It is almost spring. The temperature in the outskirts of Seoul is gradually rising and cherry blossoms are beginning to envelope the city in a rosy shade of fuchsia. Taeyong notices as he gazes out of the window from his classroom seat.

Taeyong never fully understood it when people said that the petals of cherry blossoms resemble the velvety feathers of baby doves, or when they said that it had the fragrance of the morning rain and a tinge of fresh vanilla cupcakes. Taeyong does not know, maybe because he has not actually seen them his whole life. Seeing it from afar was probably the nearest he could go. 

The bell rings and Taeyong is snapped out of his little daydream, flinching lightly when his eardrums reverberate from the vexatious ring. He shoves the stack of notes into his bag, drags the front of his beanie to cover half his face and sifts out of the classroom quickly before anyone could halt him. His palms get really sweaty and he clutches the strap of his bag tightly. He thinks he hears them talking about his eyes, he thinks they are. He suppresses the urge to cry or to cover his ears with cupped hands at his inability to tell whether it is a hallucination. He makes his way home inhesitantly and locks the main door.

Taeyong finally feels wrapped in his safety blanket. 

He spends hours, maybe days, gazing softly of what is interesting outside of his apartment. He is oddly enticed by the littlest of actions, of gestures, that he is leaned forward and has his fingers wrapped around the grill of his tinted windows in bubbling excitement. He watches them, giggles when they do and cares for when they frown. He is only able to because he knows that they don't sense or notice his presence. At least not behind the shard of dim glass. 

His eyes are often the cause of buzz among acquaintances. They are a shade too light to be sienna and are slightly cloudy. His mother told him that his eyes are beautiful, she was the only one who said that. Ever since her passing, no one else prompted him of its beauty. To others, it was perceived as an abnormality, a recurring flaw. Taeyong avoided the topic of how his eyes lacked melanin, but he never asked to be born with it anyway. 

Taeyong tugs his duvet over his curled frame and holds it against his nose. It smells clean like fresh fluffy towels, and he likes it instantly. That night, Taeyong dreams of cherry blossoms. 

Taeyong awakens with sunlight sifting through the blinds of the window. It is the weekend and he loves them. He gets all the time he wants to himself, all the space he needs from humanity. He does not actually hate school, does not actually hate interacting with people. He wants to but maybe baby steps. School and its horde of students at every turn and corner might be a little too much for him to handle. 

Taeyong helps himself to a glass of warm milk and takes a seat in front of the television. He notices people having coffee and digging miniature forks into cheesecakes. The rumble from his stomach confirms his yearn for it too. 

Taeyong finds his palms sweating as he nears the cafeteria. Not as crowded as he expected, but good enough to make him crumble in panic. 

He makes do with a corner seat after escaping from the waiter who questioned him a little more than just what his order was. He feels the people around him talking about it, talking about how ugly of a colour his eyes were. 

Maybe it is a wrong decision after all. 

The moment his coffee arrives, he gulps it down. It scalds his throat a little, but he would rather save himself from negativity in people's words. Upon finishing his macchiato, he places the mug down gently and scurries out, in hopes of being back to safe haven, solely away from interaction. 

"Wait!" Taeyong quickens his pace. He needs to get out of this place, he needs to wake up from this