A year passes and life illuminates, at least she thinks it did. Her parents rarely argue at the table, even maintaining an almost civil conversation. Father got a big promotion, and she got fancy ballet shoes in return. Mum appears satisfied as well, leaving the house more often and coming back with big bags of frilly clothing. All in all, Sohee is pleased, and when summer ends and a new school year begins she even arrives a little early.

First grade is exactly like Kindergarten except it’s worse. She now has to walk farther, because the First grade classrooms are near the cubic bungalows located near the teacher’s parking lot in the back of the campus. They also lose the large classroom with wider desks and the little playground just for them, replaced by two by two tables and a shared recess with other grades. To put it plainly, Sohee is not impressed in the slightest.

If there were just two things that she would say she likes, the first would be the star chart. If you are able to tie your shoes successfully, Mr. Lee would write your name on a rectangular sticker and put it in on the board. To her great pride, she is able to say that she is the first name on the wall, having been forced to learn how to tie her shoes since her parents were unable to find time to do it for her. The second thing she likes is Mr. Lee, her teacher. He is Korean too, and when she is struggling, he explains it to her in their shared language. As a person with little commitments, he also finds the time during recess and lunch to sit beside her and work on her English. It is better, but she still prefers not to speak.

Sometimes he asks her if she wants to join the rest of the class in playing tag in the field. She always declines.

“I prefer being here,” she says.

He nods unbelievingly, and asks if she’d like to grade papers. She accepts, and that is her definition of fun. Her definition of friendship; friendship is a mutual understanding between two people, undeterred by age.

Today isn't particularly exciting, not many days were, but this moment is especially bland in her opinion. Mr. Lee places sheets of paper in front of all of them along with various tubes of crayola paint—a horrible idea, she’ll think later as an adult—and tells them to draw a picture of what they love the most. It was an in-throw-speck-chin activity, he says with conviction. She doesn't understand how art involves any of those words, so she thinks this project is a complete pile of rubbish anyhow.

The stupid project also requires that the students work in partners, a factor she'd never come to enjoy, and her teacher allows them to pick their own companions, another aspect she dislikes. Needless to say, she becomes the only one partnerless. Mr. Lee is about to assign her to a random pair when a comet blasts through the door.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, sir!" the comet shouts, bursting in with flair. Students chuckle at his exuberant entrance. He continues hurriedly. "I was watching the new One Piece episode last night, and I swear I was only going to watch one, but then I watched the next, but I lost track of time and—"

Mr. Lee sighs deeply, then gestures for the fiery blaze to come closer. His hands rest lightly on his hips "Taehyung—"

"Tae, not Taehyung!" the blinding boy interrupts.

"Okay, Tae. We're doing a partner project and since you're late, you're going to be working with Sohee here." Her teacher waves his large hand in her general direction. Then, he bends his knees and says pointedly, "Don't. Mess. Around."

With that, Mr. Lee leaves to supervise the other children. She stares at her classmate cautiously.

'Tae, not Taehyung' scrutinizes her curiously, then smiles—a square, beaming smile that stretches across his flushed cheeks with a twinkle. "Sup!" he greets merrily, then strolls toward their desk. He places his Power Ranger backpack onto the back of his chair and plops himself beside her.

Scribbling on the white sheet of paper before them, she informs him quietly, mindful of her pronunciation, "We're going to draw what we love most."

Tae nods, not minding the way she slurs around certain syllables, getting excited. "Cool! I wanna draw the red power ranger!" She blinks, and gives him the tube of red paint without another word. He takes it and pops it open, some excess spraying the air. Some of it lands on her shirt, but she pays it no heed. Tae doesn't either. "Do you like the Power Rangers? I love the Power Rangers What's your favorite? I already said it, but I like red. He's the coolest. That's why my hair's red right now."

Obeying her teacher's instruction, she ignores Tae's comments, selecting a bright pink shade and an ebony black pigment, focused on drawing her parents. The brush she uses is frayed, but it is perfect for capturing the bushy beard of Father. However, it became harder to use when she had to capture Mother's smooth hair of midnight.

Tae begins talking again. "I never see you around, you know. I mean, of course I see you, but I don't see you, during the breaks and shtuff. I think you live across from me, because I saw a moving truck here a long while ago. Where are you from?"

