Sohee lived in the Seongbuk District of Seoul, the capital of South Korea. Seoul differs little from Los Angeles with its fancy for flashy neon lights that burn the skin and flocks of prattling citizens in sky-high high heels and crisp business suits scurrying down trashed-up streets. Geometric buildings are stacked wall to wall, edgy and sharp, a typical architectural repetition favored by the contemporary era. Her family was not as keen. She passed sweltering afternoons in a traditional wooden complex rebelling against modernity, watching as the smoke from Mother’s cigarette drifted into the tangerine sky. She had existed there in place for four years, yet the days she spent wallowing in that city are few cherished, and scarcely recollected.

The feeling, however, etches itself on her essence. Her soul is inscribed with the impression of nothing, and it carries that thin, white wound with it across the Pacific. That wound throbs, palpitates, thrums ferociously against Sohee’s ribcage. It’s bleeding, the contents spilling itself upon the pavement peppered with wilting dandelions laving her sneakers in meek comfort. They yell out for her to reply, and she does.

Aggressively.

Sohee lifts her right foot, and begins stomping on the sympathetic flora that were hapless enough to get captured in her fuss. The petals tear into scraps. The stem turning brown and twisted. She nearly smashes the fallen milk carton forgotten amidst the maelstrom. With a sniffle, Sohee kicks the cow across the alleyway without remorse, body collapsing. The smiling cow appears incredibly pitiful with its right eye broken in, and milk pouring from the hole.

A bell chimes in the distance, followed by a gravely shout. “What’s going on back here!” the old cashier from before hollers as he rears the corner. His steps falter when he spots the young girl on the dirt floor, sullen and pink-faced. His countenance purples. “What the hell? Why in God’s name are you fooling around back here! Didn’t I tell you there were strays!”

Sohee does not respond.

“What's wrong with you? Get up! Get up now!”

The senior is met with silence again.

The old man grabs the collar of her coat and forces her out of the alleyway in a grumble. He nudges her forward towards the elementary school. When she refuses to budge any more, he pushes her further, nearly tumbling her onto the road. “Go. You’ve always been a good girl, so I talk to the principal. I’m sure you were just curious about the dogs and got upset that they weren’t pups. If you’re hurt, go to the nurse’s office, okay?”

She nods dismissively. That’s enough for the elder.

 

It takes five minutes after he recedes into the convenience store for Sohee to muster the strength to cross the street, but even then strings are sewn into her arms, a puppeteer steering her to the destination. There are thirty minutes left until the death toll rings, and her body interprets the true wish in her heart and sends the limbs into action. She travels to the back end of the school where no one older than seven presides, up a ramp where she meets a pastel yellow door. She smacks her head against the door three times in succession. It’s numb.

On her fourth attempt, the door swings open and an angel replaces the wooden expanse. Mr. Lee, tall and assuming, towers over her, a firm presence Sohee craves to dive in and wrap herself with. He wears a knitted plaid sweater with a plush Gudetama stapled smack dab in the middle. “Sohee? What are you doing here?”

What a loaded question. There are a lot of reasons why she is here.

In this world, it's because of an accident. A baby formed after a Winter fling resulting in an untimely marriage, the single attempt to save grace in a conservative country. In this city, it’s because marriages do not breed affection, let alone love for each other, for their only daughter. There is a begrudging discontentment in the Winter. She's in the city because infidelity touches the sin of lust. Because it bruises the sin of pride. Alcohol numbs the mind, and the suffocation of burning cigarettes break the lungs not the heart. It soaks their skin and they all strive to rid themselves of the aftertaste.

It's image. It has always been about image.

Now, on the ramp leading to a meager haven viewed as Eden. It's the caged state of her chest, the dry throat that incites her to heave heavily. She is here because she can’t forge relationships with the right people, and that she’s perplexed over why the wrong people don’t seem so wrong. It is the walls which close upon her, the emotional claustrophobia. Her heart overwhelms, jump started by the sincere consideration the teacher gifts her.

“M-M-Mr. Lee!”

