Slight Homophobic Slurs at end

~

One must believe in the perfectibility of man—a relatively well-known sentiment shared by acclaimed author, John Steinbeck, coined firstly during his Nobel prize speech. This statement is not the actual quote, for the actual quote is too long and too targeted towards the literary audience to be accurately applicable, but the general gist of the theme should still be easily grasped for the average joe. Humanity must have faith in each other for there to be even a cent of hope for an idealistic future to foster. If you perceive it in the right light, it can also be interpreted as maintaining faith in yourself. You have to believe in the perfectibility of your own being. Because while to be human is to make mistakes, to be human is to also learn from them, and to grow as a person.

Adaptability. Maturity. Understanding.

And Sohee is having her first  taste of them in third grade.

It is the middle of August when school decides to revive, and it’s a red-orange month, breaching the faded yellowness of Fall but just stained enough with crimson to reflect the inner frustration of returning to the classroom. Sohee feels it especially, for the summer was not too kind to her, consequently relinquishing her positivity towards the next season. Not to mention, Taehyung is in her class, because the school board likes to accept recommendations for organizing the kids’ classes, and no one gave Mr. Lee the memo that this year would be different.

She doesn't know where her and Tae—Taehyung stand anymore.

A pang shoots through Sohee’s chest for some unfathomable reason and she blames it on the egregious amount of Coca Cola consumed at Recess.

It doesn't bother her that she is no longer Taehyung’s top priority, she is used to it. It doesn't bother her that he chats more with his new group mates than he does seek her attention, that is natural. It doesn't bother her at all, but she can’t ignore the solemn emptiness scratching at her like that itch a person gets when they forget something but they don’t remember what, except it’s ten times worse.

But she can’t attribute it to her (friend? acquaintance? classmate?) because what he does not concern her like how what she does should not concern him.

And if Sohee’s chest heats up a bit when he sends her the occasional glance, well, it’s easier to shove the responsibility on Coca Cola for being instrumental to her early stages of heartburn.

Honestly, she's not even angry anymore, not that she was anything more than uncomfortable in the first place, just awkward, to the point where if Taehyung even turned his head in her general direction, she'd take measured steps to maneuver out of his path. She's petty and clumsy with words, and she has found a new habit of hiding in the restroom during breaks to avoid interaction, but she's eight years old and she's allowed to flounder.

   

It is impossible to avoid the inevitable. Taehyung, for the short amount of time Sohee has known him, has always been as determined as a provoked bull. When big kid John Stephens bet that the young korean boy couldn’t run the grass field in under two minutes, the latter bulked up for an entire week and with an enraptured audience present, he tumbled through the challenge in exactly fifty-two seconds. He earned a strawberry-flavored gogurt, two fruit-by-the-foot, and a shining reputation as the new top dog of second grade. By third grade, there wasn’t a kid who didn’t know his name.

He is strange, a little out of this world, but he carries a fire in him that burns steadily. Contrary to popular belief, he is not an idiot. He’s pretty intelligent and paired with his diligent attitude, it makes for quite the dangerous combination. That’s why he is able to approach her so readily.

A month had passed, and the faded autumn leaves have long bedecked the thin sidewalks and poorly-trimmed grass field. Children of all ages have gathered outdoors to celebrate such an occasion, shoving net-like leaves into an ill-proportioned pile to jump in, and pocketing orange treasures to make a mess of the classroom later on. Soon, there is a contest for who can create the largest mountain, and while almost everyone participates, of course Sohee and the kids who have allergies do not engage in the festivities.

She’s lounging on a bench, absorbed in her thoughts, when a presence makes itself known beside her. “Hi,” they say politely with that accented korean.

Sohee stiffens. She recognizes them instantly. With her head down, and hands tightening, she stares at her shoes. When the body sits next to her, she tries not to shiver.

“Not playing?” Taehyung asks in her silence.

It’s so hard to articulate words when the elephant in the room is swinging its trunk wildly, pounding earthquakes with its gargantuan feet. This is too casual, and she could never do casual, so she makes the barest noise, a cross between a grunt and a whimper, and makes a pointed look his way.