He speaks too fast, she can barely process his words, so it’s better for her not to reply at all. She ignores him to the best of her ability, even shifting a little to the left, careful of touching wet paint. Despite an array of marks already decorating her white blouse and pale face, her thin legs are tucked underneath her, wary of harming her shoes. If even a speck marks them, she is sure she'll get a mouthful from Father.

There is an exaggerated sigh, a few mumbling, and then he gasps. "Are you even from America?" he says in choppy korean.

She side-eyes him, not knowing what to do, but his eyes are so imploring, and his smile is contagious, so she lets out a soft, “No.” And that is the extent she desires their exchange to reach, but it is like adding fuel to a fire, and Tae pushes his chair closer to her, chattering again, but this time in poorly structured korean.

She dismisses him, and resumes her work. They reach an equilibrium.

Sohee gets as far as hair and clothing before she needs some green for the background. Avoiding the little lumps of rainbow barf scattered across the carpet floor, she maneuvers herself around to the supply table to pick out the perfect tone.

"Are you gonna get new colors?" Tae asks behind her. She hears a shuffle of construction papers, a chair scraping across the tiled floor, and a voice following it. "Oh—um—wait, lemme come along!"

And that's when it happens—with a clatter, a trip, and a brilliant tint of blazing fire red spilling across the plains of her vision.

Her partner falls before her feet, tripping on his untied shoelaces. The tubes he is holding in his hands crash to the floor, prompting him to squeeze. The contents burst all over the frumpy texture of the ground, staining her new flats.

Sohee freezes, her entire body stiffening. Cat-like eyes fixate on her shoes. The groan beneath her and the shrieks of surprise around her barely register.

Tae clambers onto his feet, doe eyes wide and sincerely regretful. "Oh, gosh, Sohee, I'm so sorry!"

The apology is white noise to her ears, her attention focuses on the paint ruining everything Father worked for. Possessed by her rampant emotions, Sohee pops the cap of her pink paint, swiftly directing it over Tae's head. Without a single ounce of remorse, she clutches the tube as hard as she can, letting it fall. Gooey fuschia drips from the container, to his red hair, and down his face in a slimy waterfall of pink.

Tae gasps. The class gasps. And Sohee glares.

With an unnerving calm contrary to his happy-go-lucky facade, Tae reaches out next to him, grabbing the green she wanted, and with an innocent tilt of lips, pours it down the front of her shirt. Enraged by his action and enraged by the incident before, Sohee squeezes a mountain of black paint onto her hand, and with little contemplation, presses it against the boy's face, wiping it across his nose, traveling to the nape of his neck.

Another gasp, and a yell for the teacher, but by now, the two don't care.

Magenta. Lime. Scarlet. Peach. Yellow. Orange. Blue. Green. White. Black.

They push their hands on each other, using the fabrics of their clothing as a canvas, their fingers as brushes, a masterful calamity. Colors splatter onto benign desks as they roll together across the classroom, staining posters and their classmates' sneakers, but all they could see was their illustration and the convoluted artistry they’re creating—a childish portrait of youthful fury.

Sohee manages to give Tae a fluorescent orange facial before a shadow covers the duo in a dark veil.

They still, staring upward guiltily.

Mr. Lee towers above them, tall and brooding, a face of thunder. He yanks the two out of the goop and points toward the door with a scarlet face. "Main Office. Now."

Sohee s her crayon into the standard coloring book harshly, her paint-crusted hands crackling under the dynamic movement. A smear of purple dirties the page, trailing her furious imprint.

They are waiting for their parents to pick them up, a letter from the principal taped to their chest, forced to occupy themselves with the variety of children's books placed on the desk. Tae sits beside her silently, picking at his red-orange-black hair, fidgeting in his seat.

Anxiousness is not an emotion she had expected, given the multiple instances where Tae had gotten into fights with other students and had to be sent home. If anything, this incident will only put another blemish on his spotted record. Not that she cares, mind you.

Nudging himself a little closer, Tae draws a sharp intake of breath. "Hey, Sohee, I—"

She coldly cuts him off. "I’m coloring."

