The staff meeting Monday morning turns out to be nothing more than a glorified circle time.  An assortment of office chairs and orphaned living room furniture is pushed into a lumpy oval in the break room.  Yixing is enthroned on the sunflower print easy chair centered under the Korean flag mounted over the blank projector screen.  

Yixing greets Yifan with a smile and drags him to the seat beside his, next to Amber on a pink velour loveseat.  A few of the others in the room glance at Yifan curiously or flash tight smiles in between sips of coffee as they wait for the meeting to start. 

Chanyeol comes in two minutes before Yixing calls them to order.  Almost all of the seats are filled by then so he ends up by the door, too far away to exchange a proper greeting, but he waves and Yifan nods hello.

“Happy Monday, people!” Yixing says, gathering their attention with a broad wave.  “First on the order of things, I’d like to introduce Yifan, the newest addition to our happy family!”  He pauses to pat Yifan on the back.  “While we surely all still miss Yunho’s lovely presence, we’re excited Yifan’s here!  Would you say a few words?”  Yixing squeezes his shoulder and Yifan nods, pressing his palms into the soft flesh just above his kneecaps as he pushes to his feet. 

“Good morning,” he says with a polite bow.  “Uh, I’m Yifan, and I just moved here, and I hope we’ll all get along.  Nice to meet you,” he adds before dropping into his seat.  The back of the chair squeaks a bit and Chanyeol snickers until Song Qian kicks him in the shin with a pink leather stiletto. 

“Thank you!” Yixing says, clapping lightly.  , Yifan thinks as he bites down on the tip of his tongue, he forgot to say his age.  Oh well, anyone curious can always ask Baekhyun for the info, he thinks with a smile.

Yixing transitions into announcements, making time for a few other staff members to read notes or comment on interdepartmental activities.  They close with ten minutes of open floor time where Yixing encourages them to share concerns or anecdotes about last week.  A guy next to Song Qian with glasses almost identical to Chanyeol’s hops to his feet to share about the meteorology unit he’s teaching.  After everyone coos over the antics of Sehunnie and Tae, two of the students, Song Qian stands up to propose some detailed improvements to the school messenger system as well as general security and student safety measures.

Halfway through Song Qian’s message, punctuated with calculated flips of her long ponytail, Amber rolls her eyes and jabs Yifan’s knee with the end of her click pen, grunting under her breath to just ignore her.  He smiles gratefully in reply, but Yifan has to agree with Song Qian that installing an updated pager system would be a step forward for mankind. 

Song Qian reseats herself with a flounce of her pleated chiffon skirt and Yixing dismisses them to the refreshments table by the door.  Yifan trails Amber across the room until Chanyeol stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“Hey man!  How’s it going?”  Yifan smiles but slips out of Chanyeol’s grasp to fold his arms across his chest, suddenly self conscious of the little spot of egg yolk from breakfast on the front of his shirt.  He didn’t notice it until he was on the way out the door this morning, once it was too late to change.

“Other than flubbing my public speaking skills yet again in front of another group of people I need to impress?”  He shifts his gaze to the clock above the doorway and then back to Chanyeol’s smile.  “Pretty good, I guess.”

“Naw, you were cool.  Everyone’s a little stiff at the first meeting, but you’ll get used to us soon enough.”  Chanyeol pats Yifan’s shoulder and takes a sip from his coffee mug as a guy with thick bleach blonde hair and a lot of silicon wristbands sidles up to them.

“Hey!  I’m Jonghyun.”  He waves both hands at Yifan, the ed cuffs of his shirt sleeves dancing around his fine boned wrists.  “I run the kitchen.” 

“Hello,” Yifan bows.

“And this is Changmin, he works in the office with Amber,” Jonghyun continues, nudging the silent figure lounging against the wall next to the door. 

“Good morning,” Changmin mumbles, reaching up to ruffle his styled brown hair as he dips his head in a bow.  Jonghyun sets his coffee down and rests his hips against the table. 

“That’s Hyoyeon, the third grade teacher…  Sunny, the other kindergarten teacher with Song Qian,” he nods at a cluster of teachers still at the front by Yixing’s flowered chair.  “Donghae teaches PE and creative movement, Kyuhyun is our resident math genius, and Key over there,” Jonghyun pauses to wave when a wiry figure with a beanie pulled low on his forehead turns to stare in their direction.  “He teaches drama and runs the backstage.”  Yifan nods as Jonghyun rattles off a list of everyone’s name and title, bowing as the blur of faces turn to acknowledge him with shy smiles, polite nods, or (in Key’s case) bold winks. 

“Hey, you got all that?”  Chanyeol nudges Yifan with his elbow when Jonghyun turns to refill his coffee.  

“Hi guys,” Yifan manages to address the crowd with a warm smile, despite the cold lump of unease sitting leaden on top of the breakfast sandwich churning in his stomach, and is rewarded with a few more sincere smiles.

“Who are we missing?”  Jonghyun tugs on his earring as he scans the crowded room.  “Ah hah!  Hey, Mimi?” he calls, cupping his hand around his mouth, “can we borrow you a sec?”

The tall guy with glasses who shared earlier, now chatting with Key and Song Qian, looks over with a quick wave.  He pats Song Qian on the shoulder before crossing the room in long strides to join the semicircle around the coffee table.  He’s wearing even tighter jeans than Chanyeol, Yifan notices. 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Yifan!”  He slips his large hands over Chanyeol’s shoulders for a quick squeeze before bowing politely.  Yifan returns the bow, relaxing under the warm smile he receives as he straightens.  “I’m Zhou Mi, I teach one of the preschool classes.  I hope you feel comfortable working here with us!”

