I. Forced Donation

 

 

"Break up with me? Who does he think he is?" You repeat quietly to nobody.

 

The winter wind stinging your cheeks and your fingers feeling colder than usual, you shove them into the pockets of your coat. In the past, your boyfriend held them in his hands tucked them into his own pockets. Strangely, his pockets were always warmer than yours.

 

Oh right, ex-boyfriend.

 

You and your ex-boyfriend had lived together, but now that he broke up with you and moved out of your apartment... "I need a housemate," you grunt loudly once again to nobody in particular. Your voice echoes down the subway station as you recoil back in sudden embarassment.

 

Umm, anyways.

 

In your pocket, there is a ring you completely forgot about until you start down the stairs to the subway. It is a matching ring your ex-boyfriend had bought you to celebrate your and his one hundredth day together. You pull it out and study its features--smooth gold of the ring and its small yet bright diamond head. It is simple yet perfectly simple.

 

There is no more future for you and him, so the ring's not necessary anymore. The sound of your footsteps echoing down the subway station, you think about selling it as you trace its outline with your fingers, but your pride is too strong for that.

 

What will the jewelry shop keeper think about you if you go into the store to sell a ring that they had been previously selling in pairs. That's almost like announcing that you had been dumped by some guy. How embarrassing.

 

Still, the existence of the ring in your possession annoy you extremely. So engulfed in your own thoughts, you do not even notice the large plastic bumps on the subway floor that acts as a guide for the blind to the feel with their feet and follow to stay on the path. Completely caught off guard, you stagger in your steps and nearly trip.

 

In that sudden action, the ring slips out of your fingers and bounce loudly away from you, landing perfectly into a plastic bowl full of small coins of all different sizes.

 

You gasp silently at the strange accomplishment and walk over to grab the ring when you spot a very dirty looking figure lying next to it. On his side towards the wall, covered in a thin ragged coat with his legs tucked up to his chest, a golden brown haired man is silently dozing off against the wall of the subway station.

 

"A homeless guy who can actually afford to bleach his hair?" Reaching for your ring, you scoff, and the man stir slightly, grumbling something inaudiable in his sleep.

 

Startled by the sudden movement, your hand frozes in midair. It's then you realized how your situation can be misunderstood. After all, there's nobody around to prove that the ring is yours. If he woke up, he can argue that the ring had been given to him by someone else and that you were attempting to 'steal' from his offering pot.

 

After loudly swallowing back a lump caught in your throat, you slowly bend your legs lower and stretch your arm out to swipe the ring out the bowl as swiftly as possible.

 

Your hands are merely inches away when the man sigh, still in his rolled up position, and mumble loudly enough for you to hear. "Are you trying to steal from a homeless guy just because he can afford to beach his hair?" In an almost mocking tone, he was obviously quoting what you had said earlier about him.

 

"I-I'm not stealing." You refute.

 

He gets up, revealing a pale pubescent face of a young boy. "Why are you stuttering?" With a hint of smirk on his beautiful lips and his smile line creasing naturally on one side, he folds up one of his leg and rests an arm on it.

 

"I'm not..." Almost like a lost child, you blank out and just stare at his perfectly set facial features. He does not seem like he's from around here, yet at the same time, he does. The boy looks young, even younger than you. Everything looks foreign and appealing about him, but what's caught your attention the most is his golden hair. You did not notice it before from the back, but it looked nice.

 

You don't understand how such a little boy could stand living away from his parents at such a young age and sleeping under the streets of Seoul. Actually, you don't understand how such a beautiful young male could have slept so peacefully outside where some elderly lady could have kidnapped him and taken him to her house as a pet.

 

The homeless boy lightly taps your hand for your attention. "Hey, you got any money?" The announcement came on, reporting that the subway train for this stop was approaching.

 

Still dazed, you shake your head gently in response.

 

Letting out a disappointed cough, the boy readjusts his clothes and grabs the plastic bowl from right under your fingers, dumping its contents into his hand, to his pocket.

 

"Wait a minute," you stop him as he gets up on his feet with a grunt. "That ring is mine." The train makes its stop, and the door opens, allowing a large swarm of people out.

 

"Well, thank you." He gives a shaded smile while commenting for others to hear. "Unless you mean you want back what you just gave me."

 

Several women in their late thirties stops to watch what's going on. Under normal circumstances, you bluntly say what needs to be said, but this time is different. The boy releases a pitiful pout, and you swear you can hear the women mumbling in favor of the 'poor child' and reprimanding you.

