"Where am I going this time?" Kris asked, leaning his head into his palm.

His caseworker sighed, feeling bad for the kid. He'd already been in three different countries, not to mention all the places he had been in within each of the individual countries. It was sad to see him so...unaffected by yet another move. He fluffed up Kris's hair a bit thoughtlessly, and Kris didn't react at all.

"Am I leaving the country again?" Kris asked after a long silence, and slowly the man before him nodded.

"You'll be going to South Korea this time." He said softly, and Kris nodded.

"At least I know the language." He commented.

This was about as close as he had ever gotten to showing that he cared about all the moves. It had been hard, harder than all the other times, for him to move to Canada. Most of the people spoke English, and a fair amount spoke French as well, and when he had arrived to the North American country he hadn't spoken a word of either language.

His adjustment to the sudden culture shock and language barrier had been painful for those around him to watch - especially when he couldn't seem to hold a residence for more than two months. Of course, he had been in the country since he was ten, which totaled up to five years by then, so he had had plenty of time to learn and adjust. Now they were shipping him off to another country, throwing him face first into the freezing waters of change yet again, and just hoping he could ride the waves once more.

"You'll be leaving in two weeks." He said, and Kris nodded.

"Is there a foster home set up?" He asked, and the caseworker looked uncomfortable.

"We haven't been able to find one." He said. "You'll be staying where you are, for now."

Kris let out a heavy sigh, but nodded nonetheless. For years, they had been waiting for him to get mad, get upset, cry, scream, throw something, but it never happened. He seemed eerily void of emotion, but after a few psychiatric evaluations, there had been only one explanation offered time and time again. It was a defense mechanism. If he broke down and let his emotions consume him, he would be horribly overwhelmed.

The scariest part of it all, though, was that he never seemed to smile, either. He just sat there, blank-faced, as people pushed him along from one to the other. He had been referred to as a hot potato more than once. Nobody seemed to want him, ridding themselves of him and washing their hands to remove any trace the second they were able to. He was completely unreactive, unresponsive, and his caseworkers had a tendency to quit on him, because the emotional weight of someone so damaged was hard to handle. More than one of them had admitted to crying after meeting with him.

"Are you ready to head back?" The caseworker finally asked, and Kris nodded.

"Might as well." He said.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you all packed up?"

Kris looked up from the bed he was laying on, a book in his hands. He had his right knee bent, his left leg stretched, and shoulders leaning against the headboard. He raised a single brow at the woman in the doorway. He had spent the last six months playing the role of her son as well as he could, but he really just couldn't bring himself to care about the fact that she was throwing him out. He'd never connected with her in any way, and after a while she had begun to take his distance as an attitude problem. She started grounding him, taking away his privileges, yelling at him. Honestly, he was just glad to be going. He'd known it would happen from the start, anyway.

"Yeah." He said, shrugging. "What time is the car getting here?"

"It's already here." She said. He blinked a few times, but didn't comment as he closed his book and stuffed it into his backpack. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulders, then grabbed the handle of the rolling suitcase that was propped up by the door and headed out to the hall. "Are you going to say goodbye?"

Kris paused, then turned to look at her with an expressionless face. It wasn't often that he really got upset, but this was one of those rare moments. Why would he say goodbye? Why should he? They were throwing him out - it wasn't like he was choosing to leave. He shook his head angrily.

"Aniyo." He snapped, ignoring the fact that he was in an English speaking country, and tugging the bag out the door and down the stairs.

When he arrived to the Incheon International Airport almost 48 hours later, he was exhausted and jet lagged. He'd barely been able to sleep on the plane. The seats were uncomfortable, the people around him were snoring and twitching, and there was a little kid behind him intent on kicking his seat until he got whatever he wanted. Kris had been tempted to turn around and give the child a piece of his mind, but it wasn't his place.

He blinked and rubbed at his eye while he waited for his bag to come down the luggage belt. When he finally spotted it he pulled it onto the ground, tugging the retractable handle up and then dragging it behind him as he stepped out into the public part of the building. It didn't take long for him to figure out who he was looking for.

"Yifan!" It was a woman in maybe her mid thirties? It was hard to tell with Asian women, especially after spending so many years with caucasian women.

"Yeah." He said, bowing slightly. "I prefer Kris, though, if it's not too much trouble."

"Kris?" She tested the word in , then nodded with a kind smile. "Welcome to Korea."

"Thank you, Ajumma." He said, reaching up to rub at his eyes again. Her smile faltered slightly, and she reached out to take his suitcase, not giving him the opportunity to refuse.

"Call me Umma." She corrected. "Let's get you home, huh? You must be tired."

"I'll be alright." He insisted, even as a yawn broke through his lips. She smiled again.

"I'm sure you will." She appeased, leading him out to her car.

Kris found himself internally grateful when she showed him his room. He wasn't sharing with anyone, which was a nice start, but more than that - the bed was already made. She patted his shoulder and gestured to the soft pile of blankets and pillows, and he more or less fell into it. He was still almost completely dressed, not counting the shoes he had shed at the door, but he didn't even care. The second his head hit the pillow, his eyes were closed and he was asleep, uncaring of the woman hovering worriedly above him.

When he finally woke, it was dark, and he had to pee. He remembered the woman - Umma, he corrected himself - telling him where the bathroom was, but he could only hope his foggy memory would serve him well. He felt like he was going to fall back to sleep even as he stumbled down the hall to the door he vaguely recalled. He was about to grab the handle when he realized there was light coming from the bottom of the door. He backed up a few steps, deciding it was better to wait than to scare the person inside.

When the door finally opened, Kris was met with an unfamiliar face. The boy in the doorway seemed as surprised as he was, but he didn't make any comment, instead just moving out of the way so Kris could go in. Kris absent mindedly noted he was taller than the other, but decided that that knowledge was probably useless and stored it away. After he had done his business and washed his hands, he stepped back into the hall, expecting to find it empty. Instead, the same boy stood there, waiting.

"Kris, right?" He said, and the taller nodded. "I'm Yixing. But, everyone calls me Lay."

"You're Chinese?" Kris asked, slightly stunned. The shorter of the two nodded.

"I was adopted and brought here when I was two." He explained. Kris studied him for a moment in silence. "What?"

"How many times have you moved?" Kris finally asked, and Lay tilted his head.

"Never, except to come here." Lay said. "Umma doesn't want to move, ever. Haraboji built this house."

"You stayed with one family?" Kris asked, seeming surprised. Lay nodded.

"How many have you been with?" He asked, and Kris shrugged.

"Korea is my fourth country." Kris said quietly.

"Where else have you been?" Lay asked, and Kris yawned in response. Lay looked guilty. "Ah...you're still tired, aren't you?"

He didn't wait for Kris to answer, instead just ushering him down the hall and into his room. The taller was surprised by this strangers willingness to touch him so freely, but he reminded himself he wasn't in Canada anymore. In South Korea, at least, people were much more open to physical contact.

"My room is right there, if you need anything." Lay said, bowing slightly. "Sleep well."

Kris bowed back, unsure of what else he should do. The door closed, and he quickly shed his jeans and squirmed back under the covers. He didn’t want to be awake anymore, and he was grateful when he felt himself succumbing to his dreams. It was a welcome break from reality.