Title: Disturbances and Distractions (1/3)

Word Count: 4992

Rating: T (eventually)

Pairing: Young Do / Rachel

Summary: When he slurps his noodles too loudly (on purpose), Rachel nearly smears her last Hamachi roll in his stupid fringe. Rachel and Young Do in Senior Year. Notes:

Notes: Sorry for the fic dump, I'm just posting all the fics from my tumblr and AO3 over here! This is part 1 of 3, concerning how Rachel and Young Do became better friends...and eventually lovers. In many cases it's a bit lighter than most YoungRa fics are, and I'm a bit concerned that both Rachel and Young Do's characterizations might be off. I've chosen to go a specific direction with both of them, so I hope it works! It's mostly from Rachel's perspective so you'll have to wait for a potential second fic to understand Young Do.

It is not beta'd so yes, there will be grammar mistakes. I will go back and fix it.

Thanks for reading! Please review and follow me at tumblr tyndaridaes

They gravitate towards one another.

It's senior year and the rabble ("the mediocre people," Young Do had said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pressing her tight against his side) have not shut up. Rachel supposes she can't blame them, by all appearances it looked like the ice queen was chewed up and discarded by a second, illegitimate, son. Justice, Rachel can read in their eyes when she deigns to meet them.

As Rachel becomes increasingly solitary, focused on her studies and the Company, the vipers seem to take this as a sign of acceptance. They make the mistake of thinking that Rachel could ever have or be less than she was before. Solitary, studious, and unapproachable did not mean a Queen dethroned.

She was built for far better, brighter things than a political marriage to a boy who had nothing to recommend him (not even a spine). Watching the likes of Cha Eun Sang and Tan happily cavorting like the fools they were only left a bitter taste in Rachel's mouth.

No, Rachel would not mistake her ambitions or heart again.

If she had to convince herself that she needed no one when she watched Bo Na and Eun Sang playing friends, well, that was her own business. She didn't want their companionship. She was her own best company.

Young Do didn't seem to understand that.

It starts like this.

Rachel peers at her reflection in the mirror, eyes critical and mouth set in a firm line.

The giggles of girls far more shrill than she fill the silence as the lunch break crowd files into the bathroom.

Were her bangs uneven? Rachel cards her fingers through the hair at her forehead and narrows her eyes at her reflection. A girl beside her barks with laughter and Rachel exhales a long practiced sigh.

"Do you intend to continue polluting the air with your noise?" Rachel leans back from the sink and levels the girl with a flat look in the mirror.

The girl gapes.

"Get out," Rachel sighs again.

One of the girls, a brave one, opens her mouth to whine about Rachel's manners but the chirp of a cell-phone interrupts her.

Rachel doesn't even look at the girl as she brings the phone to her ear. "Young Do," she enunciates clearly, and his name is like a magic word. The girls shuffle out of the bathroom, muttering, and Rachel grits her teeth hard.

A part of her detests him in moments like this. Very few were suitably afraid of her anymore, some, like the little no-name that even attempted to put Rachel in her "place," followed the example of Rachel's former associates in testing the limits of Rachel's tolerance and temper.

And yet, one word, one glance from Young Do and they saw fit to scatter. It infuriated her that he thought he could play her white knight. She didn't need it.

"What do you want."

Where are you? he says simply, ignoring her tone.

"Is that any business of yours?"

There's a short huff of breath and Rachel pictures him rolling his eyes.

Did you eat?

Rachel frowns then, puzzled by his question as well as his lack of sarcasm. Young Do had been a shell of his former self lately, but he was hardly a new person.

"No," she says carefully and drops her gaze to the hem of her skirt, worrying the fabric there.

Tell me where you are, we'll eat together.

Rachel's brows go up and she pauses, considering his words. "If you think I need charity, you're mistaken."

It's his turn to sigh then, exasperated. Ya. Are you the only one with a stomach?

They begin eating together at every lunch period. After she'd allowed him to accompany her the first time, he started showing up without invitation or question. He'd slide his tray onto the table with a wicked smile, and defy her withering stare. He defied anyone's stares.

