#my literature teacher kept doing the accent after i told him and a couple others about how to do it

[thelingering]

my literature class is putting on a little reproduction of the Scottish Play composed of some vital scenes throughout the play

and i must say, this is the first and possibly last time knowing/being able to teach others how to do a convincing Glasgow accent has ever come in useful

[softspaceboibrian]

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x student!reader

Summary: Reader is a new student at Harvard University and, on her first day, she does something she might regret. Or maybe not.

Warnings: swearing

Wc: 2044

A/N: hey, guys, so, I've been working on this fic for a while now and I just decided to post it. please, let me know what you think! if you have suggestions or would like to be tagged in future chapters, let me know!

Other chapters: 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Finding the class for the first lesson of the day was definitely not easy. It was your first day there, in the new University, and you got lost at least three times. Luckily, people where kind, maybe due to you foreign accent, or maybe for other reasons, who knew.

“Professor Lee? Oh, I see, you chose your courses carefully” told you your roommate the night before. Her name was Rose, charismatic, easy-going, determined, humorous, dark skin, black eyes, a little thick, but so confident that people didn’t even notice it. On the other hand, you was clumsy, introverted, anxious, quiet, shy, always so conscious about your aspect: the exact opposite.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, confused by your friend’s statement.

“Well, you know, I have a few friends that followed his lessons and, apparently, he’s a really charming man. Many students fall for his looks” she explained, looking at you, sitting right across from you at your kitchen’s table. “but that is not the case for you. I mean, I’ve known you for only a couple months now, but I’ve got to know you pretty well and I can tell you’re not the kind of person that falls for a man just because he’s sexy.” That last comment made you blush.

In the end, after running from one side of the campus to the other because you had definitely entered the wrong building and turned in the wrong corridor, you found the classroom. And, as Rose warned you, the first two rows where already filled with girls wearing the most scandalous tops, bright red lipsticks, big lashes. With your simple jeans and old, oversized sweater, you walked to the side of the room, sitting alone with your notebook already opened in front of you. It was only a few minutes later when a tall, really tall guy walked in, making every girl in the front rows sigh in appreciation. So, that’s the professor, you thought to yourself. Isn’t he a little too young to be teaching at Harvard? For some strange reason you were expecting an old man with grey hair, old clothes and wrinkly hands, not someone like that.

A few minutes later the lesson started and, well, it was going great, until Mister Lee, that poor man, made that little mistake. And you, obviously, being the meticulous person you were, could not manage to keep your mouth shut: you had to correct him. The professor. On your first day of University. Great. Just great.

Actually,” You said without even waiting for him to give you permission to talk. When King Henry VI succeeded his father and became King of England, he was only nine months old, not ten. It was 1422.” You kept rambling on, everyone’s eyes, professor’s included, were on you. “And it was May 22nd of 1455 the day Richard of York marched against King Henry at St. Albans.” You didn’t mean to be impolite or anything, you just wanted to be precise. But the silence that followed was embarrassing to say the least. For the both of you.

“And you are?” asked the man, crossing his arms in front of his chest, a subtle smirk forming on his lips.

“Ehm... fuck” You whispered to yourself, before tell the man your name. The man kept his gaze on you for a little longer, before going back to his lesson. Yep, that was embarrassing.

Finally, the lesson was over. Not that it wasn’t interesting. On the contrary, it was probably the most interesting lesson you had ever attended, but having the professor gazing at you constantly was, well, awkward.

As soon as you were free to go, you collected your things, stuffing them in your bag as quickly as possible, hoping the professor would leave in the meantime. Obviously, he didn’t. So you quickly checked at the back of the room for a secondary exit, a door, a safe way to get out of there. But, sadly, there was only one way out and the professor was right next to it. He was still sitting at his desk, writing something on some papers. Good, you thought, that’s my chance to run out of here. If I do it quickly enough, he won’t see me. Well, you obviously didn’t think this through well enough.

“Miss” the professor called out your name right before you could step outside of the classroom. “May I have a word with you, alone? Maybe in my office?” Failure. The plan was a failure.

“I suppose” you murmured, adjusting your sweater and lowering your eyes, still too embarrassed to look at him.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” He smiled, walking out of the room, making sure she was following him. They had to walk for about five minutes before arriving at his office, which wasn’t a lot given how much she had to walk that morning to reach the classroom, but it definitely seemed a lot more since they walked side by side, in silence, with the eyes of hundreds of students on them through the entire building. “So, you’re not from around here” he said while closing the door of the office behind you.

“Well, yes” Your voice was so soft that the words almost came out as a whisper. “But neither are you” What was he? Welsh? Yes, he definitely sounded Welsh.