Taehyung nods at her, deciphering the paragraph written in the air of her diffidence. (Why are you here?). He wasn’t always this adept at drawing conclusions from her vague sounds, but he tries.

He shrugs in response. “I didn’t really feel like joining them.” He’s fiddling with his sweater string, his lips even though his dad makes him carry chapstick everyday. “It’s because I want to talk with you. It’s about Summer. ” Sly, so sly.

“I don’t want to talk,” Sohee says, and it’s the first words she has murmured in weeks. “I want to be alone, please.” I don’t want you to confront me, she means. Because that means reopening old wounds. That means addressing the root of why they argued. Taehyung is the embodiment of the lasso of truth, and nothing is over with him. He is a constant array of concern, and she can’t handle it.

He doesn’t flinch, instead taking her verbal response as a form of encouragement. “No, we can’t just let it go as though nothing happened!”

Sohee gets over the tremors to look him in the eyes. “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends.”

He holds the staredown she initiated. Sohee nibbles her bottom lip, and counting to three, runs to the girls bathroom. She hears an exasperated sigh, but that’s okay. She’s gone.

 

Anyone else would've gotten the message, but clearly actions do not always speak louder than words for in this particular case, it only gets worse.

“Hello, Ms. Cicarelli, I can’t see the board! I think I need to sit closer to the front!” Taehyung insists, balancing on his chair with his knees, so she could see him better.

Their teacher frowns in disbelief. “But you were fine yesterday.”

“Yeah, that was yesterday. Today I’m blind!”

Sohee wants to bang her head on the table repeatedly. It is plain to her that the boy is trying to snag a seat near her by faking his sight problems, and although normally she wouldn’t be so worried as there’d be an extremely low chance of him landing directly beside her, there is a huge problem. Tiffany Hwang is her deskmate, and a relatively nice one at that who mostly ignored her in favor of writing notes to her best friend, Taeyeon, who sat in the back of the room and coincidentally, right next to Taehyung.

“I can trade with him, ma’am!” Tiffany volunteers cheerily.

At the same time, Taehyung collapses on his desk, clutching his eyes. “Ah! It’s getting worse by the second! I really need to move! Slowly… going… dark… ” A chorus of students support his antics with cooing noises and shouts of enthusiasm towards his relocation.

Overwhelmed, Ms. Cicarelli is compelled to obey the request. “Alright then, just pack your bags.”

He immediately drops the act, picking up his backpack and making his way to the front. Sohee swears she sees a piece of gum discreetly transfer from his hand to Tiffany’s: the worst temptation known to man.

“Sup, groupie,” Taehyung greets as he settles next to her. She ignores him.

 

Everyday since that day, he has ‘subtly’ passed her poorly folded notes urging their need to talk it out like they do in the movies as though anything on screen reflected reality. Everyday since that day, she has ignored every one. But the messages somehow manage to find their way into her sweater pockets, her socks, in her hair, and on the weirder occasions, have been handed to her directly by the lunch lady as she received her daily slop.

Again, Taehyung passes her a note in the middle of their English test: TALK TO ME WOMAN.

She passes a note back: STOP SENDING NOTES MAN.

Sohee receives thirteen that day.

 

(Despite her outward disregard, she collects the little papers and shoves them in her lunchbox when he is not looking. Taehyung is in fact looking when she does this. He grins, and grits his teeth a bit more.)

 

His actions gradually escalate in ridiculousness, his persistence shining through thoroughly. He persists and Sohee can’t comprehend why. It’s not noticeable, but then again it is, because the loudest messages are wrapped with meaning, not grandiosity. Because he tries everyday and often, but never pries too far. He’s just there, a reminder, constantly reminding her that he is open. Reminds her with nudges to the shoulder and jolly ranchers under the table.

Talk to me. Even though she is the one who ran away. Talk to me. Even though she’s so uncomfortable, and they’ll never get along. Not while he’s him, bravery in a body, and she’s she, who’s dictionary lacks the word courage.

“Do you want to talk today?” Taehyung asks again like a broken record. Not monotonous, but ever present with that initial fervor.

“I—” she starts. She shakes her head. She ends.

She may not know courage, but Sohee can define yearning and the overwhelming insecurity that comes with it.