People watched them. People talked. They wondered why Young Do even bothered with her. While he had taken a hit to his own esteem, Rachel was still a woman and she was unfairly subjected to the much more vicious regard of their peers. Or lack thereof.

She was a bitch, she was a whore. He was the son of a criminal, but he was now also the head of his kingdom. He was no longer an heir, he was a King.

They wondered if Young Do was just pitying his almost sister out of some misguided sense of responsibility, or if she was his new play thing. She'd be lying if she said she didn't wonder the same things.

It had to stop.

"Hello, Sister."

She sets her chopsticks down and resists the urge to kick him in the shin. "Is this going to become a habit?"

"You know how much I love family meals," he grins, mouth sly. She watches that mouth, thinking that as much as she'd like to smack it off his face, it was good to see him smiling again. He hadn't done much of that the months after Cha Eun Sang and his Father's incarceration.

Rachel blinks away this thought and huffs, looking away. She sees Ye-Sol watching them from across the

Ye-Sol sneers.

"You doubt my sincerity?" Rachel almost jumps when she snaps her gaze back to Young Do. He's staring at her, eyes hard and steady. More importantly, he'd slid his long leg forward so that his knee pressed against her own. Thoughts of Ye-Sol fly from her mind, and she expects that was his intention.

She shifts, stunned for only a moment.

"Well," she says, rewarding his consideration with a sharp press of her heel against his foot. She smirks when he flinches slightly. "I've always been a smart girl."

When Young Do grins, it's like a shark.

"I know what you're doing," she says evenly, eyes hard, the pressure of her heel against his shoe even harder.

Young Do measures the weight of her look with a steady one of his own. "Well don't be selfish," he shifts so that his knee is now forcing her own leg back, "share it with the class."

She narrows her eyes, and feels the cruel words on her tongue before she even thinks to say them.

"I'm not Cha Eun Sang," she lifts her heel from his foot and watches as his face tightens imperceptibly, brows drawn together. "I don't need any of your cheap heroics or pathetic attempts at rescue." His eyes flash as she goes in for the kill, and she hates herself just a little bit. "Not that they got you very far anyways."

He's too proud to let her win by getting up and leaving, no matter how badly she can tell he wants to.

She's too proud to leave when Ye-Sol's eyes are burning holes into her pearl pink headband, daring her to feel like she no longer belongs.

They sit there then, glaring. (He's angry, yes, but Rachel swallows down the uncomfortable notion that he's more disappointed in her than anything else.)

When he slurps his noodles too loudly (on purpose), Rachel nearly smears her last Hamachi roll in his stupid fringe.

There is something about Young Do that makes Rachel feel childish.

At the end of the day, he slides in next to her at her locker, back pressed against the metal at a lazy lean.

"I'm hungry," is what he says. It sounds enough like forgiveness to merit a pause from her, hand stilled, mid-reach, for her last book.

"How is that even possible? You had no trouble inhaling your lunch," she mutters, ignoring the small frisson of relief. She clears her throat and tosses her hair. "You nearly inhaled mine."

Young Do smirks and pivots by his hip so that the buttons of his navy Yves coat brush against her arm.

"Someone had to eat it, it looked expensive."

Rachel turns, eyebrows drawn together. "I was eating it."

"You were picking at it," he hunches over so that he can rest his face against the metal of her locker door frame. "You were too busy inventing creative ways for me to die."

She sniffs, and stuffs her last book in her bag. "I think we both know I am an expert in multi-tasking, Young Do." She stops when his eyebrow goes up, and narrows her eyes. "If you're going to turn that comment into something suggestive, don't even bother."

"Suggestive of what exactly," he inhales deeply, simply watching her as she continues her task with growing irritation. "I merely stated that I was hungry."

Oh please, she thinks, and it can probably be read clearly from her unimpressed stare. Rachel sighs and fastens her bag, tired and fully ready to retire to her castle where she can consume herself with work directives from her mother.

"Young Do-"

He shakes his head, abandoning his attempts at teasing. "Come," he gestures with a nod, "Oppa will buy, and you can tell your mother it was a date."

She hesitates, unsure why he's been trying so hard to...what? Befriend her?

"Aish," he growls at her, and before she can say a word he has her locker door shut and her bag slung over his shoulder. "If you want your property back, I suppose you'll have to follow." He cocks a brow and turns on his heel.

