You Are (Not) a Cursed Boy // 2ho/yunjong

Watch Where You're Going

Please Read:

Please note that in this story, all the members have the SAME age, and they are students studying in the last year of high school (typically 18 years old, but the actual age doesn't really matter).

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Jongho rushed to the kitchen and retrieved an ice pack from the freezer. He was halfway out the door before he decided to turn back and get another pack. Better safe than sorry. He then ran across the hallway and up the stairs to his mother, who was sitting on her bed, rubbing her temple in agony.

"Thank you, Jongho-ah. I don't know what I'd do without you." His mother sighed with relief as she felt the coolness of the ice seep through her scalp.

Jongho nibbled his bottom lip with guilt as he sat down next to her. It was the second time today, fifth time this week. Two paper cuts, a sprained wrist, a bruised elbow, and now a forehead bump that she got from walking head-first into a swinging door. The more he thought about it, the more he hated himself.

His mother seemed to sense his anger because she put the second ice pack onto Jongho's most sensitive spot: the nape of his neck. In return, she got a yelp from her youngest kid. "Cool down, dear. I know what you're thinking, but stop. It's not your fault."

Jongho felt his heart squeeze like a lemon on a juicer. Her sad smile only made it worst. He forced himself to look away from the bandages that were covering his mother's wounds, hoping to hide the tears that were threatening to fall.

Before his mother could ask any questions, Jongho stood up abruptly and mumbled, "I'm going to school." The already-warm ice pack fell from his neck, but he couldn't care less.

"Wait, aren't you going to eat breakfast?" Jongho paused at the threshold, halfway through closing the door. His knuckles turned white from gripping the door knob tightly.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. Without turning back, he said, "you should've went with father and my sisters."

Uncomfortable silence settled in the room, and Jongho was about to leave when his mother spoke up. "Who's going to take care of you if I went with them?"

"I don't need taking care of, mother. People around me get hurt - they are the ones who need it. You need it." He sighed, both irritated and upset. "I can't stand seeing you like this, knowing it's my fault. Father stopped having migraines and back pain in America. My curse doesn't affect them anymore. You should go."

"That's what you tell me every time, Jongho. But I'm still here, aren't I? Nothing you say is going to make me leave my only son. Now go eat your breakfast."

Jongho gritted his teeth and bit back his retort. Instead, he left without a word and slammed the door behind him. Angrily wiping his tears away, he picked up his schoolbag and headed to school, leaving his untouched bowl of rice steaming on the dining table.

The campus gates were buzzing with students when Jongho got off the bus. As usual, he kept his head down to avoid any unnecessary attention. In a way, school was better. The curse only targeted the people who had a connection with Jongho, so all he had to do was to not make any friends, which seemed easier than doing the opposite anyways.

Half the school year had passed, and Jongho was fine being the loner. Just a few more months before graduation, Jongho thought. And then I'll be free.

In truth, he hadn't decided whether or not to go to university yet, but it didn't matter now because the bell just rang and he was going to be late if he didn't run!

Shouldering his backpack, he dashed through the main entrance, across the lobby and up three flights of stairs. He was panting slightly, but he didn't stop at the hallway, and continued to sprint even though a bend was coming up.

It was always a bad idea to run in corners, because you never know if someone was coming from the other side.

A second before the impact, Jongho saw a pair of legs approaching - he had kept his head down all the way - but the momentum meant that he couldn't stop in time. Before he knew it, his head was throbbing with pain, and textbooks and papers were raining down next to him.

For once, Jongho was grateful for his short height, which saved him from falling bottom-first onto the ground. The other guy, however, wasn't so lucky. He was tall, at least six foot, with curly white hair that looked silver under the sunlight that shone through the windows. His uniform was neat, all buttoned up, unlike Jongho's loosened necktie and wrinkled t-shirt. His long limbs and lean body were--

Jongho's perusal was cut short by a cacophony of screams and shouts and curse words that were probably aimed at him.

Six other students, all of the same year, surrounded the fallen guy. They blocked the whole width of the corridor, so Jongho couldn't slip away even if he wanted to.

"Yunho, are you alright?" Two of them crouched down, looking around the same height as Jongho. Both of them had a different shade of pink hair. They turned Yunho's face this way and that, lifted his arms and legs, inspecting his whole body for wounds.

A coffee-haired one bent down, picking up the fallen materials. Jongho caught a glimpse of the shiny badge on his uniform - he was the class president, Kim Hongjoong. "I don't know who you are, student, but no running in the hallways, got it?" Jongho gulped and hastily tucked in his shirt - breaking one rule was more than enough for today.

"Hey, can someone tell me what's going on? I'm playing this game and I can't look away." Jongho traced the voice to the owner, who was also a giant, with dark blue hair and a phone in his hands.

"Mingi, you won't die if you stopped for a second." A guy with sharp features rolled his eyes. His jawline looked as sharp as a knife, and the red highlights in his dark hair made Jongho think of blood. "Some idiot ran straight into Yunho."

"I'm sorry, I was going to be late..." Jongho didn't dare look up. He tentatively reached out a hand towards Yunho. "I'm so sorry. Um, should I pull you up?"

One of the pink-haired ones slapped Jongho's hand away. "He doesn't need your help. You should watch where you're going!"

Jongho rubbed his arm helplessly, unsure what to do. Leaving now would just make things awkward, wouldn't it? While Yunho stood up with the help of his friends, Jongho noticed the last student standing at the back of the group. He was the only one who didn't dye his hair, or so Jongho thought. It was pure black, as dark as his pupils, which were big and round behind a circular pair of golden-rimmed prescription glasses.

They shared eye contact for half a minute, before Jongho quickly looked away. Yet he could still feel that pair of eyes on him, not exactly accusing or hostile, but more curious, like a cat's.

Finally, Yunho was back on his feet, with no scratches nor bruises, as perfect as he was before the collision. As impossible as it seems, his books weren't even wrinkled or damaged. Jongho was growing increasingly self-conscious under seven pairs of strange eyes, and started to find his way through the small crowd, hoping to slip away as soon as possible.

"Wait," a soft voice called out. Someone had grabbed Jongho's arm. Jongho froze and turned back slowly. It was Yunho. "Please don't mind my friends, they're just a little... sensitive. My name is Jeong Yunho, what's yours?"

Jongho wasn't used to friendliness, and he faltered under Yunho's warm smile. "Jong— Choi Jongho."

Without waiting for Yunho to respond, Jongho pried away from his grip and ran towards his own classroom.

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Author's Note:

Do you now have a better idea of who the people in the prologue might be? Leave a guess in the comments! Remember to vote if you like the story so far!

- Nerdy Giraffe