Chapter Text
The tip of his fountain pen scratched against the paper of Choi Jung Gun’s notebook.
His full attention was directed on his writing as the rest of his classmates were packing their things. The teacher had just left, and class was over.
But he needed to finish his line before calling it a day.
Death was leaning over his desk, his usual glasses on as his gaze was skimming over the pages of his notebook. His gaze was following the track of his pencil on the sheet.
‘…’
__following the track of his pencil on the sheet__
‘Fuck.’
Following… the lines of his pencil on the paper ? Following the lines of text on his notebook ? Following… what was that bastard even looking at ?
And could those idiots tone down a little, Choi Jung Gun was trying to think here.
“Hey, Jung Gun ! You comin’ for the training today ? The coach is mad because you didn't come to the training ground the entire week.”
Choi Jung Gun sighed loudly and put down his pencil. He swiftly closed his notebook as he turned towards his teammates.
“I still don’t feel well enough to return to play. The old man won’t understand, will he ?”
His coach hadn’t got off his back the entire month. Choi Jung Gun had used this excuse of his strained ankle to pass on training. He had better things to do after class.
“Careful man, you’ll end up getting replaced.” His teammate patted his shoulder. He almost grimaced.
“Sure.”
He stood up, getting the guy’s hands off him. His gaze immediately wandered to the corner where ‘Death’ had been sitting a minute ago.
He wasn’t there anymore.
“Where did he go ?” Choi Jung Gun unconsciously blurted out, the question falling off his lips by itself. He regretted almost as soon as he heard the sound of his own voice.
“Oh, you’re talking about [----] ? Uh, I think he just left ? Why, did this nerd owes you money or what ?”
Choi Jung Gun sighed. Of course, those bastards couldn't understand. He eyed at his notebook, and quickly shoved it in his backpack.
Surprisingly, this spot in the classroom didn’t have any lingering interest anymore. Nor did the school. He was glad to pass on the training today too - if he was hurrying up a bit, he could finish his chapter by the end of the week.
He just had one last thing to do.
“I'm off. Good luck with the training today.” And that being said, he quickly headed downstairs. When he reached the school entrance, he didn’t spot ‘Death’ next to his locker. He must have already left. A pang of disappointment stirred within his chest, but it was rather easy to ignore.
Sheritt was leaning against his own, waving at him.
“You don’t have a training session with the club today ?” She asked, making her bubblegum pop.
“Nah.”
“But didn’t your ankle heal already ?”
“It’s fragile.”
“You won a kumdo tournament last week.” She flatly replied. Jung Gun didn’t even bother replying, changing his shoes and grabbing his coat in his locker.
“You heading home ?” He eventually asked, checking the time on his phone. It was still early. He could easily head back to his house - it’ll probably be empty. Perfect.
“Yeah, at least one of us has to study.” His friend cheekily answered, pulling her long white hair in a high ponytail. As she was always doing this before the long walk to her station.
“As if.” Sheritt was never studying. Head of the class anyway.
She nudged him, and the corner of Choi Jung Gun’s lips tilted up slightly.
“You’re walking today too or has your line got fixed ?”
Choi Jung Gun frowned a bit. ‘Death’ had already left anyway. So…
“It’s fixed for now.”
“Oh, walking together ?”
“Sure.”
____
‘Hey-’
“Can’t you walk straight ?” Nolan groaned.
‘Ah… but you’re lowkey the one carrying so many stuff around. It’s dangerous you know ?’ the bastard just replied.
The audacity.
.
.
.
“Choi Jung Gun, [----], your turn for the cleaning afterclass.”
Fuck.
Jung Gun glanced at ‘Death’ - who happened to be as unsatisfied with the news as him. ‘Angelina’ nudged him and directed at Jung Gun with a move of his chin. When ‘Death’ turned to follow his friend’s - was they even friends ? Choi Jung Gun hadn’t figured this out yet. Soon - indication.
Their gazes met.
And ‘Death’ just looked back to the teacher almost immediately.
Of course. It was obvious enough this bastard didn’t remember him.
Jung Gun felt his mood worsen.
