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With the severity of the situation, On-jo thought there were many more important things to worry about over Su-hyeok and Cheong-san’s, uh, public display of affection.
1.) there was the bizarreness of the zombies caging then in the classroom, and her conscience that sounded suspiciously like her childhood friend’s kept repeating: what in the Train to the Walking Dead was fucking happening? or something like that.
2, there was her worry for her dad who she couldn’t even get in touch with because the teachers had to confiscate their fucking phones that morning . That thought led to horror of what would happen to the people inside the school who hadn’t been infected and how the hell they were gonna be rescued if they couldn’t call anyone for help.
3.) there was her worry for the rest of the city when she remembered Hyeon-ju had been transferred to the hospital. On-jo remembered how she’d tried to attack them even as they restrained her down on the nurse’s bed. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. Based on the zombie movies Cheong-san was so avid about, what would happen if Hyeon-ju killed every living thing she saw like the ones outside their classroom? What if this– infection –spread to outside the city? Hyeon-ju had bit the school nurse, and On-jo realized it only took one zombie before everything spiraled out of control.
Then finally, 4.) there was the rather insane part inside On-jo that crowded her mind, the subconscious part that she wanted to absolutely demolish with a bulldozer because now was not the time to be horny but oh, my god, both of her crushes were still alive, and this morbid situation could lead to her finally getting to know them–
Okay, scratch that. One was already taken.
But still, despite all these catastrophic worries that had to occupy her thoughts, On-jo could only focus on Su-hyeok and Cheong-san’s PDA just like all the other times she was plopped in the same room as them.
Her and her classmates were still reeling about the apocalypse happening inside their school, she knew. The two boys in question weren’t any different.
They were no longer crowded against the wall, but sitting against the windowsill On-jo saw them huddled in countless times between passing periods. Su-hyeok gazed somewhere far off beyond the walls of the classroom, his usual gelled hair ruffled now from perspiration (On-jo thought he still looked handsome with it hanging down his forehead). Cheong-san was in the same state, knees folded into himself defensively–a quirk her friend did whenever he felt backed into a corner, something On-jo had picked up from all the years they were around together.
But even in their stupor, they were both still touching each other, almost as if their subconscious equated one another to security. Cheong-san was holding Su-hyeok’s right hand loosely in his lap, slowly outlining his palm while Su-hyeok had wrapped one of his legs around Cheong-san’s and was swaying them infinitesimally side-to-side.
Their intimacy was overlooked by the rest of their classmates. At this point, On-jo knew they were used to it by now. Su-hyeok was commonly known as affectionately-inclined, she liked to dub; an arm around the shoulders or several instances of playful wrestling wasn’t unusual to see when he was around his friends.
But On-jo also noticed he always treated Cheong-san differently since they became friends in their first year of high school, his boldness only growing like an expanding balloon over time. Su-hyeok was always more handsy, more cheeky, more . . . audacious.
His touches were ambiguous. Like it was on purpose rather than habitual. Su-hyeok wasn’t shy with them in regards to Cheong-san–he liked to surprise him with back hugs, liked to pinch his nose, liked to put his face in his hair–
On-jo stopped herself, mortified. Did she really spend so much of her life invested in this cliched, high school romance? She was scared to think of what that said about her.
Anywho, it wasn’t like Su-hyeok’s antics were unrequited. From firsthand experience, On-jo knew Cheong-san to be more introverted. He was timid as a kid during kindergarten, and had grown even more so after he was picked on for his chubby cheeks.
(It was the first time On-jo ever punched someone in the face, and she’d be lying if she thought it hadn’t been exhilarating.)
Sure, Cheong-san accepted touch from close friends and family, but rarely initiated it despite their familiarity. She still remembered the shock she experienced when Cheong-san gave Su-hyeok a hug, one that lasted longer than it should’ve between just friends after Su-hyeok was gone from school for nearly a week because of a slight fever. She’d nearly spewed her water all over her desk, but you couldn’t blame her–the last time she recalled receiving a hug from her childhood friend was at the start of middle school when he tried to awkwardly comfort her after a girl called her weird for being obsessed with their female homeroom teacher.
(It was a time On-jo was going through her own sexuality crisis, okay.)
She remembered teasing the hell out of him during lunch at how far his newfound confidence had flourished since he divulged his feelings to her back in their first year.
“You are absolutely whipped, Lee Cheong-san.”