“Thanks!” Yifan replies in Mandarin, then repeats in Korean with another bow as the circle starts to break up, some teachers heading down the hall in twos or threes and others crowding around the table for a drink refill.  Yifan ends up sandwiched between Zhou Mi and Chanyeol in the crush.  He watches the activity in the room for a few moments, teachers laughing and trading stacks of papers and passing around shrink wrapped biscuits and candy as they mingle. 

“Don’t worry if you can’t remember everyone’s name right away, it must be a bit overwhelming, huh?” Zhou Mi leans in to murmur. 

“Well, a bit,” Yifan admits, a strip of curling tape on the side of his pager. 

“Anytime, if you want some hot tea and quiet, come find me.  I’m usually free during second period when my kiddos are--”

“Hey,” Amber calls from the hall, sliding through the doorway to bump hips with Zhou Mi, “I’m stealing newbie.  My paper shredder requires urgent attention.”  She pouts at Yifan and tugs on the string of the tea bag dangling from Zhou Mi’s travel mug. 

“Sounds serious,” Yifan tries to joke, swallowing thickly as hot embarrassment floods his throat at having been caught sitting down on the job.  With Zhou Mi’s and Chanyeol’s warm smiles he was starting to forget how out of place he feels in the break room that isn’t really his, but it’s time to get to work.  He ducks his head and follows Amber out the open door, FACULTY ONLY printed in thick black letters across the frosted glass pane. 

“I’m sure everyone’s been asking the same thing, but what do you think of school?  How’re things going for you here?”  Amber shifts a manila folder under her arm as she opens the door to the admin office for Yifan.  He huffs a short laugh and grabs a roll of trash bags from the supply cabinet next to the water purifier, nodding again to Changmin who is already typing at his desk. 

“Fine.  I think I’m getting the hang of things.  Remembering everyone’s name though, and who goes with which class, that might take some time.”

“Yeah, but you’re used to adjusting, so I’m sure it won’t take long.”  Amber smiles and shoves her chair aside to make room next to the shredder behind her desk. 

“I am?”  Yifan blinks at her as he drops to his knees on the dark navy utility carpeting. 

“Oh, well, Yixing mentioned...um, I know Henry too?”  She rubs the side of her nose with a blunt fingernail.  “Henry didn’t tell you?  We just assumed…”  She shrugs, still grinning, and raps her knuckles on the lid of the shredder. 

“No, yeah, I think he did,” Yifan says slowly, shifting his gaze to the unevenly cropped pile of the carpet as he sifts back through his mental catalogue of Henry’s ramblings to him over the phone.  “I guess he just never mentioned your name though, sorry.”

She shakes her head with an abrupt laugh, as if to dismiss any need for apology, and unplugs the shredder from the nearest power strip.  “I think it’s jammed, but maybe it’s just overfull.  Wanna take a look?”  Yifan nods and hefts the heavy top off the receptacle.  He lowers it coverside down, mindful not to kink the power cord or spill too much of the loose paper into the rough grain of the carpet. 

“Thanks!”  Amber flashes him another smile and plops into her chair as he shakes open a recycling bag.  “Oh, and don’t worry,” she says in a low voice, swiveling in her seat to face Yifan, “nobody else here knows anything about you besides Yixing, and my lips are sealed.”  She zips her fingers across with a wink and turns on her desktop.

Yifan sighs and eyes Changmin at his desk in the corner, but Changmin has earphones in and seems utterly unaware of anyone else’s presence in the room.  Yifan stretches the bag over the mouth of the full bin and slowly tips it, taking care that the edges of the bag don’t slip as he he gently shakes the shredded waste out of the receptacle.  He’ll have to talk to Henry later though, and find out just exactly what intimate details of Yifan’s personal life he’s divulged. 

With the bin empty, he turns his attention to the blades of the shredding mechanism.  The machine itself is pretty simple and Amber loans him an unsharpened pencil and a pair of tweezers to work with.  From there it’s just a matter of teasing the tightly wedged layers of paper ribbon from the grooves of the blade.  He needs enough force to tug them free, but has to be gentle enough that the strips don’t tear off at the blade leaving the ends impossibly stuck. 

It takes awhile, but once he finds a rhythm the process speeds up and once he plugs the emptied shredder back in it runs fine.  Yifan snaps open another trash bag to empty Changmin’s shredder while he’s at it, and Amber thanks him with a wink as he bows out of the office with a bag of recycling under each arm.  

By the time he finishes his rounds of trash collecting and mopping in the cafeteria, his stomach’s starting to feel empty too.  Yifan washes his hands in the back room and grabs the lunch he bought this morning on the way up the hill before heading outside.  He settles under the same oak as last time, stretching his legs in the dry grass.  He’ll need to find a different spot once it starts getting cold, but for now he’s content to enjoy the open space and soft breeze that catches in his hair.  He separates the halves of his sandwich and tears off the top crusts before taking a bite, the tuna and mayo filling sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

Sometimes he eats on his apartment balcony, but it’s been awhile since he’s had a proper picnic, with a blanket and cold drinks and company.  The last time was with Jessica in the spring, he muses.  He chews faster and swallows down the rest of the top slice of bread.  They’d brought their own blanket but picked up chicken and beer outside the station near her favorite park. 

“Hey!" 

Yifan startles at the loud greeting and drops the rest of his sandwich face down in the mulch. 