“Someone’s skipping training again, huh ?” Sheritt remarked teasingly. Choi Jung Gun just snorted.
“Do you think I should just quit ?” He was genuinely considering it.
“Don’t bother, your coach will kick you out himself if that keeps going.” True enough. Maybe he should consider showing his face next week ? “No but seriously Jung Gun, what’s taking you so much time after class ? You always seem busy lately.”
“You’d believe me if I told you I started studying ?”
“Absolutely fucking not. The day you’ll start studying will be the day I’ll have to too. Please don’t.” A very appropriate thing to say for their student council president. It wasn’t surprising still.
“Just found another video game I like.” He lied. She didn’t buy it, but didn’t say anything about it. Choi Jung Gun didn’t like lying to her, but she was the one asking about difficult stuff. And it wasn’t like she believed him anyway - it was just his way to tell her he had nothing to share with her about this topic for now.
Sheritt was by far the person he was the closest to outside of his family. He liked his nephews quite a lot, but Sheritt was special. He felt like he could tell her anything.
Anything but this.
Not yet.
It wasn’t shyness, but he didn’t want anyone to know about his little project until it was complete. And it felt oddly personal. Maybe a bit too much - it was growing in a way he hadn’t planned at first, and now even he was a little unsure about posting it.
Well, he had time to decide what he wanted to do.
“Better not start cancelling our weekend outings because of a damn game, Choi Jung Gun.” She warned seriously. And her friend just smiled.
“Of course not.”
____
‘Hey-’ The guy’s voice echoed in the empty corridor. __His voice__
“Can’t you walk straight ?” Nolan groaned, rubbing his own head. Damn, it hurt.
‘Ah… but you’re lowkey the one carrying so many stuff around. It’s dangerous you know ?’ the bastard just replied.
The audacity.
And yet, as soon as the guy seemed to recover from the fall, he helped him gather his things. __It was the bare minimum.__
.
.
.
“Hand me the damn broom, you don’t know how to use it properly.” Seriously, had this guy never wielded a broom or a mop before ?
“Ahah, sorry for this.” Their fingers brushed when ‘Death’ handed him the mop. And Jung Gun quickly strode to the other end of the room. The sudden movement took the other by surprise, but he didn’t react much more.
Death’s gaze focused on the box where all the cleaning tool were packed and started to rummage inside. His focus leaked through the seriousness of his expression and the calm look filling up his brown eyes. The strands of his airy white bang brushed against his forehead as he tilted his head down and crouched near the box to rummage through it, looking for a dust wiper.
Choi Jung Gun’s fingers were itching. He felt the sudden urge to reach out for his pencil and write it all down.
As he tried to focus on the task at hand - brooming their classroom - silence filled the room. It was a bit funny how none of them had anything to say. How Choi Jung Gun had nothing to ask.
Or more like, didn’t feel like inquiring about those questions that had been haunting his mind for so long. About ‘Death’, about his previous school, about his family and about ‘Angelina’. Choi Jung Gun wanted to know all of this. But also to discover everything by himself. It was funnier this way. And downright asking those would probably lead to too specific answers.
Choi Jung Gun didn’t like truths. He liked a partial bit of life he could twist and turn the way he wanted to integrate to his story.
Because everyone’s real life was oh so boring. And because he didn’t want his beloved character’s inspo to suddenly turn bland.
Silence wasn’t as irritating as he thought it could be.
But it wasn’t pleasant either. Jung Gun didn’t know if it was because of the guy’s awkward behavior or just because both didn’t know each other well - or at least, ‘Death’ didn’t know him well.
Choi Jung Gun could hear the music the other was listening to leak through ‘Death’s headphones. It wasn’t disturbing, and the beat was rather good. But he didn’t know the band. He made a mental note to check it out later this evening.
And since the activity of brooming itself wasn’t exciting, he tried to wisely use this time. His mind was automatically starting to form pieces of narrative. He had to rework some part of his character’s introduction.
Death was a mystery at school. With a small accent nobody managed to quite identify, he had arrived midyear and only talked to the only other foreigner student of their class - Angelina. Both didn’t seem to get along quite well, but were still hanging out together.
