school students, obviosly

— I won’t do this, — Minho turned away.        — Why?        — You don’t know how he reacts to everything that concerns me.        — How could I know if you don't tell anything?          Han took a deep breath and shifted his gaze to the tracks.          — Listen, — he turned to Jisung, wiggling his regrown dark strands. — I understand that this doesn't sound convincing, — he raised the tips of his eyebrows, not trying to hide a bit of disappointment. — But now is really not the right time.        — And when will it be? — Han stops flailing his feet. — Tell me, when will you have the right time for me?        — Don’t start, — he crossed his arms over his chest, continuing to lean against the concrete wall. — You knew perfectly well that I wouldn’t always be able to give all of it to you. Even before we...          The loud cracking of rails at the abandoned train station interrupts Jisung's confused thoughts. He purses his lips as he looks at the graffiti-painted train in the distance. Cold. It hasn't been this cold in a long time.          — You sound like you never liked me now, — he examines the reddened knuckles and his crooked fingers.          Too straight. And it hurts for sure.          — And you sound like you’re accusing me of not being able to express my feelings properly, — Lee leaned back from the wall and put his hands in his pockets, collecting gusts of cool wind. Squints from the cold. — It seems to me that today we will only reach a dead end, — he crept closer to Jisung, who was sitting on the edge of the cliff, and put his hand into soft fluffy hair. — We'll talk later, okay?          Han nodded without turning his head, and continued to examine the uninteresting rails.          And even after the receding steps, the lump in the throat did not disappear. The silence didn't subside, and the bells in my ears continued to ring louder and louder. Nobody is to blame for this. And he doesn't regret hooking up with Minho.        And Minho has no regrets. Even if this cheeky fool hurts him to the quick. Any other would has sent a hundred times already, forgotten and did not allow himself to be wounded. But not so with Jisung. It's difficult with him, but in order to be near and live this most special and inexplicable feeling, Lee is ready to endure. He can hurt him, set him on fire and drown him. Everything will be alright just because it's Jisung.  

♡

         — You’re late again, — his father met him in an armchair next to the fireplace.        — As you can see, — Minho spreads his arms out to the side, turning in place and showing from different angles. Buckles on jeans, a favorite black T-shirt with shards, a worn leather jacket and berets. — Where is mom? — staggers in place, trying to look for the one in the kitchen.        — She didn’t have something enough for dinner so she went to the store, — he flips through his stupid notebook with a dark cover and interrupts, scribbling something in the laptop.        — I see, — he walks over to another chair and jumps into it, putting his legs up on the armrests. They always have dumb conversations going on. The clock ticks, breaking the silence. — Do you remember what I told you last Saturday?        — In more detail? — still comes off the screen.        — I'm not going to enter the business specialty.        — Well, it’s okay, — he writes notes on a piece of paper.        — And to the medicine specialty too.        — This is also not the worst news, — fireworks sparkle outside the windows.        — Dad, — he still gets a well-deserved pair of eyes in his direction. — I'm not going to anywhere what you talked about before.        — I'm not forcing you to go to the specialty of mayor of the city, of the exchange or of the court, — he folded his hands together. — But you can at least sometimes start thinking with your head. Don't you think so?        — Why can't I do everything I like? What's bad about it?        — And the fact that you need to choose one path, and not like you have a hundred thousand at once. To open your own car dealership, you have to work a lot more than you can imagine. And in order to achieve at least something in the theater or in dancing, you need not only desire, but also motivation. Work, power. Understand?        — If I tell you that I will choose one thing, will you calm down?        — And if you start preparing for exams right now, it will be generally excellent, — looks at the disheveled guy. — And bring order to your head, you walk as if you have never combed your hair.        — Okay, — Lee rises abruptly, smoothing down his frizzy hair. — And don’t go into my things anymore, — he finally turns to his father. — I know that it was you who was rummaging around in my room, — he sees feigned indignation and surprise. — You saw the photo, didn't you? — the one that hangs over Minho's desk. He specially chose a place so that dad would get sick if he went in again without asking.        — I thought it seemed to me, — he grinned, — but you outdid yourself this time.         The problem miraculously resolved itself. Now he don’t have to stand, rubbing his sock on the floor, and admit that he, too, it turns out, can have a personal life. Laughter mixed with anger, demands and indignation. His father did a great job of getting out.          — I'm glad you liked it, — he replied with a smile. — This is my last warning, — Lee said menacingly and went to the kitchen to look for his favorite pudding.          And the photo is really good: Jisung sitting on Minho's lap and kissing him cheekily on the lips.        School breaks in the canteen are really fun these days.