STRANGERS. binsung

prologue

All Jisung felt physically and mentally capable of doing was staring: taking in Changbin wholly, from his sharp eyes; his full and pink lips, to his eternal-pokerface and cute expressions, however practiced.

This time, his eyes locked on Changbin scanning the array of books in the library rather dully. He followed Changbin's eyes as they hopped from section to section, spine to spine, word to word on each cover — only to shortly sigh and move on to the next.

Did he just want to get it over with, but also have a book just in case he became the victim of another endless nagging from teachers? He had never scoured the selection so thoroughly. It made Jisung wonder if he did, in fact, get berated with advice to start being productive. It seemed like the type of thing to motivate him.

Jisung's observation occasionally came to a halt whenever a random silhouette walked past. Without failure, the sight only sent the foreboding chill of, 'Fuck, I shouldn't stare too long,' down his own spine. It'd be embarrassing to be caught staring.

Still, how could he help it? Changbin just had the face of an angel.

Jisung let his eyes wander back to his own book. The cover read, 'The Sun Also Rises', and sat neatly underneath was the author's name: Ernest Hemingway. The brunette didn't have much interest in his school's sophisticated choice of book-stock, and he certainly had no idea who most famous old-timey names belonged to, but he had to admit they became mildly interesting once he understood them.

'Changbin looks like such a nice guy,' an audible sigh left Jisung's throat, 'but we live in two different worlds. We couldn't even be friends.'

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