YOONGI
Undoubtedly, this year will be hell.
I've given up on being optimistic with a new school year bringing us teachers a "bright, new class". It's gotten to the point now where there's a line at the coffee pot in the teachers lounge. And lucky me, I'm last in line.
"You look like you need a boost," Namjoon says as he steps to the side, allowing me to take his place. I thank him with a grunt because at the moment, that's all I'm capable of doing. It's a miracle my eyes haven't shut down for the day and my body hasn't collapsed on the couch in the student center.
Believe it or not, I prefer the student center much more than this poor attempt at a teacher's lounge. The light blue paint is peeled in some corners and the countertops where di-cuts and stacks of copy paper sit are met with stains from god knows how long ago.
The line moves, but only an inch. "I heard you got Professor Daegi's room this year. Have you already settled in?" Namjoon asks.
"No, actually I prepared my students to decorate my classroom for the day. Their grades will depend on who can hang posters higher and which color scheme they choose."
Namjoon rolls his eyes at me, but he had to have known I'd react like this. No coffee equals no conversation.
We knew each other back when I first moved to Daegu and ran into him at the library across campus. He was buried at a table in loose papers and columns of books. It was only when I asked if he was also a teacher did we get to know each other better.
He's grown into a more relaxed person, but there are days where he will self-isolate. That's when I take him out to eat.
Namjoon takes off his glasses and cleans them with his shirt tail. "So did they pull you for the summer classes or were you one of the lucky ones?"
"No, I served my nickel already." Of course, it also helped that I'm the quiet one in the faculty. The observer, never speaking out of place. That managed to get me around campus, settling into the role as an English Composition teacher. And while I'm not the most in-tuned with literature, it was a setting I was most comfortable with.
The thing is, working in a setting that everyone shares means there's hardly any privacy. There was this time I was running to the snack bar to grab myself a treat (it had been a long day) and I overheard someone talking in a very rushed, livid tone. Almost like they were about to completely lose it. When I turned the corner to investigate, I was surprised to see a faculty member— Mr. Bang— chewing out two students who were caught behind the building making out. Even as a bystander, I still remember his cutting words, that the behavior was unacceptable and disgusting.
I'm fairly sure he's divorced.
Thinking back on the situation, he was in the right to stop them, but it could have been dealt with in a different way. I'm not trying to justify the kids, but I also remember what it was like when I was in their shoes. Some things we try to forget because it's awkward to think of ourselves as naïve, but put in perspective, our younger selves have no idea.
When I look up, the line is gone and the coffee pot is ready for me. I pour a cup and add creamer. No sugar. Not today. Maybe later.
"What time do you get off for lunch? Jin and I were going to try the new burger joint up the street," Namjoon gestures behind him. He pours himself a cup; two spoonful's of sugar. He must be spending more time with Jin than I thought.
I shrug. "Beats cold leftovers."
He grins. "We're heading out around twelve-thirty."
"I'll be there."
He smiles and opens his mouth to respond, but the ring of a cell phone interrupts us. Namjoon shifts his cup in his left hand and fishes out his phone. He turns and brings it to his ear, hushing his voice.
It's probably Jin. Their relationship started out rocky and they've been secretive about making calls while at work, considering both of them are male teachers. Jin is less fearful of losing his job, saying he only did it for the pay and for Namjoon's sake, which is bold of him considering Namjoon's never-ending questions of "what if".
I know all of this because Namjoon confided in me. We were staying late grading papers together with the custodians reminding us they needed us out to wax the floors. It was moments later when Namjoon blurted out that he had been seeing the new teacher. After that, I sat there listening while he caught me up to date. At that time, they hadn't done much, but he was frantic.
"This shouldn't happen," he said to me. "I can't be in love with a coworker! I'm going to get distracted and my boss will find out!"
That was the first time I ever saw Namjoon truly stressed. It was usually in his nature to deal with things rationally, without emotions mixing in; something I still envy even now. By the time I explained to him that he was in the right to accept his feelings for Jin, he had calmed down enough to fix it the next day, where I saw them sneak into his classroom and lock the door.