“Stop talking, On-jo.” He’d replied in that standard monotone voice, accompanied by an astonishing blush spreading over his face. My, my what an interesting development.
A few of their classmates had picked up on this behavior and approached the two about it when they were alone or together. Based on her observations, Cheong-san would simply tell them to mind their own business and run off; and because he was more friendly, Su-hyeok laughed and fibbed he didn’t realize anything different before swiftly changing the subject.
To put it short, both would blow it off even if they turned scarlet all the way down to their necks while never outright confirming any suspicions.
As rumors began floating around their class, Su-hyeok and Cheong-san didn’t falter. They didn’t let it impede their relationship and in the face of all the normalcy, their indifference began to rub off on their classmates as well (almost all of them had no qualms with it, surprisingly). When some unfortunate soul not in the loop began snooping around, they'd receive uninteresting replies from the class of 2-5 that both were lovers and already promised to each other, in fact, so it’d be pointless to pursue them or ask any more questions.
Inevitably, their relationship gave rise to negativity. Rumors based on nothing but suspicion and created by passersby floating around the vents, passed on by whispering mouths. She’d seen people giving the two of them crude looks and wide berths in the hallways, like their relationship was a malady they could catch. Disappointing but not surprising. It wasn’t like people hadn’t heard of same-sex relationships (she believed 100% the two idiots were heading towards this), but it didn’t change the fact that it was still a stigma in their country.
Of course, no one would outright confront Su-hyeok about his unknown relationship with Cheong-san. He was one of the most formidable upperclassmen with his height and muscles, and hung out with boys who were all equally intimidating in their own ways and wouldn’t hesitate to back him up.
Cheong-san didn’t get off as easily even if both of them were in the same group. Sure, he was known as the “pretty boy” to most of the girls, but he didn’t have this untouchable reputation like Su-hyeok. He wasn’t a fighter.
Out of the two of them, Lee Cheong-san was an easier target.
The day it came, On-jo and he were studying in the library after school. They had a science test the next day and she had to pass the test to exceed her dad’s expectations, and Cheong-san was always better academically than her. The rest of their friends had already left, including Su-hyeok who usually walked with Cheong-san after school finished on any other day.
(Suspiciously, Su-hyeok seemed disappointed when he heard the duo’s news and reluctantly left them to study.)
When two laughing students walked past as they were leaving, On-jo caught wind of their words.
“–it’s him–”
“–this school’s infested with fags–”
To say she was mad was an understatement. “Yah,” On-jo called in disbelief. The two students turned around, smirking like they meant to be heard, eyes slitted and red. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Cheong-san was holding her arm. “Don’t, On-jo.” He warned lowly, his face blank but she knew he heard them, too. “They’re not worth it.”
At his beseeching look, On-jo was painfully reminded of the two of them in kindergarten—Cheong-san pleading for them to go home, taking the bullies’ insults even as he cried. They had laughed in front of them, taunting him even more at the fact he had his girlfriend protecting him right before On-jo’s fist connected to the kid’s nose.
(She was fascinated at the way that bright, red blood had spurted on her knuckles.)
It was the same look impressed on Cheong-san's face now as the two students sneered at her. On-jo hated that look.
“Listen to the fag, won’t you? Or are you his bitch, too?” The male student jeered.
On-jo could feel her anger slowly rising in her chest like water about to boil over. Her father was a firefighter, and any sensible person with training like that would teach their kid how to defend themselves. She muttered a quick apology to him in her head, but she didn’t mind getting into fights for Cheong-san. She didn’t regret any of them.
His face fell when their eyes met. He let go of her arm.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice interrupted. “You’re blocking the way.”
On-jo jumped in surprise and spun around. Their class president materialized in the doorway, composed and emotionless as ever. On-jo felt herself flush. Cheong-san pulled them aside, muttering an apology.
“Ch-Choi Nam-ra!” The male student was suddenly tripping over his feet, smiling and bowing bashfully like he’d just ran into his idol. On-jo rolled her eyes. Typical. “I didn’t see you there.”
The class president gave him a disinterested onceover. “Obviously.” She turned to walk away.
“H-Hold on!” On-jo thought Choi Nam-ra was going to ignore him but slowly, she turned back around. “Let me walk you home.” The male student proclaimed.
His female friend gave him a betrayed look. On-jo looked at Cheong-san. He was just as confused at this turn of events as her.