 

The walk home is dreary. The tangerine leaves which had buried the desolate streets in a sea of copper have journeyed passed Gaea’s abyss to assemble a golden staircase for Persephone’s descent. In her steps, camellias grew, In her shadows, the winds howled and left trees shivering. It is called Winter, and it is a product of love. Sohee understands that love is selfish. Because Hades loves Persephone, he is willing to throw the mortal world into a famine. He is willing to throw away the affection of his sister, Demeter, if it meant keeping her daughter at his side. There is no happy ending, only compromise.

At a table with three plates, three sets of chopsticks, but only one beating heart, it is true. A little girl stays there on the wooden chair until eight o’ clock. Her thighs ache, but her parents come home, and join her at the table.

“How is school?” Father questions.

“I’m doing fine,” she replies.

“How are your grades?”

“They are fine.”

“Have you made any new friends?” Mother pitches in this time.

Sohee hesitates. “Of course.”

“With the right people?” The implication is there, and it is stark against the absence of noise that aded their dinner regularly.

A boxy smile. Lazy eyes. Searching hands. Shared lunches. Rooftops. “… Of course.”

The conversation ends. For some reason, Sohee can’t breathe. She shoves a spoonful of soup into . It is bland.

 

“Do you want to talk today?” Taehyung repeats.

She ignores him, taking out her math homework. Be with the right people. And she isn’t right. He isn’t right. They are both wrong and double negatives are only positive in math. Love is selfish, and she loves her parents.

 

(She hasn’t considered if she loves him.)

 

ARE YOU READY TO TALK TODAY, his note reads. She receives a dozen that day and more, but she doesn’t keep any of them. A paper in her hair is brushed off. Notes in her sweater pockets collect wool. Bit by bit, part by part, his smile chips.

 

When Taehyung comes to school after the weekend ends, he flinches as he sits down. Sohee can see the bruises littering his tan knees, forming irises where the black and blue meet. But when he beams at her, and approaches her again, she brushes it all off as a little roughhousing in the playground. She shouldn’t have.

“Do you want to talk today?” he asks without avail.

Sohee does not grant him her attention. He sighs, but continues upon his work.

 

Weeks pass, and although the boy mimics his typical sentence, the zest begins to wane. At the same time, the little scratches and violet marks which mar his golden skin continue to climb in quantity. They used to be small—polka dots sprinkled here and there—but now they soar across his arms, wrapping around his thighs in beaded vines.

The teacher doesn’t find anything wrong. Taehyung always gets into fights. He’s always getting injured. Still, Sohee shrivels up in worry. The light in his eyes seems dimmer each time she encounters him again, but she can’t find it in herself to ask. She’s too scared to.

“Do you want to talk today?” Taehyung asks with a smile, but the corners of his lips cringe. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Of course she wants to talk, but she can’t. It’s not her place, she tells herself. So, Sohee tilts her head down, focusing on her paper, on the board, on any object but the newest scar that impaired his chin.

 

To most children, Taehyung is unstoppable. A truly impeccable child with three dodgeball tournaments under his belt, a knack for handball, and overflowing charisma that reassured everybody following his lead. It’s a terrible misleadance of which Sohee has fallen privy to over the course of their shaky relationship, and will continue to fall for as time lengthens itself.

In fact, he is not unstoppable. He is not much of anything but a third grader, and third graders have as many fears as an adult or a newborn baby. He fancies himself a big boy, however, and doesn’t believe in his own weakness. Yet, fears easily form facades. He finds himself wearing longer and longer clothing which drape over his knees and slide past his wrists.

It’s the end of Winter, and the snow begins to fall, and he has never been more thankful.

“Tae-Tae, the food is done!” Tae hears his father belt from the bottom of the stairs.

He winces as he pulls a sweater over his head, irritating his last injury. “I’m coming!” he hollers before he hastens to the kitchen. The tasteful aroma of slightly burnt sausages and broken yolk tickle him, but he can’t find it in himself to respond.

Baekhyun is in the kitchen, flipping one last egg before dumping it on a plate. He carefully lifts three plates at once and meanders to the table on wobbly legs. Luckily, Daehyun takes notice of his husband’s struggle and helps the breakfast reach their destination.

