I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things.
-Tom Waits

I leave grandma’s house at eight the next day. I plug in my headphones and take the subway, because I don’t want to call Taemin to come pick me up.

I cannot travel on public transport without my expensive, noise-blocking, bulky headphones. It would make me go insane. The extreme noises- screeching, whispering, clanking, shuffling- it would bring so many colours before my eyes that I would probably go blind.

Well, maybe not, but who knows? I don’t want to risk it.

The headphones are a total fashion-kill, but I have no choice.

Today, I’m playing an orange song. It brings ribbons of colour before my eyes, and blocks out the outside. I get my ticket from the machine and hop onto the subway. There are no free seats, so I have to stand.

The people around me shuffle and move around. Their mouths open and close with conversation I cannot hear. They carry sleek, dark briefcases and wear suits. I stick out like a sore thumb in my black skinny jeans and pastel pink tee.

I glance at my watch- it’s almost nine a.m.

Then I notice another bright blue t-shirt in the sea of black, white and streaks of orange. The blue contrasts with the swirls of orange, and it almost looks like a reverse sunset on a beach- a sea of sunshine and a sun of waves.

The owner of the t-shirt is wearing headphones, but they’re not made for noise-cancellation like mine are. He taps his foot to the beat pounding through his ears, and plays a tune on his thigh as if it was a piano. He murmurs along to the lyrics like I do.

I find myself staring at his ease, the way he’s so comfortable in his skin. I could never be like that. I’d always be forcing myself to stop staring at the colours and pay attention to the sounds instead.

But he’s wholly, unapologetically into the music. 

To me, music is a distraction. It’s a way to make the colours more predictable and sober.

Suddenly, he looks up, as if sensing my gaze on him. He catches my eye.

I hold my breath.

When he looks into my eyes, the orange recedes. For the first time in my life, I don’t see any colour.

*

I bump into Taemin as I make my way up the stairs. He’s dressed in his usual tee and track-pants.

“Hyung,” He smiles at me. His voice is the usual pretty coral. “Were you okay last night?”

“Yes, Tae,” I say. “I was okay. Where are you headed?”

“Practice,” He says tightly. His voice shifts to a weird plum colour. I’ve never seen this colour on Taemin before. At the corner of my vision, the patterns shimmer and thump like a heartbeat-Taemin’s heartbeat.

“You’re lying to me, Tae,” I say bluntly. “Why?”

His eyes widen.

“Hy-hyung-”

“Just tell me, Taeminnie.” I say in a dangerous tone that scares even me. “Where are you going?”

Taemin’s lower lip juts out in the most adorable pout ever.

“Fine, hyung!” He whines. “I’m going to meet a guy, okay?” His voice changes back to the coral I’m used to.

I perk up. “What guy?” I ask.

“Nobody.” Taemin says. He’s blushing. His voice is sienna.

“Okay, Tae, you can tell me when you want to. Just- be careful, okay?”

“Okay!” He smacks a kiss on my cheek and wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry I tried to lie to you. He’s a good guy, I promise.” Taemin whispers in my ear. I ruffle his hair and he smiles at me before heading off.

I unlock my door, and it’s a grey clink.

Just as I’m about to step in, the comfortable pink shifts to a sick vomit-coloured green.

“Kibum!” I hear my next-door neighbour call out. My stomach churns. I hate this colour.

“Mrs Cho,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

Mrs Cho has been my next door neighbour for as long as I can remember. She’s probably lived here since the building was new. Her house and her voice is always that sick green colour. I hate it more than any other colour.

“Where are you coming from, Bummie?” She asks me, coming too close for comfort.

“Home, Mrs Cho.”

“Home? But this is your home!” she says. Mrs Cho has a slight case of Alzheimer’s.

“My grandma’s home, Mrs Cho.”

“But she’s dead!”

I grit my teeth.

“I know, Mrs Cho.”

“Why are you going to a dead woman’s home?”

“Because I want to, Mrs