PLEASE DO NOT write "one-word" comments. I get a shit ton of comments on my stories and since this is not one of my favorite books, I'd like to ask you to reduce the amount of commenting. By now they are redundant anyway. So, please only comment if what you want to say is at least one full sentence that comprises of more than 3 words. In any other case, just enjoy the read and sum up your thoughts in the end to give me an overall feedback. THANKS :)

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Namjoon missed Seoul. Daegu was nice, but he missed the day trips to the sea. The slurred way of speaking, that Daegu people seemed so fond of doing, still confused him although he had spent one and a half years already as student teacher in one of the smaller high schools. The closer he came to the end of his two years of being a trainee, the more he missed the capital.

Namjoon taught English and math, two subjects where you could not destroy anything other than your own stuff nor set something on fire. His mother had dissuaded him from becoming a teacher of physics or chemistry. A wise choice, he had to admit. The only things he broke now were chalk and his office chair. He was already good friends with the caretaker, for he met the man once a week to get his chair fixed.

But today all his melancholic thoughts of home and personal handicaps had been stuffed into the back of his head and he walked happily through the gates of the school. It was a special day. The headmaster had called him yesterday and had asked him for his help. The literature teacher of one of the upper years had become sick and they needed a substitute, basically someone who had an eye on the students and entertained them until further notice. Namjoon had accepted the request gladly, and now he was curious about how the students would react to his idea for their shared time. Until now, he had only been allowed to teach classes up to tenth grade, so working with the grown-ups was something he was looking forward to. He had prepared something special.

When he opened the door to the classroom, his heartbeat was slightly too fast and his hands were sweating. It was ridiculous. The classroom was like any other, filled with loudly chatting students in their badly fitting uniforms, but it felt foreign and new. Maybe it was because they were in their last year which made them barely three years younger than him.

The students did not notice him when he put down his brown leather briefcase and sat in the teacher's chair. Maybe he should dress less student-like to be recognized as one of the people to show respect to, but he liked the stealth mode. Being invisible offered him access to a whole new universe of situations a normal teacher would never get to see. With an amused smile he monitored the classroom.

When the bell rang, everyone went to their seats and waited for the teacher to enter the room. Slowly, Namjoon stood up and crossed his arms in front of his chest while he let his gaze wander over the class. The stunned looks on the students' faces were priceless. After some seconds of just staring, they seemed to understand that he was their teacher and stood up hesitantly.

"Good morning," he greeted them, "Sit down."

Turning their heads in confusion they obeyed, and while the whispers died down, he wrote his name on the board. "My name is Kim Namjoon. I'm a student teacher at this school, and I'll be the substitute for Mrs. Lee."

He turned around to his students with crossed arms, and fought down the urge to touch his mouth. His professors had scolded him for the habit of touching his nose or lips while talking, but no matter how hard he trained, it would always happen again when he was nervous or in thought. For now, it might have been both.

"I want to try something with you," he began, "Literature is all about reading and interpreting. You get to know the famous old writers and, if you're lucky, some of the newer ones. But you never get to write a story yourself. To make it short: the subject lacks creativity."

He could see some interested faces perking up and felt encouraged to continue with his idea.

"I'd like to offer you the possibility of writing your own stories. I want you to learn that writing isn't easy. Creating a world, even creating a character, is much more difficult than you might expect. Writing without plot holes, writing so that someone can follow your thoughts smoothly, writing something that makes the reader want to stay up all night because otherwise he would go mad with curiosity is nothing one is gifted with. It's a process of learning how to write and what to write and getting to know the painful feeling of erasing parts from the story to maintain focus."

All eyes were on him and he could not stop the smug smile that lifted the corner of his mouth.

"I want you to open the gates to your fantasy and form those colors and shapes into words. Let your minds run wild."

He let his arms fall to his sides and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.

"Do you accept my offer?" he asked.

Quiet murmurs and whispers rippled the air and he saw shiny eyes and amazed smiles flicker through the room. His idea seemed to be appreciated much more than he had assumed.

"I take that as a yes," he stated and leaned against the teacher table.

When the excited buzzling started to die down, he explained the first task to them: he made them write what came to their minds. A simple scene of their life, a problem they currently were caught up in, banalities, or even fantasy. He did not care; he just wanted to know the status quo of the class to find out what he was working with.

Some of the students more, others less, excited they pulled out their scribbling blocks and began to write. It was exceptionally quiet during work, something Namjoon was not used to from lower years but what he definitely liked about working with the 'grown-ups'.

While the pencils and pens scratched over paper, he studied the small plan of the classroom that was attached to the back of the course book. He compared the names on the plan to those on the small silver nametags of the uniforms, trying to memorize them. Kim Joonyeo apparently was missing, and Kim Taehyung and his seat neighbor Yoon Junghan were whispering frantically.

"Mr. Kim and Mr. Yoon!" he called out, "What is it that keeps you from writing?"

He stood up to have a better view at the two boys in the last row. The two heads shot up and caught eyes looked over to him in an apologetic manner.

"Taehyung-" the Yoon-kid started but got hit by his partner in crime. The boy, though, continued, "Taehyung has lost a bet to me, but he won't succumb to it, Sir."

Namjoon snorted amused. So, students were still in for bets?

"Well, Mr. Yoon, I hope your bet will not affect my lesson?"

"Not at all, Sir. It is actually about -ouch- about your lesson, Sir."

That peaked Namjoon's interest. "Well, then. It seems like Mr. Kim isn't brave enough to pull up for his defeat," he said mockingly and watched a frown develop on the Taehyung-child's face, The frown quickly changed into a death-stare after exchanging a look with the Yoon-kid. Oh boy!

Namjoon chuckled amused and sat down again. And when nothing exciting happened, the looks of the other students went back to their work as well.

When the bell rang, he asked the class to hand in their works, assuring them that it would not be graded. The Kim-boy hesitated when he was about to put his paper on the stack of other works. Now, that he was closer to Namjoon, he studied the kid's face for a moment. Though it was winter, the boy's skin had a warm caramel tone, and from under a neat fringe of light brown hair two coffee-brown eyes looked at him. His face was confusingly symmetrical and a small mole on the tip of his nose made Namjoon take a second glance. The student gave him an unsure look, but then he placed his writing on top of the other sheets and almost ran out of the room.

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