When I read this back, I could tell that I'd written it forever ago. My writing style has changed since this >.<

 

 

 

 

 

Kris doesn’t understand why he does half of things that he does. One of those, naturally, is shoplifting. He’s not a kleptomaniac, no, because he does not feel the need to pocket everything. In fact, what he does can barely be counted as stealing, because the only place he ever gets tingly fingers is in the luxury shopping center that his family owns.

 

Sometimes, Kris thinks it’s the guilt of having so much when others have so little. The fact that recently, his parents have just bought a large piece of land on an island just south of Jindo and is cutting down acres of trees and disrupting the wildlife there to build a hotel and vacation resort. Or maybe, it's that his father has just bought his sixth sports car in the past 14 month to add to his ever-growing and useless collection.

 

“Mr. Wu! On your way out?” It is one of his father’s underlings, the Associate Director of Sales.

 

“Yes,” Kris replies, slipping the gold watch he had been examining into his pocket and straightening up. “Is my father still upstairs?”

 

“He’s in a meeting with the public relations team,” the man says, bowing politely. “I’ll let him know that you left.”

 

Kris nods his thanks, and takes the escalator down to the lobby. Every employee he sees on the way out bows to him, and Kris feels hot around the collar.

 

Corporate elitism, he thinks.  

 

The shopping center is built with a circular lobby, with escalators and elevators that go down every floor. If one were to stand by the railings on the top floor and look down, every single floor would be visible, down to the marble fountain in the lobby. Looking up would reveal a magnificent glass ceiling and then the sky.

 

It was an architectural masterpiece, the papers said. His mother had designed the remodeling.

 

As soon as Kris steps out into the street, he starts off at a trot down the busy street. He tosses the watch into the open guitar case of a passing street musician, thinking that he could sell it for at least a couple hundred-thousand won.

 

He pushes on, pulling his coat tighter around his neck for warmth on the way to the parking deck. He takes a long, scenic way home, and ends up parked under a bridge. He opens up the hood of his car and lights a cigarette.

 

Kris wonders if his future is as dull as he imagines it to be. At age 24, he sees himself getting engaged to the daughter of some international corporation owners. He sees himself taking over the company by 27, and spending the rest of his life in meetings, press conferences, and business dinners.

 

Kris wants to drive, to just start his car and disappear, start a new life somewhere else. But he doesn’t. Instead, he reclines his seat, and looks around at the base of the bridge. It is covered in graffiti, a skull painted in bright, neon colors. In the graffiti, he sees freedom, of breaking the law for creativity’s sake.

 

He sees the vividness of a life that he will never get to live.

 

With a wry smile, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and snaps a photo of the artwork. The signature in the corner says “Lay” in looping cursive, and Kris is suddenly madly jealous of whoever that may be.

 

 

 

 

Yixing often refers to Lu Han as his partner in crime. Lu Han resents that, and prefers instead to be known as The Documenter. While Yixing is an artist, Lu Han is a photographer. He takes pictures of Yixing’s graffiti, and runs a blog about it online.

 

“You know, we make a pretty great tag team,” Lu Han says. He is sitting on his on a boulder a few feet away from the tunnel entrance where Yixing is spraying his newest masterpiece onto the concrete.

 

“You mean a pretty sad tag team,” Yixing corrects. He pulls his beanie down over his ears and huffs for a moment to warm his hands before pulling out another can of spray paint in Radiant Red.  

 

Lu Han scoffs. “The internet loves you, Zhang Yixing,” he laughs, camera at the ready. “Or rather, they love Lay.”

 

Yixing just blinks, turning back to his artwork. “I don’t seek money or attention; that’s you.”

 

"Please, I just try to make some profit by running ads on my blog to balance the books. How else are you supposed to pay for all your paint?"

 

For a moment, Yixing considers the cycle. Graffiti, photos, website, ads, money, paint, more graffiti. "Fair enough," he concludes. Taking a step back, Yixing picks up a can of black spray paint and puts in the finishing touches, his signature, Lay.

 

"Want to go get some black bean noodles?" Lu Han asks, taking a few last photos as Yixing packs up. "Dinner's on me, using your ad-paint money."

 

Yixing gives him a pained look. "Hyung, you're not supposed to feed me with my own money! You're my hyung so you should feed me with your money."

 

Lu Han just rolls his eyes. "Let's go, you big baby."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kris looks ‘Lay’ up on the internet on a rainy Saturday night. He is surprised to find a whole blog dedicated to the mysterious artist. Each piece of graffiti he has ever painted in Seoul is documented, along with its location, the types and colors of paint used, and the amount of time it look to get it done. The artworks are so vibrant, so full of emotions.

 

Lu and Lay, the website says, the photographer and the artist.

 

Kris wonders what type of people they are. Delinquents, surely, who break the law so blatantly. But then again, Kris considers as he thinks of the designer cigarette lighter he had lifted just two days ago, who is he to judge law breakers?

 

He is pulled out of his thoughts by his mother, calling for him from downstairs. When Kris makes his way down the winding staircase, he finds her sitting on the expensive, leather couch, waiting for him with a folder in hand. Kris takes one look and tries to walk away; he already knows what this is.

 

"Wu Yifan, don't you dare leave. Sit down right now," his mother snaps, voice cold. She waves at a nearby armchair and Kris sits down gingerly. His mother is scarily commanding when she wants to be, and she really means business when she uses his full, given name.

 

"Mother," he says, stiffly, already mentally preparing himself for what was to follow. This is, he recalls, the third time.

 

"Her name is Choi Seoyoung," she says finally, handing him the folder. "Her father owns a company that provides machinery for big time international companies like Hyundai and Samsung. She is only a year younger than you, about to graduate from Yonsei this semester. I've set up a meeting for you two next week."

 

"Mother, you know that I'm not going to show up, and then you're going to get mad and have to apologize to a lot of people for my 'insolent behavior' like last time and the time before. Why don't you just cut it out?"

 

"Because," she answers, face blank as usual, "Samsung and Hyundai are growing companies, which only mean good things for Seoyoung's father's business. Lower your goddamn standards for once and go on a date with her. You might even like her."

 

Yeah right, Kris scoffs.

 

"I'm gay," Kris says.

 

His mother is not impressed. "A phase," she dismisses with a wave of her hand. "It doesn't matter. If not her, then what about the other girls I've told you about? Jessica, whose family manufactures jeans for pretty much the entire Australian continent and parts of Southeast Asia? She has that beautiful blond hair. Or Tiffany? We could strike a deal with the Hwangs and put upscale movie theaters in our shopping centers."

 

"No," Kris groans. "Last I check, none of them were male, which is what I like, mother."

 

At that, her face hardened. "Wu Yifan, you are still young, and have a few years of freedom left in you. Spend it as you will, but when you inherit Wu Enterprise, you will marry someone of my choosing, someone worthy, so both families can mutually benefit from the merger. A female, whether you like it or not."

 

Kris feels anger pulsing through his veins as he fixes his gaze on the gold figurine in a display cabinet. Who was she to tell him what he, as an adult, had to do with his life? He doesn’t want to take over the company, doesn't want to become the CEO of Wu Enterprise, doesn't want to run luxury shopping malls and seaside resorts, and doesn't want to marry a girl he doesn't love for business purposes.

 

Instead of spewing out all of his thoughts, he stays silent, chewing his tongue. It is useless anyway. His future is already laid out in front of him, and there is nothing that can change that.

 

"You may leave," his mother says finally, reaching up to rub at her tired eyes. "Next Friday, 6PM, at the restaurant I picked out last time. Don't be late."

 

"Yes, Mother." Kris bows as he stands up before leaving the room, shaking his head. Kris thought that she knew at 6PM on the Friday in question, he would be nowhere in sight and can't help wonder why she still insists on setting him up with all these girls. After every supposed date, she's had to clean up his mess, apologizing to the girl, to her parents, and promising all sorts of favors. If anything, she's insistent, Kris sighs. He will be sure to make other plans on Friday night regardless.

 

 

 

 

Lu Han catches the flu under suspicious circumstances. Or, rather, Yixing considers it to be suspicious that Kim Jongin, one of Lu Han's new and very attractive looking classmates, also has the same symptoms.

 

"Are you sure you didn't catch it due to mouth to mouth contact with Jongin?" Yix