Eccentric.

That's what most people called him; but Taekwoon had never pictured the word as being written so crisply, complete with full stop. Ever since he was a small boy, he'd instead pictured it with an elliptical in front, like: “dot. dot. dot. eccentric”. Sometimes he even pictured one after, too. After all,  it had always been said as such when used in regards to him. Staggered - a restrained thought - as if someone where trying to ring a warning bell... politely. But of course, no matter how politely warning bells are rung, they will always have an off timbre.

Taekwoon had always thought this to be rather unfair, really. He was sure the word eccentric muttered after his name had been the reason he'd had trouble making friends at school, and then at college. Why did it have to pick on him, that word? Perhaps eccentric should just mind its own damn business instead.

He often told himself he didn't mind, of course. Animals didn't understand the finer workings of human language, and were always quite content with his ministrations and companionship. Small children and babies were pleased with him too; they often gurgled and giggled at him when he met them in the park, on the subway, and so forth. Until their mothers (glaring harshly and giving Taekwoon's lanky frame a thorough “you should be ashamed of yourself” once over) turned them briskly to wheel or lead them away. But that was okay. He didn't need people, didn't need grown-ups. Of course not.

And yet, as he sat on the floor of his bare new apartment, just days before the commencement of his third college year, he wondered if maybe he was sick of being labelled as eccentric. Maybe, he was sick of that word altogether. Sick of being so alone.