The rest of the week was unexciting. By Friday, most faces I saw, I could put a name to. The other kids started to get to know me as well. It started feeling normal to sit with Jessica and her friends, normal to eat with Charlie in silence, normal to stalk through the rain everyday. I fell into the humdrum routine of it.

Jisung Han didn't come back to school.

At first, I watched his siblings' table, my heart beating faster until the five of them settled in their seats, always without him. Then I'd relax, breathe, and be able to pay attention to whatever Jessica and Co. were chirping about that day. They mostly talked about a trip to La Push beach that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I shrugged out a confirmation, but it was more out of politeness than any real desire. Beaches around Forks were always cold and windy — the opposite of what a beach should be.

For all I knew, Jisung had dropped out of school. A feeling of responsibility etched its way into my mind whenever I thought about What Happened with him. It was stupid to think I'd had anything to do with his disappearance... but to see it as merely a coincidence reeked of fish more than Charlie when he returned from the docks.

I spent my time cleaning, doing homework, napping, and writing my mom more ridiculous e-mails. I did go to the Forks library on Saturday, but it was poorly stocked, dusty, and had roughly double the amount of Library Perverts essential, so I skipped getting a card. I made a mental note to plan a trip to Olympia or Seattle to find a bookstore.

It was chilly on Monday morning, giving the tops of my ears freezer burn, but not raining. In class, Mike sat on my desk and blabbed until our English teacher yelled at him to get to his seat. We had a quiz on some 'classics' I'd already read. Straight forward, easy enough.

All things considered, I felt way more comfortable here than I'd expected to. It was welcomed, but unsettling. It was sort of my worst nightmare to — shudder — become a Forks person. Not just a person who lived in Forks, but a person who belonged in Forks. A person who fit in and put down roots. I put the thought in a box and locked it, set the key on fire, swallowed the key, and then set myself on fire as well.

When we got outside, it was snowing. I growled and held my mitts over my ears as the wind nipped at my skin. I could hear the other students, shrieking and bleating childishly — no doubt in a snowball fight already.

"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

I sniffed. The cold air hurt my nose. "Goddamnit."

He looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means it's too cold for rain — which I don't like, either. And these snowflakes are dumb. Aren't they supposed to be all unique and one-of-a-kind? This shit just looks like a lot of dandruff or something."

He ignored the inside of my brain spilling out of my mouth. "Haven't you ever seen snowfall?"

"On TV."

Mike was about to respond, but a hunk of brown-white snow hit him in the back of the head. We turned in unison. Eric was walking away from us — whistling aloofly like a cartoon character. Mike bent down to scrape together a ball of mush from the sidewalk.

"See you at lunch," I said, already trudging away. Mike nodded, but he was focussed on Eric.

I was on high alert as I walked to the cafeteria with Jessica. I was ready to use my binder as a shield if necessary; I kept it hovered in front of my nose. Jessica thought I was being funny, but there must have been something in my expression that kept her from hurling a snowball herself.

Mike joined us; laughing and dripping from head to toe, his hair unintentionally messy for once. He and Jessica talked animatedly about the snowball fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced to the five's table out of habit.

I froze where I stood. There were six people at the table.

Jessica poked my arm.

"Hello? Hey, Minho, what are you getting?"

I dropped my eyes to the floor, trying to calm the hell down.

"What's wrong with him?" Mike asked Jessica.

"There's nothing wrong," I said. "I'm not hungry." 

I waited for them outside of the lunch line with my eyes glued to my shoes.

Jessica and Mike bought their food, and I followed behind them to our table. My stomach felt like it was floating, liable to drop at any moment. Mike asked if I was okay twice, and I avoided any confirmation or denial both times. I guessed I could have gone to the nurse, applied a little trickery. Maybe I could have gone home, or at least hung out at the nurse's office for however long they would have me.

But that's insane. He was the crackpot — why was I the one avoiding him?

I decided to take a measured glance at the other table. I peeked up the slightest bit. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little more.

They were laughing, their hair and faces soaked. Hyunjin and Changbin cringed away as Jeongin shook his hair out in their direction, and Seungmin tackled him in a hug.

But something about them had changed. Maybe their cheeks were rosier. Maybe the shadows under their eyes had faded...

I couldn't stop myself from focussing on Jisung. There was something particularly different about him. I couldn't place it, and it bothered me like a drip-drip-dripping faucet.

"Minho, what are you staring at?" Jessica interrupted me. She followed my gaze, and at that moment, his eyes flitted to me.

I looked down quickly, exhaling in a puff. I felt so embarrassed for so many stupid reasons.

But, in the split second his eyes met mine, I was sure they weren't filled with the same terror as before. He seemed curious.

"Jisung Han is staring at you," Jessica whispered.

"He doesn't look... scared, does he?" I asked, and immediately regretted it. Why was I keeping this conversation going?

"No. Should he be?" She sounded like she suspected I'd beat him up behind the school — as if I had the motivation, opportunity or ability.

