Chapter 1- Chrysanthemum

In a small café on the east side of Seattle, where the rain never sleeps and the grass has never been greener, a small boy with round doe eyes sits in the corner table, looking out the window blankly and sipping his piping hot chocolate with full, pink lips. He sighs contently, the delicious whipped cream floating down his stomach of warm butterflies. His breath creates patterns of steam on the window that is marked with raindrops fighting their way down the cold window. A small smile escapes him as his brief happiness with the moment takes over. But happiness is fleeting, and the moment is ruined when his phone vibrates in his pocket, causing him to almost spill his drink in surprise. Almost distraught, he picks up his phone and reads the tiny, pixelated screen.

Be there in five. Running late. –Luhan.

The boy sighed with less jubilation, and sat back in his seat, his hand unconsciously toying with his cup, the blank expression creeping back up as he dives back down into his wonderland.

“Kyungsoo, can you stop spacing out? You stood out as soon as I walked in,” a man with shaggy blonde hair and waterproof headphones walked up to the table, shaking off his faux letter jacket. Kyungsoo stared up at him with wide eyes, studying the features of the man who looked only fourteen, yet was twenty-five. The only thing that gave away Luhan’s age was his tired eyes. Sometimes, he wasn’t even allowed into a bar.

Luhan sat opposite of Kyungsoo, his eyes focused dazedly on the window. After a moment, he turned to Kyungsoo, age and decreased hope marking his features.

“Stay right there,” Kyungsoo said, sliding out of his chair to get his friend a drink. Today was the marking of a very important date, and Kyungsoo was hell-bent on his best friend having a good day. That’s all he asked for was good; not great, not super, just good.

He was back in three minutes with Luhan caramel macchiato. He slid the cup to his friend who was daydreaming through the world around him. Normally, he would have let Luhan be, but today, he could see exactly what was going on.

“Luhan, I know this might come off as insensitive, but you have to try to get over him. It has been five years. And today is your birthday,” Kyungsoo trailed off as the look on Luhan’s face got louder.

“I haven’t had a birthday in five years and you know that,” Luhan whispered with desperation hinting in his voice. Kyungsoo could see tears well up in the other’s eyes, and he desperately wished he could take back his sentence, “not since Sehun died.”

The year Luhan and Kyungsoo buried Oh Sehun, they both moved, under Kyungsoo’s wishes, to Seattle, Washington. Luhan had vehemently refused, but in his state, no one really took his authority seriously. Luhan took a steady job as a consultant for Microsoft, to which he quit three months later to become the owner of a hipster printing shop in the broncs of Tacoma, a large city completely polluted with smog and violence, no longer than fifteen minutes from their shared apartment in Seattle’s poor district. If one thing had them completely flustered, it was the price of living in the beautiful area of Seattle.

“Sorry I was late, by the way. Someone got ran over on I-5, and you know how busses are here,” Luhan look into his coffee bitterly. It was no secret to anyone who had talked to Luhan at parties that he hated Seattle’s transportation, he often used that term loosely, system.

Kyungsoo nodded in understanding, determinedly finishing his hot chocolate that had turned lukewarm. They sat in silence, secrets and bitter sadness loomed over the table in the corner of the café until each of them had awkwardly motioned they were done. Walking out of the café and into the cold, crisp air only lined with the body warmth of the city, Kyungsoo felt liberated. He pulled his scarf closer to his face and fell into step behind his best friend of now ten years. They walked in sync, and Kyungsoo felt like a child again. Luhan laughed, trying to trip the younger up, only to fall into one of the cracks. They both giggled, no longer the depression adults they were a little while ago.

However, that all changed when the heard the squealing of brakes and a loud crashing sound.

“Oh my God, how many times are people gonna crash in this God-forsaken city,” Luhan mumbles bitterly, turning his head so only Kyungsoo could here. But the doe-eyed boy was far too busy analyzing the scene.

According to Shangdi, there are three types of people in this world.

Subjects.

Gatherers.

And Identifiers.

Kyungsoo is an Identifier.