‘Hanging out?’
Jung Gun scowled as he was focused on brooming the classroom floor. The word didn’t sound quite right.
He tried to rephrase in his head, but words didn’t feel like wording. He needed to write those to see what it looked like on paper. Damn, he truly wanted his notebook.
He needed to finish this chore asap. And this mental writing was starting to frustrate him.
Especially when ‘Dead’ was so close.
It was easier to organize to observe the guy’s habits. He had changed spots in the classroom to be behind him - he was first row before but of course the bastard had to be near the last ones. Close to the window. Now Jung Gun could see him better from the corner of the last row, but his back was still not very enlightening on ‘Death's’ habits and manners.
That was all Choi Jung Gun was looking for.
And yet, now that they were both in the same room, Jung Gun was frustrated he had to broom instead of writing. Such a waste.
He also quickly realized he wouldn’t get new elements. He had already spotted everything - from the discreet head moves he was sometimes doing when his white strands were falling before his eyes and stopping his sight, to the small pout his lips were wrinkling into anytime he was trying to focus.
Choi Jung Gun felt an odd mix of contradictory emotions realizing he knew so much. Satisfaction warmed up his chest, but his greed for more info left him a bit frustrated.
He broomed the floor harder.
Annoyance added to this peculiar cocktail of feelings when he saw the guy struggle with a damn dust wiper. How was that even possible ? Did he never clean something himself before ?
And yet it struck him.
Despite Death’s messed up appearance and barely functional school supply, it had soon become quite obvious the guy’s family was loaded.
The guess hadn’t been hard to make - whether it was because of the luxurious car parked on the parking lot waiting for him at the end of each school day, or just thanks to his ridiculously expensive watch and phone he had, everyone had been fast to put two and two together. And the tendency of the guy not being able to wield basic cleaning tools only alimented this rumor; he probably had loads of domestics and living in one of the penthouses of the city.
And just like this, the mystery around this strange transferred student thickened.
Choi Jung Gun felt a sense of satisfaction wave down his spine.
Finally something good was coming out of this chore.
All he had to do was finish the brooming asap to go grab his notebook and write it down before forgetting. He had tried to use a smaller notepad to carry around and pull out any inspiration hit, but it wasn’t the same.
He had his little habits. After two years, his writing routine was already set and satisfying enough for him to loathe the idea of changing it. He’d not do it for anything in the world.
“Uhh, Choi Jung Gun, I think I tore the dust wiper…”
Choi Jung Gun considered breaking the brook on the guy’s head.
By the time the cleaning was done, ‘Death’ had already disappeared. And leave everything for him to put away.
Choi Jung Gun was mortified.
He gathered the mess the other had made ragingly, almost throwing the bottles and dust wipers - the new one and the torn one - in the box before reaching for the mop and broom. But when he turned to take them, Jung Gun frowned.
Only the mop remained.
Strange.
Maybe ‘Death’ had graciously decided to put it away for him after leaving everything else. So generous.
He should add ‘caring’ to his fucking character sheet.
____
‘Hey-’ The guy’s voice echoed in the empty corridor. His voice wasn’t familiar, but sounded rather calm despite the blatant annoyance showing on the guy’s face.
Nelan didn’t care. His lips were burning with biting remarks, yet he held most back. __There was something about the guy’s look__
“Can’t you walk straight ?” Nolan groaned, rubbing his own head. Damn, it hurt. His glare landed on the guy’s __handsome__ face. __He paused__
‘Ah… but you’re lowkey the one carrying so many stuff around. It’s dangerous you know ?’ the bastard just replied. Choi Jung Gun absently noted the discreet accent rolling on the guy’s tongue as __talk__ spoke again.
The audacity.
And yet, as soon as the guy seemed to recover from the fall, he helped him gather his things. __It was the bare minimum.__ As they were closer, Nelan took a better look at his traits. This boy definitely was a foreigner. Maybe the new transferred student teachers had mentioned earlier this week.
.
.
.
‘My line is closed for maintenance again. I’ll walk today.’
