Sky Blue Shoes
Fandom/Pairing; Hankyung/Jaejoong, Jae & Chun friendship
Rating; G
Summary; It's Jaejoong's birthday, and there's a nice new kid in school who makes it awesome.
A/N; Sucky summary, but I love this. It's light-hearted, especially compared to the other things I write *cough*angst*cough* so yay! Plus, I've never written non-angsty HanJae…bad me. I pulled a couple Asian jokes from my Asian friends-because they thoroughly enjoy making jokes about being Asian, and it's so cute/funny/I LOVE THEM. This is for Jaejoong's birthday! 2nd person is win, and I have a feeling I'm going to start using it more often, because I haven't for a long time.
Word Count; 1309
Sky Blue Shoes
- - -
You look good on your birthday day, junior year in high school, as you hoped you would. Every piece of clothing is properly in place, not a hair out of line, and you’re wearing matching socks today-unlike freshman year where you wore one pink one white for some unbeknownst reason.
But everything’s great today. You look good, Jaejoong.
That pretty brunette who sits in front of you in first period English compliments you, and you blush when she turns around. She tells you later that your accent is almost gone now, and that sometimes she forgets that you aren’t from here. You take it as a compliment, because she has pretty eyes and you’ve kind of had a crush on her since you flew over the Pacific. You wonder if she’s saying all this because she knows it’s your birthday, or maybe she actually means it?
You feel good as you walk to second period biology. As usual, you sit third row from the back with Yoochun, and in front of that annoying pale kid who always taps you and asks you questions because you’re Asian and you know everything.
The bell rings and your teacher isn’t there yet, but there’s a boy your age standing by the desk, looking completely and utterly lost. As soon as you look at him, you have a hard time releasing a tight grip on your bio folder, and you’re staring, but you can’t help it. He’s interesting.
“Jae, say something to him,” the pale kid is tapping you on the shoulder, and if he keeps at it, you’re pretty sure you’ll have a bruise forming by the AP exam in May. “You speak Asian, right?”
Yoochun shifts in his seat until he’s facing the kid-you always forget his name. “Asian isn’t a language, it’s a race, you dumbass.”
The pale kid scoffs. Yoochun turns around again and you’re still looking at the kid standing by the teacher’s desk. The class is slowly turning silent, but not much has happened. The new kid-you’re pretty sure he’s new because you’ve never seen him around here-is fumbling with the strap of his messenger bag and looking at his shoes. You look away from his face for the first time in two minutes and notice that he’s wearing sky blue converse sneakers. Cool.
“Sorry for being late,” your teacher runs in, her slowly graying wavy hair is falling out of its ponytail as she stands at the front of the classroom.
Yoochun is the one to point out (literally) the Asian kid standing by her desk, since he seems to lack a voice so far.
“Oh goodness!” your teacher nearly jumps out of her skin-since September, you’ve noticed that she gets scared easily, like a bipolar cat. “I’m sorry, young man! You must be Han…Geng,” she’s looking at her class roster like she has no idea what she’s saying, and she probably doesn’t. Mrs. Miller doesn’t know grammar well, just where organs are and all the other important things about biology-advanced placement.
The boy nods. “Han is fine,” he has a slight accent, like you had when you arrived four years ago in middle school.
“Alright then,” she nods and takes out her seating chart (you note that she could just look up and find an empty seat, but that would be too obvious, right?). “Oh, the third seat from…oh, yes, next to Jae!” she folds the chart under notes about the digestive system-you see the cover flip up quickly. Then you note how letting teachers call you ‘Jae’ still feels weird. Sure, they can’t say your full name properly, but ‘Jae’ is too close. It’s what your parents and your friends call you. Not teachers. It’s occasions like this where you wish that your parents had given you an English name.
You see a few empty seats around you, and now your row with Yoochun is full, with Han Geng putting his things down and taking a seat. Not without giving you and your best friend a fast awkward smile-but it’s a pretty one.
You wonder if Mrs. Miller put Han Geng next to you to compile all the Asians into one row. And then you wonder if this means that the pale kid behind you will stop asking you only you for help all the time. But you don’t want someone as precious as Han Geng getting bruised from the kid’s poking.
…Did you just think of Han Geng as precious?
The sound of paper hitting the desk reminds you that you’re in class now, Jaejoong. Stop spacing out. Mrs. Miller is passing out notes, and now they’ve reached your row and Han Geng is passing them to you.
“S-Sorry,” you take the paper between nervous hands and give one to Yoochun so he can pass them back. Yoochun is raising an eyebrow in your direction.