He looks through the crowd, scanning to see the outcome of the terrible crunching sound. It is not the minds, or the words that escape from the frightened passers-by as they watch as police men attempt to calm them down. No.

Only a life as unique as theirs should be captured on something as equally unique.

Their body.

“Come on, let’s go. I know how weird you can get when it comes to bodies,” Luhan grabs a dazed Kyungsoo, pulling him towards the route to their apartment. Kyungsoo is still in a daze, reading the characters that portray themselves on and around the bodies of hundreds of people, and they all say the same thing.

“The motorcyclist didn’t survive,” Kyungsoo reported hollowly.

“Shocker. Now let’s get out of here,” Luhan muttered, “It’s probably all of this ing rain.”

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo hurried to lead Luhan home faster. He didn’t want to stick around for the company of what was to come.

“Oh, the car crash reminded me, we have to visit our neighbors,” Kyungsoo commented as nonchalantly as he could, knowing the reaction he was going to get.

“Oh God no, not the ‘lesbians’,” Luhan wailed, his head arched back as if asking why his life as much as it did.

“Excuse you, Ga In is a lovely person,” Kyungsoo scolded.

“Yeah, and Jo Kwon is a fairy,” Luhan snapped back.

“You have no room to talk,” Kyungsoo said, getting on the bus in the nick of time.

“At least I didn’t try to flaunt it,” Luhan snarled, and purposefully strode through the bus, making sure Kyungsoo had to pay for the fare, and sat on the opposite side of the bus, away from his friend, like the drama queen he was.

Kyungsoo and Luhan’s shared apartment was definitely modest. Two rooms, brick, with a barely functioning kitchen, it was the only place Luhan could actually be himself, and Kyungsoo had no people to deal with. The ceiling was nothing more than rafters, and a humongous grand window centered itself on the far wall, though the only view was the other brick wall a small twenty feet away. Kyungsoo’s portraits and Luhan’s impeccably impressive wardrobe covered the entire living room, and it traced all the way to the bedrooms. It was messy, most likely had asbestos, and had spiders that Luhan was petrified of eating while he was asleep. But it was home.

Sliding the key into the rickety lock on the door, Luhan had insisted they change it, he’s not the biggest fan of sleep, Kyungsoo could have sworn he had locked the door.

“Thieves. Thieves, I’m telling you. We’re dead,” Luhan threw his hands up dramatically. Kyungsoo suppressed a sigh; why were they even friends.

“No! No thieves, I promise,” a beautiful Asian woman opened the door with a warm smile, immediately matched by Kyungsoo.

“Ga In,” Kyungsoo said affectionately. Ga In was by all means gorgeous. A graduate at Central Saint Martins in London, she reached the top of her class. How she managed to get whipped, as they had called it, and move to a dump in Seattle had always floored Kyungsoo. He knew of course, that it was for love.

“Oh hey guys, sorry. We were just helping freshen up the floor a bit. You know you should really get that lock fixed,” Ga In lifetime companion, Jo Kwon, said offhandedly, while Luhan gave Kyungsoo the sideways “I told you so” look. Both Jo Kwon and Ga In were creative thinkers, and had chosen to not call each other “Lovers” or “Partners” because, well, it was too mainstream for them. Kyungsoo had admired their creative spirit, but it only pissed Luhan off.

“Oh, Kyungsoo. I see some big things in your future. Your aura is looking extra insightful today,” Ga In said, attempting to close the window, and failing miserably.

                “Is that so?” Kyungsoo asked, running to help her. Jo Kwon strutted out of Luhan’s bedroom, with a surprised Luhan watching him.

                “Yeah, Ga In’s been talking about an ‘important event’ for you this whole day. Which is why she burnt the casserole, and which is why we’re here trying to air the entire floor out,” Jo Kwon explained, carrying various sheet’s from Luhan’s bedroom in an attempt to be a kind neighbor and air them out. Kyungsoo almost doubled over in laughter when he snuck a peak at Luhan. Luhan was fanning himself with one of Jo Kwon’s tranny fans looking like he was about to have a conniption.