Professor Lee grinned, apparently ignoring your comment, and walking over to his desk to lay his books on it, before turning around to face you. You were visibly scared, you were fidgeting with your necklace, eyes low on the carpet, as if you found more interesting the pattern of it rather than everything else. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to get scold off or anything for what you did” His voice was comforting, a gentle smile formed on his lips. “I was just curious. You seem to know a lot more about English literature than most of my students, even the older ones. Why didn’t you choose an advanced course? It would have probably been more interesting or fitted for a girl like you.” A girl like you? What kind of girl did he think you were? “Please, don’t tell me you’re one of those students that follow my classes just because they think I’m somewhat handsome.”

“No! Absolutely not!” You jumped up, finally looking at him. “Wait, no, I didn’t want to say that you are not… I mean, you are… But… oh, fuck…” You ended up murmuring to yourself, sitting on a chair and putting your hands in your hair. You were messing up big time, that’s for sure.

All you could hear afterwards was the professor trying hard not to laugh. “Don’t worry, I get it. You didn’t choose this course because of me.” He giggled. “And I’m kind of relieved to hear that”

“I didn’t even know what you looked like before you walked inside the classroom.” You smiled at the man, brushing your hair out of your face, tucking the strands behind your ear.

“Well, that’s good because, otherwise, it would have been weird for us to work together if you had a crush on me, since I asked you if we could talk so that I could offer you the position of teacher assistant. My assistant.”

Those words came as a surprise to you. It was your first day there and a professor was already offering you the role of his assistant. “Wow…” That was the only thing you managed to say. What should one say?

“You obviously don’t have to answer me right away”

“I accept” you interrupted him, leaving him speechless, in a positive way. He saw something in you, something interesting. “I only have one question: precisely, what does an assistant do?”

“Don’t worry” He smiled. “It won’t be anything too hard or demanding. You will meet me here in my office every morning before the beginning of the lessons. You will have to skip some of your other classes if your assistance is required, but don’t worry, you will be excused from them. You will have like a special permit.” He winked, making you laugh. It was the kind of laugh that echoes in a room, contagious, the kind of laugh that most people would try to hide, but you didn’t. And he liked it.

“That is fine by me. My only problem is that I share my car with my flat mate. Well, actually the car’s hers and she uses it every morning to go to work, which is on the other side of town. So, hopefully, if the bus isn’t running late, I will be able to get here half an hour before the beginning of classes. If not, I will get here only ten minutes before the bell rings and I really hope that is not a problem for you, Professor Lee.” You quickly explained.

“Call me Gwilym.” He smiled” We’re going to work together, after all.” He was sitting on his desk, the blazer, being the perfect fit, was tight enough around his arms to enhance his built. “Anyway, that is definitely not a problem. I could give you my number and, if you need anything, you’re running late or something else, you could just send me a message.”

You nodded, a little smile making its way on your face, your cheeks turning slightly pinkish, given that you had found yourself staring at him for a bit too long. But he didn’t seem to notice, or at least, he didn’t seem to mind. You spent the rest of the time laughing, talking about why you chose that University and those courses and why he decided to become an English literature professor, getting to know each other. The next time you checked the time, it was time for you to go home. “If you don’t have anything for me to do today, I think I should probably get going. There’s a bus coming in 10 minutes, and if I miss it, I will have to wait at least 40 minutes before another one comes.”

“Sure, you can go.” Said the man while brushing his dark brown hair out of his face, before standing up and picking up his stuff. “I should go home myself.” He smiled, walking beside you outside the office. “I guess I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

You nodded, adjusting your messenger bag on your shoulder, smiling one last time towards the man, with a soft “Bye, Professor Lee”, before turning around and starting to walk towards your destination.

Well, as everyone surely knows, Murphy’s Law says that, in any field of endeavour, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong: that was exactly what happened that afternoon. First of all, the bus you had to take changed the route because of an accident, so it wasn’t going to stop in front of your building, meaning that, if you wanted to take that one, you had to run to the other side of the campus, which would have taken you at least twenty minutes. Secondly, that morning you must have forgotten your keys at home because you couldn’t find them anywhere inside your bag. Furthermore, you didn’t have enough money to get a cab and your flatmate was still working, so she couldn’t come and pick you up. Last but not least, it began to rain. And, guess what, you didn’t have an umbrella. Why would you? That morning the sky was so clear that you almost thought it was still the middle of summer. But no.

