1..

Red.

It's a beautiful color that can have endless meanings. Many psychologists agree that the color itself can have meanings from both sides of the spectrum- both positive and negative. To some, the color alone can represent passionate love, and to others it can mean terrorizing war. 

But to me, as the color dripped along my side, it represented so much more than pain. It represented my story; what I had gone through, who I had lost and where I had been- it meant the end of one day, and the beginning of another. 

It represented that I was alive.

The thick substance continued to roll down my side in a long trickle of a stream, the pain I expected from the cut soon subsided and overwhelmed me with a wave of calmn. I leaned my head back in ecstacy, closing my eyes as I enjoyed my seconds of bliss. As the seconds ticked by, the stinging sensation once again came to claim it's territory, giving me the sign that it was ready to be dabbed clean. I did as usual and what was left, was a thin cut- one amongst the many along my stomach and side. 

These were my trophies.

I caressed the fresh wound and smiled sadly to myself, my voice coming out hoarsely, "We've made it another day." 

"Kai?" I barely budged my head at the mention of my name, but the person persisted, not understanding my silence like the rest of my peers, "There's a project in Cultural Art Studies, I was wondering if you'd be my partner?" I didn't so much as glance at the person beside me to recognize the mouse-like girl who would often confuse herself as my friend, shrugging slightly,

"Not really interested, Minah." She sighed, her shoulders slumping, 

"Then who are you hoping will be your partner?" I raised a brow at her silly question, 

"I'm not interested in any of it. If anything, I'll just make do with doing it myself as usual. Professor usually leaves me be anyways." I brushed past the girl to aimlessly wander away from her- I just wanted to be alone. Why didn't anyone understand that I put this wall between them and I on purpose? All I do is wreck things, it's for the best- for me and them.

"Kai." I groaned to myself as I heard my name once again, turning slightly from my current position in the grass, only to see a tall man approach me. I raised a brow at the unfamiliar figure, glancing him over to determine if he were a friend or foe, for more often than not, people like him were foes. 

He exhaled, appearing to be catching his breath after running, before flashing me a toothy grin, making me even more uncomfortable than I already was concidering I didn't even know the man, "You walk fast. I'm Mark, I'm a year ahead of you in the music program." I continued to look at the person quietly, still unsure of his business with me, my brows still slightly raised for him to continue, "I'm new, I tranferred my credits here after a fall out with my previous school, this place has a much better music program. Anyways, I heard that you'd be the person to see about art classes?" 

I sighed once again before turning back around, murmuring in response to his questions, "I'm not exactly the one 'to see about art classes.' That is an administrative problem you have there, not one to be between peers." 

"Oh, it's nothing about that, I needed some help with an art project. My professor pointed out that you're a top student in the art program and that you needed a partner for this particular project still to get credit. Well, I suppose I was just hoping you'd consider taking me in as your partner?" 

As he explained the situation in more detail, I could feel my annoyance being pushed to the point to where I didn't want anyone around me, none the less this creep.

"No."

"No?" 

I glanced at him and nodded, "No, I'm not interested in taking you in as my partner. Like I've told Minah- I'll pull through on my own. Why I'd have to lean on another artist for asistance would be un-existant. I don't need a partner, none the less for a mere art project." 

A few moments passed in silence, making me assume Mark had taken the hint, but I was oddly surprised when I turned around to find the tall man kneeling before me on his knees, his eyes showing a plea of desperation, "Please, Kai. I need to pass this class to continue on with my music major." I raised a brow once again as he rested his hands on the grass in front of him and bowed to me, "Please." 

Idiot.

How could I have possibly agreed to this- he couldn't even mix the basic colors to make others, none the less sketch. I rested two fingers to my forehead, shaking my head for the hundrenth time as Mark, once again, made an irriversable mistake, "No, no, no. I already told you that in the project, there's to be no shading, all color and abstract. Many students in our class are concerned with mastering concrete art, but they don't understand the importance of color." 

