

“Because you’re in the system,” Jungwon muttered, grabbing the report. “You’re half the reason it exists.”

Yeah, that was Jungwon.

Also known as: the school’s most sarcastic overachiever.

Also also known as: the boy who’s been writing disciplinary reports on the same four idiots every day since term started.

He doesn’t need to check the list to know who today’s offenders will be.

“GOOD MORNING, PRINCESS!”

The dormitory door slams open. Entering like he owns the place, with toast in his mouth, one sock half-on, and an arm slung casually around a sleepy-eyed student who might still be dreaming, is none other than Jay.

Technically Park Jongseong.

Unofficially: everyone’s favorite chaos goblin.

He’s late to everything. Talks too loud in the library. Probably climbed the school gate just to avoid using the front one. Everyone loves him. 

Except, of course.

“Hi, Jungwonie.” Jay grins, biting into his toast.

Jungwon looks up from his clipboard, eyes already narrowed.

“Why are you here?”

Jay leans against Jake’s bedframe like it’s his. “I like to greet my biggest fan.”

“Get out!” Jungwon said immediately.

“But we’ve just arrived.” That’s Heeseung. 

Sleepy-eyed, effortlessly handsome, and the reason half the younger years are giggling in the hallways. He’s yawning as he throws an arm around Jay’s shoulder and immediately grabs Sunoo’s breakfast.

“I want a bite too!” And Sunghoon. He wears sunglasses as if  the sun dared to shine inside a British boarding school in October. He laughs at his own jokes. Made an essay called Jay’s Jawline and handed it out for free.

“That’s my breakfast, you bloody cows!” Sunoo cried as he took back his toast.

“You look stressed. Drink water.” Ni-ki says, the youngest of them all, somehow holding a basketball. No one knows where he got it. He is wearing two different shoes. 

“I WILL DROWN YOU,” Sunoo snapped.

Jay was now lounging on Jake’s bed like it was his own personal throne. “So, Jungwon,” he began, voice lazy with the kind of confidence that made Jungwon want to file a second, backup report. “What’s today’s report title? ‘Jay Looked Too Hot in the Corridor Again’?”

Jungwon didn’t even blink. “It’s ‘Jay Violated Dorm Protocol #13 By Entering An Unauthorized Wing Without Permission’.”

“God, that’s sexy,” Heeseung whispered.

Jake casually flipped a page in his textbook. “You’re all going to fail your GCSEs.”

Jay leaned closer, biting into his toast with a smirk. “I love when he gets bossy.”

“I will kill you with this clipboard.”

“Promises, promises.”

Jungwon had precisely three goals for his afternoon break: sit down, stay silent, and not die.

After a double period of PE that involved too many laps, too little water, and a rogue football to the ribs (courtesy of a first year with no aim and even less remorse), Jungwon had dragged himself to the quad like a corpse on its last stretch. He’d dropped onto the grass beside Jake and Sunoo with the grace of a wounded animal and had not moved since.

Jake was already reclining against his backpack, water bottle resting on his chest, eyes closed like he was astrally projecting away from the school system. Sunoo, meanwhile, was half-sprawled across Jungwon’s legs, dramatically fanning himself with a worksheet and muttering about labor laws.

Jungwon didn’t even bother pushing him off.

“I’m just saying,” Sunoo moaned, tossing an arm over his forehead. “It’s borderline child abuse. My legs feel like overcooked pasta. My dignity’s in shambles.”

“You tripped over your own shoe,” Jake murmured without opening his eyes.

“It was a strategic collapse, actually.”

Jungwon made a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh. “Can we just enjoy the fact that no one’s talking at us? That we’re not being forced to run, or organize something, or listen to Sunghoon try and rhyme ‘arse’ with ‘class’ again?”

“Oi, don’t jinx it,” Jake warned lazily.

And of course, as if summoned by the gods of mischief and juvenile attention spans.

“ALRIGHT, WHO LET THE HEADBOY OUT IN PUBLIC WITHOUT SUPERVISION?”

Jungwon didn’t even have to look. The voice was already enough to spike his blood pressure.

Jay strolled into view like he’d just won something, all swagger and sweat-soaked school shirt untucked like he was starring in a boyband music video. He had a banana in one hand and a bottle of Lucozade in the other, which he probably didn’t pay for.

Behind him trailed the usual suspects.

Heeseung, sunglasses on despite the clouds, had the sort of face that looked permanently five seconds away from a wink. Sunghoon was dramatically limping for no apparent reason, and Ni-ki was kicking a pebble like he was preparing for the Premier League.

“Ah, look at them,” Jay said, stopping a few feet away from where Jungwon was sitting. “Our little prefect picnic. Bless. You lot alright, or are we mourning the state of your stamina?”

“I’ll kill him,” Jungwon muttered under his breath.

“Start with his fashion sense,” Sunoo offered, eyes narrowing at Jay’s untucked shirt and one sock inexplicably higher than the other. “You look like PE threw you in the bin and the bin said no.”

Jay grinned, taking a bite of his banana. “Still look better than your fringe, mate.”

“Your mum said I was pretty,” Sunoo shot back.

“Oh for fu—” Jungwon rubbed his eyes, willing the universe to rewind.

Jake opened one eye. “Can you lot argue somewhere else? Some of us are trying to rest.”

Jay ignored him entirely and crouched down in front of Jungwon like they were having a deeply personal conversation. He squinted dramatically.

“You alright there, Headboy? Bit red in the face. That PE do you in? Need me to carry you to the nurse’s office, bridal style?”

Jungwon looked at him. Just looked. The deadpan of a boy who had lived through too much.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone less likely to commit violence?”

Jay tilted his head. “Nah. You’re my favourite.”

“Unfortunately,” Jungwon said dryly, “I’m fluent in bullshit.”

Heeseung dropped to the grass behind Jay, sprawling like a model in a cologne ad. “I think what Jay means is that he enjoys the way you yell at him. It’s very sexually charged.”

“I will set fire to this entire quad,” Jungwon said.

Sunghoon gasped, pretending to clutch pearls. “Headboy threatening arson. This is how school scandals start.”

Ni-ki, not looking up from his game of “kick the invisible ball,” chimed in, “This school could use a little fire. Burn the uniforms. Liberate the knees.”

Jake covered his face with his hoodie.

Jay was still crouched, still smiling like Jungwon was the joke he never got tired of telling.

“I’m just trying to bond,” he said. “Isn’t that what house spirit’s all about?”

“This isn’t bonding,” Jungwon snapped. “This is psychological warfare.”

Jay leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Come on. Don’t you miss me when I’m not around?”

“I celebrate in silence.”

Jay whistled, impressed. “You’re getting quicker. That’s almost funny.”

Jungwon looked up at the sky, as if begging for divine intervention.

Sunoo, who had now fully claimed Jungwon’s legs as his mattress, reached up and patted Jay’s arm like he was a small child. “Listen, sweetheart. If your goal is to get Jungwon to like you, maybe try not acting like a toddler on a sugar high.”

Jay looked mildly offended. “I don’t like him. I just like winding him up.”

Heeseung gave him a deadpan look. “Says the boy who wrote ‘Jungwon is a fit little librarian’ on the whiteboard last week.”

“It was accurate!” Jay protested.

“It was in permanent marker.”

Sunghoon leaned in. “It’s giving repressed sexual tension, mate.”

Jay threw his banana peel at him.

Jungwon stood, brushing grass off his shorts with the resigned fury of a man who’d been socially mugged.

“I’m leaving. I have work. And I have zero interest in being flirted with by someone who thinks ‘Factorising is for virgins’ counts as mathematical insight.”

He started walking.

Jay called after him, cheerful as ever. “Can’t wait for my next report, Headboy! Make sure to spell my name right this time—one R in ‘irresistible,’ yeah?”

Without turning, Jungwon raised a middle finger in the air.

Sunoo gave Jay a thumbs up. “That’s the closest you’ll ever get to affection. Treasure it.”

London, November 1992.

The refectory had been cleared out for the occasion. Long tables shoved to the corners, candles flickering in every direction (unsupervised, definitely a fire hazard), and cheap cobwebs clinging to the rafters like the ghosts of past academic failures. The school had allowed one night—just one night—for supervised fun, which meant the students had taken it upon themselves to make it as unsupervised as possible.

There was loud music. There were snacks that looked like they’d been stolen from a Poundland. There were drinks that definitely weren’t labelled properly.

And there were costumes. So many bad, glorious, stupid costumes.

Jake was a vampire, but not a scary one. He looked like he’d stepped off a fragrance ad and was now trying to seduce people with blood oranges.

Sunoo had gone full glam witch, glittery nails and a purple robe that trailed behind him like drama itself. He claimed it was “witch, but make it fashion.”

Heeseung was shirtless. Just shirtless. With a cowboy hat. It didn’t even matter what he said he was.

Sunghoon had rolled in dressed as Elvis, because of course he did.

Ni-ki was a bloody banana. No one asked questions.

And then there was Jay.

Jay, in a perfectly-fitted, definitely-too-expensive Batman costume, mask and all. Cape fluttering, chest puffed out, black gloves flexing like he was about to beat someone up for jaywalking.

He was loving every second of it.

He was halfway through a bag of crisps and in the middle of doing his terrible Christian Bale voice to impress a group of first years when Heeseung tapped him violently on the shoulder.

“Bro. Bro. Bro.”

“What?”

“You have to see this. NOW.”

Jay rolled his eyes and turned.

And then froze.

Across the room, emerging from the crowd like an angel of suffering, was none other than Jungwon.

Wearing a green and red outfit.

With a yellow cape.

Tight-fitting.

Black gloves.

Utility belt.

Mask.

Robin.

Robin.

And it was clearly unintentional, because Jungwon’s face had already twisted into that specific look he got when he saw Jay doing anything that involved breathing.

Jay could have collapsed on the spot. He straight-up giggled.

Heeseung made a sound like a dying kettle. Sunghoon let out a, “NO! THIS IS SO FUNNY!.”

Ni-ki whispered, “Dynamic duo but make it sexual tension.”

“Holy couple costumes, Batman,” Jay muttered, eyes wide with joy.

And then, like the natural predator he was, he beelined through the crowd.

Jungwon saw him coming. Jungwon tried to walk the other way. But it was a party. And people were watching. And Jay was fast when he was being annoying.

“Robin,” Jay greeted, grinning from ear to ear. “Didn’t think you’d commit like this.”

“Die,” Jungwon replied immediately.

Jay walked a circle around him, examining the outfit. “Wow. Wow. This is better than I dreamed. And I have dreamed it. Not gonna lie. Frequently.”

“I didn’t even know you were going as Batman.”

Jay leaned in. “Are you sure you didn’t do it on purpose?”

Jungwon gave him a withering look. “Yes. I would love to accidentally twin with my most hated nemesis. That’s exactly my idea of a good time.”

Jay put a hand to his chest, wounded. “You wound me, Boy Wonder.”

“Wait, did you two plan this?” Heeseung asked.

“No!” Jungwon and Jay said at the same time.

Sunoo appeared behind Jungwon, drink in hand and eyes wide with delight. “OH MY GOD, THIS IS ICONIC.”

“Sunoo, I swear—”

“Look at you two!” Sunoo beamed. “Dynamic bloody duo! Partners in crime! Soulmates in spandex!”

Jake joined them, sipping punch like it was tea. “Statistically, matching costumes lead to emotional attachment.”

“That’s not a thing,” Jungwon muttered.

“Correlation, not causation,” Jake agreed.

Jay was still circling him like a shark. “So you are my sidekick tonight, yeah?”

“I’m not even talking to you tonight.”

Jay grinned. “You already are.”

He reached out and flicked the tiny yellow cape behind Jungwon’s shoulder. “Bit short, innit?”

“It’s authentic.”

“It’s adorable,” Jay corrected. “Do you need me to carry you on my back when we fight crime later?”