At that point, you decided to start walking, you would find a café or a bookshop, go inside and wait for Rose to finish working, so she could come and pick you up. That sounded like a great plan, but something happened. You had been walking for only a couple minutes, when a shiny black Audi Q5 pulled up in the side of the road, right next to you. Accustomed to hearing all these sad stories about girls being picked up on the side of the road by strangers and then their corpse being found somewhere outside town a few weeks afterwards, you immediately started walking faster, fearing that something similar might happen to you too. What surprised you was to hear a familiar voice call out for your name. You stopped and looked inside the car: Professor Gwilym Lee.

[jamlessness]

first lady, five.

pairing: taehyung x reader. word count: 3.1k content: inappropriate language, mention of physical violence, ice hockey!au

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

The cold wall in your back was definitely not a concern when his heated body hovered over yours, locking you in the safety of his arms as you kept him just as secure by wrapping your legs around his waist. There was no sound beyond the soft moans you left in each other’s mouths and a couple of hearts beating fast enough to break their rib cages.

You didn’t realized how addicting his lips were until Taehyung pulled away to catch his breath. You grunted in disappointment and soon his grin was placed against your neck, making sure to leave a trail of blossoms as his teeth found the skin of your collarbone. Another sound left from the back of your throat as your fingers got lost in the locks of his hair, now approving his actions - his hands snaking under your shirt while his lips not leaving your body.

Once again, Taehyung seemed to be too distant for it to be bearable and your gaze soon rushed to find an answer on his own, any sign of anger or annoyance disappearing the second his dark, magnetic eyes emated care and adoration as they were fixed on you. They also mirrored a silent promise that you couldn’t precisely describe, but your body seemed to understand pretty well.

That moment it occurred to you that maybe Heaven was real.

In fact, it seemed pretty clear that Heaven was him.

Slowly, your captain started to make his way to your lips again, all the rush you shared gone and honestly it was better this way.

But you came to disagree once the lack of speed became torturous, almost too much for you to handle. And the more you waited, the more you had to wait until despair took over as you realize that maybe his lips would never finds yours.

And they didn’t.

All you got from that long waiting was the sound of clapping right next to your right ear, deafening you to the complaints you received for a few seconds.

You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted to the completely different scenery you found yourself in. Instinctively, you looked for Taehyung but he was nowhere to be seen as the puzzle in your head just turned bigger and bigger. You found Malia instead, questioning you about your last actions with a simple glare.

“That’s probably my fault.” Jimin’s voice echoed clear when you were finally able to distinguish sounds - and realize your teacher was scolding you. “I may or may not have destroyed her on practice yesterday.” his funny yet cute face had the expected effect since your classmates were not the only ones to be drooling over his apologetical expressions and soft tone - Miss Kwon, your literature teacher, had also fell for her favorite student’s spell.

For the brief seconds Jimin gave you to recover as he drawn the attention all to himself, you recalled enough conscience to notice a couple things: first, Park Jimin was explicitly roasting you and you couldn’t care less - in fact, you were quite grateful; second, you not only had slept in class but you had also been trapped in a dream with no other than Kim Taehyung.

With your eyes shot wide, you once again experienced silent communication with Malia, you requesting something this time which was quickly interpreted.

For the next three minutes you had to bear with your best friend’s poor acting as she convinced Miss Kwon that you should be taken to the nursery. Of course, you also had to put on quite a show and Jimin stepped in to make things easier, only increasing the debt of gratitude you had for him.

“What the hell was that?” Malia demanded the moment the both of you found safety on the empty hallways that led to the nursery - because, after all, you really thought you should drop by.

“That’s a hella good question.” you replied, too humorous for it to be a good thing and it was enough to make your best friend stop on her tracks and, consequently, you stopped with her.

“Did he really hit you that hard on yesterday’s pract-”

“We both know that there’s a reason for him to be alive until this very moment.” her frown accented at your words, her eyes becoming bigger with time. A deep sigh left your mouth as started to pace in front of her, almost certain that you should get your brain checked for the things you were about to say. “I don’t know what happened for me to fall asleep on class but that’s no big deal compared to-” you refrained your speech by biting your lips. It’s too absurd, you told yourself.

“Compared to what?”

You stole a glance of her to analyze how honest you should be. The answer came on the very same second.

“I dreamt of Taehyung.” your arms  nervously crossed at your chest as you looked away. “I think I like him.” you admitted, eyebrows knitting together as you concluded that those words tasted much sweeter than they should.

Since it was Malia in front you, listening to your new found secret, you expected yelling, jumping and even hitting, since she has been telling you to invest on Taehyung since his feelings became known. But once again your expectations didn’t meet reality as her expression remained intact. A hint of regret stroke you. Perhaps it was too soon to let it be known.

“What are you going to do about it?” that tone made you widen your eyes absolutely aware of its meaning. “How are you gonna tell him?”