                “Yes, tonight, Kyungsoo. During Luhan’s birthday party,” Ga In mused mystically, and Kyungsoo choked on his own saliva. Ever since Kyungsoo and Luhan moved to Seattle, the upstanding tradition of Luhan’s birthday was to go get a burger at a rundown diner and have a competition to see who could drink the most chocolate cokes before their exploded. After that, they would sing along in their house to American 70’s disco music. It wasn’t exactly a rave.

`

                “Yeah, you guys should also watch out on the way home, I heard there were like two accidents today on the same stretch of road,” Jo Kwon warned as he awkwardly tried to hang Luhan’s sheets. Kyungsoo watched amusingly as Luhan became fed up with the effeminate man, grabbing the sheets from him and tramping up to his room indignantly.

                “Dear, have you forgotten that Luhan hates it when people touch his things?” Ga In asked an almost in tears Jo Kwon. Kyungsoo refused to take part of this conversation, and began opening the blinds of the giant house, his thoughts once again taking him elsewhere.

Right now, he was only happy for Luhan.

                When not around the once bubbly light, Kyungsoo swept up in his own thoughts and problems. He didn’t even notice when the couple left. He stared out the window, one hand toying with the stings of the blinds.

                Ever since middle school he has had the vision many have craved for. Infinite knowledge as far as the eye can see, Kyungsoo once thought he was God. But he soon realized that the knowledge that was bestowed upon him was nothing more than a sham.

Knowledge does not give you freedom. It binds you.

                Kyungsoo should have known this. For every thought, every past action, and future choice he can see on everyone he meets, he is bound to them. He knows more about them than they do. He does not see just when someone dies, but how they die. Every thought, every emotion, every drop of blood that falls from their body is known to him. A human boy. Bound forever in those drops to know.

                This is why he is called an Identifier.

                “Hey, did they leave?” Luhan asked as he peaked around the corner, bringing Kyungsoo out of his tormented train if thought.

                “Yeah, I guess they did,” Kyungsoo mused absently, hands finally letting go of the strings.

                “You’re not wearing that, are you?” Luhan asked pointedly at his friend, who was dressed to the nines as a homeless person. Luhan stared at Kyungsoo with wide eyes when his friend had the audacity to be offended.

                “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Kyungsoo asked, miffed.

                “Oh I guess nothing, if you’re not going to heed Ga In’s warning,” Luhan loomed over Kyungsoo, who repressed a shudder. There was no way he was getting out of playing Ken, and besides, it was Luhan’s birthday, and he should humor him.

                Humoring Luhan was the worst idea Kyungsoo had ever come up with. He ended up in faded jeans and some vintage graphic t-shirt. Kyungsoo sighed, zipping up his black cotton jacket that he always wore, as Luhan drove. Luhan had insisted he drive everywhere, extremely weary of the drivers here. Kyungsoo watched absently as soft jazz matched in tune to the windshield wipers lazily doing their job. Luhan’s birthday hadn’t always been this melancholy, but the last time Kyungsoo remembers Luhan having a good time was five years ago.

“We’re here, Sleeping Beauty,” Luhan announced dramatically a short while later. Kyungsoo had been so lost in his thoughts; he hadn’t realized Luhan pull up to their favorite diner. Ruby’s went out of business in early 2011, and reopened to weeks after Kyungsoo and Luhan moved to Seattle. It was so good; their burgers were fantastic and the chocolate coke, something the boys had never experienced before, was Luhan’s new favorite drink. Kyungsoo laughed as Luhan became a five year old boy again, practically skipping to the vintage knock-off 50’s diner.

“Why hello Luhan, back again so soon?” a waitress called to a jubilant Luhan.

“Of freaking course!” Kyungsoo was surprised at the 180 Luhan’s emotions took. They sat down in a booth and Luhan immediately began to fiddle with the menu, humming a small tune as Kyungsoo sat opposite of Luhan, his widening and focused eyes began to drift from the bubbling man to the waitress currently on her phone outside the window. As her lips moved fast, Kyungsoo froze as her skin began to show the conversation.

What do you mean you don’t have the money? We need to pay for rent.