Halfway through the meal, Daehyun notices how his son was merely picking at his rice. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you eating?”

Tae shrugs. “I’m not really that hungry.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I wasn’t hungry yesterday either.”

Baekhyun looked up sternly. “Eat your food.” When Taehyung slightly turns, he raises his fork. “Now. C’mon. Stop acting up.”

Tae whimpers. “I just don’t wanna eat, dad.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t answer, only staring at his sleeves as though they held the world’s best nintendo game.

Daehyun and Baekhyun exchange a worried glance, and finally Daehyun finishes his meal with a deep sigh, an exhale that carried his concern in the willowy decibel. “Is something happening to you at school? What’s wrong? You can tell us anything…”

No, no he can’t. Not this.

“Taehyung, you know if you’re ever having trouble, you can come to us.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Tae spits out, almost too quick. “Just… can we go to school now?”

Baekhyun frowns, glancing at the clock. “It’s only 7:15.”

Tae bounces in his seat impatiently. “I wanna go a little earlier today.”

The couple again exchanges a conversation with their eyes, but after a few seconds, the contact breaks, more than a few words passing between them. Baekhyun rises from his seat. “Fine, let’s go to school. Grab your backpack and we’ll go.”

It’s quiet as the pair drive to school, Taehyung refusing to talk and Baekhyun simmering in something that wasn’t quite anger. In the stillness of the atmosphere, Taehyung is reminded of Sohee and her coldness. His newest attempts have brought no fruits. Her blatant disregard somehow stings more than it should. Cheer up, he tries to tell himself, but her disinterest makes him waiver. It’s as though he is in the arctic tundra, climbing up a mountain with no gear, no grip. Although he feels for her a strange sense of duty that tangles them together, he cannot swim below zero before frostbite beckons him to retract.

Their arrival at school breaks his reverie, and Taehyung unbuckles his seatbelt. A strong hand circles his wrist. “Taehyungie.” He flinches, but turns around.

“What—”

Warm lips press his left brow. Baekhyun leans back into the driver’s seat, but his hand that’s not on the wheel comes to caress his son’s cheek. “I love you, okay. You have to tell me when you’re in trouble, if you’re in trouble.”

His stomach churns. The stinging burn of tears line his lower lid. “I-I will.” I won’t.

And there he stands, watching as their car, a black Toyota 4runner with a broken handle, becomes a dot where the sky met the Earth. Shakily, he moves his legs inside the school where barely anyone resided for no one was eager to attend too early. He scans around quickly, trying to find a place to hide, but before he could even shift, hands clutch at his collar. Two other pairs shackle his forearms. Taehyung doesn’t even try to resist as they pull him out of the school and towards a back alley behind the convenience store across the street.

A kid taller than him, stockier than him, shoves him against a wall. “You think that because you come to school a little earlier, you’d be able to avoid us, you fairy?”

A sharp stomp attacks his side, the wind knocking out of his abdomen.  Tae holds in a whimper, hand coming up to clutch his stomach. The light flickers quick, the oil about to run out.

 

Sohee is a simple child who likes simple things. Bread without butter. Cereal without milk. And especially milk without chocolate. It’s the end of Winter, and she is bundled up to her nose, a red scarf wrapped around her face several times and wearing a pink marshmallow jacket reminiscent of the Pillsbury dough boy, walking to the convenience store to buy a wholesome milk carton with her single dollar she discovered under her bed.

As she paid for her drink later on, the old man behind the counter seemed troubled.

“What’s wrong?” she questions.

He mumbles. “I think some dogs are roaming about the back of my store nowadays. I always hear a racket.”

If Sohee listens close enough, she found that she could actually hear some clatter radiating from the back wall. “Did you check?”

“Nah, if it’s just dogs I leave ‘em alone, not like they hurt business,” he explains. “Besides, they’re usually gone in a few minutes. Here’s your milk, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

While she had technically finished her business, Sohee could not shake what the cashier told her. Dogs are her favorite animal, and there were dogs right behind the store. She knew she probably shouldn’t search for them, they could be dangerous, but she was only going to look. She won’t touch them, so it’s most likely alright.