I stand now awkwardly as Namjoon talks with his back facing me. I check the time on the round clock and gulp down the last of my coffee before tossing it, giving Namjoon a muted good-bye, and exiting the teacher's lounge.
The campus doesn't open until seven in the morning, but I already see the new students anxiously waiting on the benches outside. It's warm for September, with a nice breeze that ruffles my long dark hair. The ground is littered in colors of red, orange, and yellow; a sure sign that the fall semester has begun.
I'm halfway down the corridor when I spot students entering the campus. I recognize some of them from last year, and some are coming from out of state, but there's one particular kid that has caught my attention.
My steps slow as I watch him talk with a friend. He's short, and his short black bangs only decrease his height even more. My gaze drops down to the red and white sneakers that are out of place with the amount of black clothing he's wearing. He might as well disappear into the shadows. I wonder if that's what he's trying to do.
When they move, I have a better view of the friend. It's Jung Hoseok. He was in my class last year, and if I remember right, he was also part of the debate club. He hasn't changed much aside from the golden highlights in his already light brown hair. His steps are much more livelier than the boy walking next to him.
I don't know if Hoseok sees the kid's hesitant look. He's swiveling his head all around him while Hoseok's mouth keeps on. That checks out; he's new. And afraid.
I'll admit, I wonder how he got in. This is a prestigious, private university, and he looks like he's the runt of the year. He doesn't blend in at all, he does the opposite. There have been instances where the smart bunch weren't built from Greek statues, and that's to be expected, but he is smaller, fragile.
I continue my perusal, letting go of the kid and heading down the carpeted hall. My room is the last on the left, right in front of a high window facing a fountain. It's also high enough for me to spy at the passing students carrying books and various bags from class to class. Compared to my last room that was next to the janitor's closet, this is a nice upgrade.
Setting up for today's lecture takes me less than thirty minutes, and by the time I've adjusted the projector, a few students of mine sprinkle in. As expected, they take up the back rows against the wall. I'm not offended nor upset. They don't have to sit directly in front of a stranger.
I've found that students in a new class are like cats. They are wary of the new person, but when they are comfortable in the setting, they will come to you. Hence the reason why I've planned nothing too hard today, only a discussion regarding what will be covered over the course and the assigned reading pages of Edgar Allen Poe's short story, The Masque of the Red Death.
Two students enter and I don't lift my head from my desk until I hear one of them ask in a whisper if they want to sit to the side. The voice is new, angelic in a way I've never heard. I look up and feel my heart slam against my ribs.
It's him.
The boy with black hair chooses a desk on the far left side, allowing a new friend that I don't recognize to sit in front of him. Sitting at his desk makes him look even smaller than he did outside and it takes me more willpower than I had hoped to not stare.
To distract myself, I check the time. It's close enough to begin.
"All right, everyone, if I could have your attention," I begin. All heads turn to me, including his. I clear my throat. "I'll start role-call, and then we'll discuss plans heading into this year's semester. I've printed out a syllabus for each of you to take with you. On it are the times I'll be available in my office as well as my email you can use to contact me."
I make the mistake of glancing to the left. The boy's expression is focused, and his dark eyes take in every word. His cheeks are chubby, giving him an innocent child-like face. I pass out the syllabus papers one by one, sliding through the rows and trying not to give myself a paper cut.
He's the last one to take a syllabus. When I hand him the paper, I notice how tiny his hands are, barely peeking out of his hoodie. He says a quiet thank you and it's all I can do to nod. This shouldn't be affecting me. Two words should not have that sort of power over me. I'm thirty years old for crying out loud.
When I pull up the class role-call, I try to pronounce everyone's name the best I can, apologizing if I make a mistake. So far, I've been able to avoid upsetting anyone and I, in turn, relax. I'm just about done when I call out another name.
"Park Jimin?"
No one answers.
I look up and scan the class. Eyes are on me, but none belong to someone who's trying to get my attention. I wonder if I read it wrong until someone says, "Um, I'm here."
The voice belongs to the boy, raising his hand up slightly. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed red. I involuntarily mirror him, but pull myself together by stepping on my own toes. That snaps me out of it and I mark him down as I do with all the others.
For the rest of the class period, I avoid the left side of the room.