"That's theft," she snaps half-heartedly.

"Cry about it over abalone, then."

"Omma," she says later that week, pushing foie gras around her plate as her Mother's eyes never stray from her phone. There's word of bankruptcy and inevitable acquisition in their circles, and her Mother smells blood in the water. "Choi Y-"

"How is your Japanese Rachel?"

Rachel holds back her sigh of annoyance and sets her fork down. "Impeccable."

"Good," Her Mother smiles, shooting her daughter an appraising look over the wine. "I'd like you to sit in our next meeting with Sanyo Shokai. There's great potential there," she muses quietly as her eyes stray back towards the e-mail on her phone. "An excellent learning opportunity for you."

Rachel bites the inside of her lip and feels the acid on her tongue. "Omma?" She wonders if she should take Young Do up on his offer. What would her Mother say about her precious daughter "dating" the man who was nearly her step-son. A competitor. A threat.

It's all a farce of course, but the thought almost makes Rachel smile.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"I look forward to it," she says instead, but finds no pleasure from her Mother's satisfied smile.

She's not sure when, why, or how, but expecting Young Do becomes a habit.

When he comes to school, he always comes by her locker before classes begin. He'd taken on more and more responsibilities in his company, making his school attendance something of an issue. Rachel, whose mother had increased her own workload, understood that. Young Do was on the precipice of something great, and many were determined to see the insolent son of a criminal fail. His responsibility was to the company first, and himself second. School likely served as a reminder for those waiting for Young Do's fall, that, in their estimation, he was yet a man.

But when he did come, it was to her first.

Sometimes he announced it to the entire school.

("Yoo Rachel," his voice rings out like a shot in the hallway, and the hum of chatter around her abruptly ceases.

And then, in the few seconds it takes Rachel to look up from her locker, startled, the chatter starts again-about them.

Rachel glares at Young Do as he comes to her at a lazy gait, hands shoved into his pockets and an unapologetic grin on his face.

"You idiot," she hisses when he is close enough to her, struggling to maintain her usual icy decorum as the volume of voices increases around them. "What do you think you're doing?"

As usual, Young Do seems unaffected. Worse, he looks wickedly pleased with himself.

"Calling my Sister's name. Have you changed it?"

"I'm not your Sister," she argues and risks a look around the hallway to assess the damage. She never would have done that before, she never would have cared. And as her eyes meet Tan's hard, assessing stare from across the hallway, she is reminded why.

Beside him, Cha Eun Sang ducks her head, flitting a curious look between Rachel and Young Do before she clutches her boyfriend's hand to turn his attention away.

Rachel swallows, blinks, and nearly forgets herself. Tan hadn't spoken a word to her since the semester had started, but she didn't need to hear his voice to read the accusations in his every glare. Always the victim, aren't you Tan?

He's not even looking at Young Do, and it infuriates her because it's a clear attempt to belittle her, to "remind" her that she is weak and inconsequential to Tan. That Tan thinks he holds any true influence over her is almost comical.

That was your mistake Rachel, she thinks, you allowed him to hold power over you once, and you are suffering the consequences of that mistake.

She meets Tan's stare like its a challenge, and when she turns away, Young Do is watching them. His jaw is hard, but his eyes are weary. He doesn't even look at Eun Sang once.

Feeling the same weariness, and a sudden surge of...softness, Rachel shuts her locker door with an efficient click and swats at Young Do's forearm. Tan's stare continues to burn against her temple.

"As penance you can carry my books," she orders archly, urging Young Do to look back at her. "Take them," she chides, tugging more harshly on his jacket. "We'll be late, and your record is already suffering."

He watches her for a moment, studying her with a curious expression that makes her glower slightly. She doesn't like the vulnerability that comes with her gesture being noticed. After a long moment though, he looks from her offered books to the swell of her brow, and smirks.

"You're stronger than you look," he says dismissively and when he brushes past her he makes sure his arm knocks into her shoulder. Distantly, she wonders if this is what having a real brother must feel like. The all-consuming rage and frustration could only come from family.

"Come on," he sighs, as if he is the exasperated one. "My record is suffering."