"He acts weird around me." I dropped my head down onto my arms for a second, and then began rebuilding my composure.

"He acts weird around everybody — so do his siblings... he's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," I hissed.

She laughed and turned away. Mike distracted us, talking about a 'snow battle' he was planning in the parking lot. Jessica agreed pretty quickly. She always had a dumb smile on her face when he was talking. I kept brooding silently. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it.

I kept my eyes trained on my fidgeting hands. My mind was focussed on Biology. Would I inadvertently terrify him again, or was his behaviour last week an anomaly?

I didn't want to walk to class with Mike. It was like every airborne ball of snow on school grounds gravitated toward the back of his head. Getting caught in the crossfire seemed like a great way of smothering my mood further. 

When we got outside, everyone simultaneously groaned in disappointment. It was raining, washing the mush down the drains. I added to the swell of sound with a whine of my own. I wasn't sad the snow was gone — I just felt like whining.

Once inside the classroom, I saw that my table was empty. All my muscles immediately relaxed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Banner was ambling around the room, distributing microscopes and and boxes of slides to each table. The room had the buzz of multiple Whisper Conversations coinciding. I sat down, ignored everyone, and doodled absentmindedly on the cover of my notebook.

Then I heard the stool next to mine shift, and my heart stopped beating entirely.

"Hey," said a low, melodic voice.

I looked up cautiously. There was still a chance he was talking to someone else. 

But he was looking at me, his eyes moving up and down my face. His hair was still wet, framing his face in shiny black loops. His cheeks were round and flushed, and there was a smile on his perfect lips. I forgot how to speak.

"I'm Jisung," he said. "We didn't get a chance to talk yet. You're Minho Lee, right?"

Hell on Earth — he was talking to me. Thousands of questions ran through my mind, but all I could do was huff out a breath and ask, "Why are you talking to me?"

He seemed taken aback; his head tilted like a seesaw. "Should I stop talking to you?"

My eyes narrowed. "I don't know. What do you think?"

He blinked, but the corners of his mouth were pulling up. "I don't know, either."

"I don't k-know," I stuttered, distracted by his smile.

He turned toward the chalkboard, pressing his lips together, and murmured "Okay" in a small voice.

I dropped my eyes back to my book, trying to keep my confusion under wraps. Who did he think he was — acting like a freak and disappearing and then coming back and starting a conversation with me? I huffed again.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner whipped class to a start a moment later. He explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, Mr. Banner would circle the desks and see who had it right and wrong, like a vulture preying on the lazy and stupid.

"Get started," Mr. Banner commanded.

I looked at Jisung next to me. He met my eyes.

"Do you want to go f-first or what?" I said after a minute of staring.

He shrugged. "You can go first."

He was so casual. I was wary, but went ahead with the lab. I'd already done this project back at my old school. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it to the 40X objective.

"Prophase," I said.

He eyed the microscope. "Can I look?"

I waved a confirmation. 

He leaned down and examined the slide for one second. "Prophase."

"Don't ever doubt me again." I only realized I sounded weirdly intense after the fact.

But he laughed, and it was almost as beautiful as his face. He continued with the next slide, switching it with the first. He studied it for another second. I watched him, and I found myself smiling for no conceivable purpose.

"Anaphase," he said, writing it down.

I cleared my throat. "May I?"

He pushed the microscope my way.

I looked through the eyepiece, and — damnit — he was right. I didn't react. I held out my hand for the next slide, and he handed it to me.

"Interphase." I passed him the microscope before he could ask. He looked for a fraction of a second, then wrote it down. His handwriting was beautiful. Maybe he'd studied calligraphy. What kind of a person studied calligraphy anymore? It reminded me of the Spongebob episode where he had to write an essay.

We were done before anyone else in the class was. I examined the room — trying to avoid looking at him for as long as I could. Mike and his partner were studying the same slide over and over again. Another duo had their books open under the table.

So there was nothing to do, except look at him, which I only planned to do for a few seconds, but ended up getting stuck when I saw he was already staring at me. His expression was not afraid like the first day, but there was some trace of uneasiness in it. I suddenly felt uneasy as well.

But then it hit me — the difference about him I couldn't place at lunch.

"Did you get contacts?" I asked unthinkingly.

He flinched like I'd lunged at him, but quickly composed himself. "No."

My eyebrows lowered at his reaction. I prepared my speech in my head. 

"Hey... buddy." I swear it was the most awkward sentence I'd ever articulated. "Why were you acting so weird last week?"

His eyes ticked to the side, and his bottom lip stuck out. "Was I acting weird?"

"Yeah, you were," I said curtly.

"I barely remember what happened last week..." Then he smiled, and the only way I could have described it was 'impish.' "Were you thinking about me?"

"No," I said, accompanied by an incredulous huff, which came out more breathy and suspicious than I was aiming for.

"If I was acting weird, then it was because of familial, er, matters and whatnot, so I'm sorry if I gave you too much to think about for the last days."