“You need to be hit with a bat.”

Jay smirked. “You offering?”

“NOT SEXUALLY.”

Sunghoon stumbled into them, arm around Heeseung who had somehow acquired a karaoke mic. “Oi, oi, we’re doing a Batman and Robin duet. Get up front.”

“I’M NOT—”

Too late. Sunoo was already dragging Jungwon forward. Jay followed happily, naturally, because of course he did. They were being cheered on now. Chanted at. The crowd was loving it.

Someone screamed “KISS!!!” and Jungwon almost threw himself through the window.

Jay leaned over, lips near Jungwon’s ear.

“Not tonight,” he whispered dramatically. “Justice comes first.”

Jungwon pushed him offstage. Literally.

Heeseung was now spinning in circles singing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid, replacing the lyrics with “look at them, matching tights, it’s giving sexual fiiiight—”

Later, when the party quieted down, and the snacks had mostly disappeared, Jungwon found himself sitting on the floor of the quad again, head in his hands, boots unlaced, silently regretting everything.

Jay strolled by, mask off now, hair sweaty and cape trailing behind him like he was too cool to be tired.

He dropped beside him, all smugness and leftover energy.

“You know,” Jay said casually, “we did look good together.”

Jungwon didn’t even glance up. “Next Halloween, I’m dressing as a restraining order.”

Jay just laughed.

The first student to emerge from Exam Room 2C did not slam the door, punch the wall, or scream into the abyss.

He simply walked out, shoulders square, posture impeccable, face unreadable, like the face of a young man who had just finished hand-writing eight pages on the Treaty of Versailles while being internally eaten alive by stress and a dying ballpoint pen.

It was Jungwon. Of course it was Jungwon.

Still in uniform, tie loosened but not too loose, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the sheer effort of concentration, he paused outside the door, inhaled once through his nose like a composed war survivor, and leaned briefly against the wall.

Not because he needed to.

But because his soul had momentarily left his body and was floating above the school grounds screaming.

He closed his eyes.

Peace.

Silence.

Nothing but the faint rustle of the wind outside the old windows, the ticking of the hallway clock, and the muffled groans of fellow students still trapped in academic hell behind the door.

And then.

“FACKIN’ HELL, THAT WAS EVIL!”

Jungwon’s eyes flew open just as the door behind him slammed open and nearly hit him in the spine.

Jay burst out of the exam room like a man recently freed from prison.

“Who the bloody hell puts a trick Versailles question in the last section?” he demanded to the world at large, arms flailing. “Three pages, I wrote! Not a single one had a proper sentence!”

Jungwon blinked. “It’s a history exam. What did you think it would have? Crossword puzzles?”

Jay spun around, lit up like Christmas morning. “Robin! You’re out! I was worried you’d combust halfway through the essay.”

Jungwon stared at him.

Jay beamed. His tie was gone, his shirt was half-untucked, and his exam sheet was sticking halfway out of his bag like it had tried to escape him mid-test.

“I’m ignoring you,” Jungwon said.

Jay leaned casually against the wall beside him. “You always say that, but here you are. Standing next to me. Breathing my air. Loitering with intent.”

“I’m literally standing here to avoid blocking the door for others.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jay said, already rummaging through his coat pocket. “But deep down you’re drawn to me. Like a moth to a big, sexy flame.”

“I hope your next flame is an actual one and it consumes your entire bag.”

Jay pulled out a crinkly chocolate bar and waved it in front of Jungwon’s face. “Want some? It’s the good kind. None of that gas station knockoff.”

Jungwon glanced at it.

Paused.

Then gave Jay a withering look. “I don’t take sweets from clowns.”

Jay gasped. “How dare you. This is a Cadbury’s. That’s premium.”

“I don’t care if it’s imported from heaven,” Jungwon muttered. “I’m not in the mood.”

Jay peeled the wrapper back anyway and snapped off a square. “You’re in a post-exam coma, and I am being charitable.”

“I don’t want—”

Jay held it up to his mouth like he was feeding a toddler. “C’mon. One square. For morale.”

Jungwon opened his mouth to argue—again—but exhaustion won over pride. He sighed, defeated, and took the chocolate from Jay’s hand like he was doing community service.

“Congratulations,” he deadpanned. “You’ve finally bribed me.”

“Ah-ha!” Jay looked triumphant as Jungwon snapped off a piece. “Knew you’d cave.”

“I didn’t cave. I’m conserving energy so I can walk away from this conversation.”

From inside the room, groans of other students still being mentally beaten by the Treaty of Versailles leaked out.

Jungwon stepped away from the door and started walking down the stairs to the first floor. “I’m waiting for Jake and Sunoo. You’ve terrorized me enough for one day.”

Jay, of course, followed. “Let me walk with you. I need to decompress.”

“By talking?”

“It’s either that or I sing.”

“Christ, fine. Walk quietly.”

Jay didn’t.

He kept talking. About how he was sure question three was illegal under student rights. About how his pen exploded halfway through his essay. About how he was planning to buy a bag of crisps and sit in the quad like a man in mourning.

Jungwon listened in silence. Or tried to. But Jay’s words just kept coming, tripping over each other in pure post-exam adrenaline.

“Oi, you know what’s mad?” he said. “I actually studied. Like properly. Made notes. Colour-coded and all. Even had Sunghoon quiz me once. Felt like I was being possessed by someone responsible.”

“That must’ve been terrifying for you.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Jungwon stopped beside the entryway, brushing off his blazer and checking that his tie was straight. The chocolate was mostly gone now, only a tiny square left, which he crumpled into the wrapper with mild regret.

Jay watched him.

Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out another bar, and slipped it into Jungwon’s coat pocket.

“There you go,” he said sweetly. “A little surprise. For later. Like a sad little reward.”

Jungwon’s jaw tensed. “Get that out of my pocket.”

“Nope,” Jay said, already turning to jog down the hallway. “It’s your emotional support snack now. Use it wisely.”

“Jay.”

“Bye, Robin!”

“Stop putting things on me!.”

Jay didn’t turn back. He waved a hand over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to your tragic chocolate and crippling academic perfectionism!”

Jungwon stood there in the hallway, coat rustling, staring after him.

From the exam room upstairs, someone shouted “WHAT THE HELL IS A MANDATE SYSTEM?”

Sunoo could be heard wailing faintly.

The chocolate wrapper peeked out of his coat pocket.

He closed his eyes.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

But he didn’t take it out.

London, December 1992.

Once a year, St. Joseph’s loosened the leash.

They called it “community enrichment.” What it really meant was: letting the dorm-ridden students of an all-boys boarding school into Central London with the thinnest layer of adult supervision and a prayer.

For Jungwon, it meant one thing: chaos.

“COME ON!” Sunoo shouted, spinning in place, his knitted red scarf flying like a superhero cape. “I want to check the bakery first. Then the bookstore. Then Topshop. And if there’s time, the novelty socks stall near the square because they have ones that light up now.”

“I’m so cold I can’t feel my legs,” Jake muttered behind him, holding a steaming paper cup and looking like a defeated ghost. “I’ve been outside for eight minutes and my soul is leaving through my toes.”

Jungwon trudged beside them, gloved hands in coat pockets, his breath visible in puffs. “He’s been like this since we got off the bus. Just let him burn through the sugar rush.”

“You say that like I won’t drag you into a Santa hat store next,” Sunoo chirped.

“I will run.”

“You won’t. You’re too responsible to leave me unsupervised.”

“Unfortunately.”

The streets were glittered with early Christmas decorations: fairy lights tangled across storefronts, plastic wreaths hung half-straight, and one animatronic Santa in a window who looked like he hadn’t slept since 1973. Crowds bustled with shopping bags and loud children. It was festive. Horrifyingly so.

Sunoo pulled them into another shop, this one a small, trendy clothing place with loud music and racks of things Jungwon didn’t understand. Bucket hats. Denim jackets that looked like they were run over. Coats with no shape or logic.

Jake sighed as they stepped in, immediately beelining for a bench near the shoes. “I’m going to die in this store.”

Jungwon stayed near the entrance, half-zoning out, watching Sunoo pick up gloves with the force of someone choosing weapons. He was just about to retreat to a quiet corner.

“Oi. Fancy seeing you here.”

No.

No, no, no.

He turned his head slowly.

Jay was grinning like sin.

Next to him is Heeseung in a leather jacket indoors, Sunghoon with a scarf wrapped around his face like a dramatic widow, and Ni-ki already poking at a mannequin’s crotch with a hanger.

Of course.

Of course they’d be here.

“Didn’t realise this shop catered to prefects,” Jay said, walking up and scanning Jungwon’s coat. “Bit fancy for your taste, no?”

“I didn’t come in here by choice.”

“You say that like you don’t enjoy fashion. I saw you wearing a new tie last week.”

“That was a replacement,” Jungwon said flatly. “Mine was stained. With your pen.”

Jay made a dramatic wince. “Still thinking about me, huh?”

“Still thinking of pressing charges.”

Before Jungwon could move, Jay turned and grabbed a ridiculous jumper off the rack. Bright purple. Sequins. An actual glittery cat with sunglasses sewn onto the chest.

He held it out, smiling brightly. “This would suit you.”

“I’d rather be hit by a train.”

He held up a cropped fur jacket. “Or this? Bit of edge. Spice up the uniform. Let ‘em know Headboy’s got layers.”

“I have pepper spray.”

“You do not have pepper spray,” Jay said, snorting.

Sunoo reappeared from a pile of mittens. “He’s not lying. He borrowed it from the matron during flu season.”

“Flu season?”

“Personal reasons,” Jungwon said curtly, grabbing a plain black turtleneck he’d been eyeing from the corner of the shop. Finally. Something normal. Something wearable. Simple. Clean. Soft-looking, probably overpriced, exactly the kind of thing he’d wear if he wanted to feel like a person again.

Without thinking, he walked toward the changing rooms, Jay was still talking in the background. Something about “tinsel but make it sexy.”  

A few minutes later, he stepped out of the stall, tugging the fabric into place.

“Sunoo,” he called, voice mild. “Come here.”

Sunoo appeared in the mirror behind him and gasped.

“Oh my God.”

Jungwon blinked. “Too much?”

“You look like you’re about to ruin someone’s life in a European art film. It’s PERFECT.”

Now Jake came over. “What’s happening—oh. Wow.”

“See?” Sunoo gestured wildly. “He looks like a poetry professor. I’m obsessed.”

Of course, now everyone was looking.

“WHAT ARE WE GASPING AT?”

Heeseung poked his head over the changing stall like a curious meerkat. “Well, well, well. Headboy’s got drip.”

Sunghoon nodded sagely. “Ten out of ten. Would let you emotionally devastate me over coffee.”

Ni-ki clapped slowly. “I hate how good that looks.”

Jay was the last to speak.

Or rather, he didn’t speak right away.

He looked at Jungwon.

And Jungwon, despite himself, looked back.

It lasted exactly 1.4 seconds.

Then Jay smirked.

“Wow,” he said, folding his arms. “You look like a hot Christmas tree.”

Jungwon’s face fell like a guillotine.

“Oh, absolutely not buying this now,” he muttered, and immediately retreated back into the changing room.

“You had ONE job,” Sunoo muttered under his breath.

“What?!” Jay shouted. “I complimented him!”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Heeseung said. “That was a drive-by insult with sparkles.”

They left the shop shortly after, Jungwon empty-handed and Sunoo clutching three scarves, a beret, and a bag of glitter pens.

They ended up in a crowded cafe nearby, hot drinks, too many pastries, and everyone talking over each other. Jake quietly peeled the icing off his cinnamon roll. Sunoo was ranting about overpriced coats. Heeseung was trying to flirt with a cashier and failing. Ni-ki kept claiming every seat, calling it his even when no one wanted it.