“I won’t?” it sounded more like a question and it put you in a very difficult position with Malia. She could read you like the palm of her hand and your doubt wouldn’t be left like that. In order to escape, you started walking towards your original destination again.

“Talk to me, Min Y/N.” she proposed, quickly following your steps.

“There’s nothing left to talk, Malia, honestly…” you sighed as her hands grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you on your heels so you could face her.

“What is so frightening about having feelings for him?” Malia shot with wide eyes, unable to understand your mindset. “About those feelings being exact the same he has for you? Why is it so scary?”

“Because none of this will last!” you snapped back on a louder tone and she froze at your seriousness. “Because if I give this a shot, it will get out of control and end and hurt and I’ll regret every bit of it. Can’t you see? This is nothing but a waste of time. Mine and his!” you retreated before you couldn’t stop yourself from talking and ended up blabbering about undesirable topics.

You were so drowned in calming yourself down that you had no idea of how horrified your best friend was. In fact, you only happened to look back at her when alarmed and unrecognizable words left her mouth a few seconds later. You instantly frowned, trying to understand her.

“You became your mother.”

Your heart shrank to those words, pain pinching the sides of your head as there was nothing you could use to protest to that conclusion. Everyone knew that your mom always thought about the downside first and it usually mastered her life choices. For awhile, you thought that was her superpower since she used it to avoid bad decisions; but soon you realized it kept her away from the good decisions as well and you decided to not rate it as a quality anymore.

“It can’t be that bad.” you claimed and chuckled in a desperate attempt of being right - you knew you weren’t.

A simple nod was used to say your goodbyes and you never really got an answer. Honestly, it was better this way. There was too much going on in your head and no one else could help you but yourself.

“Min!” your head tilted towards Coach Choi, as he called for you the exact moment you showed up in the locker room for the game on a saturday afternoon. Immediately, you avoided to stare back at any of your teammates, that weren’t many but kept you under a close watch. “How are you feeling?” his eyebrows raised as his eyes were filled with a concern you appreciated.

“Ready to play puck, coach.” your reassuring smile right after a firm nod was all that needed for him to know you were ready indeed.  

“Suit up, then.” he winked and you gave him one final nod before walking away to do as he said before the room was crowded with your teammates.

You felt Taehyung’s eyes on your every move but, just as you have done for the past few days, you didn’t give it any importance. Even when your heart sped up in your chest and his mere presence changed the atmosphere, you focused on turning him a blur in your eyes, just like you have done with every subject that was bothering you to to death: your parents’ situation, Yoongi’s silence and Malia’s stubbornness.

Hitting the ice was nothing less than healing, mainly when a very known voice travelled all the way from the home stands until it found it on the center ice for the warm up session. Seeing your brother right on the first row, cheering for you has done you better than you could ever thought and gave you another reason to work harder.

“I see you’re still whipped!” an annoying laughter resounded not too far from you, a bit after the visiting team started taking place on ice for warm ups as well. You turned your head just enough to find the jerk willing to guarantee a fight on the upcoming game. It surprised you to see that it seemed to be a conversation between the two captains - the one you knew not really into that dialogue.

“I see you still haven’t learnt your lesson.” Taehyung replied, not even bothering to take his eyes off of his point of interest: you. He respected your distance but it didn’t make him less worried, mainly after Jimin told him what happened on class a few days ago.

The other was ready to reply but he held back on his tracks once he realized where Kim’s eyes were trained. A smugly grin took over his lips as his blades made his way on the ice to meet you, leaving your captain behind.

“My dear, beautiful first lady!” he claimed as he placed himself by your side and by the corner of your vision you spotted Jungkook’s sharpen eyes in your direction, letting you know he was ready for anything you needed him to. With an almost imperceptible move of your head, you told him to focus on the upcoming match. “I happened to hear that Captain Kim didn’t take care of business…” he lowered his voice as he got closer. Disgust filled you up but it wasn’t something new, so your posture remained just the same. Being one of the few girls in the competition and, in fact, the first one after so long, you were quite used to listen to those types of things and there was no way in hell you could feel intimidated. “We should hang out when this is over, y’know.” his smirk grew as you could even feel him breathing against your skin, the proximity making you sick. “I guarantee you won’t even remember him after we fuck.”

The whistle blew, letting it be known that the game would start really soon as your mind drove you back to the day where Taehyung got into a fight for you with the very same guy standing in front of you. He said nasty stuff about you, noona, you recalled Jungkook explaining; Really nasty stuff, he added. You knew how low the trash talk could get when directed straight to you but you also knew that if he had the guts to say that to your face, the things he told your captain were far from that sweet. The mix of feelings you have had since that day crushing you like a wave weren’t of much help when your fists seemed pretty eager to find his face.