 

Is the girl trying to take back the money she gave to that poor child, asks one of the women to another.

 

Young people these days only think about themselves, another shakes her head and gossips.

 

No, it's a ring and it was an accidnet, you want to tell them, but you are not sure why you have to care what the elderly women are saying about you.

 

The boy takes a chance in your hesitation and runs off. Still bewildered by the turn of event, you stay stranded among the crowd of judges still whispering about you as they start their way up the stairs.

 

By the time you recovered, the boy was gone, and you had missed the subway train.

 

--

 

You grab your friend, who had called you to meet at Hongdae that night, and shook her violently. "Did you hear anything I said, Sulli?"

 

"Yes, I heard you!" She responds back, a long trail of white condensation escaping as it met the cold air. "I understand you're in a bad mood, but if you weren't going to sell the damn thing and let it rust in the corner of your room, isn't it better that a hobo guy got it instead?"

 

Raising your hands up in the air, you let out your frustration into the winter sky. "It doesn't rust! It's hundred percent real, and I was going to sell it for money!" Your sudden antic definately attracted some unwanted attention as several people walking by gives you strange looks.

 

Your friend, Sulli, rolls her eyes at you, beckoning you to walk faster. "I get it, I get it, and I know just the way to make you feel better." She is already several steps ahead of you and the distance between the two of you continues increasing drastically.

 

"What, and don't tell me it's another one of your little boy band's performances." Still not satisfied with Sulli's reaction, you whine at her heels while scrambling to keep up with her. The sound of drums and several different styles of vocals are within earshot as you rush after your excited friend.

 

"You're amazing, Somin. How'd you know?" Turning around for a moment to make sure I was still alive and walking, she claps in anticipation as a you two approached the infamous Hongdae playground--known for the unbelieveable amount of trash, leftover residues of thick saliva and mucus, and tired clubbers.

 

According to your memories, usually group of rappers perform by the slides of Hongdae playground, but today, they're nowhere to be found. Instead, there is a set up for a band, and a large number of girls of various ages and styles waiting.

 

One of the girls is holding a small sign that read 'Exotic Men.'

 

You almost reel back in distaste. "Who the heck are 'Exotic Men'? Is this some--"

 

Immediately, Sulli covers your mouth and makes a motion to slap you. "If you know what's good for you, you would shut up." She hisses threateningly. Several of the girls around you looks back in your direction with a 'did I really just hear you say that' expression plastered on their faces.

 

Giving out a shy smile, you pull down your tail in defeat and retreat behind Sulli. My god, female fans are scary. This is why you never fangirl. "Is this a new obsession of yours?" You whisper into your friend's ear.

 

Sulli has dragged you to every single performance or events she wanted to go to, ranging from company idols TVXQ and Beast and Infinite to underground performers Clazziquai and Casker and Soul Connection. Never has she ever mentioned the name 'Exotic Men.' Well, you can understand why. The name is slightly... out there.

 

"I've always loved them, but they don't do a lot of live performances outdoor, so I could never take you." With her enormous height, Sulli searches beyond the sea of fangirls towards the set up of instruments. "Where are they?"

 

"Why don't you scream for your 'oppas'?" You suggest half heartedly, examining the type of girls supporting the band. You figure they are good looking, seeing how some of the girls are dressed so nicely despite their young age.

 

Only when the guys are good looking, do the girls dress up well, believing they would have a chance to date them because they were 'the one' for the flower boys. When the group members were not handsome, not a lot of girls put in the effort. Also, the lack of male figures in the crowd of audience supported my thesis.

 

This is everything you learned from your previous and numerous encounters with fangirls. Thanks to Sulli, you've met quite a lot during performances, fanmeetings and so on, and became a master of boy groups.

 

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh--" Suddenly, Sulli starts panting like a male chimpanzee, a sign that she has spotted her targets. "--oh, oh my gosh, there they are." Grabbing you and forcing your feet off the ground so you could see what she was seeing with her tallness, she points not too far away from the drum set.

 

Your eyes catch the sight of a familiar looking back of someone's head. You're not sure why, but the color golden brown, that his hair was bleached into, irritates you. Warily, you focus all your attention on him until he turns around and--

 

", it's the hobo." You tell Sulli, recognizing the smitefully handsome face from the subway station.