The subway station is surreal, a misplaced solitude in an endlessly whirling sea of noise and color. The sound of traffic rumbles along steadily overhead; trains zoom along tracks near enough to shake the benches but far enough away that they are part of another world. Patchy light filters down the open stairwell, grossly inhuman shadows dancing across the cracked concrete floor. Graffiti, some impressive and some not, covers the parts of the walls that aren’t plastered with advertisements and posters.

An elderly couple sits on the opposite side of the tracks, heads bent close in private conversation, fingers laced together intimately. A bum sleeps huddled under a patched overcoat at the far end of this side.

Tarian lifts her camera, pressing her eye automatically to the viewfinder. The camera finds the graffiti first, purples and reds and greens and yellows, bleeding together to form a beautiful collage of the work of thousands of people. Click. Her hand turns the slightest bit to bring the elderly couple into focus. They are so engrossed in one another that they don’t even notice the lens directed at them. Click. The sleeping homeless man is her next target. Her left hand expertly adjusts the manual zoom. Click click.

“This doesn’t seem like the best place to take pictures,” a friendly voice says. “There isn’t anything worthwhile to look at.”

Tarian lowers her camera, glancing at the pretty dark-haired girl who has plopped down in the empty plastic chair beside her. She is smiling despite the intimidating image Tarian knows she must present. “You can find interesting things to look at anywhere. You just have to have the right mindset to see and appreciate them.”

The girl her head to the side, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. She gives Tarian an amused smile, showing rows of perfect teeth. “What a pleasant way to look at the world.”

“Thanks,” Tarian murmurs. “I think.”

The girl, who is wearing what appears to be a school uniform with a navy blazer ed over her blouse, nods at the modge-podge suitcase sitting by Tarian’s booted feet. “Are you going somewhere or something?”

“Or something.” Tarian turns the camera off, resting it in her lap. “I just moved here, actually.”

The girl nods thoughtfully. “Well, I hope everything works out for you here.”

“Thanks,” Tarian says again, glancing down at the precious camera in her lap. It is a very expensive model, heavy against her bare thighs. It had been a gift on her last birthday.

The pretty girl with the supermodel face and bright eye smile gets to her feet, shouldering her school bag. “I should get going. My train is further down. Good luck.” She waves, flashes Tarian another bright smile, and heads further into the complex maze that is the subway station.

Tarian puts the camera to her eye again and watches the girl disappear, the breeze rustling her long hair. Click click.

She sighs and brings one knee up to her chest, resting the heavy camera on it. Usually she is able to use photography as her escape, a way to leave all her real-life problems behind by hiding behind the hard face of her camera, shutting away the harsh reality that everything has somehow melted into. Usually she has no problem doing this, but today is different. She can’t seem to leave her body and her grounding thoughts behind. Today makes her all too aware of her insignificance, an ongoing existential crisis that she has no way to stop. She is only seventeen. Everyone is asking too much of her.

A group of gray-feathered pigeons settles near her, pecking at crumbs on the ground, cooing softly to one another in a language only they could understand. Tarian welcomes the distraction, bringing her eye to the viewfinder once more, where it is post comfortable. Click. She turns the camera vertically to get a better angle. Click click.

There is a commotion in the stairwell, which causes her to tear her gaze from the cooing pigeons and look in that direction. A group of teenaged boys is coming down the stairs. They are angry and shouting and it is obvious from only a cursory glance that a fight is imminent.

They appear to still be in high school; at least they seem to be wearing school uniforms from what seems to be two different schools. One group wears gray pants with navy blazers while the other wears khaki pants and brown blazers. They are shouting at each other, threats and obscenities and even some words that Tarian, with her second-hand knowledge of the language, doesn’t know.

The elderly couple on the other side of the tracks gets up and leaves quickly, stealing anxious glances over their shoulders as they toddle to safety.