“Damn, you’re truly unlucky lately.”
‘I know right ?’
That was what he had said to Sheritt today as they were heading out the school building. They parted near the station, and he quickly started to walk faster. As he was striding to the center of the city, his eyes relentlessly focused on the familiar back before him, across the crowd.
Dusk was painting the sky of beautiful reddish hues.
And Choi Jung Gun was still out.
About thirty minutes after he had left Sheritt, he had lost him. Always same spot.
It was a bit frustrating.
‘Death’ truly was fast sometimes. To say this guy’s PE grades were disastrous.
Well, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it anyway. One day, he’ll be fast enough.
Jung Gun just sighed and entered one of the convenience stores nearby to buy a snack before heading back home.
He had time before his folks got back. And he was always losing the guy’s track in a borough close to his own neighborhood. Whatever was ‘Death’s hobbies, it was fortunate Choi Jung Gun happened to live around.
As he walked out the shop with a banana milk cartoon, he considered checking out the list of sport clubs or video games stores there were around the area. Maybe libraries and manga shops as well. This guy was a nerd, after all.
What was strange was that Jung Gun knew all of those already, and he had never stumbled across ‘Death’ there. He’d have noticed.
Well, double-checking couldn’t do any harm. As long as he saved enough time for his outings for Sheritt, the rest wasn’t urgent. He could suspend the rest of his activities for a bit.
It definitely was worth it.
____
The wind was blowing in Nelan’s wild hair.
All the boxes were messily littering the wooden floor, and their content was spread around them.
The other boy sprawled on the ground. As he sat back up, his left hand directly went to the back of his head to rub what would soon turn into a bump. His right one was checking if the screen of his phone was alright.
Nelan glared at him.
‘Hey-’ The guy’s voice echoed in the empty corridor. His voice wasn’t familiar, but sounded rather calm despite the blatant annoyance showing on the guy’s face.
Nelan didn’t care. His lips were burning with biting remarks, yet he held most back. __There was something about the guy’s look__ __There was something mesmerizing about those eyes__
“Can’t you walk straight ?” Nolan groaned, rubbing his own head. Damn, it hurt. His glare landed on the guy’s __handsome__ face. __He paused__
‘Ah… but you’re lowkey the one carrying so many stuff around. It’s dangerous you know ?’ the bastard just replied. Choi Jung Gun absently noted the discreet accent rolling on the guy’s tongue as __talk__ spoke again.
The audacity.
And yet, as soon as the guy seemed to recover from the fall, he helped him gather his things. __It was the bare minimum.__ As they were closer, Nelan took a better look at his traits. This boy definitely was a foreigner. Maybe the new transferred student teachers had mentioned earlier this week. Nelan’s annoyance didn’t subsided.
__But something within him stirred.__
.
.
.
“Jung Gun-sunbae ! Jung Gun-sunbae, wait !”
Choi Jung Gun stopped on the entrance hall threshold. When he turned, he saw an unknown hoobae running to him.
He considered just ignoring her and heading out - ‘Death’ was already passing the gate. But he then recognized the scarf she was carrying around and paused.
It was ‘Death’s.
“Jung Gun-sunbae ! I found this inside the storage room, next to the cleaning furniture. Is it yours or has your pair lost it ? I didn’t manage to read the name next to yours in the grid…” Oh yeah, ‘Death’s terrible handwriting.
“I’ll give it back to him.” He just replied, reaching out to grab the scarf. The hoobae seemed relieved. With a relieved smile, she quickly handed him the accessory.
“Thanks ! It helps greatly.”
‘I’m not making it for you.’ Choi Jung Gun didn’t say this. He just nodded instead. He wanted to end this discussion as soon as possible, ‘Death’ was already turning at the corner of the street. He’d soon lose him.
“Sure.”
The girl joined back her friends, and Choi Jung Gun almost strode out of the school. Fortunately, he knew ‘Death’s route quite well and it didn't take long to catch him up. As soon as he spotted him on the other sidewalk, his pace grew slower and he returned to his usual rhythm. As if he was taking a walk around.