Instead of crossing the street to school, Sohee turns her heel so she could wander into the back alley. She normally wouldn’t go there as it is dark and permeates an ominous aura, but dogs. As she approaches, the clamor increases, but as she enters the alleyway, she pauses. The whimpering and the noises grew less animalistic, and more human in nature.

“Cry out, fairy!” she hears a voice hiss.

A struggle. “I’m not a fairy!” A cry.

Her heart races, pounding intensely, as the familiarity of the voice became apparent. That’s Taehyung. Why is Taehyung here? She unconsciously steps forward, the fabric of her clothes rustling, and she could finally see three looming figure hunched over a crouching body.

Tae tenses, gaze darting her way, and they connect. The smallest amount of hope lights his eyes, but she can’t move. Black and blue. Black and Blue, the color of his face as his cheek hits the shoe. She’s frozen, she’s dizzy.

The three bullies don’t hear her, and she doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. “That’s not what your parents say!” a ginger one snaps, pulling on the victim’s hair, but Tae never breaks eye contact with her.

Help me.

She can’t speak.

Sohee.

She’s scared.

The faith in his stare fades out into a stronger emotion, and it’s too late—three more kicks and a well-aimed punch to the gut too late—before she steps in. “Excuse me…”

The bullies don’t even wait to listen to her. The tallest screams, “!” and they disperse in the opposite direction. Taehyung lays there, arms curling around his knees. She clambers to him hesitantly. She’s unsure whether to touch him or to call for help. She’s still trembling in place.

Finally, she decides to pull lightly on his arm to help him up. “T-Taehyung, let’s go.”

“Why didn’t you help?”

She drops his arm, and he leans against the wall, cheek swollen and sure to melt into purple as the Sun revolves. “What?”

“Why didn’t you help me?” he repeats, voice wobbly and weak.

“I-I couldn’t…”

“You couldn’t or you just didn’t want to?”

She didn’t know what to say, what he wanted to hear. Because she didn’t want to make excuses for an action she had nothing to defend herself by. She could not provide even a simple apology, a frog stuck in , an unknown fear still gripping her.

Taehyung scoffs, and he whispers quietly, “You can’t speak to me here either…”

She her lips, but the dryness cracks her very being. The events swirled too fast for her to grasp it, too fast for her mind to comprehend the actions. Shock is a mighty tool. She wishes it provided less than what she’s been given.

“I really can’t believe you,” Taehyung continues. “You know, this entire year, I've been trying to be friends with you. I talked to you again. I tried playing with you again. I did everything, because I thought you were someone awesome, but you always ignore me, because that’s who you are!” Taehyung says harshly, spit flying, eyes red. The purpling bruise on his cheek throbs, but not as hard as his heart.

Sohee stutters. It hurts. It hurts. She can’t talk. There is no way to respond, not during this supernova.

“You never did anything for me, not even now, when I needed you! If you were uncomfortable, you just don’t bother. You don’t care about me! I wonder if you’re able to care about anyone.” His face crumples like used paper, and he takes a deep, staggering breath. A resonating staccato soaked with fatigue. “My dad said that if you really wanted to be with someone, you'd try for them, and you know what?” he begins to sob.

Sohee remains silent, feeling the earth falling to pieces: the dirt, the clouds, the tiled bricks of the one-story buildings gravitate towards infinity.

Tae shakes his head. “You're not worth it.” He doesn't wait for her as he limps away, tears leaving a trail of stars in their wake. The sky is falling, and it’s everyone’s fault.

She is left alone in the alleyway, cushioned by a grimy cement wall that barely held her trembling body upright. Her chest aches. Poison fills her lungs. It hurts, Sohee realizes belatedly, when the antidote is already halfway to school, and all she can remember is the name. This is heartbreak, she understands, more than she understood love or loyalty. It's an anguish that ruins lives, that entices the righteous to dance with the devil. It wrecks you, wholly and completely. Like a bulldozer to the chest, where bracketed ribs begin caving in, and your lumbering heart can't breathe. You can't breathe, because it's constricting, because it hurts.

She hates it. She hates herself.

~

It's all these choices we could've made, the things we might've done. We see them with perfect clarity only long after the moment passed.

~