Here We Are At Seaworld, (1/1)

(a/n: i am so so sorry for this chapter title, if you get the reference i am so proud)

Kris pulled another pillow closer to his chest, only to immediately fling it across the room in an act of convoluted emotions. His bag of popcorn was long empty as well as three cans of soda, all sprawled around him on his bed. The centerpiece was his laptop, propped up under a fan in front of him where he sat cross-legged. It was a Saturday night. To Kris, this only meant one thing: watching his old favorite dramas. On this occasion he had chosen to watch bits and pieces of the one that tore at his heart most. It was evident on his illuminated face he had been crying; a whole new round of tears began minutes after the last.  No matter how emotional the drama made him, though, there was a sour taste in his mouth at the lack of limelight the side characters got. This was quickly forgotten when the main lead confessed his love to the side character that could never reciprocate her feelings. A slight groan left his lips as more tears fell. He usually wasn’t this prone to crying, but something about everyone in a school being afraid of you for no good reason stuck with him. Kris shooed the thought out of his mind as he rewrote the scene on his laptop screen in his head.  His phone buzzed next to him and he avoided it for a few seconds before it buzzed once again. Not bothering to pause his drama, he checked to see the source of the vibrating.  from: oh sehun (lame dude)u better clean up ur pigsty of a room and hide yr yaoi mangas, rumour has it theres a transfer student and u have the only new room Kris scoffed and rolled his eyes. He totally didn’t have any yaoi mangas. from: galaxy leggingsDude I don’t have any yaoi mangas, I already told u & my room is always clean. from: oh sehun (lame dude)thats why im reading one of ur loaned ones right now for my gender and sexuality studies classes, right Okay, he didn’t have yaoi mangas besides that one. He didn’t bother to reply and set his phone down, ready to become immersed once again in whatever he was watching. After a few minutes, though, he could barely concentrate. A combination of  Oh Sehun saying there might be a new student and his own disappointment in the drama slowly overtook him before he actually shut off his laptop and began to pick up. A glance at the clock told him it was 12:24 AM. Never too late to start. Without anything but a lamp and flashlight to aid him, he was able to throw away the collecting pile of food wrappers and collect his dirty clothes from around the dorm room. His mind quickly flew to the new transfer student as he organized his books once again.  Callista was obviously a prestigious school to get into, and Kris often thought to himself he only got in because of his parent’s money. No matter what, he couldn’t just think he got in because of any mediocre skill he had-he was decent at sewing and writing, and maybe dancing, but really? Hopefully the transfer student was more deserving of a spot at the elite school. His previous roommate had just slacked off all term and tried to bribe Kris into doing his portfolio. Kris kept the money, and his old roommate kept a portfolio full of his crappy drawings.  Those were the thoughts that accompanied his rest when he passed out on the floor at 2 AM.  ||||| “Callista School of Arts,” Zitao repeated once more. Xiumin sat next to him uneasily.  “So today is the day.” They both nodded quietly at Xiumin’s statement. “I have no idea how you’re going to last thirty hours on a plane.” Zitao let out a forced laugh. “Neither do I. I’ll be awake for two days after sleeping that long.” “Hey, now maybe finally you can beat Pokemon.” Xiumin laughed at his own joke as Zitao rolled his eyes at it. As sad as the whole situation was, it was a good thing they were both relatively quiet people. Words unsaid sometimes were better, even more in situations like this.  Neither of them could decide on when exactly Zitao had decided to transfer to Callista. Xiumin assures that it was actually a scout that had picked him up at a martial arts competition, but Zitao was pretty sure his parents had made him do it when they figured out his son could go to America. Either way, after two years of being on the waiting list, he had made it.  Callista was a visual and performing arts school solely for males, unless your talent was so much (as well as your funds). The female student body was about four dorm rooms when compared to the building just for males. Something about inculcating the arts into boys as they were doing for girls and sciences. The two requirements to enter, when combined, made the student body quite small. Authority took no chances with the small amount of students and put them under strict regimens outside of school hours. Hypocritically enough, the students were allowed to do as they pleased during school hours as long as they reached the requirements set out for each of them at the beginning of the year.  Assumptions could easily be made about how that time was spent. The assumptions themselves were what made Zitao’s parents wary in the end-his mother and father both expected highly of him. He had had to promise to never, ever slack off, which was one of the sillier promises Zitao had to make with his parents.  “Earth to panda?” Xiumin mumbled, poking Zitao on the cheek. “Did you already board the plane in your head?” “N-No, of course not. I’m still here, no?” The shorter boy nodded and turned around to grab a small package. “Good, because I have a good luck charm.” He nearly shoved it into the other boy’s hands, eager for him to open it. “It’s for the headphone jack of your phone, see! It’s a little panda.”  Zitao laughed at the allusion Xiumin had made to his never-disappearing eye bags. It often got annoying, but things like these reminded him it was just a little joke between friends; plus the panda looked adorable on his phone. They got to spend another half an hour in comfortable near-silence before his flight was announced.  “Don’t forget your resolution to talk more, now.” Xiumin nodded fervently and reached to squeeze Zitao’s hand.  “And you, don’t cry,” He echoed, already tearing up himself.  The taller boy nearly fled from the bench they were both sitting on, wiping the tears from his face roughly as he sat down on the nearly empty plane.  from: xiuminnie take care panda!!! make sure to treat your dyed hair well, my hands are still blue :) text me when you reach america and get a good pokemon party so we can battle ok!!!  Zitao smiled at the enthusiasm Xiumin was able to convey through text and decided to actually try and play Pokemon. He had saved up and bought a 2DS as his own going away gift but never really began to play it. With thirty hours sprawled out in front of him, it was best to start distracting himself immediately.