The trees overhead sang a stilted tune, the autumn breeze ringing through them as Ken watched the last of the light fade in the sky. He imagined it was a bruise-purple, deep and heavy. Ravi sat beside him, feet propped up on the table as he waited for Ken to talk to him. Ken shifted, pulling his knees up and resting his feet on the edge of the garden chair.

“When everything happened, last year,” Ken finally began, eyes coming down from the trees to rest on Ravi’s face. It was fading into the dark now. “I was in hospital for a little while.”

Ravi nodded, eyes pools of black.

“Not so much because of the injury. Physically it was mild, compared to how I was left when I woke up colourblind.” His chin came to rest on his knees, eyes no longer seeing Ravi or the studios but the bleak greys of a hospital room. “I don’t think I need to explain about losing my colour sight. I think you get it. You’re probably the first person I’ve told that really understands it.”

A deep ache. It was like the depth of the ocean, the rift inside that had been left from losing his colour sight. Unfathomable to himself, let alone anyone else at the time.

“I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. I didn’t want to keep my eyes open, because it was just… unbearable to see nothing but grey.” Ken finally continued. “People kept saying I was lucky. Lucky I wasn’t dead, or paralysed or anything else.”

He let his feet fall back to the ground and leant back in the chair.

“I felt like I was the most unlucky person in the world. Of all the things they could have taken from me, my colours were the worst,” He whispered. “No one understood. Especially not my parents. They were never really that convinced of my ability to become an artist before the attack. They were dead set against it afterwards.”

A car rolled by, headlights flashing and fading before Ken spoke once more.

“They came to see me, to convince me the only way I would feel better about it was to give up the one dream I’d poured my soul into for the last 10 years of my life. They decided for me that giving up entirely was better than the prospect of maybe someday. We fought. I decided that I’d show them just how wrong they were. I got out of hospital, I forced myself to appreciate the sight I had left. I was still the same person, just with a weird defect.”

Ken’s knees tucked up once more.

“It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough that I was out and living again. They berated me about it. And then I just snapped.” He shrugged. “I packed and left. I haven’t spoken to them since.”

Wonshik’s face was a mask of grey and black, the eyes too dark to read now night had fallen. Ken let his cheek rest on his knees, a burning ire in his heart.

“How long ago was that?” Wonshik’s voice was strange, the coarse texture of terracotta.

“Almost a year.”

There was a cough, a mixture of disbelief and incredulity. Ravi shifted, his face twisting slightly before he spoke again.

“Ken, you haven’t spoken to your mother for a year?”

“No. But it’s different—”

“I haven’t spoken to mine for a year either, but that’s because she died. You have to talk to her.” Ravi’s words were sharp blades against his skin.

“No I don’t,” Ken argued automatically. “It’s different.”

“It’s not! What if she died tomorrow?”

“Wonshik!”

“I’m serious! What if she died tomorrow and you regretted it forever. She’s family, you have to talk to her.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking their side!” Ken’s feet thumped to the dirt. “I thought of all people at least you would be on my side!”

“It’s not about sides,” Ravi argued, vehemence creeping into his voice. “It’s about—”

“Family, yeah yeah,” Ken’s teeth gritted so hard he thought they might break. “I’m so tired of hearing it. Where’s you father if family is so important? Why the hell does blood mean I have to forgive what she did?” His fists clenched as he towered over where Ravi still sat.

“Jaehwan,” Ravi seemed to catch himself before he burst.

“Oh, off.” Ken his heel and strode away. His whole soul felt as though it would burn with the anger in his blood. Heavy pumps of his erratic heart driving it through his veins as he left Ravi beneath the trees and chimes.

Food poised halfway to his mouth, Leo sat and watched as N took the first bite. His eyes closed and he sat back slightly in his seat, chewing slowly. Leo slipped the food between his lips and smiled as N took another larger bite and nodded with happiness.

“This is actually really good,” N admitted, eyes sparkling a little as he looked across Leo’s small table.

Leo smiled and shrugged.

“I did try to tell you I could cook,” Leo mumbled, eating more as warmth spread through his chest.

“This is delicious,” N stuffed more into his mouth, barely pausing to speak between mouthfuls. “Cook for me any time.”

“Aren’t you cooking for me next time?” Leo’s voice was devious. “Wasn’t that the deal?”

“Oh, yeah,” N’s mouth pursed slightly before he shrugged it off and continued eating.

When the plates were empty and the frypan scraped clean, N turned away to stare at the painting on the wall once more.

“Did Ken really do that?” He asked, glancing back at Leo.

“Yeah.” Something slimy and close to guilt rolled through his stomach as he replied. “It was when we graduated. Before his accident.”

“It’s really good,” N admitted softly. “I can’t imagine what it was like to lose a gift like that.”

Leo nodded, more guilt swamping over him.

“I can’t either,” Leo mumbled, bringing a hand to cover his mouth in thought. “Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to help him properly.” He mumbled into his palm.

Hakyeon abandoned the painting comletely, turning back to watch Leo closely.

“What happened between you two?” He pried, “Sometimes you’re thick as thieves and other times…” He gestured to Leo’s current state.

Leo’s eyes moved over Hakyeon’s face, there was only open interest there. Nothing more than a simple question about his past with Ken. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Did you want some coffee?” Leo offered, standing from the table and moving to the bench once more.

Hakyeon shrugged, still waiting for an answer.

Leo stared at the machine, thoughts a jumble of guilt, shame and anxiety.

Now he was running. Feet pounding against the sidewalk as he pushed through the sparse crowds. His shoes offered no protection, the impact hard and fast as he kept on. Lungs burning, eyes prickling with wind and perhaps something else. He ducked into a building, straight into a waiting elevator and rode it to his floor.

Heaving for breath, throat dry and raspy he threw his few items into a bag before turning on a heel and exiting again.

This time when he ran it was with a slight screech of tyres and more acceleration than he needed. Winding through city str