She breaks out into thick tears that pour down rounded cheeks, jumping into his wooly embrace, fibers tickling her burning ears. It’s impossible to conceal the leak. It pours and pours itself out. She continues wailing into his stomach with ripping itself apart in an effort to push out the cry. “Wah-hah-hah!”

Quickly, he scoops her up into his arms, inspecting her. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Sohee sniffles. She is unable to speak. Any words are clogged in her windpipe, choked by hiccups and muffled by snot. “It huh-huh-hurts...”

Mr. Lee panics. Easy fingers usher her into the classroom. He checks her for injuries. “It hurts? Where? Where does it hurt?”

She pats her chest weakly. “Here.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“It hurts... My—hic—heart hurts..."

“Do you have chest pain?” he asks worriedly.

“I wuh-wuh-WAH!” she sobs again. Mr. Lee’s hands skim her wet cheeks with a cloth. Without a word, he her hair, murmuring sorry comforts into the space between them. The scratchy nature of his sweater digs into her skin. For some reason, it calms the beast inside as though the cotton was gifted the superpower to stuff holes into broken dams. Under misshapen paper Christmas trees, beside her old teacher she has only known for a year, Sohee has never felt more safe.

She quiets.

Again, Mr. Lee rubs kleenex on her swollen visage. “Are you calm now? Can you talk?”

“Yeh,” she hiccups, “Yes.” A dozen blowfish have kissed her cheeks, and a bulldozer has gone rogue in her head. It pounds interminably. But then again, she has brought it upon herself.

“I understand you probably feel bad right now, but do you want to tell me what happened? We don’t have to talk right now, only if you’re ready,” Mr. Lee reassures.

It takes a few moments to bring her to coherency, and even then a stutter haunts her. “Me and T-T-Taehyung got into a fight, and then we tried being friends again,” her vision begins to blur, but the soothing pats on the back incite her to continue, “but I messed up, because I was s-s-scared and now he hates me.”

“What did you do to mess up?” Mr. Lee questions. What didn’t she do to mess up, she wonders. Sohee didn’t bother with a reply, head shifting to the right in shame, hiccups erupting sparsely now that the initial craze subsided. Mr. Lee’s hands paused in their ministrations. “Sohee.”

Silence engulfed the duo. “I was scared,” she eventually offers, quiet as can be. “I’m scared of him, and he was tired of it, and it’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“He talked to me first, played with me first, said sorry first. And when it was my turn, I couldn’t do it. I was there, but,” she says with a heavy sigh. “This is it.”

He says, “I don’t know the whole story, I never will, but listen, you’re so young. You may feel like life’s problems are too much. You may think that because you disagree, you’ll never get along. That when you do wrong, it’ll hurt you forever, I understand, because life is that so much bigger as a kid. But let me tell you this, any friendship can be saved right now. Even yours and Tae’s.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “He would turn me down.”

The teacher shrugs. “You turned him down, remember, many times. That has never stopped him from his faith in you. If he says he doesn’t forgive you, you just have to continue trying. Life is rough. If everyone gave up when the world didn’t work the way they wanted, then where would we be?”

Sohee mutters, “I’ve never been good with words.”

“Showing that you’re sorry is way more powerful than saying it. If what you did was as bad as you said, then saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough. You must give back as much as you have taken even if it takes five years.”

“Five years?”

“Is Taehyung worth it?” her teacher asks.

That’s the golden question. One that she debates herself as an attracting light emanates from the window next door where she can make out dramatic sound effects mimicking shotguns and magic spells, and a longing begs her to be there. As she counts the notes received, and traces the rough outline of their drawing. And she wonders. She loves her parents, she does. And she follows the unspoken rules rooted in their household: to not speak unless necessary, to not garner negative attention, to not associate with those labeled wrong.

It's image. It’s always been about image.