"Who the hell says 'whatnot' anymore?"

He snorted, twitching faintly. "Don't attack me like that — I thought we were just talking!"

He was being cute enough that I forgot I was interrogating him. I was still curious. His attitude toward me had pivoted in a disorienting 180 degrees without any apparent reason. Not to mention his eyes — I vividly remembered the black of his irises, mesmerizing like the deepest space. Now they were a light honey colour, like pure gold. It was bizarre and beautiful against his melanin skin, afloat in the white of his eyes.

Mr. Banner eyeballed us when he saw us talking idly. He came over and checked our answers.

"Jisung, did you give Minho a chance to use the microscope?"

"Minho" — I liked how my name sounded when Jisung said it — "identified three of the five, actually."

Mr. Banner looked at me, skeptical. "Have you done this lab before?"

"Not with onion root," I said.

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Uh-huh."

"Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yup."

He considered that for a moment. "Well. I guess it's good you two are lab partners." He grumbled something else under his breath as he walked away. I couldn't manage to care. I started doodling on my notebook again.

"It's too bad about the rain, isn't it?" Jisung said then.

"Not really," I replied. I thought it was passive enough that he wouldn't try to keep me talking about the weather, but maybe I should've lied to him like everybody else.

"You don't like the cold?"

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be killing you."

I sighed in response. When I looked up, and I found he was still staring at me, wearing the same fascinated expression on his face. I tried to look at him the polite amount, but he was so dauntingly gorgeous that I was probably overdoing it. Or under-doing it. I couldn't find the balance — like I was a tightrope walker and he was an unexpectedly strong breeze.

"Why did you come here?" he asked.

"To class?"

"To Forks."

Idiot. "It's... complicated."

"I can keep up." He smiled, and it distracted me. I wobbled a bit.

"My mom got remarried," I muttered.

"And you don't like her partner." His tone was sympathetic, kind. I felt comforted. Still distracted.

"No, Phil is okay. He's nice. Kinda dumb and vanilla, and he owns a weird amount of socks. But my mom loves him — they love each other. So, whatever, I guess."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

"Phil travels a lot. He plays one of the sports for a living. I don't remember which."

"And your mum sent you here. So she could travel with him."

I shook my head quickly. "No. I sent myself here."

He tilted his head again. "I don't understand."

I smirked. "Oh, so you can't keep up?" I immediately felt like apologizing when I looked into his doe eyes.

He laughed, though, and his shoulders pulled up bashfully. "I can keep up, I can keep up — please explain more." His eyes were wide and and alight with curiosity.

"My mom stayed with me at first, but she missed him a lot. She was truly unhappy... so I decided to spend some time with Charlie."

"But now you're unhappy..."

"Yup." I smiled dryly.

"That doesn't seem fair," he said, as if he wanted to avenge my right to happiness. If he didn't seem like a ridiculously beautiful oil painting come to life, I would have patted his hair and told him to calm down.

"Life isn't fair," I said.

"Like I haven't seen that one on every fridge magnet for the last one hundred years," he laughed. He abruptly shut up after that, like he'd let something slip. He continued. "I know life isn't fair. Life is cruel and stupid and meaningless."

He was going further with it than I had. I wondered what he was thinking about specifically. "Uh, great." I hoisted my hands up and let them fall. "Then that's that."

It was silent for a second. My heart woke up from hibernation, and I was suddenly very aware that I was talking with a really, really handsome boy. Engaging in playful banter. Smiling. He was peering at me right then — into my eyes like he literally couldn't look away — and I was so wrapped up in it that it startled me when he spoke.

"Am I annoying you?" he asked.

"Um." Kind of the opposite. "No."

He smiled a little, and bobbed his head up and down as he looked away.

Mr. Banner called class to a close. I tried to appear engrossed in his speech on the lab we'd just finished — but my thoughts were unmanageable. Why was Jisung acting so friendly now? Was he going to be afraid of me again tomorrow? What would he look like in a tuxedo? 

The goddamn bell rang.

"See you," Jisung said. I couldn't even reply before he was gliding out the door on the other side of the room. Graceful, like a dancer. It was kind of like he moved in slow motion — his hair and clothes swaying just under the natural speed. I stared after him and didn't think to hide it.

Mike sauntered over and leaned on my desk. "That was awful. I'm gonna fail so hard..." He snapped his fingers in front of my face. I blinked. "Was Jisung being weird again?"

"I don't even know," was all I could come up with.

When school was over, I walked out to the parking lot. The rain was just a mist, but I still felt one thousand percent better when I climbed into the dry front seat of my truck.

As I rolled down the aisle of cars, I saw Jisung leaning on the driver door of his car. I forgot to look away, and soon he noticed me. He waved a bit, seemingly hesitant, and his smile was cute — like a 3 on its side. I waved back as naturally as I could. 

I finally tore my eyes away, and pulled out of the school parking lot.