Jay sat across from Jungwon.

Still teasing. Still loud.

But not as loud. Not quite as smug. His eyes lingered a little longer than usual when Jungwon argued with Sunghoon about tea vs coffee. Just slightly.

Eventually, as the sun dipped lower, and their time ran out, the group headed back to the bus.

But before they could pile into the queue, Jay stepped away.

“Where are you going?” Sunghoon asked.

Jay shrugged. “Just grabbing something. Be quick.”

He didn’t explain.

Heeseung gave him a look.  “Don’t get kidnapped.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Who’d dare.”

The dormitory looked like it had been ransacked by very posh, very chaotic thieves.

Trunks banged against walls, boys yelled names from across floors, and at least two kids were wrestling in the hallway over whose toothbrush was whose. The air was loud, giddy, tinged with the thrill of temporary escape. Like prisoners released for good behaviour.

St. Joseph’s, usually a prison of rules and Latin verb drills, had transformed into something between a war zone and a heartwarming Channel 4 holiday special. It was the last day before Christmas break. And by tomorrow morning, the entire place would be silent, save for the lingering smell of boys’ shampoo and crushed chips in the carpet.

And in the middle of it all was Jungwon.

Trying to fold a sweater.

Which wasn’t going well, because Sunoo was crying.

“DON’T TOUCH ME,” Sunoo wailed, swatting Jake’s hand away. “I CAN’T DO THIS!”

“I just asked if you needed help zipping your bag,” Jake said, exhausted.

“You know goodbyes make me sensitive!”

“You live forty minutes away.”

“I COULD DIE IN THOSE FORTY MINUTES.”

Jake was standing near the door, already in his long coat, his hair combed, a nice leather bag by his feet. Outside the window, a black car with shiny silver trim waited near the gate. The driver wore gloves.

“Sunoo, come on,” Jungwon said, finally giving up on the sweater and stuffing it into his duffel. “He’s not enlisting. He’s just going home.”

“AND LEAVING US.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” Jake said, patting Sunoo’s shoulder.

Sunoo sniffled. “That’s what people say before they never come back.”

Jake opened the door, and Jungwon followed him out to the hallway, where other students were already dragging bags, calling goodbyes, and shouting across the corridor like it was the apocalypse.

“Write me,” Jungwon said. “Or whatever rich people do. Pigeon?”

Jake smiled. “Merry Christmas, Headboy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

They hugged. Jake exited. Sunoo waved from the doorway with both hands like he was sending off the Titanic.

Once Jake’s figure disappeared around the stairwell, Sunoo turned dramatically, hand on chest. “Our first one down.”

“I hope you save that level of energy for your family,” Jungwon muttered, kicking a sock under the bed.

Sunoo flopped on his bed with a sigh. “I’m leaving in a bit. Are you okay? Your parents coming soon?”

“My sister,” Jungwon said. “She’s on the way.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Sunoo wipes his face, “You’re not lying so I won’t worry about you and cry even more?”

“I am absolutely lying. I’m devastated and can’t survive without you.”

“See?! I knew it.” Sunoo cries again.

Jungwon gave him a look. “I was being sarcastic.”

Sunoo tossed a pillow at him. “I know. I just wanted to hear it.”

Suddenly, there was the sound of sneakers squeaking in the hallway, followed by the distinct, cursed voices of chaos.

Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Ni-ki burst into the room unannounced like a band of unshowered pirates.

“BYE, YOU NERDS,” Heeseung yelled.

“WE’RE LEAVING BEFORE THE BUSY TRAFFIC HITS,” Sunghoon added, tossing something vaguely sock-shaped onto Jungwon’s bed.

Ni-ki was holding an open bag of crisps. “Can I leave this in your bin?”

“No,” Jungwon said. “Take your junk with you.”

“You’ll miss us,” Heeseung said, ruffling Jungwon’s hair as he passed.

“I will not.”

Sunghoon took one of Jungwon’s cereal bars from his desk. “Don’t cry when I’m gone, Jungwon.”

“I WILL throw that sock at you.”

Ni-ki dabbed and left. (Why. No one knows.)

Sunoo waved at them like a tearful pageant queen. Jungwon simply locked the door behind them with the resignation of a man who had survived a war.

“Alright,” Sunoo said, finally picking up his bag. “I’ll see you after New Year’s if we don’t die before then.”

“Please don’t cry at the train station.”

“I make no promises.”

They hugged. Jungwon held him a little tighter than he meant to.

And then he was alone.

For the first time in weeks, the room was quiet.

Jungwon exhaled. The silence felt unfamiliar.

He turned back to his suitcase, finally ready to finish folding the rest of his sweaters and maybe burn Sunghoon’s sock in a ceremonial fire.

But then, a knock.

Jungwon froze.

What fresh hell.

He opened the door cautiously, half expecting another forgotten sock or an emotionally unstable Sunoo 

but Jay.

Leaning against the doorway, hands in pockets, coat open over his school jumper, hair messier than usual, face bright as ever.

“You knocked?” Jungwon said, squinting.

Jay smirked. “Trying to stay on the nice list. For Santa.”

Jungwon blinked. “Wow. Seasonal guilt. Love that for you.”

“Just came to see if you were still alive,” Jay said, stepping inside like he owned the place. “Thought you might’ve collapsed from all the emotional repression.”

“I’m packing.”

“Clearly. Very headboy of you.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “What do you want?”

Jay shrugged, hands in his coat pockets. “What time’s your chariot arriving?”

“My sister’s coming,” Jungwon said, stuffing the sock into a plastic bag labeled ‘biohazard’. “Soon. She just runs on ‘I’ll be there in five minutes’ time. Which means thirty.”

Jay nodded. “Classic. Mine’s stuck in traffic. Mum’s sending my cousin instead. He drives like he’s being chased.”

“You’ll be like that soon.”

Jay grinned. “We don’t talk about that.”

They stood there in the room, surrounded by the fading evidence of a semester gone wrong and somehow right. The air was quiet now. Softer.

Jay toed at the floor. “Anyway.”

Jungwon looked up.

Jay held out a small brown paper bag. No tag. No ribbon. Just crumpled and folded like someone had stuffed it in their pocket five times.

“Merry Christmas, Headboy.”

And then, Jay ran.

Down the hallway. Gone before Jungwon could even protest.

“Bloody hell?”

Jungwon closed the door, opened the bag carefully and stared. Inside, the same charcoal-grey turtleneck. From the shop. Folded neatly. Still tagged.

He held it for a moment. Just looked at it.

And then he smiled.

The kind of smile he didn’t usually do.

Small. Quiet. Soft around the edges. The kind that only happened when he wasn’t being watched.

Outside, someone in the hallway shouted “OI SOMEONE TOOK MY HAT—”

But inside Room 2B, Jungwon stood still.

Holding the gift.

Smiling.

“Merry Christmas, Idiot.”

December 25, 1992.

Headboy,

Season’s bleedin’ greetings, mate.

Bet you didn’t think you’d hear from me, did you?

Thought I’d spread some holiday cheer in the form of unsolicited correspondence. This letter counts as community service, by the way, so I expect it to go on my record.

I also thought about sending coal. Settled for a letter.

So. What’s the Yang Family Christmas like? I picture a very formal dinner and your nan asking about your grades while you lie through your teeth. Tell her you’re still top of the class. Tell her some floppy-haired bloke keeps distracting you during algebra but you’re surviving anyway.

Mine’s chaotic, in case you’re wondering. Aunt brought her new boyfriend. Dad nearly burnt the roast. Cousin Pier hit a lamppost. Cousin Leo got me socks again.

I might wear them at school just to scare you.

Anyway. I won’t keep this long. You probably hate long letters.

But if you smiled reading this, even a bit, congrats. That’s your one free joy moment of 1992. Treasure it.

With insincere warmth,

Jay Park

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

December 30, 1992.

To the noisy twat who invades my peace even in the post,

Unfortunately, yes. I received your letter.

Merry Christmas to you, too, though I assume your idea of holiday spirit involves setting off indoor fireworks and getting banned from Waitrose again.

My Christmas was perfectly civil.

We had ham. I opened three books and one scarf from my aunt, who still thinks I’m nine. My nan did ask about grades. I said I was top of the class. Left out the part where the biggest distraction is you and your band of brain cell-less brothers.

Also, don’t wear those socks to school. If I see reindeer on your ankles, I’m confiscating them as a threat to public safety.

You really are relentless. It’s December. We are not in school. There are no hallways to bother me in. And yet, you still manage to haunt me in the post.

Impressive.

In conclusion: I hope your cousin crashes into another lamppost.

Grudgingly,

Jungwon Yang

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

January 2, 1992. 

Headboy,

Happy New Year!

Don’t worry, I won’t get all soppy.

That’s more Sunghoon’s brand. He cried watching The Muppet Christmas Carol.

Just wanted to say: you’ve survived a whole year of me.

I feel like you deserve a badge.

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to actually enjoy school this year. And I’m not saying it’s because of you, but I’m also not not saying it.

Anyway. Hope your 1993 starts with something good. Like quiet. Or coffee. Or new pens, because you hoard them like a dragon hoards treasure.

When we’re back in January, please pretend you didn’t get this. I need to maintain my image as a confident menace.

Cheers,

Jay

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

January 6,

Park,

I hope this gets to you before term starts. If not, too bad.

First: Happy New Year!

Second: I do not hoard pens. I just like having a functioning writing tool when idiots like you keep borrowing mine and never giving them back.

Third: I hope your New Year started with your cousin hitting another lamppost.

Also, if you’re going to keep sending letters, stop acting like it’s illegal. You’re not cool, Jay. You sent a Christmas letter with a Santa doodle in the corner. Don’t think I didn’t see that.

Anyway. 1993. Let’s try to get through it without me pushing you into a locker. Or with. We’ll see.

Try not to flirt with the librarian again. She’s married.

See you back at school.

Annoyed as always, 

Jungwon

London, January 1993.

The dorms were almost empty.

Quiet in a way that made Jungwon feel like he was trespassing in his own school. The hallways echoed with every step. Even the walls looked colder than usual, if that made any sense which it didn’t, but whatever. Term hadn’t officially started, and St. Joseph’s was still in its post-holiday coma.

His boots thudded against the polished wood floors as he walked past the common room, a bag over his shoulder, his coat too warm for the dorms but he hadn’t taken it off yet. The turtleneck it covered itched slightly at his collar—stupid gift from a stupid boy who couldn’t shut up—but he wore it anyway.

It’s really quiet. No Sunoo yelling, no Jake reminding him to rest, no four idiots loudly doing whatever they did. Just the hum of radiators trying to warm ancient stone walls and the occasional creak of footsteps three floors below.

Jungwon didn’t mind arriving first. It meant one day of peace.

Or so he thought.

“Oi.”

He froze on the stairwell landing.

There it was. That voice. Lazy, smug, a bit too loud for the empty corridor.

He turned around slowly, jaw already clenched.

And there was Jay, standing at the top of the stairs, leaning over the banister like he’d been waiting there since dawn. Scarf half-wrapped, fringe in his eyes, and that same bloody irritating expression plastered all over his face.

“You again,” Jungwon said, tired before it even began.

Jay grinned. “You sound thrilled.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s alright.” Jay shrugged, already descending the stairs like some kind of smug prince. “I’m excited enough for the both of us.”

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here? You’re not due back till tomorrow.”

Jay placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Didn’t you say ‘see you at school’ in your last letter?”

Jungwon stared.

Jay smiled, obnoxiously wide. “So I came. Figured you couldn’t wait.”

“Bloody hell,” Jungwon muttered. “I genuinely thought I had at least 24 hours without you.”

“You poor thing. Bet you were pacing your room, missing the sound of my voice.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jungwon said, walking past him, “I was looking forward to not hearing your voice echo down the hallway like a haunted kettle.”