Chinese symbols moved at the speed of light on her body, constantly changing, never the same. Her past was still, slowly moving to display constant information.

She knows she’s going to be fired next week.

She’ll be homeless by the end of the month.

As the strange girl twirls her hair, Kyungsoo catches a glimpse of the back of her neck; her most sensitive and vulnerable area.

She will die homeless this winter. December 15 to be exact.

Kyungsoo takes a menu from the booth side, and opens it.

This is his job as an Identifier.

He will see, but he can never do.

“Sorry about the wait, what can I get you boys?”

Kyungsoo watches amusedly as Luhan pats his stomach in satisfaction, giggling like a school girl.

“I won,” Luhan states.

“You always win,” Kyungsoo mutters, his manly pride in shambles.

“It’s not my fault you have a small bladder,” Luhan teases, looking around to find the waiter. After a few minutes of getting up and looking, Luhan rushes back to the booth and freezes.

“What’s up?” Kyungsoo questioned, cocking his head to see beyond Luhan’s.

“Don’t look he’s coming,” Luhan whispered harshly. Kyungsoo was even more curious, stretching his neck even farther.

“Here’s your check, sir,” a deep and sultry voice came from behind the dorky looking Kyungsoo. In embarrassment, he hid his beet red face in behind his shaggy hair. Kyungsoo checked Luhan through his hair to find the older man flustered.

“Yes, thank you,” Luhan mumbled, reaching for his wallet unconsciously. Kyungsoo quickly whipped out his card and gave it to the air, still hidden.

“You’re not paying for your birthday dinner,” Kyungsoo stated with as much confidence as he could despite his feeble and unsure looking state.

“Oh okay,” the confused stranger leaves, and Kyungsoo looks up, and sees Luhan, staring after the man with dirty thoughts encircling his person. Kyungsoo retained a grimace, and focuses on anything except the obvious attraction Luhan had to the stranger.

Luhan was too busy thinking about the guy at the diner to complete the birthday tradition, and Kyungsoo was all too happy to oblige.

Taking his shoes off in the darkness of his room, the after effects of the woman in the window played through his mind. December 15 was all he could think about as he laid down, blood shot eyes seeing the Chinese characters he’s all too used to play against the ceiling.

“Not you too,” he whispers softly.

Art. The subtle difference between looking and seeing. The fine line that separates the ecstasy of imagination and the cruel reprieve of insanity. Drawing the line across what is real and what is seen. The perception of the artist is beautifully warped; so much so, it creates a parallel balance with critics and enthusiasts seeking different truths but ultimately being drawn into the same mindset. The seemingly frayed outlier of exquisite thinking. One drop of paint can create a world of meaning, far beyond words and actions. In a world where abstraction can tell the clearest story, Kyungsoo wishes he could live. In the mindset of great paintings and majestic canvases that tell the story of culture, of mind, of worlds people today can only dream about. Only the greatest realizations are far-fetched and unreasonable to the masses.

Kyungsoo lives in the world of of hair and oiled down paper.

The plains of yellow fields ease the hurricane in his mind, and calm the massive waves that drown his soul from his very being. The trees cover with fine paint help ease the oppressing sun of who he is, and what he is supposed to be, and shade him from the weight of the clouds of depression that seek him out.

Here, he is safe.

Traipsing through the seemingly endless halls of the Seattle Art Museum, Kyungsoo smiles sadly as he gazes through the portraits and paintings he’s seen a hundred times. Admiring each and every one, ignoring the sadness in the subtext, and the description box underneath them, he continues. Once he’s reached the end, he goes back. At each passing picture of a picnic or king, Kyungsoo silently wishes that he as well, could take such a perfect picture of the lives he sees, because maybe then, he will finally be able to them justice.

He aches for the gift of art, maybe because he is burdened by the gift of words. 

He cracks a smile cynically, returning to one of his favorites. He would normally plead the fifth when it came to his personal favorites, however, every time his eyes found the painting, he stopped and stared for a long while, smiling slightly, as if his problems faded with the deep violet colors.

