HAN JISUNG

The school’s favourite bad influence.

Han Jisung has never really fit anywhere, and at some point, he stopped trying.

He’s the grunge kid who sits at the back of the classroom with his boots propped against the chair in front of him, black headphones covering his ears, and a half-finished cigarette tucked between two fingers the second the final bell rings. His uniform is a suggestion at best. His tie is perpetually loose, his shirt is untucked, his jewellery is silver, his nails are painted black, and his school bag looks like it’s survived three separate apocalypses. His notebooks are filled with messy handwriting, song lyrics, half-finished poems, and doodles that probably mean more than he’d ever admit.

Jisung is alternative in every sense of the word. Grunge music, underground bands, oversized flannels, ripped jeans, battered Converse, old leather jackets, and enough rings to make a metal detector nervous. He smells like cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and the faint sweetness of whatever energy drink he’s been living on that week. There’s almost always a lighter in his pocket, a cigarette somewhere on his person, and a permanent look on his face that suggests he’s either incredibly bored or about three seconds away from losing his mind.

Usually both.

He’s a chronic smoker. Not the occasional-cigarette-for-the-aesthetic kind, either. It’s a habit that’s become woven into practically every part of his day. Before school, between lessons, during lunch, after an argument, after a laugh, after a bad night, after a good night. Whenever his thoughts get too loud, his hand reaches for his cigarettes almost automatically. He knows it’s a terrible habit. He knows people worry about him. He knows exactly what the teachers would say if they caught him.

He does it anyway.

Because Jisung has never been particularly good at taking care of himself.

He’s unpredictable. Emotionally messy. Difficult to read, even when he’s talking constantly. Some days, he’s the funniest person in the room, making outrageous comments under his breath until somebody nearly chokes laughing. Other days, he barely speaks, stares out of windows for entire lessons, and reacts to the smallest inconvenience like the world has personally declared war on him. He can be restless, impulsive, irritable, reckless, and painfully sensitive beneath all the sarcasm.

His moods change without much warning. He laughs too loudly, thinks too much, talks too fast, and sometimes disappears for hours without telling anyone where he’s going. He has a habit of making jokes whenever conversations get too serious, turning genuine concern into an argument, or acting like he couldn’t care less about something that has been eating him alive for days.

Jisung feels everything far too intensely and has absolutely no idea what to do with any of it.

So he makes noise. He picks fights over stupid things. He skips lessons when the walls feel too close. He stays up until ridiculous hours listening to music, writing lyrics he never shows anyone, and convincing himself that tomorrow he’ll somehow feel different. He pushes people away before they can get close enough to notice when he’s struggling.

Then he gets lonely and wonders why nobody stayed.

It’s a vicious little cycle, and he’s self-aware enough to recognise it but not always stable enough to stop himself.

At school, Jisung has a reputation. Teachers consider him intelligent but infuriating, the kind of student who can answer a difficult question perfectly and then spend the rest of the lesson drawing on his hand. He’s frequently late, occasionally absent, regularly caught breaking minor rules, and almost permanently on somebody’s last nerve. He has a mouth that gets him into trouble and a complete inability to look suitably apologetic when he’s being told off.

He isn’t stupid. He’s just inconsistent. He can be brilliant when something genuinely interests him, especially music, literature, and anything that allows him to express himself without having to explain himself. But ask him to care about something he thinks is pointless, and getting him to cooperate becomes an Olympic sport.

Despite everything, Jisung isn’t heartless.

He’s observant in ways people underestimate. He notices when somebody’s laugh sounds forced, when a friend goes unusually quiet, when someone is sitting alone at lunch and pretending they prefer it that way. He remembers tiny details, even when he acts like he doesn’t listen. His affection is usually disguised as insults, stolen food, shared headphones, and sitting beside somebody in silence because he doesn’t know how to ask if they’re okay.

He can be surprisingly gentle when he feels safe with someone. His humour becomes softer, his shoulders relax, and the constant defensive edge disappears just enough to reveal the boy underneath it all. He’s clingier than he’d ever admit, secretly loves physical affection, and has a terrible habit of getting attached to people while insisting that relationships are exhausting and feelings are embarrassing.

He wants somebody who won’t treat him like a problem to solve. Somebody who can sit with him on a cold afternoon, share their headphones, and let the silence exist without demanding that he explain every thought in his head. Somebody who sees the mess and doesn’t immediately decide that the mess is all he is.

But wanting that and believing he deserves it are two very different things.

Jisung can be difficult. He can be reckless, defensive, frustrating, and impossible to reach when he decides to shut everyone out. He isn’t secretly perfect beneath his eyeliner, and love isn’t going to magically fix his habits or make his problems disappear. He’s a boy who’s still figuring himself out, making mistakes, and trying to get through school without completely falling apart.

Most people see the cigarettes, the attitude, the black clothes, and the boy who looks like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.

Very few bother looking any closer.

And Jisung has become rather good at making sure they don’t.