Jay followed, of course. Like some stray cat with a Ribena addiction. “You know, I should be offended, but that’s honestly one of the best descriptions of my voice I’ve ever heard.”

They walked in silence for two seconds before Jay ruined it again. His eyes flicked to the turtleneck under Jungwon’s coat. “You wore it.”

Jungwon looked at him flatly. “It’s cold.”

“It’s pretty.”

“I don’t need your commentary.”

“It’s pretty, is all I’m saying.”

“Jay,” Jungwon said, “if you don’t shut up, I will throw you down the stairs.”

Jay looked over his shoulder. “Bit dramatic. They’re not even that long.”

Jungwon turned on his heel and started walking. “Goodbye.”

Jay followed immediately. “I’ve been here for five minutes, and you’re already walking away. Rude.”

“I have actual responsibilities,” Jungwon muttered.

“Oh? Like emotionally preparing the kettle for Jake’s return? Or mapping out Sunoo’s probable scream radius?”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Jay grinned. “I know I am.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. The entrance hall was quiet, dust floating in the shaft of afternoon light through the high windows. Jay wandered over to the bulletin board and read aloud in a posh voice.

“‘All students to return by 6 PM, January 9th. Latecomers will be penalised.’ You think if I’m late I can get detention and spend it with you?”

Jungwon turned to face him fully, arms crossed. “You’re absolutely insufferable.”

Jay leaned casually against the wall, toe nudging Jungwon’s bag. “But you know? You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“That you missed me.”

Jungwon let out a long, painful exhale. “I missed the quiet.”

Jay gave a wounded look. “You wrote back twice. That’s a committed pen pal, if you ask me.”

“I was being polite.”

“You called me a twat.”

“That was polite.”

Jay laughed, tipping his head back slightly, and for some reason the sound echoed warmer than the radiators could manage. “Right. Remind me to return the favour in writing.”

“I’ll burn it.”

“You’ll keep it in your drawer next to my Christmas card.”

“Shut up.”

They stood there for a moment.

Jungwon adjusted his coat. Jay’s grin softened just a bit.

“You know,” Jay said casually, “you could’ve told me you were arriving early. We could’ve shared a train or something.”

Jungwon’s expression twitched. “Why would I do that?”

Jay shrugged. “Guess I’ll just keep showing up where you are, then.”

“You already do.”

“Exactly.”

Another silence.

Jay looked toward the stairs, then back at him. “I’ve got biscuits upstairs. Custard creams.”

“I’m not going to your room.”

“Didn’t invite you. I’m just saying. In case you suddenly want sweets.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Do that.”

And with that, Jay offered him a lazy, two-fingered salute, turned, and wandered off down the hall like he hadn’t just come all the way back to school early for this exact moment. Jungwon watched him go, mildly horrified by how normal it all felt now.

He sighed, finally picked up his bag, and muttered under his breath.

“He’s an idiot.”

But he was still smiling a little when he climbed the stairs.

London, February 1993.

Letters were flying—actual physical letters, not those boring white envelopes you get with your electricity bill, but pinks, reds, folded hearts, glittery lace, ones shaped like animals, some even tied with string like little paper grenades of emotion. The corridor smelled like soap, perfume, and collective teenage anxiety.

It was the annual Valentine’s drop-off from St. Agatha’s, their sister dormitory school down the road—a bizarre, half-affectionate, half-terrifying tradition where the girls would send a tsunami of anonymous notes, love letters, and cursed poetry to the boys of St. Joseph’s. Some were sincere. Some were threatening. All were embarrassing.

“IT’S HERE! THE POST IS HERE!” Heeseung shouted, dramatically bursting into the corridor like he was announcing war.

Sunghoon appeared beside him, clutching a small, heart-patterned box. “Someone sent me chocolates. That’s the third year in a row.”

“God loves his favourites,” Heeseung said. “And apparently, so do the girls.”

Ni-ki, two steps behind them, looked deeply suspicious. “Don’t eat that.”

“What?”

“It could be poisoned.”

“It’s a truffle, not anthrax.”

“There are wars happening, Heeseung.”

“You’re allergic to dairy, Ni-ki.”

Meanwhile, Sunoo was already squealing. Actually squealing. He had three letters in hand, one of them with glitter handwriting that read “To my shining sunbeam.” He looked like he might pass out from the joy.

“This is it,” Sunoo said, clutching his chest. “This is my season. This is MY holiday. I feel seen. Cherished. Worshipped.”

“You haven’t opened them yet,” Jake said, calmly holding his own modest stack. “They might not be yours.”

“They could be threats,” Jungwon added, walking beside him.

“They could be both,” Ni-ki offered.

Jake squinted at the return address. “This one says ‘Your secret admirer / maths class survivor.’ Oi, Jungwon, that’s probably yours.”

Jungwon didn’t react. He just handed all his letters—every single pastel-colored embarrassment—to Jake without looking at them.

Jake blinked. “You don’t want to read your own post?”

“I trust your literary judgment more than mine,” Jungwon said dryly. “Circle anything that sounds like a cult. Or uses the word ‘mate’ unironically.”

Sunoo had already ripped his letters open and was halfway through the second one. “Oh my God! This girl wants to braid my hair. This is love. This is devotion.”

“You don’t have hair long enough to braid.”

“Love finds a way, Jake!”

Jay, on the other hand, had strolled into class without a care in the world, hands in his pockets, tie askew, uniform a little rumpled like he’d gotten dressed while doing backflips. A fresh stack of untouched letters was dumped on his desk. Six in total. One glitter-sealed. One scented. One suspiciously damp.

He stared at them. Didn’t touch a single one.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow from two seats down. “Not opening them?”

Jay shrugged. “Too much responsibility.”

“Responsibility?”

“Yeah, what if I reply and then accidentally become someone’s boyfriend? That’s a lot for a Tuesday.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Exactly.”

Heeseung was already reading his own letters out loud with the passion of a Shakespearean actor. “Listen to this: ‘You are the fire in my dormitory heart, the butter to my crumpet, the sin in my Latin homework.’ I think I’m in love.”

“That sounds illegal,” Jake muttered.

“I hope someone sends me a death threat,” Sunghoon said cheerfully. “Just for variety.”

Jay smirked and picked one up at random. “This one’s got perfume on it. Feels like cheating.”

Ni-ki stared at him. “You look like someone who eats glue.”

“Thanks.”

Meanwhile, Jungwon had retrieved his letters from Jake’s pile, now neatly annotated in red pen with comments like ‘bit much, but grammatical’ or ‘run-on sentence, but cute’.

One even had a full rating system:

Flair: 8/10. Emotional stability: 3/10. Romantic threat level: 6/10.

Jake handed it back with a shrug. “You’ll live.”

“Barely,” Jungwon muttered.

The class was finally beginning to settle when the professor arrived, grumbling something about “consumerist nonsense” and “you’re all being watched by God”, but just as everyone began dragging out their books, Jay casually leaned over, took a plain white envelope from inside his notebook, and slid it across the gap to Jungwon’s desk.

No hearts.

No glitter.

No perfume.

Just scribbled in pen on the front:

Happy Hearts, Headboy.

Jungwon froze.

Then narrowed his eyes.

Jay was very obviously not looking at him. He was sitting up straighter than he ever had in his life, staring at the front like he was fascinated by the water stain on the whiteboard. He even tilted his head a little, just for added performance.

Jungwon looked at the professor. Still ranting.

He looked back at the envelope.

Then slowly like someone disarming a bomb, he peeled it open under the desk. The handwriting was Jay’s. Big, a bit messy. A little slanted. It read:

Dear Headboy,

It’s Valentine’s Day. So here I am.

Writing to you. Again.

Apparently letters are our thing now when the calendar demands emotions. Christmas. New Years. I mean, I didn’t sign up for it but you seem to enjoy acting like a 60-year-old Victorian schoolteacher, so I figured: when in Rome. Or in this case, when in London with a grumpy genius who looks like he’s allergic to love.

I won’t say anything sweet. You’d probably vomit.

But I will say: you looked mildly tolerable today.

Your hair was behaving. Your scowl was endearing. You glared at the mail pile like it had personally wronged you.

I think that’s impressive.

So here. Happy Valentine’s.

Keep pretending you don’t care. It’s adorable.

From: J.

Jungwon stared at it.

Then stared at Jay.

Who was still pretending to be engrossed in the lesson despite the fact that the professor was talking about Romantic poetry and Jay once called Shakespeare “the bald drama man”.

Jungwon folded the letter once. Then again. Slid it into the front of his book.

He didn’t smile.

But his ears were a bit pink.

If you ever wanted to witness forty teenage boys lose the will to live in synchronised harmony, St. Joseph’s Latin choir rehearsal was the place to be.

The conductor—a man with the unfortunate name of Mr. Cuthbert and the facial expression of a disappointed Victorian ghost—had been drilling them for two straight hours, flailing his baton with the desperation of someone who knew the school festival was in three weeks and that most of his choir thought Gloria in Excelsis Deo was a pizza topping.

Jungwon stood in the second row, posture so straight you could’ve rested books on his spine, eyes trained forward, lips barely moving but still managing to enunciate every syllable of agnus dei with surgical precision. He was, of course, perfect.

Jay was directly behind him, humming a full tone too low with the raw enthusiasm of someone who had not, and would never, search what any of these words meant.

By the time rehearsal ended, Mr. Cuthbert looked like he needed a sabbatical in the Alps. “Dismissed,” he groaned, already reaching for his flask.

Boys fled the risers like rats escaping a sinking ship. In a far corner of the auditorium, the usual suspects gathered with the energy of war survivors.

“What even is ‘benedictus qui venit’ supposed to mean?” Heeseung groaned, flopping down like a widow in mourning. “It’s not English. It’s not maths. It’s just gibberish.”

Sunghoon was massaging his jaw like he’d just attempted Olympic-level opera. “My mouth has never moved in those directions. I’m developing a cramp under my tongue.”

“You can’t cramp your tongue,” Jake said blandly, not looking up from his music sheet. “It’s a muscle, not a cursed artefact.”

“Speak for yourself!” Sunghoon moaned. “Mine’s possessed now. I said ‘gloria’ three times and I’m certain a dove passed out in the rafters.”

Sunoo was already dramatically sprawled across the bench. “We’re being tortured. This is punishment for whatever war England started.”

“Which one?” Jake asked.

“Exactly.”

In the midst of this hormonal theatre production, Jungwon took a seat beside Jay, both of them sitting slightly apart from the chaos like two cats choosing to perch on the windowsill of Hell.

Jay, still a bit out of breath, dug around his bag and pulled out his bottle of water. Without looking, he nudged it into Jungwon’s hand.

“Thanks,” Jungwon murmured, unscrewing the cap and drinking without hesitation.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. Sunghoon pointed accusingly with his choir sheet. “Oi. Why are you drinking from his bottle?”

“Do you own joint property now?” Heeseung chimed in. “Is the Latin thing your honeymoon retreat?”

“Shut up,” Jungwon said, passing the bottle back like it wasn’t a very big deal that he just drank after Jay Park.

“You good?” Jay asked, tone light, half-distracted by Heeseung trying to beatbox Ave Maria in the background.

Jungwon shrugged. “Physically? Yes. Mentally? Hanging on by a Latin-thread. Spiritually? I think I left my soul in the second verse of Gloria.”

Jay grinned. “Could’ve fooled me. You were hitting those high notes like a choirboy trying to outshine God.”

“It’s called singing properly,” Jungwon muttered. “You should try it sometime. Preferably when there’s a teacher around so they can tell you to shut up instead of me.”

Jay gasped, mock-offended. “I’ll have you know, Cuthbert gave me a nod. That means I was decent.”

“That means he was going cross-eyed from pain.”

Jay chuckled, leaned back against the wall, and let his legs sprawl out like he owned the floor. “I mean, if you want to critique me so bad, you could’ve just stood in front of me and sung directly into my soul.”