The boy nibbles on his lip and looks down at his own coloring book, then peers at hers. Every movement he makes comes with a twitch and a shake. She ignores him, but his eyes keep shifting to her nervously. His fingers tap obnoxiously on the wood, a methodical beat that drummed in tune to the incessant ticking of the clock. Internally, Sohee wonders when it is time to leave, so she can get her scolding over with. Briefly, the subtle noise of crayons scratching on paper fills the silence before Tae his lips and tries again.

"I'm sorry about your shoes," he says quickly, almost incoherent, afraid to be interrupted.

Sohee glances at him once and not again.

He grows louder, body poised to rise. "I am, really! I'm sorry!" The volume of his declaration attracts rueful stares from the desk ladies.

She paused in her activity, glaring at him. "Be quiet. You want us to go on time out tomorrow?"

Tae flushes. "Well—no, but—"

"Then, leave me alone," she hisses.

Obviously, he doesn't know how to take a hint for Tae fidgets, and shifts his head closer to her to scan her drawing. In a spark of random nonsense, he blurts, "You should make the giraffe purple."

Sohee rolls her eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her response, but instinctively needs to express her opinion. There’s something about this boy that inspires her to reply, and she hates it. "Why don't I make the grass yellow too while I'm at it?" she mumbles sarcastically.

The other brightens, at what and why, she doesn't know, but it seems to spur Tae into scooching his chair closer to hers, allowing the edges to touch. "Yeah! And make the sun green!"

To be stuck with a person so obnoxious, so incorrigible, left Sohee staring agape, having never met anyone so dense in her life. Maybe dense is not the word, but persistent is. She purses her bowed lips, and did the only thing she could do—take out another crayon. "Then the sky better be pink."

A glimpse of a teeth with one missing incisor shows itself with all of it's absent glory. "You betcha!"

And they color together in the white office tarnished with the faint scent of hand sanitizer and old lady.

"Red-orange," Sohee insists, gesticulating wildly. "It looks nice with the pink sky."

Tae shakes his head. "The giraffe is already orange, why do you need to add more? Just do red like the red power ranger!"

"You always go back to the red power ranger!" she argues.

He sticks his tongue out. "Nuh-uh!"

A sweet bell chimes behind them, signaling the arrival of a visitor. Sohee puts her crayon down and twists her body to look behind her. Although expecting their presence, her heart drops to her stomach. Standing tall, prim, and poised are her parents. They overshadow the miniature chairs like giants, glaring sharply at Sohee and even sharper at Tae.

Mother faces her first, anger dripping. "A referral? You got a referral? I raised you to be a proper child and you repay me by getting in trouble. I had to cancel a trip to the salon for this!"

Father takes the more confrontational choice of observing Tae distastefully. "We'll wait for his parents to discuss these… matters."

She lowers her head, nodding. The pleasant atmosphere that had once occupied the office freezes over, leaving an arctic tundra that strikes her silent. She feels her companion nudge her shoulder softly, but she refuses to grant him access to her attention. If her parents sees her fraternize, they might worsen the punishment at home. For the remaining few minutes, only the dotty typing of the computer echoes throughout the room. All the while, Tae's eyebrows are drawn together, his lips forming a contemplative pout.

Finally, two men enter. One is small and compact with a kind face that held storms behind the mask. The other is a little scary with bright blond hair and piercings littering his ear. A wisp of a tattoo disappeared into his clothing. Sohee would've been intimidated if not for the fact that the man holds a flowery box of cake in his hands.

Tae blinks, and staring at the two men, smiles. "Hi, dad! Papa!"

She finds it strange he addresses his father twice, but the thought is soon dispelled when the short man bounds up to them and tugs on Tae's cheek. "Don't papa me. This is the second fight this school year. You think you have unlimited passes?"

A question sparks in her mind. Tae looks nothing like the petite man. In fact, he looks extraordinarily like the tall man standing cautiously to the side, having the same face shape and eye structure. With a frown, her eyes shift from the man to her newfound friend (that’s what they are, right?).

In the corner of the room, her parents stiffen, and slowly, they make their way to her.

Sohee tries really hard not to laugh when Tae groans, his mouth muffled. "Papa! Not now, do it at home! Sohee's here!"

"Sohee?" The short man's gaze trails to her, and it softens. "Hello. You must be the other student. I'm Taehyung’s—"

“It’s Tae!”

