Mature
Title: Unfaithful Reflections
Theme/Genre: Criminals
Notes: Highschools, Age difference, Violence
Word Count: 10.8k
Description:
Tattoos. Motorcycles. Dirty money. Taeyong knows trouble when he sees it, but, for some reason, he just can't stay away. Getting entangled with Jaehyun is the worst mistake he could ever make, even if it's to help a friend. And yet:
He jumps.
or: Danger appears in the form of Jeong Jaehyun.
Taeyong leans to the side, resting his weight against the door, with his arm outstretched through the window.
"Put your hand back in, boy."
Taeyong glances over to the driver's seat, eyes skipping over his driver before drawing his arm back in. Pierre's tapping away at the steering wheel as they go 60 in an 80s lane and nodding his head to some old school Joe Dassin. There's a sprinkle of breadcrumbs in his neat salt and pepper beard, and he'd be horrified if Taeyong told him. It'd prove what the old man's been ranting about under his breath for weeks now and what he's heard his parents whisper about behind closed doors, when a crack's been left open, when it hasn't been enough for Taeyong not to have heard them; 'He's losing his touch. The old man's gone senile. We shouldn't have hired a French man when we're Korean.'
Taeyong turns his head away and smiles to himself. "It's warm."
Pierre huffs but leaves it at that. As Les Champs-Élysées drones on in the background, and Pierre simultaneously starts humming off-key under his breath, Taeyong rolls the window down further. The wind whips his hair back, shoots over his head, and ruins the perfectly-styled strands. But something stops it from bothering him: it's warm today for the first time in a long time. It's the warmest it's ever been on any first day of school. Maybe, Taeyong thinks, this last year really will be his best.
Their car pulls up at their school gates, ivory-silver bars lined with gold plated rims that stand above any student or teacher or car that can ever come in. The school boasts about how when it was first built, it was by the same Georgian architecture that drafted Buckingham Palace, but somehow, Taeyong doubts the timelines of that happening for it to be true. Regardless, however, it really is as timeless and classic as some palazzo fit for a king and queen. Whitehall Private Prep mirrors everyone who's granted the courtesy of stepping inside: opulent, rich, prestige. With its crisp white architecture and sloping pillars, it looks every bit as untouchable as everyone on the inside seems to be. Seems. Not when they've been tainted. Not when Taeyong's spent his entire teenage years enclosed in its four walls, realising the place and its people aren't as clean as they appear to be. He's counting down the days it takes for him to get out of there.
"There," Pierre says when they find a parking spot. He then sends Taeyong a cursory glance when he spends a little too long in his seat. "Are you not getting out?"
"Yeah," Taeyong says, a little breathless, as he unbuckles his seatbelt. His stomach twists in the slightest. "I was just admiring the building."
"Good, I have somewhere else to be."
Taeyong rolls his eyes and pushes the door open. He remembers the days Pierre used to call him young master. He must forget how much he's getting paid. Or maybe his parents are right; maybe the old man really is going senile. And he doesn't make it three steps away from the car before Pierre's rolling down his window again and calling his name. Taeyong turns back around, facing away from all of the other blazer-clad students being dropped off by their butlers and nannies.