Taehyung is not worth it, she had told herself previously. He’s abnormal, troublesome, inquisitive—a dangerous boy that inspired a warmth that is savory and sweet. He resides in a place where shared giggles are an addiction; laughter, the greatest chocolate and it’s too bright for her. Sohee is afraid of him, of jumping into his dimension and finding herself astray in his perception. But now, when he is lost, she ponders if heartbreak was a justifiable exchange for fear. She longs as intensely as a child could, cares in that solemn way a person her age could never decipher.

He was sunshine, but here he lies somber under her actions. He deserves smiles, not the ache of a lost friend who turned her back. She could procure a thousand galaxies for him, and even then it wasn’t enough for what he gave her for what short time they were acquainted. She took and took and took. It was only fair for her to give, even if she did not have much.

“Of course he is,” Sohee finally agrees softly, but adamantly.

“Are you worth it?” Mr. Lee then asks and it pushes her off her game. “Because if you don’t think you’re enough for him, how is he supposed to think that too?”

Sohee contemplates. Her skin has long been dried of tears, the swelling appeasing its attack. “I’m not. But I’ll try.”

And that’s the best she can provide him.

 

Thus, plan S.S.T.T.A.B.F.A. (say-sorry-to-Taehyung-and-be-friends-again) commenced the minute the bell struck its clamorous rhyme.

Children shuffle into the classroom as hectic as a swarm of bees, Sohee preferring to be one of the last to enter to avoid being jumbled against other bodies. Noticeably, Taehyung’s seat is empty, an uncommon occurrence as he had previously made a point to be the first to greet her. She is sure her heart lost another vessel as she recounts the lack of ‘good morning’, but she forces herself to ignore the pang that shot through her chest like a bullet, preparing herself for five years worth of groveling.

Ten minutes pass. The teacher had already recited roll call. Sohee pulls at her bottom lip, eyes blinking, and a shudder of tension rumbles through her as the door opens, revealing Taehyung. He is gaunt, tired-looking. An oversized sweater is slung over his thin body which she is sure she had seen buried underneath copious lost and found items forgotten in the office. No one pays him any mind as he barges in, not even the teacher, who takes one glance at his bruised knees with a disappointed sigh and quietly marks him late.

As he sits next to her, Sohee fiddles with her pencil, glancing at him. A snap of boldness bites her. “Good morning.”

He ignores her, grabbing his english textbook and roughly tossing it onto his desk.

“How are… you today?”

Silence. He flips to the page instructed.

“Um… did you think the… homework was hard?”

Taehyung refuses to pay her a cent of his attention. That’s okay, she reminds herself. She’ll just try again later. And she does. Twenty more times throughout the hour.

The recess bell rings and Taehyung is too fast for her to catch. He bolts out of the classroom, and when Sohee skitters after his shadow, he snags the sleeve of another student from the class next door—Jimin she remembers vaguely—to drag to the basketball court. He knows she detests the sport. The sheer quantity of sweat and unnecessary screaming repulses her and everything she has been taught. Nonetheless, Mr. Lee’s words are tattooed to her heart. Change brings change, even if she is scared for it.

Besides, she’s only going to spectate.

 

It’s been a two weeks and Taehyung still can’t figure out Sohee’s angle. Shouldn’t she be elated that he wouldn’t be pestering her anymore? Instead, she lingers by the benches near the court every day, acting as though she’s not spying on their basketball game. She’s too transparent, and it confuses him.

A small hand smacks his head. “The heck, Tae? We’re in the middle of a game!” Jimin scolds, and Taehyung suddenly recognizes an orange ball lying in his grasp. A throng of boys and at least two girls surround him.

“Sorry,” he mutters and with a forced grin, he pushes forward, shoving classmates side to side and landing terribly aimed shots. He was never that much of an athlete. Sohee detailing every movement of his barely-functioning limbs didn’t do much for his psyche either.

They call for a break, and he should’ve expected it when the second he is alone at the drinking fountain, Sohee clambers off the bench and into his space. He is resolute in ignoring her. Serves her right for the damage she’s inflicted upon his trust.

“Taehyung!” she shouts, and that means a lot for her silent character. The nature of it is desperate, pleading, and for once his fragile disposition works against his mind’s intentions. His body responds, shifting to her voice.