Jungwon turned his head, deadpan. “Why would I waste my breath?”

“I dunno. Maybe because you enjoy having me behind you?”

There was a beat of silence. 

Then, slowly, Jungwon blinked at him.

“Excuse me?”

Jay, completely relaxed, sipped from his own bottle. “I’m just saying. I’m always behind you. It’s fate.”

“Or it’s by height,” Jungwon said. “You absolute fungus.”

“Fungus is essential for ecosystem balance. Thank you.”

“No. See, this is why people leave rehearsals with migraines.”

Jay leaned in, grin getting smugger. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I was gone.”

“You were gone once,” Jungwon said. “You got sick last month and missed two practices. Best rehearsals of my life. I hit three high notes and the Holy Spirit visited me personally to say ‘congrats on the peace and quiet.’”

Jay only laughed harder. “You missed me so bad you hallucinated God.”

“I’m going to bite you.”

“Promises, promises.” Jay, completely unbothered, hand still holding the bottle, reached over and flicked the back of Jungwon’s ear.

A childish, quick, boop of a flick.

Like they were in nursery school.

Like Jungwon wasn’t seconds away from full combustion.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Jungwon whipped around.

Jay looked far too pleased with himself. “You’re always annoyed.”

“Now I’m homicidal.” Jungwon hissed. “Jay.”

“What?”

And then, without another word, without dramatic windup or polite warning, Jungwon leaned over and bit him.

Right on the side of his shoulder, just above the arm, through jumper and all. A quick, furious little snap like a squirrel whose acorn stash had been insulted.

“OW—WHAT THE BLOODY—”

It wasn’t even a hard bite. It wasn’t skin-breaking or brutal. It was the kind of annoyed chomp you give a friend who poked your nose and called you a mouse in public.

Jay reeled back in shock, staring at him like he’d just been physically betrayed by his own fictional soulmate.

“You bit me!”

“You flicked my ear,” Jungwon snapped. “You triggered the primal instinct to retaliate.”

“YOU BIT ME.”

“It was proportional.”

“WHAT WORLD—WHAT LEGAL SYSTEM—”

“British,” Jungwon replied. “We’re in London. Look it up.”

Jay was still gawking at him, but behind them, the gang had already descended into hysteria. And then, like the gremlin he truly was, Jungwon stood up, looked Jay dead in the eye and bolted.

“GET BACK HERE!” Jay yelled, leaping to his feet, laughter exploding from his chest. “YOU ANGRY LITTLE GERBIL!”

“I REGRET NOTHING!” Jungwon called back.

The others howled.

Sunoo fell off the bench.

Heeseung shouted, “WE’LL TELL YOUR KIDS THIS IS HOW IT STARTED!”

Jake muttered, “I am so done,” and followed after them like a tired school nurse.

Jay chased Jungwon out into the hallway, their voices echoing off the stone walls, one of them threatening murder and the other yelling about violating civil rights. 

London, March 1993.

There was something deeply offensive about Wednesdays at St. Joseph’s.

Maybe it was the mystery meat. Maybe it was the fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like they hadn’t slept in three days (which, to be fair, they hadn’t). Or maybe it was the way the cafeteria smelled faintly of mashed potatoes and generational disappointment.

Whatever the reason, Jungwon was already in a mood.

He sat between Jake and Sunoo at their usual corner table—an old wooden thing near the back, close enough to the radiator to sweat but not close enough to complain. Sunoo was complaining anyway.

“Why is the custard yellow?” Sunoo poked at his dessert like it had insulted his mother. “It’s aggressively yellow. This is the kind of colour that exists in warning signs, not in food.”

Jake didn’t look up from his plate. “It’s banana.”

“That’s a lie,” Sunoo said. “Banana isn’t this shade of radioactive.”

Jungwon, ever the picture of self-preservation, just shook his head and carefully cut into his mystery lasagna. It was fine. It wasn’t great, but it was edible, which was the St. Joseph’s gold standard.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

Because the universe, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that today—this Wednesday, of all days—was the perfect day for Jungwon to spill half of his chocolate pudding down the front of his school coat.

“Bloody Hell,” he hissed, jerking back from the table.

Sunoo stopped mid-rant. “WHAT DID YOU DO—oh my god.”

Jake just sighed. “That’s going to stain.”

“Obviously,” Jungwon muttered, standing quickly and pulling at the lapels of his coat like he could erase the damage by yanking hard enough.

He glanced around the room like a man scanning for salvation. The napkins were useless. The water jug was warm and only two-thirds full. There was a group of Year 10s at the sinks laughing over something sinister-looking.

And then, like the curtains parting in a theatre, what he found, unfortunately, was Jay.

Of course he did. Across the room, lounging with his usual suspects (read: four walking chaos engines), Jay was halfway through a sandwich and a terrible story. Jungwon couldn’t hear the words, but from the way Sunghoon was crying with laughter and Ni-ki was trying to eat with his ears plugged, it was going about as well as expected.

Without thinking, without even consulting his self-worth, Jungwon stood up, stomped over, and poked Jay on the shoulder like a tax officer demanding payment.

Jay turned.

Jungwon pointed. “Take off your coat.”

Sunghoon leaned forward like he’d just been handed a live microphone. “Ooooh.”

“Well, that escalated. Should we leave?” That was Ni-ki, shoving his sandwich aside for full drama.

Heeseung leaned across the table with a grin like sin. “I didn’t know you were into public declarations, Headboy.”

Jay, very loudly and with maximum menace, “God, Jungwon. At lunch? I didn’t know you were into public stripping. Bit scandalous, innit?”

Jungwon rolled his eyes so hard it was medically impressive. He tugged at his chocolate-stained uniform. “I spilled pudding on mine. I need to borrow yours.”

“Oh,” Jay said, suddenly shifting. “Right.”

And just like that—no hesitation, no teasing for once—Jay stood and shrugged off his blazer. He passed it to Jungwon without ceremony, fingers brushing for half a second longer than necessary. The coat was warm. Big. Smelled vaguely of Jay’s cologne, that annoyingly clean scent that somehow made Jungwon more annoyed by its politeness.

“It’s big,” Jungwon muttered.

Jay raised a brow. “Yeah, because I’m bigger.”

Jungwon didn’t dignify that with a response. He turned, walked off, and missed the entire table of boys watching him go like they’d just witnessed the emotional climax of a romantic film.

Jungwon slipped Jay’s coat on as he walked, arms vanishing into sleeves that were too long, too wide, and far too comfortable. The collar swallowed his neck. The hem swung at the back of his knees. He looked like a very small, very grumpy child who’d stolen his older brother’s clothes and was pretending it wasn’t the coziest thing he’d ever worn.

Heeseung leaned in the second he was out of arm’s reach. “Mate. Mate. That was intimate. That was romance-novel levels of casual intimacy.”

Sunghoon leaned over the table and whispered, “That was dangerously domestic.”

“That is more intimate than holding hands,” Ni-ki chimed in.

Jay didn’t respond. Just watched Jungwon’s retreating back like he was committing the sight to memory. Jungwon was adorable. It was ridiculous. Jay nearly bit his tongue trying not to say anything else.

Back at their table, Jake looked up just in time to see Jungwon plop down beside him again.

He blinked at the oversized coat now engulfing his friend. “Oh! You got a coat.”

“Jay’s,” Jungwon said flatly, spearing his potato like it had committed treason.

Sunoo looked up, saw the coat, and paused. “Oh.”

Jake nodded once. “Oh.”

No one said anything else.

Because really? What was there to say when your Headboy showed up in someone else’s coat like it was no big deal?

Nothing. But something was definitely happening.

PE at St. Joseph’s was not for the faint of heart, nor the weak of quad. Every Friday, the entire year was thrown out onto the back field with nothing but a whistle-blowing coach, too many cones, and a deeply concerning sense of freedom.

Jungwon hated it.

He didn’t hate running, per se. He hated the disorganized chaos of it all. The way some students treated sprinting like warfare and others moved like they’d been personally victimized by gravity.

Jake, being annoyingly good at pacing, was ahead of him by three strides. Sunoo had already slowed down halfway through the first lap and was jogging dramatically like he was in an indie film about heartbreak. Meanwhile, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Ni-ki had broken into a full-on race, yelling insults and laughing like gremlins.

Jay, naturally, was somewhere in the middle of all of this, cheering for nobody, mocking everyone, and running just fast enough to pass Jungwon every so often with a smirk and a wink.

“Looking good back there, Headboy,” Jay called as he jogged past him the third time. “You practising for the ministry of silly walks?”

“Eat turf, Park,” Jungwon muttered through gritted teeth.

And, as if the universe was listening, Jungwon did.

Or rather, he slipped.

Right foot hit the edge of the grassy dip near the corner of the quad, and the world betrayed him. One second he was upright and slightly smug, the next he was horizontal and furious, the crunch of his knee hitting the earth sharp and immediate.

“Shit,” he hissed.

Sunoo shrieked from behind. “OH MY GOD—ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Jungwon sat up slowly, already wincing. The sting on his knee was immediate, warmth blooming through torn trousers. Blood. Of course.

Jay skidded to a stop beside him, hands on his hips. “Well that’s dramatic.”

“Go away,” Jungwon snapped.

Jay crouched beside him instead, taking one look at the scrape before whistling. “Alright, Shakespeare. That’s a proper gash.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said helpfully, like Jungwon hadn’t noticed.

“Thank you for your medical insight,” Jungwon said, voice tight with pain and pride.

Jay snorted. “Want me to carry you?”

Jungwon blinked. “What?”

“Bridal style? Piggyback? We could make a scene out of it.”

“I can walk,” Jungwon gritted.

“You sure?” Jay teased, already tilting his head like he was about to sweep Jungwon up in his arms anyway. “I don’t mind. Might win me some points with the headmaster for kindness to wounded prefects.”

“I said I can walk.”

“Alright, alright, no need to bite my arm off.” Jay straightened up, extending a hand. “C’mon, then.”

Jungwon hesitated for a second. But his elbow did sting, and his knee was scraped too, and there was literally no one else close enough to help. So he reached out.

And Jay took his hand.

Firm grip. Warm. Steady.

Jungwon blinked at it, confused. “Are  you holding my hand?”

Jay nodded proudly. “Yes. For medical reasons.”

Jungwon stared at their joined hands, scandalized. “Well, do it properly.”

Jay blinked. “Properly?”

Jungwon adjusted their grip, more fingers, more contact, less awkward. Their hands settled together like it wasn’t a big deal. Like this was something they did.

Jay looked down at their hands, then at Jungwon’s very red ears, then back at their hands again. His smirk softened, just a little. “Alright then. Properly.”

They started walking, slow but steady, across the field. Jay stayed at his pace, glancing over every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t limping or leaking blood. Jungwon’s coat flapped behind him, untucked and muddy at the back, and Jay kept catching himself smiling at the way Jungwon’s brows knit in pure focus, as if he wasn’t literally being led hand-in-hand across campus like some lost boy prince.

Behind them, the idiots had noticed.

“ARE YOU HOLDING HANDS?” Heeseung called from the other side of the field.

“IS THIS A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL?” Sunghoon shouted. “TELL ME I’M INVITED.”

“DOES BLEEDING COUNT AS CONSENT?” Ni-ki added, far too loudly.

Jungwon flipped them off with his free hand.

Jay was laughing.

And still, did not let go.

When they finally reached the edge of the quad near the side entrance, Jungwon leaned against the wall for a second, catching his breath.

Jay crouched again, carefully checking the wound. “Still dramatic. Still bleeding. Still sexy.”

“Stop talking.”

Jay didn’t.

“Y’know,” he said, looking up at him. “If you wanted to hold my hand, you didn’t have to injure yourself.”

Jungwon kicked him lightly with his good leg.