The two groups of boys turn to face one another, like two teams squaring off on a playing field. The first group, the ones wearing khaki and brown, stand on the right, while the other group wearing gray and navy stand on the left. They stay there, glaring at one another for a long moment. The silence stretches out, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

Without even thinking, Tarian directs her camera at them. Click.

“I thought we told you to stay off our property.” The male who has broken the stalemate has a lazy, threatening drawl. He is from the group on the left, wearing navy and gray. He is tall and broad-shouldered while still being slender, blonde and thick-lipped. He isn’t smiling. Tarian zooms in on his face, focusing on the sinfully plump lips that are currently pulled back in a sneer. Click click.

One of the boys from the opposite group, wearing brown, barks out an unpleasant laugh that echoes in the cavernous station. “We don’t give two s about anything you’ve said to us.”

“Ah, I get it.” This comes from another wearing navy and gray. He is even taller than his friend. He is also blonde, his hair curly and unruly, and he is wearing a mask loosely around his chin. “You see, hyung,” he directs his comment to his thick-lipped companion even as his eyes glare tauntingly at the opposing group. “They hang around at our school because they’re getting desperate for chicks. See, girls at their own school are so disgusting and nasty that even these little cretins won’t lay a finger on them.”

Another boy on the right side scowls at him, spitting on the ground as though it is the worst of insults. “As if we’d touch any of the nasty at your school.” Click.

The curly-haired boy’s smirk doesn’t waver at all, dimples popping out in his boyish cheeks. “Says the guy who got turned down by fifteen different girls from our school in the past week alone. Don’t kid yourself, bro.” He sounds smug, resting his elbow on one of his short friend’s shoulder comfortably. Tarian zooms out to get his entire body in her shot. Click. “Don’t you know how pathetic you guys are? Even between two different schools, you can’t get a single chick! What losers!”

“You better shut your mouth before we shut it for you – permanently!” a brown-clad boy threatens, hands balling into fists.

The curly-haired boy, who seems quite young despite his height and cocky demeanor, only laughs loudly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Tarian manages to change the setting on her camera quickly enough to catch the first punch perfectly as it is thrown. Her experienced fingers work rapidly as the fight quickly escalates. The station rings of shouts and cries of pain as they go at one another. Even the bum at the end of the line wakes up and leaves as discreetly as he can. Soon it is just Tarian with the group of brawling schoolboys, who seem to have either not noticed her or decided not to care.

Tarian’s train pulls into the station not long into the fight, announcing its arrival by a loud and rather obnoxious alarm. Tarian, who has only traveled by metro a handful of times on school trips back home, finds the sound to be utterly detestable. Get used to it, she tries to tell herself. You’ll be using these trains a lot now that you’re here.

She quickly stows her camera away in its special padded case and grabs her things, her suitcase in one hand and her guitar in the other. Though the fight between the two groups of boys is still raging, Tarian ignores it. She’s from a small rural town where bar brawls and fistfights in the street are common, so this doesn’t phase her all that much.

She is about to step onto her train when a large hand encircles her slender wrist tightly enough to be painful, dragging her back so forcefully that she almost drops her guitar case. When she turns to look, affronted, she finds herself face-to-face with one of the boys who has been fighting. He is wearing navy and gray, and he is tall and lean despite being obviously well-built. He has short dark blonde hair and dark, brooding eyes, which are currently narrowed at her in something akin to anger. His thick lips are sneering.

“Don’t think we didn’t see you taking pictures,” he breathes menacingly. His voice is low and soft, but that doesn’t make it sound any less dangerous. “Do you think that’s something a civilized person does without permission?”

Tarian has grown up following the older boys in her neighborhood and her dad’s coworkers around, so this guy’s threatening demeanor does little more than annoy her. Because both her hands are full with her belongings, she uses her bony elbow to jab into the softest part of his side. He lets out a surprised grunt and immediately releases her. “If you feel that way, then maybe you shouldn’t start fights in a public location,” she suggests coolly.