He didn’t try to talk to him. He didn’t walk too close behind.
And ‘Death’s scarf remained in the bottom of his bag until he lost him again and returned home.
____
The wind was blowing in Nelan’s wild hair.
All the boxes were messily littering the wooden floor, and their content was spread around them.
The other boy sprawled on the ground. As he sat back up, his left hand directly went to the back of his head to rub what would soon turn into a bump. His right one was checking if the screen of his phone was alright.
Nelan glared at him.
His butt hurt, and now the boxes he had been carrying to the classroom were a mess on the floor. And the bastard dared to complain in some foreign language he couldn’t quite get. While the other was clearly at fault there - this nerd was probably too deep into the reading of some cringy webnovel on his phone to look up from the screen when walking.
As an author, he had immediately understood this guy was probably the kind of reader with shitty tastes. He was probably checking Naver daily just to read the trending updates and overlooking niche pearls.
Nelan hated people like this.
‘Hey-’ The guy’s voice echoed in the empty corridor. His voice wasn’t familiar, but sounded rather calm despite the blatant annoyance showing on the guy’s face.
Nelan didn’t care. His lips were burning with biting remarks, yet he held most back. The guy’s look was rather striking - not like anything he was used to see there.
“Can’t you walk straight ?” Nolan groaned, rubbing his own head. Damn, it hurt. His glare landed on the guy’s handsome face.
‘Ah… but you’re lowkey the one carrying so many stuff around. It’s dangerous you know ?’ the bastard just replied. Choi Jung Gun absently noted the discreet accent rolling on the guy’s tongue as __talk__ spoke again.
The audacity.
And yet, as soon as the guy seemed to recover from the fall, he helped him gather his things. As they were closer, Nelan took a better look at his traits. This boy definitely was a foreigner. Maybe the new transferred student teachers had mentioned earlier this week. Nelan’s annoyance didn’t subsided.
But curiosity stirred within his chest. It was an unusual feeling.
He wasn’t used to this.
__He wasn’t used to this.__
Choi Jung Gun sighed loudly and rested his head against the desk.
‘Fuck. It’s messy again.’
He had been trying to rewrite this part for days. He thought it was all ready and had pulled a brand new page, but ended up making erasures and additions here and there.
Jung Gun ran a hand through his long black strands in an exhausted gesture. Grabbing his phone, he checked the time on his phone. Past midnight already.
Outside, it was bucketing down. The rainy season had started not so long ago.
The sound was pleasant, and it had increased his focus.
Having the house for himself definitely didn’t help him focusing on something else. When his parents weren’t there to call him downstairs to eat or help with the chores, he was able to spend the entire night writing in his room. When they were on business trips, those occurrences were more frequent.
Choi Jung Gun stretched, his eyes skimming through the pages he had put today. The problem remained the first lines of this stupid side story he had decided to write a couple of years later.
The drafts and edit parts of his main story quickly got put away in the dedicated file and hidden in a drawer of his desk. Regarding the new attempt of starting this damn side story…
Choi Jung Gun sighed loudly again and stood up, taking those with him as he was heading to his cupboard.
Opening the wooden panels, he crouched down and pulled out a box filled with dozens of notebooks. All black and inked with countless words.
His dearest treasure.
Inside was lying the equivalent of two years of work. Two years spent taking notes about his habits, manners and several descriptions of the same occurrence during lectures.
It had all started when ‘Death’ arrived in the town.
He was the inspiration Choi Jung Gun had lacked. The character his story lacked.
But ‘Death’ was a mystery.
And it was as interesting as it was frustrating.
Choi Jung Gun’s writer pride had been greatly wounded when he sat before his notebook one night and decided it was time to introduce this new character to his story. Nothing came. When he asked about this on an anonymous writing blog, everyone mentioned it was probably because he didn’t understand his model enough or simply didn’t have the skill to create a complex character.
The next day, Choi Jung Gun had spent the entire day taking notes about ‘Death’ behavior during lecture. When evening came, he asked Sheritt for her notes of the day, forgot to catch up, and tried to introduce Death in his main storyline for hours. Two lines came out.