Rachel has to remind herself to exhale when she breathes in too deeply. She doesn't even throw Tan a cursory glance as she regally moves to step into place beside Young Do.)

And sometimes, he had Myung Soo in tow.

(Rachel has always been excellent at keeping her composure. Through frigid masks and emotional jailing, she has achieved decorum, control, and the title of Ice Queen. So when Myung Soo suddenly barrels into her from the side, sending her tripping into Young Do's chest, years of discipline cut the shriek off at her tongue. Rachel inhales so sharply that all she manages to breathe in is Young Do.

"Omo," Myung Soo gasps for her, all frantic energy and apologies as he hovers just behind her. "Before you castrate little Myung Soo, let me explain."

Rachel is at a loss. Still bewildered by the quick turn of events, she snaps her eyes upwards to see Young Do grinning in amusement, those evil eyebrows arched and mocking her flustered state. She shoves him away from her, ears burning.

Rachel clenches her fist and turns on Myung Soo, but Young Do seemed ready for that.

"Aw, give the puppy a break," he says, and Rachel watches Myung Soo nod emphatically, so emphatically in fact that he nearly loses his balance again. "He just got back from the vet."

Rachel can see now that the apparent cause for Myung Soo's poor equilibrium is a broken leg; there's a purple cast all the way up to his upper right thigh and a single crutch tucked under his arm. Purple. Of course it was purple.

"Purple," she states, doing her best to control her temper, a feat she never would have bothered with only months before. It was no secret that Rachel was short on patience when it came to Myung Soo, but the more Young Do insisted on bothering her, the more Myung Soo did so as well. Desensitization is what she explained to Young Do when he smugly observed her willingness to even be seated at the same table as the slobbering child. She just wished Young Do would understand that she had no desire for company at all, himself included. Though that was becoming less and less true every passing day.

Myung Soo, probably more relieved not to be dead by Rachel's hand than anything, perks up at the mention of his cast. "What's wrong with Purple?" he postures, rapping on the plaster with gusto. "You know, its small minded to consider a colour gender specific, Yoo Rachel."

And, in hand with more Myung Soo exposure, Myung Soo had grown more comfortable talking to Rachel as he wished. A part of her also wonders if it's because an element of fear or even respect had been removed since the Tan incident.

Young Do clears his throat, and Rachel swears she can hear the laughter under it. She sets her jaw and breathes in deeply.

"I was commenting on how bright it was Myung Soo," her face is impassive, her gaze hard, but this doesn't seem to bother Myung Soo as he considers her words. Rachel nearly rolls her eyes.

"Oppa said it suited my complexion," Myung Soo chirps, and Young Do brushes Rachel's shoulder as he leans forward to offer Myung Soo his other crutch. "Oppa did indeed. There's Bo Na," he inclines his head towards the girl in question, happily wrapping herself around Chan Young's arm as they almost glide down the hall. "And look, that bow of hers isn't nearly as purple as your cast, Myung Soo."

Rachel scoffs as the two boys share identical grins of menace, though Myung Soo's is far more determined as he somehow pivots himself around and starts off towards the couple.

"You're unbelievable," Rachel says, and crosses her arms over her chest as Young Do falls into place beside her.

"I truly relish your compliments."

"Be serious," Rachel sighs, and begins to comb her fingers through her now dishevelled hair in annoyance. "Is this why you were late?" It was nearly lunch.

Young Do makes a clicking sound against his teeth, and tightens his lips in consideration. "Have you seen how quickly he moves with those?" Rachel turns to see Myung Soo nearly take out Chan Young's leg with his crutch. The older boy seems deeply amused as he tries to help Myung Soo steady himself, but Bo Na is nearly squawking with outrage at the "clear attempt on Chan Young's life."

"There wasn't a chance we were going to make first bell."

Rachel finds herself smiling as she takes the scene in, and can only imagine the theatrics that occurred at the hospital. Young Do's use of "we" does not go unnoticed by Rachel, who had long thought that Young Do's odd attachment to Myung Soo was one of his more questionable traits. It was clear that Myung Soo would do anything for Young Do. Rachel was intrigued to see that Young Do seemed to hold his friendship with Myung Soo in equal esteem.