He catches her arm again before she can board the train, which is already sounding its warning alarm. “You’re not being very polite,” he growls, and now his anger has turned into full-blown rage.

“Neither are you,” she answers bluntly, narrowing her own pale eyes at him. “You’re going to make me miss my train.” This time she uses the heel of her heavy biker boot to stop on his toes. Again, he releases her with a grunt.

Tarian steps onto the train before he has a chance to do or say anything else. She simply takes her luggage and walks towards the back of the car, grateful when the doors swish shut behind her with no further incident.

What a strange first day in this city, she thinks to herself, settling down in an uncomfortable plastic seat in the near-deserted car. And this day is only going to get harder from here on out.

She’s been trying desperately not to think of it. She’d tried to force it to the back of her mind while she’d packed all of her belongings back home into neatly-labeled cardboard boxes, the majority of which will be sent over once she gets more settled in here. She’d tried not to think about as she’d said goodbye to all her lifelong friends at the airport. She’d tried not to think about it on the ungodly long flight overseas. And she’d tried not to think about it as she’d struggled on her own to figure out the incredibly confusing public transportation system here.

But now, now that she is actually sitting on her train and speeding towards the Hongje Station, she has no choice but to face it. She has to come to grips with the fact that she is going to meet her father – her biological father – for the first time in her entire life.

She hadn’t even known he existed until a few weeks ago. Her mother’s husband, her adoptive father, had raised her as his own and she’d never known she wasn’t his biological daughter. When he’d died three years ago in the line of fire working as a policeman, she’d grieved as if she was his real daughter. But now, now that her mother is gone too, the truth has come out.

She isn’t Arthur Pryce’s biological daughter, and there is no way in hell his family is going to take in a bastard child like her. Her mother doesn’t have any family, so the social worker in charge of Tarian’s case has come up with what she seems to think is a foolproof plan: send Tarian to live with her biological father, whom she didn’t even know existed, even though he happens to live on the other side of the world.

Tarian sighs for what seems like the millionth time and runs her fingers through her loose blonde hair. She’s never spoken to this man before, not even over the phone. She doesn’t know what he sounds like or what he looks like; she has no pictures to go by. She doesn’t have a clue what he is like, her mother having passed away before she even learned of his existence. All she has to go on is a name, scribbled on a piece of paper and shoved deep in the pocket of her denim shorts. And yet here she is, all by herself, on her way to live with him until she comes of age.

All too soon, the train arrives at Hongje Station, announcing its arrival with that annoying alarm that she already hates. Tarian has no choice but to gather up her things and follow the handful of other mid-afternoon passengers out of the car. Her heart is pounding mercilessly as she looks around the station for the man who is supposed to meet her, the man whose chin she has supposedly inherited.

There aren’t many people waiting in the station because of the time of day, when most people are still at school and work, so she picks him out rather easily. He is middle-aged, a little shorter than she expected, rather heavy around the middle. He has thinning dark hair and round glasses, but at first glance he seems okay enough.

Tarian approaches him cautiously, suitcase in one hand and guitar case in the other.

He smiles at her awkwardly when she comes into his line of sight, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his khaki trousers. “You must be Tarian,” he says in accented English. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I guess…I’m your father.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tarian answers in pretty decent Korean. She doesn’t mean to come across as distant or rude, but she had a difficult time meeting new people even under normal circumstances, and this is by no means normal for either of them. “So, I guess you’re Son Daeho?”

He nods, seemingly pleased by her fluency in the language. “Ah, yes. That would be me.” An awkward silence falls between them, stretching out to an uncomfortable length as they stare at one another without knowing what to say. It is Daeho who finally breaks it. “I guess we should get home, hm? I’m sure you’re exhausted from traveling. It’s such a long flight. I’m sure a hearty meal and a good rest will do wonders for you.”

“Sure.” Tarian allows Daeho to take her suitcase, though she refuses to let him carry her guitar case with all the faded stickers on it, and he leads the way up the cracked cement stairs and out of the Hongje Station.