With one bold glare in his direction, you skated back to your team as they all seemed to be en guard if anything. Your silence was unusual, but obviously the best answer you could give - because an spectacle right before the game would put you in big trouble and you really intended to work hard in front of your brother. The team seemed to acknowledge and approve your decision.

The game soon started and proved to be worthy of every piece of concentration you could get into it. Jungkook assisted you in the first goal and it didn’t take long for Jimin to find his own with a breakaway. Your team had to change the strategy a few times after suffering a couple of dangerous attacks, both of them succeeding in turning it into an even match again.

It wasn’t until the first minutes of the second period for Taehyung to prove how valuable he was in a power play. But, unfortunately, the advantage made your team cool down and retreat, a tendency you followed during the last matches of the regular season in order to save energy for your granted spot in the playoffs. A few minutes later it was clear for all of you that it was not the best choice since the visiting team was celebrating another score through your lazy defense.

“Noona, maybe you should heat things up.” one of your teammates suggested once you were back in the bench for the line change. You were gasping for air and your eyes were still glued to the action on ice as those words hit you. You only had time to turn to face your junior before the answer came from the other side:

“She’s not a fucking plumber (a player that loves to do the dirty work in the corners and go to the dirty areas; usually not the most skilled player).” Taehyung shot back, breathlessly, but his tone never failed to imply that it wasn’t an option, even for later. Given your playing style today, you wanted to keep your hands clean and, for him, it worked pretty well.

“Their confidence is on the roof.” you examined as another brilliant play by the opposite team elaborated in front of your eyes.

“We gotta break it down.” he completed your thought and you simply nodded, the solution popping in your head on the next second.

“How’s your vocabulary, capt’n?” you cocked an eyebrow, moving just enough to properly stare at him and see that he mimicked your expression.

“Really, Min? Trash talking?” the answer came in a shrug.

“You didn’t come up with a better option.” he shook his head to your statement, his eyes back to the ice and by the way he sighed, you knew he’d go for your method. “It doesn’t need to get physical.” you added, already triumphant and Taehyung scoffed.

“It better not.” he spared you one last glance before paying full attention to the game.

It didn’t take long for your line to be back on ice and the plan got met the action. If you have been avoiding the rival’s trash talk this entire time, now you were paying back in a doubled dose. Other of your teammates soon followed and you couldn’t hold back a grin as you realized the nerves taking over your guests: they lost the puck easily and overreacted to a wrong play. The corner of your lips only stretched farther when you got a nod from Taehyung while he sticked out his tongue, acknowledging the genius nature of your plan, to which you responded with a wink.

Another trend of yours the juniors decided to follow was to avoid the hits at all costs. It was a way the visitors found to break your plays and slow down the game, so you entered the third period mastering the act of leaving the opponent to hit the wall instead of yourself.

It was enough to make your team be back at the lead on the scoreboard and to drive the other team crazy.

“Naughty, naughty.” that irritating voice came way too close for comfort, but not even that disgusting human being could take you off of all the fun you were having from avoiding another hit. “I wonder if you’re this naughty in bed too…” he skated by you, making sure to keep eye contact, which you wouldn’t run of.

“Such a pity you’ll never find out.” with raised eyebrows and the sweetest of your smiles, you impersonated a pigeon (how’s called a player who can’t score on his own and relies on the other to feed him the puck) as you passed by him. In no time, you took your place for another face off, still able to catch a glimpse of him cursing under his breath, swearing you couldn’t run away forever.

Before the referee blew the whistle and dropped the puck, you checked your surroundings to acknowledge your teammates’ positions. To your right, Taehyung had a known sparks in his eyes, assuring you a tic-tac-toe (a quick passing play that results in a goal) was on the way and, by far, that was the best choice you had; the silent communication on your team soon was done and they were ready to follow the captain.

All you had to do now was to get the puck and make the perfect pass. No big deal if you were able to concentrate and oh, how you were today.

But you didn’t even had the chance to make the puck travel towards Taehyung.

As soon as the whistle echoed, your body was easily dragged by a superior force until it hit the glass wall. You couldn’t hear anything but the I told you so secreted to you as your form slowly fell to the ice, the protests coming from the four winds reaching your ears right after this. The pain seemed nonexistent due to the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, but despair took over when you realized you couldn’t move a single muscle when you tried to yell at your teammates as their gloves flew all over the rink in order to square up and avenge you.

Your lungs desperately fought for air as the oxygen vanished from your brain.