Still, he tries. He shoves his head almost inside the water fountain.

“I,” he hears her take two deep breaths, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I know I was. I should’ve helped you. I should’ve been there. I am—was—your best friend. I shouldn’t have ignored you. I should’ve done something. I’m so sorry… ”

This is the longest he has heard her speak in ages, and a month ago he would have bottled those words in the prettiest vial like a fool. He drowns himself in the cool haze the fountain water sprays him with. He wishes it could wash away her petty words. They don’t mean anything.

“I'm sorry... Can we… talk again?”

Taehyung pulls his head up abruptly, a glare fixated on her. He scoffs. “Why? Why should I when you never did?”

“I was wrong. I want to be friends,” Sohee says, hands wringing.

Suddenly, moments of casual dismissal swim to the surface of his brain, burning him, churning his insides further. An irrational anger sparks. Why is it the moment he’s not obediently trailing after her like some dog, she decides to open her arms and make amends? Was he nothing more than a sidekick to fuel her own ego? “I want nothing to do with you. Leave me alone.” Taehyung turns, face red and chest aching.

Sohee is cruel.

 

The next day, he meets her at the school steps, a fresh bruise on his face from his weekly rough-up.  He observes as Sohee visibly recoils at the wound, but her hands clutch at her backpack straps, and she approaches him boldly. She releases one of her hands to dig inside her pocket. A small white paper emerges from the fabric. Before she can attempt, Taehyung schools his expression, plowing past her readied figure.

He doesn’t care. Not at all.

And this continues for the next week, and it’s oh so familiar. It’s repetitive and he can feel himself emotionally exhausted. It’s the same letter he ignores, that oh so familiar tenacity.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, she echoes without a trace of doubt that this is what she plans to do. He’s been told he’s been full of fire by a dozen people, but then they’ve never met Sohee Ahn. Firm, persistent, and a steady inferno encased in a shield of ice.

“How long are you going to do this?” he asks once.

“Until you tell me it’s okay again,” she replies, and Taehyung believes she could do it if he told her to wait forever. But that’s stupid, because she doesn’t mean it.

“You’re stupid,” he says bluntly. And he walks away, wondering what that letter could possibly contain, wondering if she is making a fool of him and his radical behavior, wondering if she’s genuine. He wonders, and he never gets an answer. He plays basketball at a later date, and he wonders why he feels like something is missing despite being surrounded by so many friends.

 

It's the third week, and school has almost reached Winter break. Sohee is still at the steps, except now there is a crowd. It would be naive to think no one would know about these encounters. Every so often a classmate would be dropped off at the same time Sohee and Taehyung interacted. Now, it has become somewhat of a spectacle. The boisterous boy pestering someone doesn't seem like news, but someone else, especially the class Ice Queen, pursuing the reverse is the spiciest gossip to reach elementary school.

Frankly, Taehyung is not embarrassed. Doesn't know embarrassment. Not an acquaintance of such a word. But he is worried. Despite the fact that he’d never understand why this is so, Sohee is absolutely repulsed by massive collections of humans at one place. To him, more people means more of a party, but she detests such crowds. He sees it in the way she clutches her backpack to her chest a little tighter as Kindergarteners stare on her lettered confession with curious eyes. Her head tilts downwards a little more when kids from their class giggle a bit too loudly, but her hands are still held out in an offering. She’s trembling.

He’s sick of it. On the fourth occurrence, he decides that while he may allow her to stick to this routine, he is sick of this crowd that deems it acceptable to make a novelty out of her too.

It's nearing the end of Winter when Taehyung Kim accepts the envelope, its body crinkled with its sides adorning small tears. The beaming smile he receives from Sohee falters his steps; it’s unraveling, the way she smiles, undoing the precarious strings holding his resolve together.

It seems she wasn't so bothered by the crowd after all.