L’Ile aux Orties

Claude Monet. Only his name can catch Kyungsoo in a flurry of emotion. If he was a fan of anything in this world, it was Claude Monet. The essence of color and blotched, impressionist paintings reminded Kyungsoo of earlier days, making him nostalgic in public, something he rarely did. He takes in every detail in the lavender painting every time he sees it.

“You like Monet?” an eerily familiar voice casually piques conversation.  

“I suppose so,” Kyungsoo replies lightly turning around slightly to acknowledge the stranger butting into his quiet time with his paintings.

The man before him smiled, and Kyungsoo’s eyes widened.

He was beautiful.

He was obviously sun-kissed, his brown skin, eyes, and hair would simply come off to Kyungsoo as boring. He could never understand why humans were so boring looking, when the trees and water were lovely vibrant shades, while humans were brown. They were always supposed to be brown, and it made Kyungsoo hate them even more.

But looking at the man marveling the painting in front of him, Kyungsoo think that maybe brown isn’t that bad.

“So, what part of the painting do you like?” The stranger asked, staring at Kyungsoo with deep-set, crescent moon eyes. They glistened in the brightly lit room, highlighting the other-wise pitch black irises to reveal deep brown and gold poking at the edges. They were half covered with thick black lashes that seemed to sweep the bags naturally under his eyes. His full lips twitched in a smirk at Kyungsoo’s hesitation.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” Kyungsoo swallowed, eyes straying from the face of the now amused man to down, only to be shocked farther.

The markings that appear on people’s bodies, telling Kyungsoo everything he needs to know, never appear on the face, for it is a symbol of beauty, the face, and is not to be tampered with by the iniquities and transgressions of a life. Shangdi loves faces, so faces are never meant to be touched.

However, the body tells all.

The constant changing of the characters the move across the body tell the future, thoughts, and behavioral patterns. They move faster than the speed of light, but Kyungsoo catches every letter that crosses the body. Every thought, secret, and emotion is known to Kyungsoo, and he only has to see a person once.

However, the man in front of him was stagnant.

No emotions, no thoughts, feelings, or secrets. Smudged and barely visible, the characters on his body were rooted to his skin, few and far between. Even what Kyungsoo could see, he couldn’t make out.

It was almost as if the man in front of him was dead.

“Are you listening to me?” the man seemed confused, worried, and offended at Kyungsoo’s perpetually unending staring. Kyungsoo swallowed, his eyes falling once again on the man’s face, trying his hardest not to question the boy’s condition, for lack of a better word.  

“Are you okay?” the stranger questioned, leaning away from Kyungsoo, who was burning his unanswered questions into the man’s forehead.

“No, I don’t have a problem,” Kyungsoo remarked distractedly, hinting emphasis on “I”.

“Look man, I’m sorry I bothered you,” the man turned around, shoulders ever so slightly hunched, and walked away.

“No, wait!” Kyungsoo lurched, grabbing the man’s shoulders, only to take them both soaring towards the ground, right in the path of a featured sculpture. Luckily, the man had good reflexes, and dodged it, landing but millimeters from the stand, with a petrified Kyungsoo on top of him.

The man breathed out laughter and pain as Kyungsoo tried and failed to get off of him, a tight grip on his elbow.

“If you felt attraction to me, you could’ve just said so,” the man strained out under the weight of the doe eyed Kyungsoo.

“Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kyungsoo trailed off, his good manners telling him to stop.

“Jongin,” the man underneath him stated, a smile playing on his face.

“Jongin! So if you would please let me go,” Kyungsoo trailed off once again, this time noticing the crowd that began to stop and whisper, some even throwing incredulous looks. Kyungsoo flushed, looking down as he saw the words appear on the bodies of the crowd, their inner and callous thoughts aimed towards him.

Jongin released him, and Kyungsoo immediately stood up, and stalked off, muttering a “good day to you” as he passed through the crowd, fighting the urge to smite each and every one of them.

Humans were filthy creatures. Twisting, manipulating, destroying, and breaking the greatest and most blessed emotions and truths, and making them something that they can understand. Their fragile minds can’t handle knowledge so they disregard it, proving it false. They make split-second judgments that warp their perception for a lifetime.