The last thing you heard was Yoongi calling out your name.

The last thing you saw was Taehyung’s frightened figure rushing towards you.

[ozzygonza]

EXCHANGE

Chapter 1.1

Despite dad basically being a complete shut-in and only wanting to stay home all day working on his next novel, he actually wanted to drive me to school; most likely to avoid emails from his agent regarding the next installment of his Blackened Rooks series. He even woke up earlier than pop, which kind of surprised me. The drive to school seemed like any other drive to school: quiet and only should last for fifteen minutes-ish. I kept my attention outside my car side window, We stopped at a light on the main street behind a white sedan and then I could hear my dad’s thoughts clamoring all at once to a halt as well.

“How are you feeling…?” he asked aloud, which already sounded like the wrong question that beat the other ones in his overactive head. He cleared his throat and exhaled. “It’s going to be a new year of high school. Obviously this past summer was not the best, what with that mess happening, but this will be a new year for you to start again with the knowledge from the year before.”

What he lacked in being social, he excelled in being eloquent and very well-spoken. He would have been valedictorian in high school if it hadn’t been for Clara Vaughn basically beating him and writing a just as good speech; he was never bitter about it since the two remained best friends even after high school.

I frowned, recalling for a moment what happened last summer. Only one photo remained saved in a folder of my current phone of me and her being happy. A small wave of sadness returned from the incident of the end of the school year. I didn’t want to remember.

“Thanks Dad, I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him, noticing him smiling a little and a hint of fatherly pride. “Now, I’m gonna go, so that I can get some education.”

“Huh? Y-yes, s-sure sure,” he stammered, not realizing he had already pulled in the student drop-off.

I gave him a shadow of a smile and headed into the campus. I stepped into the high school building, already catching sight of friends hugging each other and a couple or two saying hello for the first time after a long summer. After I grabbed my school schedule from the line in the cafeteria, I sat down near the entrance to give my legs a rest and to read the list of classes, with the first being English Literature with Mr. Perez. The rest of the school day seemed pretty steady ending with Geometry class with Ms. Fields.

“There he is.”

I looked up to see Keisha, my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were twelve, having met during a joint musical recital; she used to play the violin and I had played in a piano duet with my friend Nico. We had shared a moment of pumping the other up backstage. We remained inseparable since that day. She opened her arms out and gave me a “C’meeeere” look. I returned with a smirk and gave her a big hug, returning her embrace, despite feeling extremely despondent.

“You have been in radio silence this whole summer,” she muttered in my ear, squeezing me tighter. “You could have texted me at least once while I was at my nana’s.”

“You have my dads’ numbers, so I knew you checked with them,” I responded as we pulled away from each other. “As you can see, I’m okay. Kickin’, sorta.”

“Well, your epic of Summer of Mope is over, and it’s now time to enjoy a new year of fun, excitement, and emotional instability that comes with being in high school.” She pushed me to the stairs and held up her schedule, most likely getting the schedule ahead of time from her mother, who worked in the school. “Let’s go upstairs to Mr. Perez’s room and have our first boring class together.”

I gave her a little smile and went up the stairs. We talked about our summer, rather she talked and I listened to her. Her time with her nana had been an uneventful one. Most of it spent doing with her brother and nana doing minor chores and going to the beach every other day. She tried to make it sound terrible but I knew better than that. It sounded way better than mine, which was spent in my room with the curtains drawn, listening to some depressing and melancholy music during the time of only showering when I smelled a little rank for my liking.

I didn’t want to give her insight of that, even though she had a hint of that earlier from my parents. When we reached the classroom, a few familiar faces regarded us for a moment, one of them Colton, a guy who just hated me for the sake of it. We took our seats at the back of the classroom to see who else joined our class this first period.

When we started our talk about a TV show we showed an interest in, Mr. Perez stepped in classroom, greeting everyone in an enthusiastic Good Morning. He gave everyone a heart-warming smile and placed his materials on top of the desk. He scanned the room for a moment with his gray eyes and raised a brow.

“I know you guys would rather have stayed home today, rather than be here today, but I will try to make this as painless as possible,” he said and wrote his name “MR PEREZ” on the board. “I am Mr. Perez your English Lit teacher. I hope you guys read the pieces from the collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s work and the select works from Walt Whitman.”

A few collection of groans arose from a select students, except for myself and Keisha; I had first editions of the books from both works what with my dad having a small library of these already in his collection.

“However, today, we’re going to meet each other and get to know your peers. I am Mr. Ricardo Perez, and my parents are from a small town just north of Mexico City. They, including my brother Carlos, immigrated here.” He took a brief pause when he heard the back door of the room open.