Jay grinned and they didn’t drop hands until they reached the infirmary steps.

The sky had been threatening rain all day. A slow, swollen grey pressing down over the school grounds like someone had dimmed the world’s brightness and left it in grayscale.

Jungwon noticed it the moment he stepped out of the admin building, envelope in hand—some prefect errand for the bursar’s office, something about signatures and term balances, whatever. All he knew was that it was the end of the school day, and he’d rather be anywhere else but walking back across campus like some tired mailman.

The breeze had picked up. The clouds were practically humming with the weight of it.

Then came the voice.

“Oi! Headboy! Fancy a walk?”

Jungwon didn’t even turn around. He just sighed.

“I’m not walking with you,” he called, trudging ahead.

But the footsteps caught up anyway. Predictably.

Jay appeared beside him like a bad idea with legs. “Not even as emotional support? I’m not busy. I could be your errand boy. Emotional baggage carrier. Rain buddy.”

“You’re always not busy,” Jungwon muttered. “Because you never do anything.”

Jay grinned, undeterred. “Exactly. Full schedule of bothering you.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Tough. I’ve appointed myself.”

Jungwon glanced sideways at him. Jay had his school jumper sleeves pushed to his elbows, hands in his pockets, that stupid grin on like this was a romantic comedy and not just another post-class afternoon.

And then—like some divine punchline—the rain came.

A sharp, cold drop hit Jungwon’s cheek. Then another on his shoulder. Then the sky opened fully, no warning, no hesitation, just full British sky misery. Like someone up there got bored and turned the faucet on.

Jungwon groaned and yanked his coat tighter. “Brilliant.”

Jay tilted his face up toward the sky, letting it hit him. “I like rain.”

“You would.”

“It’s fun. Feels freeing.” Jay turned to him, walking backwards now as the rain soaked into both their uniforms. His hair was already sticking down at the front, fringe darkened and dripping into his eyes.

“We should run,” Jay said.

“To where?” Jungwon asked, voice sharp. “There’s nothing near.”

Jay pointed vaguely. “Next covered bit. There’s that archway near the science building.”

“That’s ages away.”

“Only if you walk slow.”

Jungwon glared at him. “I’m not running across campus like some deranged—”

“It’s either that or stay here and drown.”

Another gust of wind blew a sheet of rain directly into Jungwon’s face. He wiped his cheek with his sleeve. “Fine.”

Jay beamed.

They stood still for a moment, water trickling down their collars. The sound of the rain was loud now—slapping puddles, the dull roar of it on rooftops, students shouting in the distance as they sprinted to shelter.

Jay held out a hand. “We count to three?”

Jungwon looked at him like he was insane. “We’re not holding hands to run.”

Jay smirked. “Shame.”

“One.” Jungwon said firmly.

“Two.” Jay echoed.

“Three!”

And they bolted.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t heroic. It was pure instinct: feet pounding over slick stone, water sloshing around their ankles, Jungwon clutching his coat closed with one hand and shielding his face with the other.

The rain came like a bucket tipped over the sky, with no warning and absolutely no chill. It was the kind of London rain that slapped, heavy and obnoxious, like the clouds were trying to rinse the sins off the bricks.

And of course, they were right in the middle of it.

Jungwon didn’t scream, because he was too dignified for that (obviously), but he did let out a very aggressive “OH MY GOD!” as the water dumped down on them, his perfectly combed hair flattening in less than three seconds.

Jay, meanwhile, was laughing. Loudly. Madly. Stupidly.

Because of course he was.

They were halfway through the quad, rain pelting down like missiles, blazers soaked, trousers clinging, and Jay chose that exact moment to skid on the stone path.

And in that skid, like some slow-mo moment from a slapstick comedy reel, his right shoe flung off with an audible splat, landing a few metres behind them in a puddle the size of a pond.

Jungwon turned, blinked once and then broke.

He howled.

Not just a chuckle. Not even a classy giggle.

No. He doubled over, hands on knees, rain cascading from his soaked fringe as he wheezed into the storm.

“Y-YOU LOST YOUR SHOE!” he managed, gasping, slipping slightly himself but catching the stone rail with one hand. “You—bloody hell, you ran out of your shoe!”

Jay stood in the rain, blinking at his traitorous loafer in the puddle behind him, one socked foot in the air like he was still deciding if he should retrieve it or burn it out of embarrassment.

“I hate this weather,” Jay declared. “I hate this school. I hate my life.”

“You look like a Victorian child who escaped a chimney and is too scared to ask for help!” Jungwon cried, wheezing again.

“I looked majestic,” Jay retorted, already hobbling back to collect his sodden shoe. “Like a storm-battered hero.”

“Like a lost feral duck!”

The rain pounded on the cobblestones. Water ran in tiny rivers down their necks, dripping from their chins and eyebrows and sleeves. But neither of them moved for cover.

They were laughing too hard.

The kind of laugh you only get once in a while, the ridiculous kind, where you lose all your air and your stomach hurts and the world becomes this ridiculous, wonderful blur of wet and sound.

Jay made it back with the shoe and held it up like he’d retrieved ancient treasure. “This. This is loyalty.”

“It left you,” Jungwon snorted, swiping at his face again. “It flung itself away like it couldn’t bear to be on your foot anymore.”

Jay’s grin widened. “Probably jealous of the other one.”

“You are insane,” Jungwon said, still breathless, still soaked to the bone, his voice echoing in the little stone courtyard like it was made to hold moments like this. Like the walls themselves were laughing along.

Jay looked at him.

Not smug. Not teasing. Just that soft, stupid kind of look he got sometimes, like he was watching a movie only he could see.

The rain was still coming down in sheets when they reached the overhang by the South Hall. The air was thick with it, cold and loud and thrumming like a heartbeat against the rooftop, soaking through their uniforms, their socks, even the hem of Jungwon’s tie.

But he couldn’t stop laughing.

He was doubled over by the stone railing, one hand pressed to the wall for balance, the other clutching his side like his ribs had given up halfway through the sprint. Water dripped from his chin, streamed down the bridge of his nose, and ran in cold lines across his collarbone but none of it mattered.

“Why is this so funny to you?” Jay managed, panting.

“You! you ran through half the quad with one bloody shoe!” Jungwon gasped, cracking up again. “You tripped yourself!”

“I didn’t trip!” Jay said defensively. “My shoe yeeted off me, unprovoked!”

Jungwon burst out laughing again, harder this time, wiping his face only to get rained on all over again.

“You should’ve seen yourself,” he said through laughter. 

Jay finally caught up, sock squelching against the wet concrete, grinning like an idiot. “That was the loudest laugh I’ve ever heard you make. I’m flattered.”

Jungwon tried to get himself under control, covering his face with his hand, but the image of Jay, with hair flattened to his forehead, one shoe missing, absolutely soaked and smiling, was just too much.

“I can’t see anything,” Jungwon groaned, blinking at the rainwater still dripping down his face, eyes stinging. 

Jay tilted his head. “Want help?”

“No, I—” But he was already stepping in, and Jungwon couldn’t even finish his protest.

Jay’s hand reached out, fingers gently sweeping the dripping strands of hair off Jungwon’s forehead. He did it carefully, with both hands, like he was trying not to mess anything up. His thumbs brushed near Jungwon’s temples, slow and precise.

Jungwon’s breath caught, like his lungs had frozen. Not from the rain. Not from the wind. But from the weight of that touch. Too soft. Too close.

Jay was still smiling, but not in the usual cocky, I’m-here-to-annoy-you way. This one was quieter. A little tentative. A little curious.

Jungwon looked up.

Jay was already looking at him.

And the world felt like it had tilted slightly off-centre.

The rain roared in the background, but it was weirdly distant now, like a far-off waterfall. The kind of moment where everything narrows, sound, breath, logic. All of it.

Just Jay. Close. Still holding that stupid shoe in one hand. His face ridiculously wet. His eyes are dark, amused, and locked on Jungwon.

Jungwon blinked. The roar of the rain dimmed under the shelter. “You look stupid.” 

Rain ran down the back of Jay’s neck, dripping onto his collar. Jungwon could hear it. Feel it. The sound of water echoing against stone, the thump of his heart slowing from adrenaline to something heavier.

Jay’s lips parted a little. Not quite a smile. Not quite a line either. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jungwon blinked. He hadn’t realized he was.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, but his voice didn’t come out the way he meant it to. It was softer. Too much truth.

Jay didn’t flinch. “I can see glitters.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, Jay took half a step forward. His sock made a wet sound on the stone floor. Shoe still in hand. Idiot smile flickering across his face like he wasn’t sure whether to keep talking or— 

He didn’t.

Jay kissed Jungwon.

It didn’t happen all at once. No crashing into it, no dramatic grabbing. Just a tilt forward. A pause. The moment before. The inhale between thunderclaps. Jay’s mouth met Jungwon’s like a question: careful, careful, not quite sure if this would be returned. Rain slid down Jay’s jaw and touched Jungwon’s skin through the kiss, the cold a sharp contrast to the heat rising up his neck.

Jungwon didn’t move at first.

His eyes fluttered closed slow, like the delay of understanding catching up to what was happening.

Jay kissed like he was trying not to kiss too hard. Like this might scare Jungwon off if he didn’t ease into it. Their mouths brushed, then met properly, slow and uncertain and wet in the way only a rain-drenched kiss could be. Like they were both too aware. Too present.

Jay started to pull back, just the tiniest movement, like a breath.

But Jungwon caught his collar and kissed him again.

Not shy. Not unsure. Just steady.

Like something had clicked between his ribs and all he could do was move forward.

Jay’s shoulders dropped like he’d been holding in a breath for a week. His hand found Jungwon’s waist, not gripping, just there, anchoring him.

When they pulled back, they were both smiling.

Sort of.

Jay looked stunned. In a good way.

“Your shoe,” Jungwon said, suddenly, voice deadpan.

Jay snorted. “Bloody hell, Jungwon.”

And they both laughed again.

Still soaked. Still stupid. Still—somehow—standing a little closer than before.

Jay had decided, without consulting anyone—least of all Jungwon—that personal space was no longer real.

It began in the courtyard, where the students had half an hour before afternoon study. The sun was out. The benches were mildly dry. Everyone was lounging like exhausted medieval scholars, including Jungwon, who had just pulled out his planner, a pen, and his carefully managed “to-finish-before-dinner” list.

And then Jay appeared.

Correction: Jay launched himself onto the bench like a Victorian governess fainting onto a chaise lounge.

Right beside Jungwon. Thigh to thigh. Shoulder to shoulder. Audibly sighing.

“You’re heavy,” Jungwon muttered, not even looking up.

“I’m delicate,” Jay replied, forehead now leaning against Jungwon’s shoulder. “I require comfort.”

Sunoo, who was sitting across from them, blinked. “Is he dying?”

Jake, flipping through his own notes, replied flatly, “He’s been like that all week.”

“I’m tired,” Jay mumbled dramatically, not moving. “You’re warm.”

“I’m going to throw you off this bench,” Jungwon said. But he still didn’t move.

From a few feet away, Heeseung whispered to Sunghoon, “Do you think they’ve like spiritually merged?”

Sunghoon, chewing a biscuit, shrugged. “I think Jay’s trying to crawl inside Jungwon’s skin.”

Back on the bench, Jungwon tried to nudge Jay off with his elbow. Jay made a sound like a betrayed Victorian widow. “Unbelievable. I share toast with you and this is the thanks I get.”

“That was my toast.”

“We’re one now.”

Jungwon finally looked at him, unamused. “If you don’t get off me, I’m telling the Principal you’re sick and require quarantine.”

Jay leaned in closer. “Maybe I am sick. Love sick.”

Jungwon stared at him like he wanted to call the authorities.

Across the courtyard, Ni-ki gagged audibly. “I’m going to report this to the ministry of health.”