Mark glanced at me, a streak of red and blue paint had dried along one of his cheek bones, an embarrassed smile on his face, "I'm sorry, Kai, I just don't get art, I've never been into it." 

I raised a brow, "Never been into it?" I scoffed, "What do you call music if not art?" 

Mark hummed in thought as he straightened his stance from the canvas, his brush dangling between his fingers, tapping his chin, "It's... passion." 

I rolled my eyes, "Okay, how about this, paint the way holding a guitar makes you feel."

His eyes turned to me in confusion, "How can I paint that when a feeling cannot be seen?" 

"That's the beauty of abstract art." 

Mark sighed, breathing in deeply before once again attempting a single to the new canvas in front of him, his cencentration making his eyebrows knit together, making him appear the most serious he's been the whole night. As the silence continued to stretch, his concentration deepened. After ten minutes of silence, I finally stepped away, leaving the strange man to be alone with his canvas- the way everyone was. 

Imagine everyone to be the representation of a color, our parents and loved ones the brushes, our life a blank canvas. As we grow, it was plain to see that we can't do it on our own. Life itself was a color that no one knew, it would become the painting that we put together -by- with each brush. But, unlike most people, I had no brushes, the canvas that was set before me wasn't blank, nor filled, what would have been elegant of a steady hand, were bloodied handprints, sloppy and confused in placement.

Everyone I loved abandoned me- including my own parents. My two older sisters left, too, but attempted to do it without hurting their younger, naiive brother. They left together, all at once, almost like a band aid- fast and quick. But, unlike a band aid's purpose, the wound it covered, never healed, leaving a gash, untreatable. Despite what most people may believe, time never healed that gash.

Time never flew.

It's wings were broken.

I admit, I dwell on the pain that my disfunctional family had made me endure, but it's what pushed me through each day. Each day, I relied on that very pain to get me through it, through what scholars and average people refurred to as life, I refurred to as hell. 

As I grew, and made relations, they would leave soon after, despite what each person would say, I was nothing more than a toy to occupy them as they grew bored. And, as time would have it, they grew bored of me, as well. As each person turned their backs to me, the more I grew to resent everyone around me, and soon enough, that resentment soon claimed myself. 

My canvas was a mess of darkness-filled palm prints of my teens, pain-strickened thumb marks from the lack of encouragement in my pre-teens, scared childhood fingerprints, lessening itself to one lone pointer finger print, representing the last person in my life who gave a damn about this bastard of a child, until that, too, was gone- leaving half my canvas unfilled with no colors, no shades, no life.

As each person left, as did my brushes.

"Kai." I turned my head to Mark, having forgotten his presence, a large grin placed on his face, spots of yellow and orange on his once-white apron made me cringe inside- the colors of happiness, "I think I've done as you asked." I nodded at him and slid out of my bar stool, striding towards the living room to find a canvas filled with warm and bright colors, mixed in hues of passionate red and orange. 

I nodded as I spotted deep blue pools in centers of warmth, raising a brow as I pointed to the few specks, "What do these spots represent for you?"

Mark cleared his throat with a cough in nervousness, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks, "There are times when I pick up the guitar and a saddness overfills me." I raised a brow in curiosity at his answer, "I began playing the guitar because of my mother's passing. Whenever I pick up a guitar, I just start thinking of her, and I begin to miss her." 

I nodded, turning back to the canvas and nodded towards the piece, "You did well." 

The same bright smile pulled at his lips at my response, "Really? You think so?" I nodded and turned towards my own set of colors that were pushed aside, 

"Now it's my turn." 

Mark blinked, making me sigh, "The assignment was to paint an abstract piece of two different views of the same object." Realization hit him as I furthured my explanation, "There's food in the fridge if you're hungry."

