Hands (1/1)

“I don’t know, he’s a bit of a loner,” was Sungmin’s reply to my questioning of Kyuhyun. We sat alone in the practice room, and all I could think of, sat in the library, with a pencil in hand and his math book. In a part of me, that I couldn’t put a name on, laid a desire – more of an obsession really – to learn more of the quiet character who spent his lunch working on homework and eluded the crowd before the final bell rang for school. The library and the math classroom had been the only places I could find Kyuhyun and it wore on my patience. He hadn’t uttered a single word since that insult, but I offered him a few of my own words only to be completely ignored.“Don’t you know anything about him?” I asked desperate to know something, even the most trivial of things. Sungmin set his guitar in its case, fingers brushing over the strings in yearning. I had already decided to cancel practice, since the other two members failed to appear at school today, but that was partially an excuse for my need to see Kyuhyun once again.“There are some rumors going around,” he said quietly, leaning in close and adding fuel to my insatiable curiosity. “Afterschool, he gets into fights with those delinquents that always hang around that abandoned convenience store on 1st Ave. Some of the seniors swear they’ve seen him, and then a few days later, Kyuhyun is almost always in the principal’s office. I’d hate to see some of the other guys though, since Kyuhyun seems to get it bad. Once he had a few broken ribs, a black eye, and his arm in a sling.”Fighting? Such an ugly image, it couldn’t have been possible. Kyuhyun wasn’t like that, was he? I shook my head to expel the thoughts. Why did it matter so much to me if he got into fights or not? I wanted to say that it didn’t matter at all, but I would’ve been lying to myself.“Are you sure it’s him?” I asked just to be certain.“That’s what the rumor mill says,” he said with a shrug, “but I couldn’t say for sure either way.”“Thanks, Sungmin. I’ll see you later, alright?” He nodded, and my feet carried me to the library, to a familiar table where a quiet brunette sat with books open and a pencil moving rhythmically against the paper in front of him.“Hey,” I greeted and sat down, already used to not getting a reply from him.“Why do you always come here?” he asked, catching me off guard with his monotone voice, and those dark eyes resting their gaze on my face.“I like to,” I said, smiling once the initial surprise had worn off.“But why?” he insisted.“Because you’re here.” He shook his head in disbelief, and looked back down at his books, flipping a page.“Weirdo,” he said under his breath, but once again, allowed me to sit by him without complaint. I couldn’t help, but let my usual smile give way to one much more genuine, and I savored the profound warmth that came with that simple action. I found myself skipping band practice more and more, despite the complaints the other guys gave me, but I wanted to smile like that again, and drown in the feelings that came with it. I couldn’t name them, and could only describe them as being warm, and comforting – two characteristics that I lacked in my daily life.Band practice had to be rescheduled for after school on most days, much to the irritation of the other members.