It amazes Kyungsoo that the people who create such beautiful masterpieces from their minds, hands, and dreams could be the same people that can kill each other with no remorse or question. Those who mold with their hands the most beautiful history have the ignorance to destroy it. Some of the most beautiful creatures can be stained with such ugly faults.

It’s hard for Kyungsoo to understand why these complex yet simple creatures are Shangdi’s favorite, but then again, maybe humans are the perfect protagonists.

Then what is Kyungsoo?

He is neither human nor deity. He is neither past, present, nor future. He is irrelevant to time, therefore he cannot be human. He is seeable, and controls nothing but himself, therefore he cannot be a deity. Perhaps he is a monster. He fiddles with his keys outside his apartment. No, he’s not a monster, by human standards anyway. His keys fall into the puddle. Exasperated, he reaches to pick them up, but a teenage girl runs up and does before he can. He smiles as politely as he can, despite his terrible day. She returns the favor, her curly red hair bouncing with her smile. She seems happy, her green eyes sparkling. He doesn’t dare look down; he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. She bounces away after Kyungsoo muttered a thick-accented “thank you” in silence. He doesn’t look back, but instead at his keys and sighs, unlocking the door, and setting them on the table.

His apartment is quiet. He can hear muffled snoring coming from inside Luhan’s room. Kyungsoo likes when Luhan sleeps; he will finally be in a place he’s happy, he always is. Kyungsoo decides he too should call it a night.

Kyungsoo’s room is messier than his mind in a crowded room. Papers strewn haphazardly across his desk and chair read nothing but momentary scribbles of ideas. Art pieces he has collected over time gradually turn off of their position on the wall. The black curtains hiding his sanctuary from the sun that rarely beats down on the dreary city he lives in. Walking through clothes and textbooks, he sits on his and stares. It a delicacy for him to be able to sit and not see a thing. For him, seeing is the worst nightmare imaginable, because truthfully, if he thought about it, it wasn’t seeing that made his callous. It was what he saw, and how he interpreted it.

He thought back to the boy at the museum. The bridge-shaped eyes and the ends of them that wrinkled when he laughed. The inquisitive look that would have pierced Kyungsoo’s mind had he not been so amazed at the stranger’s lack of details.

The smudged letters that were frozen on the tan skin confused Kyungsoo. He thought hard about the way the details never changed. They were stagnant, unchanging, rooted. The only time Kyungsoo had seen them like that-

Kyungsoo froze, eyes widening.

The only time he had seen details like that was when the person was rooted in time.

When they were dead.

Kyungsoo shook his head, hitting the pillow with a soft thump and gazed at the ceiling.

There was no way a man could be alive and have rooted details. He had never met a ghost, nor was he aware that ghosts existed. He supposed they could, but everyone could see him. Was he a ghost? Kyungsoo knew that the humans could be wrong about what a ghost looked like and could do, they had been pretty wrong about everything they tried to come up with before, but since he had no experience with ghosts himself, maybe he should listen to the humans.

Kyungsoo laughed breathily. There was no way that was happening.

He his side to face the window in his room, all traces of humor gone. Jongin was his name. Kyungsoo had to admit that although the man what definitely immature, he was different. He half wished he could see Jongin again, but quickly swatted that idea away. He was happy alone, he had been for so long, he had met plenty of interesting people thus far, why would this boy named Jongin be any different.

“He wouldn’t,” Kyungsoo mumbled to the window.

It’s true Kyungsoo has always wished for romance. Anyone has at least thought about what it would be like. But Kyungsoo is different. He can’t be like normal humans, who strive for love and give everything they’ve worked for to see that person happy. To be in love, and to think of another. But love has its downsides. Humans are so dramatic, always wondering if the lover they have been with for three years thinks about them as much as they do, sneaking around behind each other’s backs in order to affirm their mutual feelings. Kyungsoo will never understand how so many unspoken words can be lost between people who don’t need to speak to communicate. He will never understand how people can die for others they constantly have doubts over.