I heard a quiet response before hearing the shuffling of feet in the direction of the kitchen, giving me the que to begin my own representation of how I felt towards the guitar and music. I began, my brush leaving behind of light blue and pink, morphing into yellow and dark blues- I was good at morphing false feelings into my paintings, my talent for manipulation of another's persievment of myself had gone beyond my appearance and into my own works. Sometimes, it even fooled myself.

"Kai."

I turned my head to see a plate with a sandwich neatly made in the center of it. I blinked at the offering and looked towards Mark, his arm outstretch with the plate, his other hand holding his own sandwhich. He raised a brow at my reaction, wiggling the plate, "Eat." 

I nodded slowly at the object and took the plate from him, taking a bite from the first thing anyone had made for me in years. No one had ever shown consideration for me after junior high, believing that I had become a lost cause, or how I liked to call a "hopeless case of depression." Girl's often tried showing their affection for me, more for my appearance than for my character. I had already thrown their fantasies out the window, not interested in any one of them.

Mark was a little different, I admit. He hadn't scurried away when I spoke coldly to him, he didn't avert his eye sight from me when we passed eachother on campus, in all honesty, the exact opposite happened. He always went out of his way to greet me with a smile, even if he weren't in the brightest of moods. He would keep me in consideration when we were debating where to do the project. He had people who loved him, I could tell by the way the girls on campus would swoon over him, but it was obvious he wasn't what the girl's wanted.

He was persistent, but that didn't make him any different.

Just stupid.

After eating and finishing my own part of the project, it was already late into the night, pushing 3A.M. Mark had fallen asleep, outstretched on my leather couch, his arms folded over his eyes to block out the bright lighting of the room. I glanced at him, his chest raising and falling with each breath and each exhale he made, it was true he was an idiot, but I would be lying if I said the man didn't intrigue me. 

No one had ever spent the night with me, especially when I had begun living alone, but it wasn't like I was inviting anyone over, either. I shrugged slightly, believing my intrigue had only been struck due to lack of sleep. I brushed past the sleeping man and headed towards the bathroom to begin what had turned into a normality, a ritual, that I did each night before sleeping soundly.

I began the shower, taking a last peek to make sure Mark was still asleep on the couch, and stepped into the shower after stripping out of my clothes. The warm water streamed down my body, steam soon enveloping me, making me breath in the scent that represented the beginning. I grasped my razor and pressed it into my side, right below the one from the night before that had just began to heal. 

I pressed down, a soft sigh leaving my lips immediately after the abrupt that took a thin layer of skin with it, the sting making my eyes squeeze shut tightly in reflex from the pain. Moments passed before the sting subsided, I awaited the bliss patiently.

But it never came.

I frowned.

I looked at the cut and realized it was a bit deeper than usual, sighing as the moments passed, realizing quickly that my euphoria wouldn't come. I bit my lip as the bleeding continued. I pressed my hand to the cut, shaking my head. I attempted to wash the wound with the running shower before turning it off, stepping out, wrapping a towel around my waist, and examining it through the mirror. My damp hair fell into my face, the bangs covering my eyes that began to sting with unwanted tears.

"Kai?" 

I turned my head to see Mark, his hair disheveled, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand before he saw the crimson that dripped along my side. I couldn't identify my own reaction as his own eyes grew wide at the sight, stepping to me and reaching for it, but I pulled away, "Get out of here." 

"But Kai, what-" 

"That's none of your concern."

I traced his eyesight to my trophies, his hand reaching forward towards it before I jerked away once again, "Mark. This has nothing to do with you." 

"You've done it more than once. Let me help you." 

I glared at him, I knew the tone in his voice, it was one that held charity, one that felt sorry for me, one that didn't understand, one that won't ever understand, "No." 

"Kai."

"I said 'no.' " 

Mark shook his head before he roughly grabbed me and pulled me towards him, the sharp tug causing a sting to my wound that made me fall into him.