"Oh, sorry!  Am I interrupting physics in action?  You look lost in thought."  Chanyeol takes a seat beside him, crouching down on his haunches to keep his pale pink slacks out of the mulch.

"Huh?"  Yifan is a little preoccupied with picking bits of dead tree off of his sandwich, not that he's planning to eat the ruined food or anything.  The black bits sticking to the greasy tuna flakes and embedded in the spongy bread texture just bother him. 

"Newton...oak tree...sciency stuff?"  Chanyeol rips open the top of a popsicle wrapper, kiwi flavor. 

"Oh," Yifan grins, finally comprehending.  "I think that was an apple tree."

"Oh," Chanyeol blushes, crumpling the plastic wrapper in his fist.  "I guess that's why I'm the art teacher, huh?"  He sort of laughs, a little choked in the back of his throat. 

"I don't know much about science either, man," Yifan says quickly.  "Just...I like history."

"Really."  Chanyeol leans forward, wrapping his folded up knees in his long arms.  Today he's in a lightweight cardigan over long sleeves, a thin pink and white striped shirt with cuffs just too short to cover his wrists.

“Or at least I thought I did, anyway.”  Yifan looks away as he folds up his empty sandwich wrapper, lining up the edges til the corners meet perfectly. 

“If you’re trying to change the subject, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Yifan looks up to see Chanyeol with his chin propped on the bridge of his folded hands, smiling.  “Now I’m just curious.”

“Ah, well, there’s not a lot to tell.  I’m me, I’m here, and I eat tuna sandwiches and tea eggs for lunch.”  Jess would have rolled her eyes but Chanyeol just laughs, slow and easy like he doesn’t find Yifan’s reflexive defensiveness abrasive at all.

“I hate tea eggs, by the way, just in case you ever get the urge to share.”  Chanyeol’s eyes are dancing, or maybe that’s just the glare of the sun on his glasses.  “So you’re here.  How’d you get here?  Have you known Yixing long?”

“I just moved here from Seoul.”  Yifan shrugs and drops the sandwich wrapper.  “And not really.  Yixing sort of knows my cousin.  It sounds lame to say I moved out here for a job like this, but it’s pretty much true.  That, plus the rent is cheaper.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Chanyeol groans, leaning back against the tree trunk like he doesn’t care about getting flakes of bark in his loopy knit sweater; since his front is already splattered with dried egg yolk and tempera paint, he probably doesn’t.  “Does your cousin live here, or in Seoul?” 

“Neither,” Yifan says, and Chanyeol tilts his head as he blinks in surprise.  “He’s in Canada right now.”

“Studying?”

“Yup, but a lot of the family lives there.  So does my mom, actually.”  Yifan shoves the rest of his sandwich and the folded up wrapper into his shopping bag. 

“Dare I ask why you’re here?”  Chanyeol sits up enough to slip his trash into Yifan’s bag as well. 

“That’s…” Yifan takes a breath, lets it out in short puffs through his nose.  “I was a student.  Now I’m not.”

“That’s cool, everyone has their own timeline for stuff like that.”  Chanyeol settles back again, lips stretched taut around his ice cream bar as his fingers pluck absently at the dry grass between his crossed legs. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m ever returning to complete that timeline, but thanks, I guess.” 

Chanyeol just nods, creasing a clover stem between his fingernails.  Yifan waits, not sure where to pick up the conversation after that, but Chanyeol just keeps ripping at the grass.  Not handfuls torn up by the roots like Kyungsoo does when he’s mad, just the dried up tips of the longer stalks fringing the mulch that the lawn mower missed.  It’s about time to call the mowers out here for one last trim before the season changes. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me stuff?”

Yifan looks over sharply, his fingers curling around his starched cuffs, but when he sees Chanyeol’s still-gentle smile he relaxes with a soft release of breath.

“I’m not good at questions,” Yifan admits with a lopsided smile, “asking or answering.  That’s why you’re the teacher, not me.”

“I thought history was all about questions,” Chanyeol protests, his eyes darkening in seriousness.  “Like, looking at a big mishmash of events and stuff and trying to strain out motives and patterns.  You have to be good at questions for that, right?” 

“I guess.”  Yifan is tired of questions.  And mishmashes and motives.  “But I’m not studying history anymore.”

“Just on hiatus at the moment?”

“Sure.” 

“Mmm.”  Chanyeol nods through his drawn out hum, tucking his arms back around his knees and rocking on his .  The hem of his sweater’s going to be full of mulch bits by the time they get up to go inside.  Chanyeol finishes his popsicle in silence as Yifan chews slowly on his egg.  It’s nice to have quiet company during a meal again, Yifan decides as he curls his tongue around the last of the chewy yolk. 

It’s not the same as eating across from Sica, spending the breaths between bites admiring the curve of her nose and drape of her long hair across her shoulders, but sitting next to Chanyeol is comfortable.  Yifan listens to the soft sighs of contentment Chanyeol hums around his popsicle and remembers hot afternoons lying on a broken trampoline next to Henry and the numb sweetness under his tongue while sharing a banana twin pop. 

******

Yifan groans as the green pager light flashes red against the cover of his paperback.  He pushes the talk button to answer, hoping on all of his lucky plushies that there’s not a backed up sink in the cafeteria again. 

“Yifan, it’s Song Qian,” he hears through the static.  “We’re on the playground, can you bring the first aid kit.  The big one.”  She cuts out before Yifan can answer.  He jams the pager onto his belt with a sigh and makes a detour through the front lobby to grab the large white box.