 

It’s after school and he’s twirling the letter between his fingers, memorizing the bends under his skin. It’s a dainty letter. It is not heavy. The envelope shows no abnormal protrusions. He observes two little indents in the shape of thumbs, and is reminded that the person herself is as dainty as the note. A small hand cuts past his view and snags the corner of the envelope.

“Is this it?” His friend, Jimin, asks. His cat-like eyes are twinkling crescent moons filled with mischief.

“Is what it?” Taehyung asks back, darting his arm forward to retrieve the letter.

Jimin, despite being shorter, is faster and dodges his friend’s grab. He wiggles the object in a taunt. He grins cheekily. “You know, Sohee’s letter. Everyone’s talking about it. I heard from Johnny that she’s been confessing her undying love to you every day and won’t stop until you marry her.”

“Shut up! That’s not what happened.” Taehyung frowns, making another attempt to get the note back. He fails when the other twists his body in the opposite direction.

“But c’mon, waiting for you everyday? That’s so creepy.”

“Jimin, stop, leave her alone. And give me the letter back. It’s not yours.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jimin whines. “You’re not gonna share what’s in here? Maybe it’s a wedding proposal!”

“No, it’s none of your beeswax and it doesn't even say that,” Taehyung huffs, feeling more disgruntled. Normally, he’d let Jimin’s teases roll off his back—they’re best friends like that—but today he isn’t in the mood.

“Oh, yeah? Then what does this say?” Jimin teases the envelope open. His small fingers begin to rip the top out.

Taehyung startles forward. “Give it back!”

“C’mon!”

“Jimin!”

“It’s just a letter!”

There’s red, and its scarlet ambience fuels an untapped rage he rarely ventured. Taehyung pushes Jimin harshly, propelling the shorter back a few inches. It doesn’t hurt—Taehyung doesn't have that capability—but the shock that reverberates throughout Jimin’s entire body is real. In the latter’s stillness, Taehyung steals the letter, shoving it in his pants pocket.

“Sorry, Chim Chim,” Taehyung murmurs, genuinely apologetic.

Jimin, despite his shock, understands that, and the mischievous aura dissipates, giving way to soft concern. “Nah, I started it. No need to apologize for me being a jerk. I should know not to make fun of her. You get all gooey.”

“Shut up!” Taehyung lightly shoves his friend, silently grateful that Jimin is such a plum. “I don’t get all gooey. I just don't like it when someone is mean to a-a,” he finds no words to classify Sohee, “another classmate.”

Jimin sits next to him, and gives Taehyung a hug. It’s warm and fluffy and all the taller needs to quell the turmoil. “If you’re that gooey for her, maybe you should read her letter and make up instead of getting all dark over it”

“We can’t just make up, it’s harder than that. It wasn’t just a fight.”

“Okay then,” Jimin concedes. “If that's what you want.”

“You’re okay with that?” Taehyung questions, surprised at the easy permission.

Jimin shrugs. “I’m just here to help. You don’t have to forgive anyone you don’t want to. I like Sohee, for the most part that is, but you can take your time.”

Taehyung breaks out into a grin, one he hadn't had in a long time. He surges forward, but this time he gather his friend up in his arms and squishes him with all his might. “You’re one chill mochi, Jiminie!”

Jimin gags. “Ugh, you’re being extra gooey today.”

“Love you too.”

 

(Turns out the letter isn’t a letter at all. An orange giraffe smiles at him with prominent crows feet, the creases of the paper make wrinkles on smooth fur. Taehyung crumples it up into a ball, a scream trying to tear through his core.)

 

Before Taehyung passes the convenience store, he is slammed against the alley wall. His back rubs into the brick, digging into the fading bruises of the last session. He curls into himself. It is better to accept the abuse than try to fight it. When he was younger and less experienced, he had fought, and that only incited invitation to a far superior consequence than he was willing to repeat. Taehyung limps to the side, coughing when the largest bully, Edgar, smacks him across the face, tumbling him off balance.

“‘Sup, . Didn’t see you the other day. Kinda missed you,” another, Carlos, sneers, tucking his face between thumb and forefinger. When Taehyung whimpers, Carlos punches him in the stomach. “Say something!”