The man glares. “You are whatever I say you are! Anyways, I’m Taehyung’s dad, Baekhyun.” Tae frowns and leans forward, cupping his hands around his father's ears. His father's eyebrows knit together, and when he turns back to her, he repeats himself in Korean. Tae winks behind him, but she doesn't acknowledge him.

Instead, she stares at the dark eyeliner tracing the man's lids. "Hello. I-I like your makeup," she says in her best English.

Baekhyun’s face transforms into that of shock before it melts into a beauteous composition of pink porcelain and white pearls. The scary man with the pretty box approaches her parents, who had huddled closer together. She didn't even realize how much closer they had gotten. "I'm so sorry about Taehyung's behavior. I want to say this doesn't happen often, but I can't. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?"

A rough hand clamps on her shoulder, tightening as if to move her away from the scary man. "No, it's fine." He tugs on her wrist hard, forcing her to stand. "Just some kids having fun, no big deal."

"Well, I'm Daehyun, and really, if you need anything you should—"

"We really should be going," Father interrupts coldly. "How unfortunate the circumstances we met."

Daehyun's face falls, and Baekhyun walks forward, reaching out to hold the other man's hand. He lifts his head to stare at Father directly, an icy glacier that threatens to impale. "Indeed."

The gears turn in Sohee's head—the closeness, the two fathers, the disdain—and opens at the revelation. Unconsciously, the grip she wraps around her backpack tightens, and she searches for Tae for confirmation. Still sitting on the chair, she locks eyes with him, and he’s frowning, teeth nibbling his lower lip as though he was… worried? The emotion seems foreign on the perpetually bright face of his, as though he'd be devastated if she disapproved.

Steel hardening her soul, Sohee makes a silent decision. She straightens her back. "I'll see you next week, Tae." She meets him with a steady heart and a steady gaze.

Tae's mouth is ajar, and soon a dazzling smile replaces the gloomy, dreading expression. A similar expression is reflected in his parents, and finally she sees the collective similarity. Having gathered confidence from her acknowledgement, he pushes himself off his seat, and pushes their drawing into her hands. Teasingly, he whispers, "Don't miss me too much."

She huffs, tucking the doodle into her skirt pocket. "As if!"

Daehyun and Baekhyun relax at the casual banter, but her parents harden, and roughly edge her toward the door. The walk to the car is silent, not that she expects anything else, but once they enter the car, the insults spew like an erupting volcano.

"I knew the child had to come from one of them!" Mother rants. "No other type of parent could've done so otherwise. Such savages. Did you see his hair? Who lets their child have red hair? What a damn mess, those—" She releases an extremely offensive slur that had Sohee burying into the seat uncomfortably.

"You better stay away from that Taehyung boy," Father lectures suddenly. "It wouldn't do you any good to be surrounded by him and his kind."

"Of course, Father," she replies obediently.

Mother addresses her too. "Didn't that spawn hand you a paper?"

Her feet rest against her backpack. Sohee treads carefully. "Yes, Ma'am."

Mother sneers. "Throw it in the trash when you get home. I'd rather you not get contaminated."

"Yes, Ma'am."

And the talk is over.

Before Sohee goes to sleep, she draws the paper from her book bag and meticulously folds the drawing in half, storing it in the bottom drawer of her desk.

~
Sometimes the best gestures of friendship are not characterized by grand declaration of forever or emotional therapy, but comprised of small acts that remind you that it's worth it.

~

I'm bringing back some relatively old jokes, starting with the Hyun family.

I've been feeling kind of melancholic, BAP used to be my favorite boy group, and nostalgia seemed to grasp me during my writing. Initially I was deliberating whether or not to put Rap Monster and Jin as his parents, but then I'd lose the opportunity to make them friends. I think the Daehyun flashbacks influenced my decision the most though.

And finally, they collide, with an explosion of colors nonetheless. The meeting between me and my best friend was not nearly as exciting, it was slow, it was natural, and it was a measured result. I could've done that, a gradual transition that ended with them thinking "oh, so this is what it is" but honestly, I didn't have enough confidence to portray in a way that did it justice. i.e. I couldn't think of a way to make it interesting. I have not achieved that level of literary mastery yet, and I don't believe I will.