A young man with bluish hair and horn-rimmed glasses walked in the room. Just as we all did, he also scanned the room. For a moment, our eyes met. A chill ran down my spine and the hairs on my arms stood on end. The feeling was eerie and didn’t know what to make of it. He broke our gaze first and walked to the front of the classroom, handing the teacher a piece of paper.

He scanned through the paper and muttered something to himself. “Okay, class! This is a transfer student from our exchange program,” he responded and motioned to the young man. “I believe you will be the first one to introduce themself to the class.”

The boy grinned. “Alright, my name is Trent St. John, please to meet you all,” he said, a faint accent heard in certain syllables, projecting his voice to the back of the room. His gaze fell upon me, our eyes meeting again. “I cannot wait to be acquainted with you all.”

“You can take a seat, looks like we have one in the back next to the young man in the green t-shirt,” Mr. Perez stated, clearly indicating me.

“We should be nosy and say hello,” Keisha whispered in my ear. As soon as Mr. Perez turned his back to the class to write on the board, Keisha gave me a little wink and I couldn’t help but grin as she quickly went to Trent’s desk. She took a seat right next to Trent and nudged him with her elbow in his ribs. “I’m Keisha and that’s Abram, “she motioned to me with a slight nod. “You are definitely new around here and I think you should hang with us.”

Keisha didn’t know the definition of subtle or even hearing no as an answer to one of her demands. She propped her chin on the heel of her palm and smiled. “Everyone else isn’t as cool as us.”

Now you are being crazy, I thought to myself.

Trent nodded regardless. “I actually wouldn’t mind hanging with you guys,” he said to her. He turned his head to me. “What about you? Do you think we will get on? Or am I awkward?”

His words sounded strange but I couldn’t place them anywhere. I returned a smile. “Awkward or not, it shouldn’t matter.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Trent stared ahead and smiled.

Mr. Perez had spent the rest of the hour having us introduce ourselves. It was dumb and elementary school-ish. We practically spent most of our time on our phones; Pop had sent me a reminder to do chest workouts, either at home or the gym, via text. He should have been working in whatever warehouse or secret mission.

Once hour had ended, Mr. Perez reminded everyone to review the select poems by Poe for tomorrow’s lesson, but clearly his direction had fallen on deaf ears. Keisha snatched Trent’s schedule from his hands and scanned the page. She counted two with her fingers and then four.

“So we have second period photography as well,” she stated and looked at me, “but you guys have Geometry, American History, and free period.”

Trent raised a brow. “Sounds like we’re going to be seeing more of each other,” he stated and chuckled.

Keisha hooked her arm around his elbow and started tugging him towards their next class.

(Previous, Next)

[mexicoetc]

'Jack Teacher, is time real or is it an illusion?' - Ji-hoon (8 years old)

I went with the hagwon job - location, energy, and mornings - over the kindergarten job - money, soul, and evenings. What with the director’s slightly cryptic emails I wasn’t 100% sure I’d been officially offered the position, so I emailed the American woman who works there and who’d conducted my Skype interview. She was like, ‘Yeh, you’ve got the job. The director trusts my recommendations, and you were the best candidate.’ I asked how many she’d interviewed. She said eight . . I beat all those cunts to it? Really? . . Oh yeh, that’s right: I am capable of making a good impression, especially if the target’s got a brain in their canister. I’d forgotten that, after three years of having my every social interaction lambasted, being called a sociopath, told to 'be nicer’, smile more, laud the vapid, shun the mercurial, French-kiss sophistry, take reason round back and shoot it in the head etc etc.

So tango classes. I booked two ninety-minute private lessons with this very short bald Irish man called Gerry, whose accent had softened to near nonexistence after 16 years teaching tango here, and what I guess was his wife, a dark-skinned and skeletal Argentinian woman called Lucía, who had an infectious but also lunatic smile, and was incidentally the oldest person I’ve ever seen wearing braces - both more than lovely and utterly recommendable.

I’ve done things where the footwork was important before (boxing, hapkido) so working through wiring steps into my muscle memory wasn’t anything new, but when I was asked to do it to the beat of the music, that was. I don’t even know what it means when people say that. I have zero grasp. The fact that my grandad could play the piano by ear is incomprehensible to me. Gerry said that that’s simply not having the confidence to feel the dance rather than think it. And he might have been right. I knew and said to them that in my case confidence was probably more than half the battle, that if I could just feel comfortable moving around and doing simple steps, that would make me happier than if I was actually good at tango but still loath to do it. Gerry said I could get to that level in a few months if I kept learning in Korea, because I was picking it up much quicker than most, and I thought, Come on mate, lies make baby Jesus cry.