"Is that a smile?"

Rachel blanches, the expression freezing on her face before it slides away. "Don't think that you can copy your notes from me," she ignores his comment and studiously attempts to straighten her fringe into the perfect frame for her face.

"Your writing is too neat anyways," he reaches forward and runs careful fingers through her hair until it lays perfectly in place on her forehead. Rachel's breath freezes in her lungs. "It's disturbing, and distracting," he complains with an overdone sigh, and Rachel sniffs, swallows, and pulls her shoulders back. Disturbing and distracting. Like Young Do's very existence.

"Perfect, we're in agreement then." Rachel brushes her hair over her shoulder and levels Young Do with a careful look. "If Myung Soo is coming to lunch, tie him to his seat. Somehow, I can just imagine a black eye in my future with those," she gestures dismissively to the crutches, "waving around."

It's the closest thing to acceptance that he'll get from Rachel, but she leaves Young Do at her locker before he can say a word. She doesn't touch her fringe again until she's out of his line of sight. )

But increasingly, he came to her quietly, tiredly, and devoid of any humour.

It's weeks after the incident with Myung Soo, and Young Do has managed a full day of school only 5 times. Rachel learns not to expect him, and were it not for the fact that he had begun to call her, she would have no interaction with him at all.

Rachel herself had been busy with the demands of her Mother, and every week she saw the phantom lines drawn through the company grow larger and larger. By 22, Rachel knew she'd likely be responsible for their Japanese holdings. At 25, with a MBA filed away, perhaps she would be assisting her mother in turning RS International into a fashion conglomerate.

Much like Young Do, youth was an insulting limitation others placed on her. Age was no consequence for Rachel's ambition or brilliance. But while Rachel had the time and careful guidance of her Mother, Young Do had a handful of lawyers and ultimately, himself. He was learning as he was doing.

It's why, when Rachel arrives at her locker a full half hour earlier than the normal student, she is stunned to see Young Do waiting for her there, looking the perfect picture of a dead man walking.

She knows better than to show any pity. He hated pity.

"Young Do," she says carefully as she settles next to him, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag tightly against her chest.

He says nothing for a while, merely closes his eyes and leans his head back against the neighbouring locker. With his throat bared and his face devoid of any colour, Rachel can only think of blood and sacrifice-an offering. She swallows that foolish idea down and opens her locker determinedly, her hand steady.

"This is too much," she says into the cavern of her locker. "You serve to gain nothing when you can barely stand up straight. This," she lifts her head and gestures with a pointed chin, "is weakness."

He chuckles lowly, opening his eyes lazily. The paleness of his face only makes his eyebrows look all the more dangerous.

"You know so much of weakness, Rachel." It is not kind, and Rachel is not foolish enough to think that Young Do would ever be tired enough not to kill.

She inhales sharply through her nose, and feels cruel when she smiles. "Enough to recognize it in other people. You're an idiot."

"And you're out of line," he points out flatly, turning onto his side so that he can crowd her with the expanse of his body.

Rachel wasn't bitter that she wasn't born a man. There were advantages to her sex that Rachel wielded with instinct, tools that would make her ascension into corporate leadership, Queendom, lasting. There were even advantages to being so small. But when Rachel looked at Young Do, studied the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs, she was jealous of his physical display of power. Her power would always have to take other forms.

Young Do was accustomed to using his body for that very reason, she knew, but he never used it to threaten her. No, as Rachel took in his stern expression, the hardness of his mouth, and the tired slump of his shoulders as he leaned closer to her, she felt angry.

She was reaching for him before she knew she wanted to. Her fingers ran a soothing line down his temple and over his ear as she brushed his hair back. He'd been too tired for product, she could see, so she would do what he'd been unable to.

Young Do remained silent as she did this, her fingers making repeated strokes through his dark hair, moving it off of his face with gentle caresses. She didn't tremble once, too angry to even think to be embarrassed. They were the only ones in the hallway so early anyways.