Kyungsoo sighs and rolls over again. He is thoroughly convinced he will never understand the need for humans to be happy. In the dim moonlight, slow dancing with each other, listening to jokes, sipping coffee and playing footsie, Kyungsoo has seen it all, and read into every subtext behind it. Most of the time the emotion is real, others it is fake, superficial, hiding in a façade of happiness to compensate for the bitter loneliness that overtakes each person.

That’s what love has become to humans now. It is a way to hide, like a child from the monster under his bed, from the creeping darkness that fills the cracks of a broken life. Kyungsoo wishes absently as the bitter-sweetness of sleep takes him that humans could go back to the purity of love, and not the tainted over-romanticized version portrayed on the movie screen. He hopes vaguely as the soft covers of dream land tuck him into the valley of daisies that he too, will find the love and hope everyone craves, even if for just a moment, maybe he too can feel what it is like to be human once more. 

Kyungsoo woke up the next mid-morning to a strangely calm Luhan opening his door.

“Hey Kyungsoo, you awake?” Luhan practically shouted. Kyungsoo lurched out of bed, his hair falling gracefully in every direction other than its intended position. Luhan’s cackling resounded through the room.

“What do you want Luhan?”  Kyungsoo spat through his groggy voice. This only made Luhan laugh harder. It took a good three minutes for Luhan to finally calm down, but by then, Kyungsoo had already gotten up and wrestled a pair of jeans on and a plain t-shirt.

“Are you done?” Kyungsoo asked Luhan as he grabbed some random textbook laying on the countertop and put them in his frumpy backpack.

“Yes, hey, are you going somewhere?” Luhan asked, completely distracted.

“Yes, I have work tomorrow,” Kyungsoo sighed, relenting to the fact that he will never know why Luhan had woken him up.

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer the question,” Luhan probed, stifling more giggles as Kyungsoo, in his half sleepy state, attempts to wrench on his converse.

“I’m going to the coffee shop,” Kyungsoo grunted, finally getting his shoes on. He had no idea why Luhan would even ask that, he went to the coffee shop every day practically, they had the best hot chocolate.

“Oh that reminds me! I was going to tell you. It was burned down to the ground last night by some arsonist, they caught him though,” Luhan rambled as Kyungsoo’s life crashed around him.

The remnants of the coffee shop that had arguably produced one of the best hot chocolates Kyungsoo had ever tasted, lay in a pile cut off by caution tape at the end of the block, right next to Kyungsoo’s hopes and dreams. He was half tempted to ignore the blazing yellow tape, and try to at least look for the recipe. Luhan stood behind him; having the best day he’s had in a while, watching Kyungsoo have a manly tantrum around the ashes. Luhan suppressed his laughter as he saw Kyungsoo’s shoulders slump in defeat and walk away from the scene.

“Hey, maybe this is a good thing. You can venture out, and find a new coffee shop that actually produces the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had,” Luhan laid a hand on Kyungsoo’s sagged shoulders while he waited for his bus to take him to his printing shop. Luhan could’ve sworn Kyungsoo’s eyes were welling.

“Why do people have to ruin everything? This is why we can’t have nice things!” Kyungsoo shouted as he shrugged off Luhan’s hand and stalked angrily off, determined to find a shop that was flame retardant, leaving a confused Luhan battling off the stares of strangers.

Kyungsoo trudged through the drizzle, looking for a coffee shop that could replace his old one. First, it had to pass through the first test, which was the appearance and distance. He began to circle a two mile radius from his apartment, going through and inspecting each shop he found. If he didn’t like the interior or how many people were there, he would leave without a word. If they passed the first test, which was rare, Luhan had gotten fairy dust all over his taste, then he would quickly move to the second test.

Kyungsoo quickly rounded the corner after searching for two hours for his new place. Dejected, he made his way down the street to his apartment, hands stuffed into his favorite black jacket. He stopped when he noticed a man walking on the other end of the road. His apron set off an alarm in Kyungsoo’s head as he rushed to follow the man.