He can hear several voices wailing in a dissonant chord as soon as he pushes through the front doors.  Yifan jogs around to the side of the building and pauses just outside the gate, surveying the mix of pre-K and kindergarten students scattered across the yard.  With everyone milling around in general chaos he’s not sure who the injured party is.  Jongdae is crying, muffling hoarse sobs into Zhou Mi’s shoulder while Jongin clings to Zhou Mi’s leg. 

Sehun is screeching his distress to the overcast sky at the foot of the slide while Kyungsoo sits crosslegged at the top, both hands clamped over his ears.  By far the loudest is Baekhyun, who is sobbing between ear splitting screams as he kicks Song Qian repeatedly in the shins while she tries to restrain his flailing limbs away from the other kids. 

“Oh thank god!” Song Qian says as Yifan unlocks the gate.  He hurries towards her with the box but she frowns at him.  “No, not Baekhyun!”  She shakes her head and jerks her chin at Zhou Mi.  “Go help Jongdae!”

Yifan shifts course, fingers already scrambling to the unlatch the case in his hands as he drops to his knees beside Zhou Mi.  “Jongdae,” Zhou Mi says in a firm voice as Yifan pulls on a clean pair of latex gloves, “I need you to sit up now.”  Jongdae lifts his head but just howls louder, his face red and coursing with tears and bubbling snot. 

“It’s his knee,” Zhou Mi says to Yifan, gently loosening Jongdae’s grip on his arm so Yifan can take a look. 

“I’m going in,” Song Qian calls as she tugs Baekhyun through the gate and latches it behind her.  Baekhyun puts up a fight, twining his fingers through the fence and hanging on like an angry koala cub.  Song Qian holds his torso to her chest.  She carefully peels his hands from the metal fencing so his fingers won’t get pinched and hauls him onto her hip for the trip up the front steps. 

Yifan pulls his gaze away and returns his attention to Jongdae’s knee, gently dabbing antiseptic onto the abrasion with a clean swatch of gauze.  He smears antibiotic cream on the pad of a butterfly bandage and seals the edges over the raw wound before another film of fresh blood can well up to the surface. 

Jongdae’s sobs have stuttered to into throaty whimpers by the time Yifan pats him on the back and hands him and Jongin each a few kleenex.  Sehun’s keening has died down into uneasy as well, Taemin’s hands through his thick hair. 

“Thanks, Yifan,” Zhou Mi says with a grateful smile as he rubs soothing circles into Jongdae’s back.  “Do you mind staying til Song Qian gets back?  We’re supposed to have two adults out here with this many kids to supervise.”

“Oh, sure.”  Yifan pulls off his gloves and hands Zhou Mi a moist towelette to wipe his fingers on.  Jongdae shoves the his well used crumple of tissue at Yifan and rubs his eyes on the hem of his polo before rolling off Zhou Mi’s leg to join Soojung by the swings.  Jongin immediately crawls into Zhou Mi’s lap to claim the vacated spot. 

“Is Baekhyun…?”  Yifan glances up towards the main building, using one of his discarded gloves to gather the used kleenex. 

“Later,” Zhou Mi mouths silently, and Yifan nods. 

The other kids go back to playing like nothing happened, Jongdae hanging by his knees from the monkey bars and singing the national anthem at the top of his lungs as Sehun ducks under his dangling feet to braid his shoelaces together.  Kyungsoo is still at the top of the slide, sorting pebbles from the courtyard into deliberate piles. 

“Hey, Taemin!”  Zhou Mi lifts his arm to wave and Jongin waves too.  “Come here for a sec, buddy!”  Taemin is swinging on the swing set next to Soojung, belly down on the flat seat.  He lifts his head and waves back before gripping the chains with both hands and somersaulting forward.  Yifan’s breath catches as Taemin’s fuzzy brown hair brushes the ground, but he lands on his feet in a deep knee bend and jogs over to his teacher. 

He stares at Yifan, dark eyes blinking and lips parted as Zhou Mi wipes at his runny nose with a fresh tissue.  

“Say hi to Mr. Wu, Tae,” Zhou Mi encourages with a smile.  Taemin nods, mouth still hanging open, and waves at Yifan.

“Nice to meet you,” Yifan says, first in English then in Korean when he doesn’t respond. 

“Hi,” Jongin ventures in a shy voice, but ducks into Zhou Mi’s armpit when Yifan turns to smile at him. 

“Nice to meet you too, Jongin,” Yifan adds.  Jongin nods his head, thick hair rubbing against Zhou Mi’s striped sweater, but doesn’t come out of hiding. 

“You two are so shy today,” Zhou Mi chuckles, smoothing Jongin’s hair with the heel of his clean hand.  “Don’t worry, they’ll get used to you,” he says with a wink to Yifan.  “Pretty soon they’ll adopt you as a human jungle gym, and then you’ll understand how trees feel about lemurs.”  Yifan just blinks at him, which makes Zhou Mi laugh harder.  “Don’t worry, I’m mostly joking.”

“Mimi Teacher!” Soojung yells from the swings.  She’s swinging high in broad arcs, her skirt ballooning out and hair streaming.  “I’m tired!” 

“You want to come sit with me?”  Zhou Mi pats the ground next to him. 

“Uh uh.  Tired,” she insists, her swing beginning a slow descent through inertia as her feet drop to a dangle.  Zhou Mi pushes up the cuff of his sweater to check his watch, squinting as the warm sun glares off the glass face. 

“It’s almost time to go in, you guys can start lining up by the gate.” 

“Thank you, Teacher!”  Soojung’s glitter encrusted mary janes scuff the ground and she grips the jerking chains of her swing.