Choi Nam-ra cocked her head. “Why would you do that?”
The student was on the balls of his feet, all twitchy and nervous smiles. On-jo felt bad for him. “Well, th-there’s creeps out there, you know? It’s only right for a gentleman to walk a girl home.”
Choi Nam-ra’s expression didn’t change. “You were harassing my classmates just now. Does that really make you a gentleman?”
He froze. On-jo’s eyes felt like they’d bulged from the confines of her skull. Did Choi Nam-ra, the frosty beauty of class 2-5, just show emotion? Even better: did she just defend them?
For a split second, her eyes met On-jo’s. On-jo thought she saw a look flit through them–reassurement? Solace?–before she looked away again.
Choi Nam-ra turned around and left, her footsteps almost inaudible against the tiled floor.
They walked to their apartment complex after that, Cheong-san shooting her concerned glances at her lack of words for once. On-jo was hypnotized.
“Choi Nam-ra,” she let the name glide off her tongue. “She’s actually really cool, y’know.”
Her interference hadn’t stopped the comments. But On-jo felt like Cheong-san knew something had shifted at that moment in front of the library, and knowing they had the support of the coldest girl in their class made On-jo deaf to the comments. Judging by his lax demeanor afterwards, she thought Cheong-san was, too.
On that note, On-jo recalled a priceless moment when Cheong-san and Su-hyeok had been confronted with the whole “marriage” thing in front of the entire class a few months after her almost-fight.
It was the start of second semester, and as they sat down in their assigned seats, Miss Park had announced that because the class had apparently “excelled on their midterms”, they could all choose their seats permanently for the remainder of the year. Everyone ecstatically paired up with the people they were close to, obviously, but it came to a surprise for the whole class when Su-hyeok and Cheong-san weren’t together.
The cause for that was Gyeong-su. The scrawny boy had latched onto Cheong-san’s arm the moment they all stood to move, and vehemently protested to a shocked Su-hyeok (who’d nearly skipped when approaching Cheong-san) that he was going to be Cheong-san’s seatmate and not him. Su-hyeok had refused, of course, stubborn as a mule, and had even childishly involved Miss Park. Cheong-san stood between the two boys arguing over him like kids fighting over a lego, eyes pleading for help.
On-jo would have felt bad if she weren’t one of them giggling.
It wasn’t until Gyeong-su pointedly shouted out loud that finally made Su-hyeok give in:
“Bare-su already has Cheong-san’s hand in marriage! It’s completely unfair for him to have this, too!”
Amusement quickly turned to shock as everyone froze like statues. Gyeong-su didn’t budge in the slightest. I said what I said, his face said without a trace of regret.
Cheong-san and Su-hyeok had flushed all the way to the tip of their ears but neither denied the proclamation. Then, Su-hyeok turned on his heel and marched off to the empty seat beside Jin-seok without another word. Cheong-san had dropped into his seat listlessly, staring into space like he could see smells.
Su-hyeok spent the rest of the period glowering at the unapologetic, simpering, devilish Gyeong-su. Because On-jo sat directly behind him and Cheong-san, her childhood friend would occasionally turn around to flash Su-hyeok sweet gestures that only seemed to appease him slightly. Even when they were separated, they were still disgustingly adorable.
At this point, it wasn’t a question if Su-hyeok and Cheong-san liked one another. Everyone was just waiting on when they’d confess so they could finally start calling them official. In On-jo’s opinion, it wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon because both of them were spineless cowards even as they brazenly flirted without any regard for who was in the room. They were dancing around each other like bumbling fools as if the notion of dating was a foreign thing in a language they didn’t understand.
Boys truly were stupid.
On-jo knew kicking at a boulder wouldn’t do anything. So she wrenched her mind from the past, and focused on the zombie situation at hand.
Nothing had occurred during her time in her head. Defeat made a home on everyone’s face as On-jo looked around, and she felt annoyance slice through her chest. She was the daughter of a firefighter, damn it. She grew up hearing stories about her father saving people whose hopes had just snuffed out in front of them. How disappointed would he be if he saw her sitting around uselessly like this?
On-jo stood up from her chair then. Numerous pairs of eyes looked up at her. She grounded herself, trying to ignore the way Choi Nam-ra’s piercing gaze made her slack-jawed.
“Let’s start looking for a phone,” she announced. “30 backpacks here—who do you think’s the genius that fooled Miss Park?”