it’s always interesting seeing whats happening in sunggyus office. what new poster he has going on. taehyun has started to see this office as a reflection of how the councilor is doing, mentally. when he first started coming, he just assumed that the guy didn’t know how to clean up ( which, mood. taehyun’s room looks like a natural disaster ). that assumption slowly started changing after a few weeks of coming to chat. even if he didnt speak much at first.
now he can kind of see the organized chaos that goes on. his first thought when he walks into the office to take his normal seat is ‘is sunggyu ssaem okay?’. he doesn’t pry, he never does, it’s not his place to inquire about a teacher. and it’s not like sunggyu would ever tell him anyway. he’s just a snot nosed punk kid with no future.
“it’s only been 2 weeks.” the teen mutters, sitting side ways in one of the chairs and avoiding looking at sungyu. everytime he does, he always feels like the older male can read right through him. that he can see all the problems taehyun has. and it unnerves him. “do i really need to be in here?”
he completely ignores the question of his own well being. it’s a pointless question. they both know taehyun is a hopeless wreck. thats the whole reason he was forced to start having these meetings. in hopes he would shape up, become a more productive part of the school system. fat load of help that is, as he’s probably skipped more of this year than he’s been in it. not that sunggyu is to blame, really… if taehyun would stop being so difficult about it. sunggyu has helped. taehyun doesn’t do half the bad stuff he use to. but…
he still doesn’t believe he belongs in school.
Sunggyu picks up a metallic coffee thermos from his desk, flips open the lid, and takes a small sip. Marshmallows bob through hot chocolate and half-melted whipped cream sticks to his lower lip. When he speaks, his voice is warm like the drink in his hands. “Most likely,” he says. “You know that I’d never force you to stay and honestly speaking, you could walk right out if you want to. But then I’d have to send a report -- legal reasons, you know? -- to your school. That’s just how the paperwork crumbles, kiddo.”
The lack of eye contact doesn’t disturb him. He hums softly and adjusts a small, silver picture frame no bigger than the length of his hand. There’s nothing inside of it. But two weeks ago, it held a photograph of his wife happily sporting a baby bump.
“We don’t always have to talk during these sessions,” he says. “You can write poetry or draw for all sixty minutes, and that would be fine. Your appointment is whatever you want it to be. I’m serious.” He puts down the thermos, folds his hands in his lap, and leans forward. “But before any of that, I want to offer you an additional service,” he says. “It’s called a peer mentoring program. I think it would suit your needs better and you’d enjoy it -- well, at least much more than my office.”
Sunggyu opens a desk drawer, stuffed to the brim with both broken and functional office supplies, and pulls out a pamphlet. “It’s almost like portable counseling -- ah, counseling on the go! What happens is that together we’d come up with some personal goals for you,” he says. He holds out the information to Taehyun for him to take or reject, whichever he pleases. “Once a week, I’m allowed to take you wherever you want and we integrate those goals into whatever we’re doing. Starbucks? If you place the order, that’s written up as practicing social skills. An art museum or supplies store? That’s career motivated and stable future planning right there. An afternoon at the library? We can schedule your week, work on your homework, or just talk about whatever is on your mind. Does this sound like something you’d be interested in giving a go?”