“Come on, boys!”  Zhou Mi stands, setting Jongin on his feet and windmilling his arms at the kids still preoccupied with the monkey bars.  Jongdae’s lost both of his sneakers, one of which Sehun is balancing on his head as he spins in slow circles.  Yifan heads to the gate as Kyungsoo and Soojung line up, Jongin and Taemin falling into place behind them. 

“Here we go!” Zhou Mi hums as he hooks his hands under Jongdae’s arms to lift him safely to the ground. 

“Whoa!”  Jongdae staggers left, crashing into Zhou Mi’s leg as he regains his balance, a deep flush draining away from his face.  His shoes slip on easily, the laces undone.  

“Soojung, you can be the line leader!” Zhou Mi says, motioning at Yifan to open the gate.

“Follow me, everyone,” she directs in a steady voice, thumbs tucked into the stretchy waistband of her skirt.  Kyungsoo rolls his eyes and gives her a poke in the shoulder to start moving.  Yifan holds the gate while Zhou Mi brings up the rear, hand in hand with Sehun and the first aid kit tucked under his other arm. 

They the kids to the cooking lab, where Baekhyun is already busy mashing steamed potatoes in a plastic mixing bowl between Jonghyun and Song Qian.  Zhou Mi waves to the kids, Sehun running back to hug his leg goodbye before Yifan closes the door. 

“Hey, thanks for helping out on the playground,” Zhou Mi pushes a hand through his wind ruffled hair and reslots his glasses over the bridge of his nose.  “Liyin had to stay with Lu Han in the infirmary because he came down with a fever.”

“So much excitement today,” Yifan says, “and all before lunch.”  He drums his fingers on the lid of the plastic aid kit. 

“Yeah, with kids you just never know,” Zhou Mi sighs, but there’s a bright warmth lighting his eyes like they’re discussing the odds of winning the lottery instead of the students’ propensity for painful mishaps.  “Would you care to join me for some tea?  I just ordered a new blend of oolong and chrysanthemum, but need someone to test it out with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”  Yifan checks his phone.  It’s almost time for lunch break anyway, and hot tea is tempting after the chilly playground. 

The lights are off in the break room, but they aren’t the first to arrive, Chanyeol sprawled across the sofa by the window and Amber curled up on Yixing’s sunflower chair. 

“Hey guys,” Zhou Mi says, heading straight for the refreshment table to plug in the electric kettle. 

“Yo, Mimi,” Amber yawns, stretching her arms above her head with a little shoulder shake.  “I heard there was some excitement on the playground this morning.”

“Oh, you know,” Zhou Mi tilts his head, reaching for a napkin.  “Baekhyun has rough days now and then, but so do I.”

“Yeah right,” Amber snorts, kicking out one leg for leverage as she scoots up in her chair.  “I don’t think you’ve had a rough day once in the three years I’ve known you.  Or at least you’re really good at hiding it.” 

“Hm,” Zhou Mi hums, stooping to wipe up some coffee grounds spilled along the edge of the table.  “I do, though.  Everyone does.  Do you two want some tea?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Chanyeol says, raising the pop can in his hand.  “Thanks though.”  He rolls onto his side and tugs the hem of his shirt down over his belt.  Chanyeol has on dark wash jeans and a checked flannel shirt, a thick knit beanie tucked under his arm like he’s about to go chop down a Christmas tree in the woods.  “Hey, have a seat.”  He nods at the padded chair next to him and readjusts the crumpled afghan pillowing his head. 

“Hey.”  Yifan lowers himself onto the edge of the seat and only relaxes against the chair back once he’s sure it won’t squeak. 

“Were you out there too?  With the kids?”  Chanyeol tips his head back to meet Yifan’s eyes. 

“Just for a bit.  I came out with the bandaids and then stayed so Song Qian could take Baekhyun in.”

“He does a lot better when he gets a little space to breathe.”  Amber taps her fingernails against the back of her phone.  “It really helps him calm down.” 

“He and Jongdae usually get along so well, but when they’re not hugging they’re punching.”  Zhou Mi shakes his head as he measures tea leaves into a mesh bag.  The plastic teaspoon scraping the rim of the tin.  “Our Kyungsoo is so well behaved though.”

“But he’s so slow,” Amber groans against the armrest.  “And meticulous about everything.  It’s the worst when I have fifteen joint reports to fill out before lunch and he insists on erasing and reprinting his name in the right hand corner three times to get it perfect.”

“Yeah, every time we do coloring he takes forever to line up his crayons.”  Chanyeol flips onto his back and hooks his knees over the armrest.  “Like they have to be in ROYGBIV order before he can even decide on a subject, and by then Sehunnie and Tae are already finished.” 

“Oh god!” Amber snorts into her palm.  “Remember when we decorated cookies at our Christmas party and Soo stuck the sprinkles on one at a time?  It drove Soojungie crazy waiting her turn for the shaker.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt her to learn some patience.”  The kettle hisses as the water hits full boil.  Zhou Mi leans down to switch it off.  “Baekhyun too.”  He pours the water into three mismatched mugs from the bottom shelf and hands the first one to Amber.  She closes her eyes as the steam hits her face. 

“Ooh, Baekhyun.  That kid just wants attention.”  She shakes her head.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Yifan cuts in, and everyone turns to stare at him.

“It is if he does it in negative ways,” she snaps back.  The red clip holding the short pieces of hair off her forehead shifts as she frowns.  Yifan looks away to accept his mug from Zhou Mi.  The stiff dried leaves inside the mesh bag are oozing twisting curls of tannin into the clear water.  It always makes him think of octopus ink. 