“Did you stay up all night being Asian?” he asks, because that’s your code for studying. Being Asian. He’s probably referring to your spacey-ness, or maybe because you know you probably look tired.
“Not really…” you muse.
“Alright then,” Yoochun chuckles and starts to copy down what your teacher is saying.
When class is over, you find yourself staying behind a bit, because Han Geng is still copying notes, and you want to talk to him. You introduce yourself to him while Yoochun tells you he’ll see you in AP Government later.
“Nice to meet you,” he says.
“Likewise,” you tell him, and you don’t shake hands because you’re teenagers, not adults. But you smile, and everyone smiles-or should smile-when meeting someone new. “What class do you have now?”
“Math,” he notes, after checking the schedule he’s cleverly placed in the front of a binder. “Room 223.”
Your heart jumps because holy wow, that’s the same class you have.
Walking behind him is how you leave the classroom, and you tell him that the math rooms are near the science rooms when you align yourselves side-by-side. This feels comfortable, going through the halls like this. It’s like you’ve been friends for four years instead of forty minutes.
You’re walking, and you’re almost there, and when Han Geng gives you another pretty smile, you smile back. But then you’re embarrassed. And you look down at your shoes to remember that your sneakers are orange today. His are blue, and from taking Studio Art in your freshman year, you know they’re complimentary colors.
He follows you in through the door and you wait for him to finish talking to the teacher before you go sit down. And you sit down next to each other, because the rows in this classroom are aligned almost like the three-person desks in your biology room.
“Happy birthday, Jaejoong!” a familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.
You look up and see your family friend Eunhyuk leaning through the door of the classroom. You laugh and thank him before telling him to get to his own class because the bell is probably going to ring in five seconds. The class erupts into a series of birthday wishes and although you’re grateful, you feel at peace when they all go back to whatever they were up to before Eunhyuk’s ‘announcement.’
For a few seconds, you and Han Geng are silent, while your classmates are chirping away like busy sparrows again.
But then he speaks with that soft voice that you’ve grown accustomed to in such a short amount of time. You like hearing him speak, you decide.
“It’s your birthday?” he asks, and you nod, right before the bell rings and your math teacher shushes you two.
Han Geng spends most of the class writing ‘happy birthday’ all over your notes. You think about how a friendship is forming, and how you and Han Geng are compliments to each other, like the colors of your shoes.
// …
Yay for random Eunhyukkie!
yes, i am biased, don't laugh at me
-
Rating; G
Summary; It's Jaejoong's birthday, and there's a nice new kid in school who makes it awesome.
A/N; Sucky summary, but I love this. It's light-hearted, especially compared to the other things I write *cough*angst*cough* so yay! Plus, I've never written non-angsty HanJae…bad me. I pulled a couple Asian jokes from my Asian friends-because they thoroughly enjoy making jokes about being Asian, and it's so cute/funny/I LOVE THEM. This is for Jaejoong's birthday! 2nd person is win, and I have a feeling I'm going to start using it more often, because I haven't for a long time.
Word Count; 1309
Sky Blue Shoes
- - -
You look good on your birthday day, junior year in high school, as you hoped you would. Every piece of clothing is properly in place, not a hair out of line, and you’re wearing matching socks today-unlike freshman year where you wore one pink one white for some unbeknownst reason.
But everything’s great today. You look good, Jaejoong.
That pretty brunette who sits in front of you in first period English compliments you, and you blush when she turns around. She tells you later that your accent is almost gone now, and that sometimes she forgets that you aren’t from here. You take it as a compliment, because she has pretty eyes and you’ve kind of had a crush on her since you flew over the Pacific. You wonder if she’s saying all this because she knows it’s your birthday, or maybe she actually means it?
You feel good as you walk to second period biology. As usual, you sit third row from the back with Yoochun, and in front of that annoying pale kid who always taps you and asks you questions because you’re Asian and you know everything.
The bell rings and your teacher isn’t there yet, but there’s a boy your age standing by the desk, looking completely and utterly lost. As soon as you look at him, you have a hard time releasing a tight grip on your bio folder, and you’re staring, but you can’t help it. He’s interesting.
“Jae, say something to him,” the pale kid is tapping you on the shoulder, and if he keeps at it, you’re pretty sure you’ll have a bruise forming by the AP exam in May. “You speak Asian, right?”
Yoochun shifts in his seat until he’s facing the kid-you always forget his name. “Asian isn’t a language, it’s a race, you dumbass.”
The pale kid scoffs. Yoochun turns around again and you’re still looking at the kid standing by the teacher’s desk. The class is slowly turning silent, but not much has happened. The new kid-you’re pretty sure he’s new because you’ve never seen him around here-is fumbling with the strap of his messenger bag and looking at his shoes. You look away from his face for the first time in two minutes and notice that he’s wearing sky blue converse sneakers. Cool.