I blinked as I realized that his arms were around me, the warmth momentarily stalling my reaction, but I soon wiggled in his arms, struggling to get loose, but the more I struggled, the more he tightened his grasp around me, giving me the feeling as if I were surrounded by quick sand or a Chinese finger trap. I tried as much as I could to push him off of me before I felt him tighten once more around me, making me lose my strength and room to fight him off. 

"You're safe." 

Safe? 

What did he know of safety?

What did he know about me?

Who I was? Where I was from? 

Who the hell was he to claim that I was safe, when in all reality, I was the farthest away from safety than I had ever been before? He didn't know who or what I was, he didn't know anything. He didn't know what it felt like to have no brushes, no colors, no half-filled canvas. He knew nothing, he was just an idiot. A man who was the apple of so many people's eyes, I was only the small seed in an apple, one that everyone said would one day turn into an apple tree, but would always remain a pointless seed with no future.

"You matter, Kai."

I scoffed, "What do you know." I shoved him off and away from me, visual hurt on his face, making me roll my eyes, "You don't know anything about me." Mark shook his head,

"I might not be good at art, but I'm good with people, and I can tell you're more than what you see yourself as." 

I raised a brow and swatted his hand away as he attempted to aid my cut, "I am nothing, Mark, don't pretend you know anything about me. You don't know my story." 

"I don't need to know your story, all I have to know is you have a bright future ahead of you." 

I laughed obnoxiously, "A bright future? You sound just like everyone else." 

"Kai, don't compare me to others when you, yourself don't know." His tone had become low and serious, making me smirk in intrigue at the sudden tone change, 

"Oh? Did I strike a chord?" 

He gritted his teeth together roughly, "Kai, you're not the only one who's had it rough. Everyone goes through tough times, you just have to learn to push past it and deal with it properly."

"Oh? Are you going to be my parent? Are you going to pretend to care for me like everyone and eventually leave me behind and act like I'm nothing? Are you going to help paint my canvas?" 

He blinked as I suddenly became emotional, tears suddenly stinging the backs of my eyes as he cupped my cheeks, "Kai, calm down. I don't understand what you're saying..." He played with my hair gently, petting at my locks to make me involuntarily relax. He hushed me softly, "Whatever it is, we'll work through it, okay?" 

I shook my head, "Mark, you don't understand."

"I understand that you've been alone for a long time, and that you have lost hope." I glanced at him, falling quiet at his proper observation. He filed his fingers through my hair, sighing softly, "I recently came out to my father, and he kicked me out of the house. That's how I ended up coming to this university. Before my mother passed away, she knew I was gay, and wanted me to live happily. So I chose to tell my father, but he didn't approve. I moved here to get away from my family. So, I know what it feels like to feel alone and as if no one has your side."

I glanced at him and bit the inside of my cheek before he continued, "Honestly, my professor didn't say anything about the project. You striked my interest and I used the project as an excuse to get close to you. Everyone said you were quiet and had always been strange; but they're clueless. You're just as normal as anyone else, people now just don't have the heart to take the time to help paint your canvas and provide the colors you need to fill your life with happiness." His hand cupped one of my cheeks, tilting my face up to look him in the eyes, confusion present on my features, "I understand, Kai, and I want to be one of those colors, one of the brushes to help you make your masterpiece."

For an idiot, he was quite smart.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips after a long silence, and before I knew it, I found myself pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. I pulled away quickly before he could enjoy the extent of it, a trace of a pout left on his lips after I pulled away, "Will you help me with this?" 

I revealed the cut to him by removing my hand, blood staining my palm, dry blood covering my side in a mess of crimson, "Of course." 

After a few minutes, the cut had been cleaned and wrapped properly, and we were sitting quietly on the couch, the leather glueing itself to the back of my thighs due to my still slightly damp legs. Silence settled between us before I found myself in Mark's arms, my head resting in his chest where I felt and heard his first heartbeat against my own.

And, before my eyes,

my first brush appeared after years of absense,

and, all at once,

all the colors were available to paint the last of my blank canvas.