“I don’t think he’s trying to be manipulative though.”  Chanyeol sets his drink on the floor and swings his legs around until he’s sitting up on the center cushion.  The sun through the window outlines the rough curl of his hair.  “Most of the time, anyway.”

“He’s not a bad kid.” Zhou Mi takes the chair across from Yifan’s and drags it closer, swishing his tea bag in fluid circles as he folds his legs behind the chair rungs. 

“None of them are.”  Amber takes a sip from her still steaming cup and Yifan wonders how she can swallow down the heat like that.  “I just wish they all got the same support at home.  ‘Cause as awesome as you guys are,” she flicks a drop of condensation at Chanyeol, “there’s too many students to provide a lot of individualized attention.” 

“Yeah.  Wish we could hire more staff, but the class sizes are as good as they’re going to get.”  Chanyeol’s staring at the top of his coke can now, one finger circling the narrow lip around edge, the part to catch the drips. 

“Thanks for engaging with the kids like you do,” Zhou Mi says to Yifan with a smile.  “Yixing hired you to fix stuff and restock the paper towels, but we were definitely hoping for someone who would do it with a smile.”

“You’re welcome?”  Yifan loops the string of his tea bag tighter around his finger and tries to remember if he smiled in the hallways this morning.  Some days he’s doing good just to show up with his socks on.  “I’m not sure if the kids notice though.  ‘Cause I’m up here and they’re down there, thinking about beetles and M & M’s and stuff.” 

“You haven’t spent much time around kids, huh.”  Zhou Mi’s smile is soft and amused, but not mocking. 

“Kids are really perceptive.”  Amber pokes her finger at Yifan.  “They’re always watching.  Like the mafia or something.”  Yifan chokes on his first mouthful of tea, inhaling the heat all the way to his sinuses. 

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.” 

“Well, you just have to be careful,” Chanyeol says.  “But don’t be nervous around them, kids are the most forgiving people I know.” 

“Really.”  Yifan blinks at his tea, watches his reflection in the darkening water.  It’s the same rich shade of Jess’ disappointed eyes, the soft glisten of understanding and opaque regret that deepened with every falling out.   

“Except maybe Kyungsoo,” Amber says.  “I think he’s still holding a grudge over that one time I stepped on his macaroni bracelet.”  Chanyeol’s head hits the back of the sofa, the contents of his can sloshing audibly. 

“Poor Soo!  That macaroni bracelet was a work of art.  It took him three class periods to finish.”

“Why do they have classes with the other grades?” Yifan asks.  Chanyeol sniffs and takes a gulp of soda. 

“It’s good for them.  And it makes my life easier if the older ones can help the babies wash their hands or put their crayons away.”

“The idea is if they interact with other age groups, they’ll bond and be less likely to bully someone weaker or different from them,” Amber adds.  She’s already half finished with her tea. 

“Does it work?”  Yifan literally knows nothing about child psychology, and the word bonding has always seemed a little suspicious to him.

“As you can see for yourself,” Zhou Mi shrugs, “Baekhyun seems more interested in punching his best friend than any of the little ones.”

Chanyeol shakes his head, straightening the limp collar of his shirt with soda sticky fingers.  “Give him a little time, he’ll grow out of it.” 

“Let’s just hope it’s sooner than later.”  Amber drains her mug and slides off the springy seat of her chair.  “His little tantrums turn into the stacks of paperwork on my desk.  I gotta get back to work.”

“Would you rather clean the fifty paint brushes I have soaking?  I would gladly trade!”  Chanyeol presents his empty can to her with a deferential bow.  She smacks him on the arm.

“Idiot.  You know the files are all confidential.”  She dumps her soggy tea bag in the trash by the door and Yifan winces at the wet splat as it hits the plastic liner, thinking of the trash waiting for him in the homerooms.  Chanyeol holds the door for her and exits with a wink and another bow.   

“Do you have important duties awaiting you too?”  Zhou Mi takes a slow sip of his tea.  He’s almost finished with his too.

“Yeah, I should probably…”  Yifan cups his his full mug and wets his lips.  He needs to take the bag out before it gets too bitter.  Maybe it already is.

“Take it with you,” Zhou Mi says with a light touch to Yifan’s shoulder as they cross to the door.  “The mug.  Just bring it back when you’re finished.”

“Thanks,” Yifan says.  The door handle is cold under his palm after the heated ceramic.  “For the tea.”

“Anytime!”  Zhou Mi waves him out the door and Yifan practices his smile on the way back to his office. 

******

“Hey,” Yifan answers, grabbing a carton of tea from his fridge.

“Hey!  Your mom called.”  

“Oh.”  Yifan’s fingers still on the bottle cap, the little plastic ridges for leverage burning into the grooves of his fingerprints. 

“She said she’s been trying to call you for days but isn’t getting through?”  Henry doesn’t say it like an accusation but Yifan’s throat closes up, tight with apprehension. 

“Just--I’ve been busy,” Yifan says, trying to swallow down the dry lump in his throat.  He tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder and resumes pouring his drink with the efficiency of both hands.  “We have a couple of special events coming up at school.” 

“Ok, but you should probably let her know you’re alive.”

“Uh huh.”  The lid screws free.  The cold liquid plunges into the streaked glass, tiny droplets splashing up across his nose.  “That the only reason you called?” 

“‘Course not!  I’m not Auntie’s messenger.”