“Sorry for being late,” your teacher runs in, her slowly graying wavy hair is falling out of its ponytail as she stands at the front of the classroom.
Yoochun is the one to point out (literally) the Asian kid standing by her desk, since he seems to lack a voice so far.
“Oh goodness!” your teacher nearly jumps out of her skin-since September, you’ve noticed that she gets scared easily, like a bipolar cat. “I’m sorry, young man! You must be Han…Geng,” she’s looking at her class roster like she has no idea what she’s saying, and she probably doesn’t. Mrs. Miller doesn’t know grammar well, just where organs are and all the other important things about biology-advanced placement.
The boy nods. “Han is fine,” he has a slight accent, like you had when you arrived four years ago in middle school.
“Alright then,” she nods and takes out her seating chart (you note that she could just look up and find an empty seat, but that would be too obvious, right?). “Oh, the third seat from…oh, yes, next to Jae!” she folds the chart under notes about the digestive system-you see the cover flip up quickly. Then you note how letting teachers call you ‘Jae’ still feels weird. Sure, they can’t say your full name properly, but ‘Jae’ is too close. It’s what your parents and your friends call you. Not teachers. It’s occasions like this where you wish that your parents had given you an English name.
You see a few empty seats around you, and now your row with Yoochun is full, with Han Geng putting his things down and taking a seat. Not without giving you and your best friend a fast awkward smile-but it’s a pretty one.
You wonder if Mrs. Miller put Han Geng next to you to compile all the Asians into one row. And then you wonder if this means that the pale kid behind you will stop asking you only you for help all the time. But you don’t want someone as precious as Han Geng getting bruised from the kid’s poking.
…Did you just think of Han Geng as precious?
The sound of paper hitting the desk reminds you that you’re in class now, Jaejoong. Stop spacing out. Mrs. Miller is passing out notes, and now they’ve reached your row and Han Geng is passing them to you.
“S-Sorry,” you take the paper between nervous hands and give one to Yoochun so he can pass them back. Yoochun is raising an eyebrow in your direction.
“Did you stay up all night being Asian?” he asks, because that’s your code for studying. Being Asian. He’s probably referring to your spacey-ness, or maybe because you know you probably look tired.
“Not really…” you muse.
“Alright then,” Yoochun chuckles and starts to copy down what your teacher is saying.
When class is over, you find yourself staying behind a bit, because Han Geng is still copying notes, and you want to talk to him. You introduce yourself to him while Yoochun tells you he’ll see you in AP Government later.
“Nice to meet you,” he says.
“Likewise,” you tell him, and you don’t shake hands because you’re teenagers, not adults. But you smile, and everyone smiles-or should smile-when meeting someone new. “What class do you have now?”
“Math,” he notes, after checking the schedule he’s cleverly placed in the front of a binder. “Room 223.”
Your heart jumps because holy wow, that’s the same class you have.
Walking behind him is how you leave the classroom, and you tell him that the math rooms are near the science rooms when you align yourselves side-by-side. This feels comfortable, going through the halls like this. It’s like you’ve been friends for four years instead of forty minutes.
You’re walking, and you’re almost there, and when Han Geng gives you another pretty smile, you smile back. But then you’re embarrassed. And you look down at your shoes to remember that your sneakers are orange today. His are blue, and from taking Studio Art in your freshman year, you know they’re complimentary colors.
He follows you in through the door and you wait for him to finish talking to the teacher before you go sit down. And you sit down next to each other, because the rows in this classroom are aligned almost like the three-person desks in your biology room.
“Happy birthday, Jaejoong!” a familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.
You look up and see your family friend Eunhyuk leaning through the door of the classroom. You laugh and thank him before telling him to get to his own class because the bell is probably going to ring in five seconds. The class erupts into a series of birthday wishes and although you’re grateful, you feel at peace when they all go back to whatever they were up to before Eunhyuk’s ‘announcement.’
For a few seconds, you and Han Geng are silent, while your classmates are chirping away like busy sparrows again.
But then he speaks with that soft voice that you’ve grown accustomed to in such a short amount of time. You like hearing him speak, you decide.
“It’s your birthday?” he asks, and you nod, right before the bell rings and your math teacher shushes you two.
Han Geng spends most of the class writing ‘happy birthday’ all over your notes. You think about how a friendship is forming, and how you and Han Geng are compliments to each other, like the colors of your shoes.
// …
Yay for random Eunhyukkie!
yes, i am biased, don't laugh at me
-