“I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out. He wants to cry, but as damaged as his pride is at this point, he couldn’t find tears to weep anymore. He’d never be ashamed of his parents, God forbid, but he resents the bullies for making him feel like he’d rather be anyone else’s son. They compromise the honesty he promised his father. They make him lie about his injuries. He lies about his feelings. It hurts, he wants to say.

“You should be—” Hit. “—ing sorry.” Hit. “Wasted our ing time.” Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, curling in even further. Please stop. He is already sorry. Stop. Stop.

 

Click.

 

Angry hands on his body yank backwards with a panic. Taehyung groggily shifts his head towards the sound, marking the tension in the bullies’ shoulders. However, as quickly as their defenses had been raised, they slacken. Taehyung’s vision is blurry, but he focuses on the petite figure framing the alley opening. He chokes. A second later, he goes hysterical. She shouldn’t be here. She’ll get hurt. She’ll— She’ll—

Sohee stands as still as a stone, a large, rose-gold phone held in her hands. Her face is icy. She is without fear.

“Give us your phone,” Carlos demanded, not above scratching a little girl. “I know you didn’t mean to be seen.”

Sohee shakes her head. She is adamant in her stance. Despite her stature, Taehyung sees her as tall as life was long. He is confused by her presence. He must have fainted and was experiencing a dream, because there is no way she’d be here. Not for him. Her finger presses down on the button again.

 

Click.

 

When they approach, Sohee frowns. “If you come here, I’ll just send it. If you go now and leave Taehyung alone, I’ll throw it away. Even if you take this phone or hit me, I can have my Dad get me another one and I’ll have the pictures back. I won’t if you leave, okay.”

The bullies seem feral, and Carlos looks ready to maim, to Taehyung’s horror, but Edgar grips onto the other’s arm and forces him to walk the other way. Taehyung is left crushed against the garbage, vibrating with residue fear. He could hear the footsteps of their leave, but he could feel phantom pains taking revenge on such a short session. Taehyung pushes himself into sitting position. He raises his knees to his chest. New, lighter steps approached him.

A hand is held out. He stares at it, then trails his eyes down the pale arm to the slightly smiling owner.

“What is this?” he asks in a near murmur.

Sohee shrugs. “I want to try. For you. This is first time, but I’m okay with many more. As many as you want. I’m okay with it now. I don’t go away any more. For you. Always for you.” Her hand is still outstretched.

Taehyung stares at her. Considering her fearlessness, and he took her hand. At the contact, he freezes. She is trembling against him. He examines her face and finds a quiver to , hesitance in her knees. Taehyung is in awe. She helps him to his feet, and tries to let go, but instead he turns his hand over, intertwining his with Sohee’s. The softest gasp escapes her, and he squeezes. They’re both so scared. He wonders if he should forgive her, but then realizes that the moment she appeared, he had.

 

(Sohee and Tae sip on their milk cartons gingerly. Hello Kitty bandaids decorate Taehyung’s body courtesy of the little girl. He releases the straw, and tilts his head towards hers curiously. “Will you be there when they come back for more?”

Sohee grins. “There won’t be any more. I’m talking to the principal later, and I’m having Mr. Lee email the parents.”

Tae gasps. “But you said.”

“We don’t keep promises to bullies.”

“What if they get angry and decide to hit me even harder?”

“They can’t touch you in Juvie.”

He giggled. “You’re so mean.”

“An attack on Tae is an attack on me,” she declared seriously.)

~

Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

~

 

I'm so sorry if anyone was waiting for this mess. I had actually written 2/3's of this half a year ago and just didn't know how to proceed with the bullying scene. Today I just it up and wrote it. I'm not entirely satisfied, but I wanted to move past this angst and proceed towards the fluff. I'm unsure of whether Sohee worked hard enough to earn that forgiveness, or if I should've written more on Tae's thought process on forgiving her. I wonder if I should've added more Jimin (cuz you know I love that Vmin mmm) Please comment your thoughts!