“Really.”  Yifan jostles the half empty bottle back into the fridge door next to the mayo.

“You--me--alcohol.  It’s a beautiful combination and we’ve deprived the world of that exquisite blend for far too long.”

“Are you practicing slam poetry on me now?  Did you write that drunk?”  Yifan smirks at the pained whine that elicits from Henry, a curling fondness blanketing his sore shoulders. 

“Don’t make fun of art, you dickbag,” Henry scoffs.  “This is me propositioning you.  Hello, wake up!  Please come home for Christmas.  You’re coming home, right?  When’s your flight booked for?”

“I didn’t book one.”  Yifan away a drop of liquid teetering on the rim of his glass

“Well you should do it now, like go get your crappy netbook right now and let’s do this.  Before it gets too expensive.”

Yifan swallows two thirds of his drink in a spluttering gulp and sets down the glass on a pilling felt coaster.  “It’s already too expensive.”

“But your mom--”

“Henry.”  Yifan cringes as Henry falls silent, the knots of his spine coiling forward.  He didn’t mean to snap, not today, not at Henry.  “Look.  She’s another reason why I should just stay put.” 

“If you just talked to her--”

“She’ll try to bribe me with you jiao and chicken and then I’ll feel like a jerk for making her cry her fake tears of heartache when I tell her no.”

“You are a jerk.”

“Gee, thanks.  That’s really what I needed today.”  Yifan clenches his jaw shut and waits for Henry to whine about deserters and the unfilial and how much of an idiot he is to turn down Auntie’s famous cooking, and how he wishes he could move in with her just to eat it everyday.  Henry doesn’t say anything for a long moment though, and Yifan slowly allows his lungs to release the heavy air trapped inside as he studies the window frame.  He needs to wash the curtains again, or at the very least take them down and air them. 

“Ok,” Henry says.  “I see how it is.  I guess I’ll just have to eat all the chicken for you!”  Yifan can’t help but soften at the shameless grin in Henry’s voice, the kinks in his neck wilting a little at the familiar sound.  God, he misses Henry.

“You do that for me.  And tell my mom I’m fine, if she calls again.”

“Ok, you jerk and unfilial son.  Shame on you and your rutabagas.” 

“Duly ashamed.  You should go shower before class.”  That elicits another whine, but when Henry says goodbye and hangs up, Yifan feels light enough in the balls of his feet that he doesn’t mind getting up to dust the window frame.  The curtains can wait til tomorrow, though.  Or maybe the weekend. 

******

“Hey, you wanna help me deliver milk to the playground?” Chanyeol pops his head in the door to ask.  Yifan’s sprawled across his chair, headphones on and a broken pencil between his teeth as he browses yesterday’s newspaper for new vocabulary. 

“To the playground?”  Yifan yawns, sliding his headphones down around his neck to make sure he’s hearing properly.

“Yeah, they usually drink it in homeroom, but the supply truck came late today.”  Chanyeol shifts closer into the room and Yifan notices the pushcart of green plastic crates waiting in the hall.

“Sure, just a sec.”  He lays his headphones on the newspaper and slips into his windbreaker.  It’s not really cold yet, but they’ve had a lot of rain in the last two weeks and the chilly damp clings to the air wherever the sun can’t reach.  

“Here we are!”  Chanyeol loads one of the flat crates of paper cartons into Yifan’s arms before hefting one to rest against his hip bone.  “You weren’t busy or anything, were you?”

“Nah, not really.”  Yifan waits for Chanyeol to back out through the side door, catching it with his foot before it can bang closed. 

“Good.  I could’ve handled these alone, but I thought you might want to say hi to the kids.”  Chanyeol waits for Yifan to ease the door shut before heading down to the playground. 

“You really enjoy them, don’t you?”  It’s a little windy today, the breeze stirring Chanyeol’s wavy hair like a field of anemones and flipping Yifan’s pushed back bangs into his eyes. 

“Well, they are adorable!”  Chanyeol laughs, his deep voice settling into Yifan’s bones like the wet air. 

“Teacher!  Chan Teacher!”  Baekhyun leaps from a swing mid-air, the force of his landing knocking him to his knees.  He pushes right off of the springy matting and sprints to the fence. 

“Oh thanks, Chanyeol, for bringing those!”  Sunny jogs over to open the gate for them and Zhou Mi waves from behind the swing set, where he’s pushing Jongdae and Soojung next to the empty swing Baekhyun just abandoned.  It’s a mix of classes out at recess again, Zhou Mi’s Pre-K kids and Song Qian’s class and a few first graders Yifan hasn’t officially met. 

“I want chocolate, Chan Teacher!  I want the chocolate milk.”  Baekhyun pulls on the strings of Chanyeol’s zip up jacket as he squeezes through the gate. 

“Me too, Baek, but today it’s the white kind.”  Chanyeol sets his crate down on the low platform between the slide and monkey bars and Yifan stacks his on top.   

“I’m thirsty!”  Soojung says, crowding up to the platform where Sehun, Jongin, and Taemin are already lined up next to Baekhyun.

“Just a minute,” Chanyeol says, mumbling to himself as he runs his fingers down the rows of cartons, counting.  Sunny’s handing out wet wipes from a jumbo travel pack to the kids in line.

“Make sure you get in between your fingers, Lu Han,” she says, tucking a thick lock of brown hair behind her ear.  “And get the backs too, ok?” 

“I’m not a baby,” the kid in the baggy yellow sweater growls, scrubbing recklessly at his palms with the wipe.  He’s a head taller than Sehun and Taemin, so he’s probably one of the first graders. 