It isn’t a long walk from the metro station to Daeho’s apartment, which is good to know in case Tarian needs to make a hasty retreat sometime in the near future. The apartment building is traditional, well taken car of, quaint. Daeho leads the way up the stairs, into the elevator and then to the front door, which he unlocks with a bit of difficulty as his hands seem to be shaking. He seems to be as nervous as Tarian is.

“Your room will be down here,” he explains, heading down a narrow hallway with Tarian’s suitcase, leaving her to follow. “Naeun’s bedroom is right next door, so please don’t hesitate to ask her if you need anything.”

The wooden floorboards squeak under Tarian’s heavy boots. “Who’s Naeun?”

Daeho glances over his shoulder only briefly before sliding open one of the doors that lines the hallway. “Your sister,” he answers shortly. “Well, I guess she’s your half-sister, really.”

Tarian doesn’t say anything. She hadn’t known she was getting a sister thrown in with all of this. She’s been raised as an only child, so she’s not quite sure how to handle the sudden news of having a sibling.

“She’s really excited about meeting you,” Daeho continues, seeing Tarian’s faltering expression. “It’s been just the two of us her whole life. She’s thrilled to have another girl close to her age living with us.”

Tarian doesn’t quite trust her voice, so she settles for simply nodding. It seems safer that way.

Daeho sets her suitcase on the foot of the bed and wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you alone to get settled in a bit. I’ll just be in the living room if you need anything.” He pauses in the doorway. The expression on his face makes it clear that this isn’t the meeting he’d been hoping for, but it’s obvious that he’s trying. “I’m really glad you’re here, Tarian.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles, staring down at the floor.

He hesitates a moment long before leaving, sliding the door closed behind him. Tarian lets out an explosive breath that she hadn’t known she’s been holding. Though she’d hoped for a pleasant first meeting – maybe even one of cinematic proportions where they run smiling into each others’ open arms – it has been nothing but tense and award. She should’ve known. Tarian is an awkward person by nature. Maybe it’s just something she inherited from Daeho.

The bedroom he’s shown her to is small but very clean and plainly furnished. There is a nice-sized bed and a dressing table that looks like it could’ve been an antique, handed down through generations of family Tarian doesn’t know.

Sighing, Tarian opens her suitcase and begins putting her things away in a semi-orderly fashion. She hasn’t brought much with her, just the one suitcase of clothes, cosmetics, and a few personal items that she just can’t live without. Her social worker is supposed to send the rest of her belongings over once she gets more settled in Seoul – if that ever happens – and her mother’s estate is properly worked out. Until then, this is all she’s got.

Because she’s brought so few things with her initially, it doesn’t take much time for her to put everything away in a place that is somewhat logical to her scattered mind. She stows her now-empty suitcase in the top of the closet and sits down cross-legged on her new bed with her laptop booting up in her lap.

Thankfully either Daeho or the apartment building has an unprotected wifi network, so she logs onto the internet and pulls up her video chat menu. She automatically selects her best friend’s name and presses the connect button.

It only rings twice before the somewhat patchy image of her best friend Althea’s face pops up on the screen. The only indication of the early hour there is Althea’s messy hair and makeup-free face. “Tarian!” she exclaims, her thin face lighting up in obvious excitement. “I’ve been waiting ages to hear from you! So you made it okay? You’re alive?”

“Barely,” Tarian grumbles, keeping her voice low so Daeho doesn’t overhear her. “This place is already a nightmare, Thea. I already almost got killed at the metro station.”

Althea grins, but it’s a sad sort of smile. “Quit being overdramatic and tell me everything.”

So Tarian tells her best friend about everything that has happened since she landed at the airport, sparing none of the gory details of her many encounters, and Althea is appropriately dismayed. “Jeez,” she says, lighting a cigarette with a hot pink lighter Tarian had given her right before she’d left Wales. “What a welcome to the city.” She hesitates. “So have you met your dad? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” Tarian shrugs, playing with a loose strand of blonde hair. “He seems…nice, I guess? I don’t know. We haven’t really talked much.”

