There are these particular posters slapped on a bus wall during winter showing stupid winter gloves with sad faces with a tagline: Over 2,000 pairs of mitts are lost every year and never claimed. Do not abandon your pals who worked so hard to keep you warm.

I have always thought those signs are the stupidest form of reminder in existence. They are ing gloves. Gloves do not have feelings! I was having these thoughts as I stared at Dara's back as she was staring off to train train tracks like an abandon mitt never to be retrieved, and I thought to myself, you know, those posters weren't as stupid as I thought. Only sad, you know... I am developing mitts-empathy. Jesus Christ, this girl.

The day after was relatively quiet and was strained under this thin cover-up we know as normal. I wake up. I wait for my mom to wake me. I thank her, and she says, "you don't need to pretend to be asleep, you know?" I tell her I was asleep and she just smiles and tells me I'm a terrible liar.

I frowned at her and told her, "I'm not lying."

She cupped my jaw and her eyes softened, "Seung hyun, you don't have to try so hard."

And she left me as she headed for the kitchen, and all I strangely felt it was hard to breathe... like I have been running all this time and I am suddenly out of breath. Everyone is just pretending, right? Like my mother, right? Like me? Like she wasn't disappointed that his son was a swing away to being a murderer? Like I wasn't all that burdened almost killing a ing-would-be ?

I shook my head and proceeded to the kitchen, sat my down, and thanked my mom for serving me breakfast. I shovelled food in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed and try not to think that even this, this act of eating, feel so ing contrived.

Why does living feel like I am trying so hard?

###

I met her by the bus stop, and she looks up to me in expectation. She expected me to come, and immediately she lights up with a smile. There is that something in my chest, like a tiny tickle from blooming flower petals, touching just the edge of my heart. How can someone be happy with just my presence?

Ugh. I am so stupid. A blooming flower? My must have fallen off.

I am sure she isn't at all happy to see me. Smiling is a common human courtesy...

"Batman!" She chirped and she glowed. "I am happy to see you."

Damn this girl. That tickle in my chest... ack. Damn blooming flowers.

"Shut up." I mumble. "Why are you happy?"

To see me? To see me? Stop it, head!

"Because isn't Batman my slave now?"

"What?" My head snaps to her direction.

"Didn't you say that you'd do anything that I want."

"What? When? Are you insane?"

"You said so! Last night! You said if I need you..."

"I'd be there. I said, if you need me, I'll be there and if you have a request I will consider it."

She raises a brow at me, "No. It's if I need you, you'd be there and do everything I want."

Ah, . This girl is crazy. I shake my head. "Why would I willingly be your slave, stupid?"

And I see her brightness dull, like the sun being veiled by a sudden rush of clouds, "Because I am heartbroken, and you're nice?" She appeared to be on the verge of crying. Her eyes takes the sheen of unwept tears.

And I panic, "Fine. Fine, whatever. I'll do what you want."

She laughs and clung to my back pack and points to the incoming bus, "To the bat cave!" She announced.

I shake my head at her, "Stop calling me batman. Geez."

She haroomphed and turned away, "I do what I want."

And I don't know why, but I end up fighting this smile. What the heck am I doing?

###

The bus ride is the same as previous, except we talked more about ridiculous things. Sandara's mind is like a jar of earthworms. It's just fascinating to see how it moves. I told her and she punched me on the gutt. She said no girl would appreciate being compared to earthworms. I grimaced. She laughed. I tell her I hate pretty girls.

Her eyes grow round and watching her work up smile is a wonder more than a jar of worms... It's like... the dawning sun. Except I don't say bull like that.

She waggles her brows at me and exclaims, "YOU THINK I'M PRETTY."

I scoffed. "Are you one of those girls? Do you pretend not to know you're pretty?"

She blinks at me, "Well... well, I mean, pretty is... uhh..."

"Pretty is like being smart" I continue to tell her, "It's the way you are."

"No!" She shakes her head, "Don't you know the saying about beauty being in the eye of the beholder."

"That's untrue. Sure, beauty can be subjective, but there's an objective point of view to it as well. One can say a girl has nice eyes, nice skin, and a nice set of lips. That's pretty. The subjective part is attraction to it."

She purses her lips, "How can you have a philosophized beauty when you're failing every subject in high school?"

I raised my brow at her, "What does that mean?"

"Hmm? Well, Seung hyun, aren't you a little too smart to be failing?"

"Huh? I'm not smart. Weren't we just discussing how you're pretty? That's not profound."

She chuckles, "It is. You are saying you don't think I'm pretty, you know I am." And she has glimmering brown ey