By the time they moved indoors for study period, Jay still had not detached. In the library annex, he pulled a chair right next to Jungwon’s. Not across. Not at an adjacent table. Right next.

Heeseung passed by and raised a brow. “New seating arrangement?”

“We’re revising together,” Jay said, opening a notebook he absolutely did not intend to write in.

“We are not,” Jungwon corrected, already flipping through his textbooks.

Jay leaned in, chin in hand, blinking at Jungwon like a puppy.

“Your handwriting’s tiny.”

“It’s called neat.”

“Looks like ant footsteps.”

“I’m going to staple your tongue to your head.” Jay made a heart shape with his hands.

Jake, a few rows over, muttered, “This is giving me a migraine.”

Sunoo leaned closer. “Should we intervene?”

“No,” Jake said. “Let them implode naturally.”

Eventually, Jay started drawing little doodles in the margins of Jungwon’s notebook. At first, Jungwon ignored him. Then Jay drew a tiny stickman labeled “me” hugging a bigger stickman labeled “you (grumpy but soft)” and Jungwon rolled his eyes so hard they almost fell out.

“Stop drawing. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Jay pointed at the drawing. “But it’s us.”

“That’s not us. That’s two worm people.”

“You’re the worm of my dreams.”

Jungwon inhaled sharply and muttered, “I hate you.”

Jay beamed.

And their friends?

They were losing it.

Heeseung passed them a note during study that read: Do you two want the room or should we just set up the wedding in the chapel?

Sunghoon added on the back: I’ll bring snacks. Ni-ki’s in charge of emotional support and/or hostage negotiation.

Jungwon read it, sighed deeply, and passed it back without comment.

Jay leaned over, whispering, “So that’s a yes to the wedding, then?”

Jungwon didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either.

Jay was now curled slightly in his chair, one leg crossed under the other, idly spinning Jungwon’s pen between his fingers while occasionally gently bumping Jungwon’s elbow. Every single bump earned him a deadpan glare. None of them made him stop.

“Are you actually doing anything?” Jungwon asked flatly, flicking his eyes to Jay’s still-blank notebook.

Jay tapped the page thoughtfully. “I’m writing a sonnet.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. It’s called ‘Ode to the Headboy Who Makes Me Regret My A-Levels’.”

Jungwon muttered, “If you ruin my outline, I’ll shove your textbook so far down your throat you’ll conjugate in your dreams.”

Jay smirked. “Poetic.”

Across the table, Jake was watching with an expression that could only be described as concerned older brother witnessing a slow car crash. Beside him, Sunoo had both hands dramatically pressed over his mouth like he’d just seen a royal scandal unfold.

“You’re letting him touch your notes,” Sunoo whispered, voice scandalised. “That’s practically second base.”

Jake muttered, “In Jungwon terms, that’s basically a honeymoon.”

Jay didn’t look up. “I can hear you two, you know.”

“We want you to,” Jake deadpanned.

Heeseung, now standing behind Jungwon and reading over his shoulder, snorted loudly. “Right, but actually, what is happening here? Like I thought you two hated each other but you’re basically conjoined now.”

“We still hate each other,” Jungwon muttered, flipping a page a little too forcefully.

Jay nodded solemnly. “Very passionately.”

“Passionate?” Sunghoon echoed as he joined the growing circle. “Is that even a thing now?”

Ni-ki appeared out of nowhere with a snack bar and zero tact. “Just say you’re in love so we can stop pretending we’re surprised when you share one bloody biscuit at breakfast.”

“We’re not in love,” Jungwon snapped, cheeks just slightly pink. “He’s just annoyingly—”

Jay nudged him again. “Affectionate?”

Jungwon glared. “Clingy.”

Jay beamed. “Semantics.”

“I swear to God.”

The entire group watched them for a moment as Jay leaned his head back against Jungwon’s shoulder, completely unbothered, smiling like he owned the place. Jungwon didn’t shove him off. He didn’t even roll his eyes this time.

Jake looked at Sunoo.

Sunoo looked at Jake.

Heeseung groaned. “Someone call the Principal. They’ve been compromised.”

Sunghoon, ever the gremlin, added, “We can have the reception in the library. Romantic. Dusty.”

Jungwon groaned and slammed his notebook shut. “I’m leaving. You’re all sick.”

Jay stood up at the same time. “Wait up, I’ll walk with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Heeseung tossed a pencil at Jay. “Oi, at least carry his books if you’re going to be his emotionally aggressive twat.”

Jay caught the pencil mid-air and winked. “That’s what I’m saying.”

And then he followed Jungwon out the study hall like a damn puppy—half-smug, half-useless—with Jungwon muttering curses the whole way, but noticeably not pushing him away.

Sunoo stared after them.

Ni-ki took another bite of his snack bar. “They’re gonna kiss before Easter break.”

Jake sighed. “God help us all.”

“I can’t show my face in this school anymore,” Jay declared, throwing himself onto his bed like a disowned royal heir. “I’ll need to transfer. Maybe to a monastery. Or Wales.”

Jungwon, standing by Jay’s desk and reading the crumpled report card that had been dramatically flung at him moments ago, didn’t even blink.

“It’s a D,” he said.

“A D in History,” Jay wailed into his pillow.

“That’s not even failing.”

“In History! It’s literally the past. It’s already happened. All I had to do was remember it!”

Jungwon rolled his eyes and tossed the report card back onto Jay’s bed. “You didn’t answer the essay part.”

Jay groaned again and flopped over dramatically, now staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him. “My dad’s going to say I’ve shamed the entire family tree.”

“You’re Korean. Your family tree doesn’t care about British history.”

Jay gasped, hand to his chest. “Traitor.”

Jungwon walked over and thumped him lightly on the leg. “Get up, you absolute drama queen. It’s one bad grade.”

Jay didn’t budge. “Just leave me here. Let me rot.”

“You’re lying on an imported mattress with a heated blanket. Shut up.”

Still, Jungwon hovered for a second because he could tell, beneath the dramatics and the out-of-pocket quotes, Jay did actually look a little sad. Like the disappointment had gotten under his skin, maybe in a way he didn’t expect.

There was a silence for a few beats. The kind where neither of them said anything, but the air felt thicker. And softer.

“You didn’t fail,” Jungwon said, this time more quietly.

Jay blinked up at him. “Yeah, but—”

“It’s still a good job,” Jungwon said, cutting him off, more certain this time. “You tried.”

Jay was staring again. Less dramatically this time, more like he was waiting for something. Like he was seeing Jungwon all over again in a way that made Jungwon feel seen back, which was maybe worse.

So, Jungwon, standing next to Jay’s bed with a scowl that was mostly for show, did something incredibly stupid.

He leaned down.

Pressed a quick, hesitant kiss to Jay’s lips.

Then immediately pulled back, straightening with a sharp, awkward inhale like he hadn’t just kissed someone in the middle of a tantrum about History.

Jay blinked up at him, stunned. “Did you just kiss me?”

“You should study next time,” Jungwon said quickly, trying to sound unaffected. “That way I don’t have to kiss a failure.”

“So” Jay blinked again. “Are we boyfriends now?”

Jungwon raised a brow, then promptly smacked Jay on the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“If we’re not,” Jungwon muttered, grabbing Jay’s stupidly fluffy pillow and hugging it to his chest like it wasn’t his whole heart showing, “then what are we, you holy cow?”

Jay was grinning now. Full teeth. Ears pink. Hopeful in that really annoying, really endearing way.

“Oh,” he said smugly. “Boyfriends! I like that.”

Before Jungwon could say anything scathing, Jay grabbed him by the front of his jumper and kissed him again.

Slower, this time.

More real. Less flailing chaos, more I’ve been wanting to do this for an embarrassing amount of time but didn’t want to ruin the bit. Jungwon kissed him back, without hesitation this time, fingers tightening slightly on Jay’s pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

They stayed like that for a bit. Just warmth and quiet and the soft background hum of a heater that neither of them could hear anymore.

When they finally broke apart, Jay leaned his forehead against Jungwon’s and whispered, “I’m still dropping history next term.”

Jungwon sighed. “Fine. But if you do, you’re joining choir.”

Jay stared. “That’s blackmail.”

“It’s boyfriend tax.”

Jay grinned. “You’re so unhinged.”

“And you’re stupid.”

Jay kissed him again.

And Jungwon let him.

London, April 1993. 

The room looked like the aftermath of a small hurricane. There was an open suitcase on Jungwon’s bed, a perfectly folded jumper halfway hanging off it, and a perfectly unfolded boyfriend halfway hanging off the floor.

Jay, who was currently lying flat on his stomach like a protester chaining himself to a government building, was dramatically thudding his fists against the old wooden boards as if he was mourning something ancient and catastrophic. Like the loss of Roman democracy. Or his boyfriend going home for Easter.

“Don’t leave me,” Jay said into the floorboards, muffled. “You said we’d be together in sickness and in health. In Latin and in geography. We never said anything about leaving.”

Jungwon, who had long since stopped reacting with anything except the steeliest of deadpan expressions, rolled up a pair of socks and dropped them into his suitcase.

“We’ve been boyfriends for twenty-four days.”  Jay groaned, lifting his head dramatically. “Twenty-four glorious, history-defining, life-altering days! And now you’re abandoning me.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” Jungwon said, kneeling to zip the suitcase shut with military precision. “I’m going home.”

Jay gasped like Jungwon had just said he was going to join the circus.

“That’s even worse!”

Jungwon stood, brushed invisible lint off his jumper, and gave Jay a look. “You live fifty minutes away.”

“An hour, with traffic.”

“Oh my god.”

Jay clambered up from the floor in stages, like a Victorian lady with the flu, until he was kneeling by the side of the bed and clutching the edge like it was the edge of a cliff and he was about to fall into eternal despair.

“You’re really leaving me here? With nothing but memories? And maybe the choir schedule in my bag?”

“I gave you my family’s telephone number.”

Jay blinked at him, lips pouting, eyebrows tragic. “But I can’t kiss a telephone number, Jungwon.”

Jungwon’s response was cut off by a knock on the window, followed by a honk. They both turned. There, standing beside the family car at the school gates, was Jungwon’s older sister waving politely, already mid-turn on a Whitney Houston cassette.

Jay groaned again. “Noooo. She’s here already?! I thought I had time to emotionally sabotage you before you left.”

“You’ve had the whole morning.” Jungwon yanked his suitcase off the bed.

“I’ve been emotionally sabotaging myself, actually, thank you!”

Jungwon hoisted the handle up, turned to him, and said, in his Headboy Voice, “We’ll be apart just for a short time. We’ll see each other next term.”

Jay, still being so much, put both hands to his chest. “Two months, Jungwon. That’s basically a prison sentence.”

Jungwon blinked, but didn’t comment. Mostly because his sister honked again. He took a slow breath, then looked back at Jay with a fondness that was now laced into everything he did. “We can meet outside. Let’s ride a train together. Just give me a call, alright?”

Jay stared at him, lips twitching, then finally exhaled.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But only because you promised trains. And you know I can’t resist trains.”

Jungwon grinned. “You really can’t.”

Together, they walked to the car, suitcase in tow. Jay had his hands in his coat pockets, occasionally bumping against Jungwon’s arm like he didn’t quite know how not to touch him. Jungwon didn’t move away.

At the car, Jay leaned against the door, trying not to look twelve kinds of wistful. “Don’t forget me.”

“You’re very difficult to forget.”

“I’ll send you letters again.”

“I’ll look forward to them.” Jungwon handed his bag over to his sister and turned back to him. “Let’s go on a date in two weeks.”

Jay’s face cracked into a massive, boyish grin, the kind that made his eyes disappear and his ears go red. “I’ll see you in two weeks, then—” He paused, eyes flicking to Jungwon’s for one second too long.