Althea makes a face. “Is it awkward?”

“Ugh, you have no idea,” Tarian groans, rolling to her stomach and propping her chin up on her hands. “It’s like the most awkward of awkward moments. He hasn’t even said anything about my mom. Like, I just don’t know.” She suddenly remembers. “Oh, and get this: I have a sister. A half-sister.”

Althea gasps dramatically. “No!”

“Yep.” Tarian wrinkles her nose in distaste. “The social worker never mentioned that I have a sister.”

“Is she older or younger?” Althea wants to know, leaning forward eagerly. The smoke from her cigarette clouds the already distorted screen. “What is she like? Does she look like you?”

“I don’t know anything about her,” Tarian admits. “I haven’t met her yet.”

There’s a knock on the door then, bringing Tarian back to her current surroundings. “I’ve got to go,” she whispers urgently. “I’ll call you later.”

“Love you!” Althea calls.

“Love you too,” Tarian murmurs before signing off and closing her laptop. She pats down her messy hair and calls, “Come in.”

The door slides open and Daeho stands there, smiling that awkward smile that Tarian has definitely inherited from him. “Um, Tarian?” he says uncertainly. “Naeun is home from school now. Would you like to come and meet her?”

Even though Tarian would rather stay locked up in her room until she is a legal adult and can escape, she nods and climbs off the bed, stretching her aching limbs. She follows Daeho down the narrow hallway and into the living room.

There is a girl sitting on the sofa, wearing a navy blue blazer and a gray pleated skirt. She seems younger than Tarian, with a pretty, round face and long, wavy black hair. There is a nervous pink tinge to her cheeks, but she is smiling as she gets hurriedly to her feet. “H-hello,” she chirps, and it is obvious from the way she twists the hem of her blazer in her hands that she is nervous. “I’m Naeun.”

“Hi,” Tarian replies, stopping a few feet away from the girl, hands shoved awkwardly in the back pocket of her jean shorts.

The silence stretches out uncomfortably, the millionth awkward silence that day. Even Daeho fidgets anxiously. Finally he puts a hand on each of their shoulders and says, “I know this is going to take some getting used to, but I hope you girls can get along well. I really hope we can be a family together.”

“I’m sure Tarian-unnie and I will be good friends, Daddy,” Naeun says, blushing as she looks down at her slipper-clad feet.

“Sure,” Tarian agrees flatly. “Best buddies.”

Daeho doesn’t seem to catch the slight sarcasm in her voice – though it is entirely unintentional – so he smiles. “Excellent. Naeun, why don’t you get dinner started? I’ve got a bit more work to finish up before we eat.”

Dinner is yet another awkward affair. Daeho, Naeun, and Tarian squeeze around the kitchen table – which is really only big enough for two people to eat at comfortably. The food and drink are both unfamiliar and Tarian, who has always been something of a picky eater, doesn’t eat much before she excuses herself.

She is exhausted from traveling, overwhelmed from meeting an entirely new family, and famished from lack of anything edible since she left Wales, and yet she can’t fall asleep because there is a nine-hour time difference between home and Seoul. So, after Tarian changes into an oversized t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, she simply lays in her new bed and inhales the unfamiliar scent that she will just have to get used to.

She tries not to think of home, of the house she grew up in, of her loyal friends, of the ex-boyfriend she’d left behind, of her mom and her dad – the dad who had raised her, at least. Even so, tears sting her eyes and she rolls over to bury her face in the pillow, hoping that sleep will claim her quickly so she can escape the real world for just a little while. 

I know, I know. Another story from me. I just can't quit writing them OTL

Just so you guys know, this story will feature BAP and CN Blue pretty heavily. 

Also, Tarian is based on an American model named Kristie California. I think she's beautiful and so I used her as the inspiration for my OC. Here's a few pictures of what the model looks like: