Age 12. It’s different than Los Angeles. Mark stares out the window of the moving vehicle. The soft sounds of rain and 4 o’clock news drone on but he doesn’t actually hear them. It’s all a blur; from the incoherent noises to the passing scenery outside. Monochromatic Seoul is definitely different than sunny California, Mark concludes with every street they drive past.

 

“Hey, what are you thinking about kiddo?” Mark’s father asks just as he makes a filter to the right. For a moment, their eyes meet through the rear view mirror.

 

“It’s nothing,” Mark says, eyes fixated on the moving landscape outside the window once again. The rain has stopped but the grey clouds still threaten to spill.

 

The mini combi drives into a new street. One where houses of slightly differing sizes line each side of Mark’s view. This is the Korean equivalent of a suburban neighbourhood, Mark notes. Except, the houses are more tightly packed against each other it is almost suffocating. He can feel the restriction already.

 

“I promise you, Mark, this will be a good change. You’re going to meet new people, make new friends and­­ maybe–“

 

“But I liked my friends back home,” Mark interrupts his father indifferently. He picks up one of the lighter boxes from the trunk, the one he had hastily scribbled his name on the day before, and carries it towards the house they’ve parked in front of.

 

“This is our home now,” Mark’s father says, unloading a much bigger and much heavier carton.

 

Mark sets his own box down by his feet on the porch. He takes in a deep breath. Cold. Even the air filling his lungs feels different, he thinks as he turns the door knob and steps into his new home.

 

 

 

“My name is Mark Yi En Tuan. Call me Mark. It’s nice to meet you all,” He says distantly but still gives his classmates a full ninety degrees bow.

 

“Tell us a little bit about yourself Mark. Where were you from?” The teacher insists and Mark would have let out a groan if South Korea wasn’t so strict on their etiquette. Even if he is attending an international school, Mark still can’t act out the way he used to back in the States.

 

“I was from LA,” Mark says almost thoughtfully and later adds on, “Moved here because of my dad’s job.”

 

The teacher doesn’t pester on about Mark’s boring self-introduction and instead ushers him to his new seat (thankfully, it is next to the window.) After all, they had classes to go through and every second they waste on Mark is a second spent not learning about the differences between plant and animal cells.

 

“What? Your birthday's next Friday and your dad decides to move a week before? Happy birthday, man,” The boy sitting in front of him turns his seat around as soon as the bell rings signalling break time.

 

The boy’s name is Jackson. Born in Hong Kong and uprooted to Korea because his parents were apparently gymnasts or coaches or something and they had work to handle in Seoul for now. Jackson is six months younger than Mark. He is also dedicated to an art called fencing. Mark doesn’t think it is an art but he doesn’t really care enough to argue with the enthusiastic boy. All this Mark learns in a span of five minutes because it only takes five minutes for Jackson Wang to reveal his premature life story.

 

“Yeah,” is all Mark answers. He is sure Jackson has caught on by now that Mark is a person with very little words. But that doesn’t disconcert Jackson and he doesn’t drop their conversation like most people would.

 

“You know what? Seoul isn’t that bad. You just came at the wrong time!” Jackson smacks one hand on top of the other as though to prove a point. Mark shrugs apathetically, uniform crumpling over skin.

 

He stares out the classroom window, watches as a bird descends from the pale colourless sky onto a nice patch of shade provided by the swaying evergreens. When is it the right time to move a hundred miles from a place called home to an unfamiliar country?

 

 

 

It’s only six days after he first arrived in the foreign land does Mark see sunshine knocking on his door. He is greeted by a boy older than him, much taller too. Mark doesn’t know whether he should slam the door shut or invite the boy in because there is something about the way the rain clouds run when this boy smiles that makes Mark highly suspicious that once he leaves, the world will suffer an eternal rainstorm.

 

“Hi,” The boy greets. His voice is warm and it reminds Mark of summer. He then proceeds to say something in Korean and Mark only stares, confusion painted in his eyes.

 

"Oh umm.." The boy chuckles and Mark doesn't know whether he is being laughed at for not knowing the language of the country he is currently living in or not. For a moment, Mark waits for the boy to leave or speak again and the boy does but only this time, in a language Mark substandardly understands. "I'm from next door. I thought you'd might want to play some basketball since the weather is good today. I'm not being weird or anything. It's just, you're new here and well, I thought you could use a friend."

 

"You thought wrong," Mark says because the last thing he wants to do after a long day at school is play basketball with the neighbour’s son. He tightens his fingers around metal and the glossy wood seems heavier than it should be. He’s just about to slam the door when a he hears a familiar voice from behind him.

 

"Why don't you go out and play, Mark? It'll be good exercise for you," Mark's father appears from the hallway and nears them. He opens the door larger than Mark would have let it.

 

"Hi Mr. Tuan," The boy outside greets and Mark feels the annoyance bubbling in his chest even more.

 

It's not their height difference that intimidates Mark. It's not the fact that this boy already knows his father. It is definitely not the way the boy comes up to him and blatantly states how lonely he looks when it isn't his fault he hasn't got any friends (Jackson is still a work in progress). Mark doesn't know why he is feeling territorial all of a sudden and he resents himself for it.

 

“Your dad’s a pretty cool guy,”

 

“Not really,”

 

They’re walking towards the nearby park. It’s not as near as Mark would have liked it and the awkward silence drifting between them doesn’t make it any better.

 

“So how is it? I mean, how’s Seoul? I heard from my parents. It’s a really big move-”

 

“Fine. It’s fine,”

 

It’s not. Mark doesn’t like it one bit. He doesn’t think he will ever be able to truly call this place home but he can’t say anything about it. Even if he does, there is nothing to be done. He just has to accept it and pretend that everything is okay.

 

“You don’t have to pretend,”

 

Mark stops for a heartbeat but he catches up to the older boy’s pace, walking side by side once again. The wind feels nice against his skin. For once, it isn’t trying to slice him or make his clothes wet.

 

“I remember when I first moved here from Beijing. I don’t know what my parents were thinking but it wasn’t the worst decision anyone could make. Sure, I had to leave behind my old friends but I made new ones who are just as great. And I guess, I wouldn’t be the same me right now if I had stayed behind in Beijing. I don't know if that makes any sense but yeah.”

 

”I don't get it," Mark mumbles to himself. He tries his best to avoid eye contact with the older boy. Something in him knows that just one look would bring a whole new wave of annoyance. But he can’t deny that this conversation has made him a little more hopeful that maybe everything will be okay eventually.

 

“Hey, Xing! Taotao!” The older boy suddenly shouts and it snaps Mark out of his thoughts. He realises they have reached the basketball court and there are already two people playing.

 

“Will you stop it with your lame nicknames,” One of them stopped dribbling the ball and placed it on his hip.

 

“Maybe once I’m dead,” The boy laughs and Mark is sure a rainbow is about to appear somewhere in the sky.

 

“Who’s this?” Another boy asks. He has sleepy eyes. That or Mark thinks the boy could fall asleep standing.

 

“Oh! This is our new neighbour’s son. His name is—umm, errr—what’s your name again, kid?”

 

“That’s just like you, Lu. Dragging people around without even knowing their names,” The one with the basketball to his hip says, shaking his head.

 

“Shut up, Zitao,” The boy scrutinizes his friend for a moment and then he turns to Mark with a smile Mark thinks he has been giving him all along.

 

“M-Mark,” He doesn’t like how his voice decides to crack at that exact moment. It makes him feel stupid.

 

“Well then Mark, I’m Luhan. I know I must seem rude and impulsive—“

 

“Very rude,” Zitao interrupts and the boy with the sleepy eyes adds, “And very impulsive.”

 

“Right,” Luhan tightens his fists at them. He tries to calm himself down. “I’m very rude and very impulsive but that doesn’t matter because we came here to play basketball and I’m going to slay all your asses.” Luhan steals the basketball from Zitao’s grip.

 

“And there he goes… again. My name is Yixing by the way. Don’t believe whatever names that loser tells you. My name is Zhang Yixing. Just remember that.” The boy with the sleepy eyes tells him. Mark nods as he watches Yixing join Luhan and Zitao on the court.

 

For the first few minutes, Mark’s eyes follow the ball as it is being passed around. Luhan’s great at stealing the ball and maneuvering his way to the hoop. He’s even greater at his jump shots. But even so, Yixing and Zitao are worthy opponents. Five minutes in and they’re already dripping with sweat. Mark hasn’t even joined the game and he feels himself sweating.

 

“Don’t just stand there!” Luhan yells, frustrated that he’s being cornered. He throws the ball in Mark’s direction and by instinct, Mark catches it with ease.

 

It only takes a second for Mark to realise whose team he’s on and another second for his feet to take off. A couple of steps bring him closer to the hoop but not enough for a clean shot. Even so, Mark takes that chance. He shoots, the ball flying at an almost perfect angle.

 

“Nice shot, Mark! But, just make sure the ball goes into the hoop next time,” Luhan says with two thumbs up as he runs to retrieve the ball from wherever it has bounced off to.

 

Mark doesn’t know why his heart is racing so fast. He shouldn’t be this out of breath so early into the game. He shouldn’t be able to hear the drumming in his ears just yet. But he can and for the first time since he moved here, he feels great.

 

“Mark!” Luhan shouts and Mark’s ready for the pass.

 

“It’s 6 to 4. We win!” Zitao slams the basketball to the ground and it rebounds higher than the height of the hoop itself.

 

“Double or nothing!” Luhan calls. Mark swears he can see the fire in Luhan’s eyes.

 

“It’s gotten pretty late. I’m sure Mark’s parents would want him back in one piece,” Yixing says, looking at the time on his phone.

 

“Fine, then. See you guys tomorrow,” Luhan grabs his belongings from the side of the court and starts walking back. “Let’s go, Markieboo.”

 

“Poor boy…”

 

“May God have mercy on his soul,”

 

“Will you guys shut up and just go home!” Luhan turns to yell at the two.

 

Once again, silence falls upon them except this time, it’s not as thick as before. Mark notes how he isn’t as bothered being next to Luhan as he was. He isn’t as annoyed whenever the older tried to talk to him either. Mark still replies with short answers and Luhan laughs at him every time as though he had just told the most funniest joke.

 

“How’d you find Yixing and Zitao? Trust me, I’m the normal one amongst them. They were acting very tamed today,”

 

“They’re… nice,”

 

“Nice?” Luhan grabs his stomach and bends over. The sound of laughter escapes his lips for the umpteenth time. “Next time I’ll introduce you to some even nicer people.”

 

“What about me? Do you think I’m nice?”

 

Mark takes a pause to think. The look of disbelief prominent on Luhan’s face. “Do you actually have to think to say yes?”

 

“Well, you plotted with my dad to drag me out of the house after an exhausting day at school to play a tiring sport which we lost because I . And now I just want to go home and shower and lie in bed and maybe die or something. Or not since I have a birthday to celebrate tomorrow.”

 

“Wow… That’s one hell of a word vomit,” Luhan looks utterly amazed at Mark’s ability to speak so much at one go. Mark is a little shocked himself. Luhan inhales a deep breath before starting. “First, I didn’t actually plot anything with your dad. That’s probably all in your head. Second, you don’t at basketball. You just need to grow a few inches. And wait, it’s your birthday tomorrow?”

 

Mark nods. He realises they’ve reached his doorstep.

 

“Happy early birthday,” Luhan ruffles Mark’s hair. He then heads towards the next house down.

 

“T-thanks,” Mark says but he isn’t sure whether the older boy heard it or not.

 

 

 

Sunlight finds its way through the translucent curtains and onto Mark’s eyes. He’s not ready to get up yet. His blanket feels so warm and cozy. His bed feels soft and welcoming. He wouldn’t wake up even if there was an earthquake.

 

“Hey. Wake up,”

 

Mark stirs in his sleep. He grumbles incoherently, “It’s Sunday.”

 

“Wake up. Wake up!”

 

“Go away,” Mark turns to his other side. The bed starts to shake and it’s annoying the hell out of him.

 

“If you don’t wake up now, we’re going to play without you.”

 

“I’m up,” Mark sits on his bed. He rubs the sleep away from his eyes until his vision clears. There beside him, Luhan sits with a basketball in his lap. It’s been like this every Sunday since the first time they met. Mark has noted how the grey clouds have significantly lessened since then. He also notes how much better his mood has gotten.

 

“I’m going out now, Dad! Be back later!” Mark yells as he slides into his shoes.

 

“Bye, Mr Tuan,” Luhan bids.

 

And as usual, they run towards the basketball court as their pre-warm up.

 

“The score’s 2 to 0. You’ve gotten pretty good at this, Mark,” Zitao smirks, dribbling the ball at one spot momentarily.

 

“Of course he has. Who do you think has been training him for this day? Right, son?” Luhan says in between breaths. He looks to Mark with a grin and Mark knows the signal.

 

“You said that the last time. And guess who won that match?” Zitao laughs a bit too exaggeratedly. He’s too out of breath to keep it up and starts coughing.

 

Mark steals the ball right from under Zitao’s nose. Yixing’s light on his feet and appears by Mark’s left, prepared to snatch the ball back but Mark already sees the play by play in his mind. It’s happen to him before. He knows how to avoid any mistakes this time.

 

Mark makes a turn, quickly evading Yixing’s attempt but just as he nears the hoop, the latter appears by his side once again. “Not so fast.”

 

Yixing’s hand is just about to slam against the ball when Mark grabs it and changes it’s course. Luhan makes the shot instead.

 

“What just happened?” Zitao and Yixing say in unison.

 

“You lost, that’s what happened!” Luhan points to both of them. “Who’s your daddy?”

 

“Shut up. I want a rematch,” Zitao demands. He stomps his foot childishly.

 

“What do you say, partner?” Luhan gives Mark one of his smiles and pats him on the back. Somehow, the tiredness goes away just as he exhales.

 

“Yeah—“

 

“Mark! Hey!” He hears the familiar voice he knows from school interrupt. It’s Jackson. He doesn’t have to look to be able to tell.

 

“Sup,” Mark nods, stepping forward.

 

“You play basketball?” Jackson asks. He looks over the other three boys. “Dude, that guy with the eye bags looks terrifying.” Jackson whispers not too softly.

 

“I can hear you,” Zitao grimaces. Jackson laughs nervously.

 

“I play… a little.” Mark says.

 

“A little?” Luhan chuckles. His eyes glint with something unrecognizable to Mark. “Why don’t we show him what a little is.”