“I know, sweetie!”  She pats his head with a high pitched giggle through her nose.  Lu Han squirms away, leaning into the shorter kid in front of him in line and ing his used towelette at him. 

“I don’t want that,” the other boy says.  His frown makes his chubby cheeks look even rounder. 

“Minseokkie!” Lu Han whines, wrapping both his arms around Minseok’s bicep and rubbing his forehead on his shoulder. 

“Here, you can give it to me.”  Yifan holds out the empty bag Chanyeol hands him.  Both boys turn to stare as he drops to a crouch, lowering the bag so they can reach.   

“Hello,” Lu Han says in Korean with a fluid bow before tossing his trash in the sack.  “Do you think he speaks Chinese, too?” he whispers to Minseok, not turning his head as he shifts his eyes to the left. 

“I dunno,” Minseok mumbles back, bouncing his shoulders in his denim jacket. 

“Sometimes I speak Chinese,” Yifan whispers in Mandarin as Minseok throws in his wipe.  Lu Han’s eyes pop open, his mouth forming a tiny O as Minseok’s jaw drops. 

“Your accent, very good Teacher!” Lu Han says, reaching up for a high five. 

“Oh yeah?”  Yifan grins as their palms meet with a satisfying smack.  Lu Han nods briskly as Minseok raises both his hands for a double high touch. 

“Here you go, guys!”  Chanyeol hands them each a green and white paper carton and they bow once more, Minseok’s sticking out as he tries to straighten with Lu Han still holding his arm hostage. 

“Here, Joonmyunnie!” 

“Thank you, Chanyeol Teacher,” the next kid says as he accepts his milk.  He bows and heads to the swings to join Jongin.  Baekhyun is hanging on Sunny’s arm as she wipes down Sehun’s hands, finger by finger.  

No one’s looking when Soojung trips on her way to the swings.  She lands in a flailing sprawl with a loud shriek, her milk spilling out in a spreading puddle before it starts to soak into the porous matting. 

“Are you ok?”  Zhou Mi races over from the swing set to help her up.  “Show me where it hurts.”

“No!” Soojung wails, pushing him away and pulling the skirt of her jumper down with a tug as she picks herself up.  “Thirsty!”  She rescues her carton from the frothy puddle, but it has to be close to empty by now.  She shakes it and tosses it back down with a kick of frustration.  Yifan looks back at the building, deciding whether it’s worth it to go all the way in for the mop, but Sunny pulls a handful of wipes from her pack and hands the rest to Chanyeol.   

“Teacher, can I have one more?” Soojung asks, pointing at Chanyeol who is handing over the last cartons to Sehun and Taemin. 

“Sorry sweetie,” Sunny says, patting the wad of towels into the center of the wet spot.  “All gone.  We’re going in soon, so you can have a drink then.”

“But I don’t want water!”  Soojung wipes angry tears from the corner of her eyes with her jacket sleeve.  “I’m thirsty for just milk.” 

“Maybe one of your friends will share with you,” Zhou Mi suggests, giving her a hand up as she stands.  There’s a run in her red tights, a tiny hole ripped just below her left knee.  “But ask nicely,” he calls after her as stalks away from her ruined drink. 

“We should take these in,” Chanyeol says, handing Yifan the stack of empty crates as pulls more towelettes from the package. 

“Oppa!” Soojung whines, stopping in front of Lu Han and Minseok who are perched on the platform of the merry-go-round with their milk.  “I’m thirsty too!” 

“Fresh outta straws,” Luhan shrugs, and knocks back another gulp. 

“Baekhyunnie,” she wheedles, turning to locate the monkey twins, but Baekhyun and Jongdae’s cartons are already empty, Jongdae busily turning his into Archipenko inspired origami while Baekhyun shreds his into slightly soggy confetti. 

“Thirsty!” Soojung whines again as she sinks down on the bottom of the slide, the floral print skirt of her dress poofing out around her narrow hips. 

“Soojung-ah,” Joonmyun calls from the bench next to the swings.  “You can have mine.  If you want to.”  He points at his milk, untouched beside him on the bench.  He’s still busy helping Jongin push open the mouth of his carton, brow creased as his stubby fingers slip on the waxed cardboard. 

“Thank you oppa!”  Soojung scurries over to join them on the bench, pushing her disheveled hair off her neck. 

“Come on.”  Chanyeol bumps his shoulder into Yifan’s before swinging open the gate.

“Bye, Teacher!” Jongdae hollers, upside down on the monkey bars again. 

“Bye!”  Chanyeol tucks the empty crate under one arm so he can wave with both hands as he backs up the hill.  “See you after lunch!”

“Careful.”  Yifan catches him by the elbow when he trips on a shallow depression. 

“Thanks.”  Chanyeol looks down with an embarrassed chuckle.  “One spill is enough for today, huh?” 

“Should I try to mop out here later?” Yifan asks with a frown.  He doubts Sunny can completely remove the spill with just towelettes.  The surface texture of that rubber matting is weird. 

“Nah, it’s fine.”  Chanyeol’s glasses are crooked on the bridge of his nose as he scrunches one eye shut.  “The next time it rains…”

“Gotcha.”  Yifan jogs the last few meters up to the door and holds it for Chanyeol this time. 

“After you.” 

“Why thank you, sir.”  Chanyeol passes through the entry with a genteel bow, but throws Yifan a wink and a peace sign before disappearing down the hall.  Chanyeol is right.  The kids are adorable, despite their sticky fingers and clumsiness.  So is Chanyeol.