"I hate your fringe," she says quietly, sternly. "It looks so much better when it's off your face. How is anyone going to feel threatened when you look like a 7 year-old child? Your eyebrows, Young Do," she makes a noise of displeasure, and her fingers stray downwards to trace those too. "They cover your-"

"My eyebrows," he repeats, stilling her hand with his own against the side of his face. His voice is rough with fatigue and disuse, and had he not touched her, it would have stopped her alone. She says nothing, only watches him as he sighs, bringing her hand down and away from his face, their fingers still entangled. "So you've said."

She feels weary, so she waits. When Young Do merely closes his eyes again, she snaps.

"Go home, or go to the library. If you pass out against my locker Young Do, I will leave you here."

He chuckles, his eyes at least somewhat warm when he opens them again. "You are a harsh mistress, Sister."

She frowns, realizing that it had been a while since he had even used the term. She wasn't sure when he had decided that their relationship no longer called for it. An uncomfortable feeling twists in her gut, and she turns away, attention back onto her morning preparation.

Her left hand doesn't come with her.

"Young Do," she feels her ears burn. "I need my hand back."

He's not smiling anymore, watching her again with a walled expression and drawn brows. "Keep it safe, I may need it later," he retorts and drops her fingers without ceremony.

They stare at one another for another moment before Young Do straightens, heaves a large sigh, and backs away from her.

"Go home," she says again, unable to let him just leave like that. He waves his hand at her dismissively and starts back down the hallway without any energy. She is well aware that he has opted to walk deeper into the school instead of out the door like he should have.

Rachel decides that it doesn't bother or concern her, and slams her locker door with more force than necessary.

She gives in and texts him during her last period.

Did you go home? She types, pressing her lips firmly together as she considers even sending it. What was he to her? Certainly not a boyfriend (the thought made her shudder), and definitely not her brother. Rachel wasn't sure she could, with good conscience, call anyone a friend, her world was filled with acquaintances and future business partners. And yet, Young Do…

A horrifying thought suddenly comes to her.

You weren't foolish enough to ride your motorcycle here, were you? she sends instead.

"Rachel," Bo Na's curiosity is so catlike, and she leans over Rachel's shoulder with a similar feline lack of respect for personal space. "Are you texting during class!?"

"If that's what it looks like," Rachel simpers, too distracted to even shoot Bo Na the scathing look she deserves for that comment. Young Do hadn't answered her yet.

"Well, who is it?" she hears Bo Na pout, and her quasi-frenemy drapes an arm over the back of Rachel's chair. "Who would text you?"

Define foolish? Young Do finally texts back. A picture of his helmet comes a second later, and Rachel narrows her eyes.

"Is it a boyfriend?" Bo Na continues with an excited whisper, the prospect of boy drama erasing the lines Bo Na had not so clearly drawn between them. Rachel ignores her.

That text message was definition enough. Young Do?

Are you my Mother? This clingy girlfriend act is beneath you, Rachel.

She presses her phone into her thigh and doesn't even dignify that comment with a response.

"It's not..." Bo Na hesitates, eyeing Rachel's growing ire warily, "Young Do is it? He's still not good news Rachel," she flips her hair and Rachel imagines Bo Na thinks she's doing Rachel a favour somehow. "Even for you."

Rachel wants to laugh. She settles for a condescending half smile instead, and looks back to her phone.

I took the car, Young Do had written. Satisfied? Dear?

Rachel ignores the jibe. Where are you now? Home?

"You still think you're better than everyone," Bo Na accuses. "Even after everything? Tan-"

"I am better," Rachel interrupts plainly, patiently. She enjoys the outraged disbelief on Bo Na's face for a few moments before the chime of her phone alerts her to a new message.

It's a picture of Young Do, eyes closed, feigning sleep against what is clearly her locker. A winky face is drawn in the left hand corner.

She wonders if Myung Soo took it.

Rachel scoffs, unimpressed, and tucks her phone back into her bag before the teacher is alerted by Bo Na's over the top expressions.

She rolls her eyes when she looks over at Bo Na, the girl shooting daggers right back.

"It was no one important," she offers dismissively.

Suitably appeased, Bo Na's glare loses a bit of its edge.

"You will never be better than Chan Young," she hisses in return. Rachel just smiles.

Later that night, she receives another text from Young Do.

Oppa is calling in a favour, it reads. I need your help.