It was obvious from the first ninety minute class that tango is something that would take years of assiduity to get any good at. The way Gerry would say, 'Push her with your hand,’ and then when I did that, add, 'When we say push we don’t mean push.’ Oh fucking hell mate: pick up your socks, don’t pick your nose; treat me like a princess, treat me like a whore; do as I say, don’t be a pushover. It’s fine, I get it. I wouldn’t be able to explain how to put a pass on someone’s toe from twenty-five yards, or score a one-on-one, or pot a difficult black. I’d be like, 'Think but don’t think.’ And how long did it take for me to be able to do those things? Well football was all I did every lunchtime from about age 8 to age 16, and as far as I remember I played pool at least two hours a day all the way through year 8 and 9 under the tutelage of the hilarious and psychotic Andy Hardy, who had a full-sized snooker table in his house and whom I personally saw hit breaks of over 50 at least ten times; who got me so good that we used to hustle the year 11’s.

I did notice a little more fluidity in my movements during the second class, which was cool, and I decided to do a third class with all these other couples, after which we would all go to a Milonga. Last night, watching the couples galumphing around crippling each other’s toes in the dancehall of a rundown terrace whose caretaker looked like a thallium-spiked Jeremy Irons, I thought that maybe Gerry hadn’t been lying when he said I was picking it up quickly. Then again, I’d been dancing with him and Lucía, and they were probably elevating me. For all of the couples it was their first class and I kept being referred to by the teachers as 'the expert’ amongst them. Every time they said it I went rubicund with shame, thinking, Please stop saying ludicrous things that make everyone turn to me. I might die. I might die.

The Milonga was cool (free booze), but watching the ordinary people dancing incredibly on the floor - the commonplace, the lanky, the squat, the potbellied, even the frankly ugly - made sexy by their confidence and grace was quite depressing personally. Whenever I learn something, at whatever stage of learning I’m at, the nice sense of progress is always tainted somewhat by the regret that I didn’t learn it earlier. Boxing and hapkido: 'Why didn’t I learn this when I was eight? That way I wouldn’t have gone through school perpetually terrified that one day everyone might suddenly work out I only looked psychotic.’ Even though, as my dad said, 'But they never did, did they.’ Korean: 'Why didn’t I learn a weird language when I was in my teens busy cursing the waste of time every other subject was apart from literature and history? I’d be bilingual by now.’ Tango: 'Why didn’t I learn to dance as soon as I was aware that dancing was the thing most mortifying to me, i.e. fucking donkey’s years ago?’

It would be quite tempting to end this blog by miserably repeating what the amazingly named Benny Profane says in Thomas Pynchon’s V before he disappears from the chaotic narrative: 'Offhand I’d say I haven’t learned a goddamn thing.’ I mean, outside of my Central American capitals, which I confess were shaky, I haven’t; my Spanish has gotten worse; I’ve had most stereotypes reinforced; I’ve continued to use Tinder even after my first experience showed that after fucking a girl I don’t like or even know, even if she’s hot, I get back home hollow as hollow can be, thinking, God, I wish I was dead. However, I began this blog by saying that time doesn’t exist, but that it’s hard to concur when you’re swamped with regret, and I’m finding it hard to concur again, because time allegedly heals all wounds, and during these last four months a lot of healing has gone on. I’ve slit myself open with razors and wrung out accumulated poisons; I’ve sat quite still and thought myself to madness; I’ve walked and walked; my plantar fasciitis has disappeared; from my writing, the painful cliches and mundane longueurs and strained metaphors and precocious phrases and alliteration for its own sake have all been sniffed out, extracted, and liquidated without trial.

How can healing have gone on if I haven’t learnt anything? It’s possible to do so (I could fix my plantar fasciitis then aggravate it again, or get into another toxic relationship), but in this case I feel the answer is that of course learning has gone on, only it hasn’t been anything to do with the Americas - these places have merely provided the temporal and spatial dislocation that facilitates it … I can’t go back to 1999 and learn to fight and speak Chinese and dance, but I can go back to Korea. And now, having learned a little about myself and how I related to that country, I feel I deserve another crack. It started off so well, and I got as lost as I wanted to, but then I got so lost I lost myself. I got bitter, and rallied too much against things that didn’t matter. I’m not gonna do that anymore. I’ll do the peace sign in photos, I won’t get annoyed when people ask me if I’m cold, if a girl I’m dating wants us to wear identical t-shirts, I’ll just do it. It’ll be a return exactly four years on from when I first arrived - similar job, similar circumstances - and I feel that this time it won’t be John Terry taking the fifth penalty, but Didier Drogba.