Then Jungwon, ever the one to ruin a moment by making it better, leaned in and said, soft and sharp and terribly real, “ I love you.”

Jay’s mouth dropped open slightly. “I love you too.”

“I put something in your bag pocket, by the way. Don’t open it until you’re home.”

“What is it?” Jungwon asked.

“A government secret. Or maybe a drawing of a frog. Depends how I was feeling.”

Then Jay stepped back, gave him a two-finger salute, and ran off dramatically like he was escaping from heartbreak and not his very alive boyfriend who he’d just kissed in public two days ago.

Jungwon slid into the backseat. His sister asked if that was the boy Jungwon was talking about in his letters..

Jungwon just said, “Yeah.”

Then he checked his bag pocket.

Dearest Jungwon,

By the time you’re reading this, I assume you’re back in your strangely immaculate bedroom, probably already arranging your socks alphabetically or colour-coding your Latin notes. Maybe your sister’s yelling something at the telly, maybe it’s raining outside, maybe—hopefully—you’re thinking of me.

(If not, I demand you re-read this sentence until you are.)

I wanted to write you something before term ended. Not just because it’s officially Easter season and we’re meant to be grateful and reborn and whatever else the vicar says, but because this has genuinely been the best term of my life. And God help me, most of it is because of you.

Which is disgusting, really. But here we are.

Jungwon, I am sincerely grateful that I somehow ended up with the most sarcastic, terrifying, intelligent, brilliant, annoyingly smug Headboy as my boyfriend.

You make everything better — even when you’re calling me names, even when you’re correcting my grammar mid-flirt, even when you pretend to hate me (but then kiss me like you don’t).

Thank you for tolerating me.

Thank you for laughing at me (usually deserved).

Thank you for sitting with me at breakfast, for walking with me to the quad, for letting me give you my coat, and for never actually pushing me off the staircase no matter how much I probably deserved it.

I don’t know what being a boyfriend means most of the time but you never make me feel like I have to be perfect.

You just make me feel like I want to be good. For you. With you.

And that’s mad, isn’t it?

I hope when you read this, you’re happy. I hope you miss me. Not too much, just enough. And I hope you know that if I could’ve kept you in my coat pocket and taken you home with me, I bloody well would’ve.

Anyway, I’ll write again soon. It’s sort of our thing now, right? Letters and Latin and being a bit stupid in love.

I love you. I don’t even know how much yet. I don’t think I could measure it with anything proper, not even if I had a ruler the length of the Thames. All I know is that twenty plus days of being your boyfriend feels too short. Like I’ve only just opened the book and already I’m terrified of the last page.

I love you in the way I can’t shut up around you. I love you when you get annoyed at me and still let me walk beside you. I love you when your voice gets quiet, and when you say my name like you’re surprised it belongs to someone who actually means it. I love you in the most ridiculous, terrifying, brilliant way a boy can love another boy, and I hope — I hope we do this for a long time.

Let’s love each other for ages. Not just this term. Not just for now.

You’re my favourite story, my love. And I’ve barely turned the first page.

Happy Easter, Headboy.

Don’t forget me.

(And don’t roll your eyes too hard, I can feel it from here.)

Love,

Jay

Jungwon read it once. And then again. And then had to close it halfway through because his face wouldn’t stop heating up like a kettle left on too long.

Now he lies back, eyes on the road, the letter pressed to his chest like an admission of guilt.

“He’s such a weirdo,” he mutters, but his mouth is curled into the smallest, dumbest, softest smile.

Then, quieter, “I miss him already.”

And he does.

Stupid Jay.

London, April 1996.

There were two seats near the window again. Just like last time.

Jay claimed the aisle first this time, but not because he was being smug or competitive — just because he’d seen Jungwon’s eyes light up at the view outside, and he knew by now that watching the city blur past calmed him. Jay would rather watch him, anyway.

Jungwon settled beside him, coat shrugged off halfway, fingers already lacing between Jay’s like it was the most natural thing in the world, which, now, it sort of was.

It hadn’t been like that the first time.

Three years ago, on a day not all that different from this one, their fingers had bumped once by accident,  on the railing, while boarding,  and Jay had laughed too loud and Jungwon had elbowed him so hard it left a mark.

Now, the contact was quiet. Warm. Thoughtless.

Jungwon was chewing on a piece of gum that Jay had handed him without comment. They were both dressed like proper teenage boys this time, no scratchy school jumpers or polished shoes. Jay had a faded band tee under his jacket; Jungwon was in jeans that hung too neatly on him to be accidental.

Outside the window, the buildings blurred past in familiar shades of brick and soot-grey. There was something oddly sentimental about London in spring. It had rained last night, so the pavements were still damp. The air looked clean. The sky was low and lazy, the kind of day where clouds loitered like students after school, nowhere really to be.

Jay squeezed Jungwon’s hand.

Not for attention. Not to make a point. Just to remind them both: they were here.

It had been three years since their first train ride together. That awkward morning where Jungwon spent the first ten minutes pretending he wasn’t even on a date, and Jay spent the same ten minutes trying very hard not to fall in love with the exact way Jungwon pronounced “train platform” like it offended him.

Back then, they’d spent more time teasing than talking. Now, they bickered just as much but it didn’t feel like dodging anymore. It felt like flirting. Living. Staying close.

Jungwon leaned his head on Jay’s shoulder. Jay didn’t say anything about it. He just tilted his head slightly, rested his cheek against Jungwon’s hair, and kept looking out the window with him.

They didn’t talk much this time.

There wasn’t anything urgent left to say. Everything had already been said, in the countless letters, in the noise of their dorm halls, in the silence of post-choir rehearsals and shared toasts, in the godawful Latin duets, in every stupid inside joke they’d built from the ground up.

This date didn’t feel like a milestone. It felt like breathing. It felt like home.

Jay shifted slightly in his seat, leaning closer.

Three years ago, he would’ve made a joke by now. Asked if Jungwon was planning to marry him because of the shoulder thing. Maybe tried to sneak a kiss and pretend it was because of a dare

Now, they had a full day ahead of them. They were meeting their friends at the arcade off Oxford Street, grabbing something unhealthy for lunch, and then catching the bus to see a film none of them would remember because Sunoo would talk through the whole thing and Heeseung would try to sneak in a bottle of cherry wine.

But before all that, Jay and Jungwon had decided to get off one stop earlier. For errands, they said. But they both knew. A little detour. A little date. Just them. Just this.

This was their first date all over again.

Not in a dorm, not in a hallway, not in the rain or by accident or while arguing over pronunciations. A real one. Hand-holding, no chaperones, no love letters hidden in schoolbags. Just two twenty-year-old boys in wrinkled coats and secondhand jeans who had spent the last three years arguing their way into something permanent.

Jay glanced at Jungwon now and then, not in the way people watch someone they’re interested in, but in the way someone checks on something they love. Making sure he’s still here. Still real. Still rolling his eyes at Jay’s jokes and pretending not to smile.

They weren’t boys anymore. Not really. Exams were done. Their choir performances had been sung. The dorms were quieter now. The Headboy badge was somewhere in a drawer. They’d be leaving St. Joseph’s this summer. Real life was around the corner.

But right now, this was it. Train windows and warm shoulders. Familiar sarcasm. Fingers intertwined without question.

The train hissed as it slowed.

“Is this our stop?” Jungwon asked, lifting his head but not letting go of Jay’s hand.

“Mmhm.” Jay tugged gently to pull him up.

The door clattered open and out they stepped, Jungwon in Jay’s old denim jacket, Jay in mismatched trainers because of course he was. The early spring breeze tugged at their hair, crisp but not cold.

And there they were. Waiting at the top of the platform stairs. Like a five-headed hydra in school blazers and chaos.

“OI OI OI!” Sunghoon shouted, waving like they’d been at war and not two tube stops away.

“Look at them!” Heeseung yelled. “Holding hands! That’s marriage, that is!”

“Did you lot get secret married over Easter?” Sunoo screeched, sprinting forward and immediately trying to examine Jungwon’s left hand. “Jay, where’s the bloody ring, you absolute cheapskate?”

“I think it’s romantic,” Jake said serenely. “Statistically, couples who travel together have stronger bonds.”

“Statistically, shut up,” Ni-ki muttered, tossing a bag of crisps into Jay’s chest. “I’m not carrying anything today. You’re the couple now. You get all the luggage.”

Jay caught the crisps with one hand and pointed at Jungwon. “He’s stronger. Make him carry it.”

“Wow. Is this love?.”

“Yes. I love you.”

Jake cleared his throat. “Statistically, public affection is—”

“Jake!” they all groaned.

Jungwon groaned the loudest. But as Jay looped his arm around his shoulders anyway, Jungwon didn’t move. He leaned in, subtly. Familiar. Close.

They were just boys. Still bickering. Still confused. Still too young to know much, but just old enough to know what this was.

A first love that never quite stopped being a first.

Even after three years.

Even after letters and rain and song lyrics and bites to the arm.

Jay leaned in and whispered, “I said I love you.”

“Yes, I love you too.”

“I know” Jay kissed the side of his temple, grinning. “You’re obsessed, actually..”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Shut up”

“You love me.”

He did. And Jay knew it.

Together, they walked up to join their friends, noise growing louder, arms bumping, faces too full of things they hadn’t said yet. Life hadn’t changed completely. But it had changed enough.

It was 1996.

They were leaving school.

And still.

They had each other.

outtake:

London, April 1993.

Dear Pain in the Arse, Jay, 

Firstly, thank you for the ridiculous letter. I read it twice — once with an eye-roll and once with a smile, which I immediately regretted. You’ll be smug about it either way, so I might as well get it out of the way: yes, I kept the envelope. No, I won’t admit it’s sweet. It just has a convenient surface to scribble over when I’m irritated at you, which, shockingly, is often.

Secondly, I am writing this under the immense duress of missing your voice. Not the actual contents of what you say — god no — just the noise. The background chatter, the way you somehow find a way to say the dumbest things in the most charming way. It’s quiet here, and not the nice kind. I almost put the radio on, but I couldn’t find anything that sounded like you saying “Oi, Headboy, don’t look now but I just wrote your name on the back of my maths test.”

Anyway. I’m supposed to write about how my holiday’s going, but that would be boring. So let’s talk about you.

I miss you.

You’ve always been too much and yet somehow — not enough, if that makes sense. I hated how much space you took up, until I hated the space you weren’t in more.

And now you’re not here and suddenly all the birds outside my window sound a bit like you laughing. It’s horrifying.

Sunoo says I’m dramatic. He should talk. But maybe he’s right. I miss you more than I’d like to admit. It’s not that I need to see your face again soon — I have seen it, far too close, annoyingly smug — but I think I’d like to hear your voice in person. Especially if it’s followed by you saying something absolutely stupid so I can insult you properly.

My sister says I keep smiling at my letters. I told her she’s projecting. 

But the truth is I do keep rereading them. Your letters. I know you probably wrote most of it while half-asleep or chewing on biscuits, but they’re funny. They sound like you. And they sound like someone who, God forbid, actually likes me.

Thank you for writing me first. Thank you for seeing me. Even when I was actively trying to disappear behind a sarcasm shield.

Also, you still owe me a new pen. You stole mine during finals and I know it’s in your room.

I hope you’re eating real meals. Don’t just live off toast and ego. I’ll call soon. (Even though I know you’ll scream at the phone like it’s cursed when I do.)

I’ll see you in two weeks, you ridiculous boy.

Don’t forget our date. Wear that jumper I like. The stupid one. You know the one.

Until then, keep sending letters. Or don’t. But if you don’t, I’ll assume you’ve died tragically and I’ll have to give a eulogy filled with embarrassing stories about how you once thought Napoleon was fictional. So please, spare us both.

I can’t believe I’m now writing a love letter instead of a report one.

I love you, Park Jongseong. 

I love you so much, my beloved.

Yours,

Jungwon.