He did the same the day before. And the one after that. And the two lines soon turned into four. Seven and ten.
So Choi Jung Gun had kept going.
One week.
Two weeks.
One month.
Six months.
A year.
Two years.
Pages and pages spent on describing and analysing each of this guy he couldn’t even remember the name anymore. He was Death. Just Death. Choi Jung Gun had turned Death’s friend into another one of his characters as well, Angelina, to increase his understanding of what had soon become his favorite creation. Death was by far his favorite character - and still the one he felt like he understood the least.
It was frustrating.
He had tried to buy notebooks like his. Black, with the same page size and same type of line. He had found the exact same brand, and had started to use the same fountain pen as him to understand him better.
Choi Jung Gun had observed him for months. And it still felt like puzzle pieces were missing.
Choi Jung Gun felt like it would never be enough.
He wanted to know where Death was heading to after the end of school.
He needed to know Death’s every hobby and center of interest. Every band he was listening to, the restrained list of his friends and why they were clothes.
Choi Jung Gun had never managed to find his address. And it was frustrating him to no end.
He needed to know where Death was living. What was his house like ? What did his room look like ? What kind of posters or books he had on his walls. What was the color of his bedsheets - what was his favorite color by the way ?
Choi Jung Gun felt like those two years have been such a waste.
He was able to describe the guy’s look under all the angles and lighting. He knew each piece of clothing he owned and even the amount of scotch band he had on the arms of his glasses.
Choi Jung Gun could write pages and pages about his face alone. About the sound of his voice and the way he was sometimes smiling - not at him, never at him - when messing around with Angelina’s temper.
Choi Jung Gun felt like it wasn’t enough. Like it would never be enough. If he wanted to understand Death better, to make him his best and most realistic character, he needed to know everything. And he felt like he’d never manage to do so.
This thought was irritating him.
He cautiously put those new pages alongside the other snippets of this side story he had planned. He had written several scenes, but wasn’t able to properly organize them since the start was so sketchy. That too was irritating.
Jung Gun eventually closed the box and hid it back under his sweaters. His nephews were visiting tomorrow; he couldn’t let those nosy children find his precious notes. He couldn’t let anyone find what had become the biggest project of his life as for now.
Choi Jung Gun felt like it wasn’t about to stop anytime soon.
Like every night before heading to sleep, he made sure the rest of his ‘treasures’ hadn’t disappeared during the day or been displaced by someone who’d have found his little secret. Those were objects he had ‘borrowed’ from Death; he had gathered them over the past year. At first, he had been a little uncertain about trying to get those. But after one first year of stalling, he had eventually taken the plunge and managed to get Death’s pencil.
He had then picked the discarded pair of glasses that had been broken during a fight Death had stumbled into with some bastard of his rugby team. With this, he had found to what extent Death’s eyesight was bad. Aside from being one of the favorite pieces of his collection, it had turned out to be rather helpful. Next to those were lying a towel he had forgotten in the PE locker room, a half-worn rubber, the package of Death’s favorite gums, one badge from a video game Choi Jung Gun had binged overnight and, of course, the black scarf that hoobae had given him.
This one was in a box so it would keep Death’s familiar smell on it and not have the one of the old cupboards rubbing off on it.
The sight never missed to comfort him.
Maybe tomorrow will be more productive in terms of writing. Or at least, Choi Jung Gun hoped so.
He unclipped his hair and headed to the bathroom to change into nightclothes. However, as he was about to go to bed, he heard a loud noise coming from outside. From the street adjoining his room. A metallic noise.
Scowling, he grabbed his wooden kumbo sword and approached the window cautiously.
It was still raining cats and dogs outside. And no one was in sight. Just a bunch of overturned trash cans shining under the dim lighting of the lampposts.
Choi Jung Gun scoffed. What was he even doing?
He threw the training sword on his bed, thinking of how ridiculous he was probably looking now. Pathetic.
‘Those damn stray cats.’
Choi Jung Gun drew his curtains and moved away from the window.
The sound of the heavy rain covered the steps moving away from the alley.