Two and a half miles straight from his house he finds the man turning opening the door to a shop on the far end of downtown Seattle. Kyungsoo stopped and observed the shop in front of him. Rêves Décolorés. Faded dreams. Kyungsoo snorted at the name but nonetheless pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The décor was interesting. Modern with an artsy twist. Van Gogh’s and Renoir’s lined the shop, on the far wall and adaptation of “water lilies” by Monet was painted. Kyungsoo sighed as the soft smell of chocolate beckoned him in further into the almost empty coffee shop. Tranced, he made his way to the counter, where the man he had been following stood.

“Hello, what can I get started for you?” the man, Chen was his name, asked in a nasal voice. It didn’t surprise Kyungsoo that he was a singer though.

“Yes, I’ll have a hot chocolate,” Kyungsoo ordered without hesitation, ignoring the weird look he got from the barista. Kyungsoo paid and sat down at a nearby table and awaited his order.

Four minutes later, Kyungsoo was b with impatience. After a scurry in the back room, Chen the Barista came out holding Kyungsoo’s cup.

“Sorry about that. I don’t really know what happened, but one of our workers knows you, and so he kinda tried to take away your order. I apologize for the wait,” Chen explained embarrassed as Kyungsoo took the drink firmly and took a sip.

Kyungsoo without a doubt found the best hot chocolate he’s ever had. In his moment of euphoria at the sweet elixir of life, he barely noticed a familiar face come around to greet him.

“Do you like it? I made it myself,” the face asked as Kyungsoo was snapped out of his silent praises to the creator of the drink.

“Oh the joys of Heaven, thou art a God among snails-” Kyungsoo stopped singing the praises of his God when he saw the smirk form across the sun-kissed face.

“Jongin?!” Kyungsoo choked on the drink as Jongin’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Awe, you remembered me sweetie. I had so much fun at our last encounter,” Jongin remarked offhandedly, smiling at the flustered expression on Kyungsoo’s face.

The man with the strange details had gotten on Kyungsoo’s bad side, and was seemingly determined to stay there.

“I have nothing to say to you, Jongin. Good day,” Kyungsoo replied, thanking Chen and stalking out of the door, his precious hot chocolate being carried like a jewel.

“What was that about?” Chen asked Jongin as the boy watched the door, as if waiting for the customer to come back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jongin said, returning to the back to continue to rearrange the files on his boss’s desk.

Jongin smiled as he thought about the boy with the doe eyes, he didn’t know his name. Jongin practically claimed him as soon as he saw the expression of pure bliss wash over the boy’s face as he took a sip of the chocolate drink. He saw him almost every weekend at the art museum, always straying next to the Monet painting. Jongin began to wonder what was so special about the painting; it wasn’t Monet’s masterpiece, which most people flocked to.

“Hey man, you okay?” Jongin’s co-worker, Chanyeol asked, peaking though the door and bringing Jongin out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, why?” Jongin asked, finishing up his organizing and walking towards the freak with curly hair.

“Well, maybe because you almost killed Chen trying to get to the drink he just made,” Chanyeol’s usual toothy smile was replaced with worry as he watched Jongin move to the front of the shop.

“Chill, okay Chanyeol? I just met the guy yesterday, and well, I” Jongin reached for the back of his head, his ears tinting red.

“Oh my God, you like him!” Chanyeol exclaimed. Chanyeol was not very good at reading people, or reacting well to a given situation. Sometimes Jongin wondered why Tao even hired him.

“What the hell is going on here?” Tao, the manager, snapped. His gothic attire screamed at anyone within a twenty feet radius, as did the sharp angle of his eyes that were surrounded by black bags.

“Chanyeol is yelling again, maybe you should fire him,” Jongin mused as he cleaned off the counter. If there was anyone in the store, Tao probably would have. But, Jongin thought spitefully, they were all poor college kids, and Tao wouldn’t fire them unless it was a serious offense.

“Chanyeol were you yelling?” Tao asked, putting down his leather bag. Jongin always wondered why an owner of an almost bankrupt coffee shop would be able to afford designer clothes. The Jongin realized he lives in Seattle, the is probably because he can afford the designer clothes, he opened a coffee shop.

“Only because Jongin has a crush on someone,” Chanyeol said, watching Jongin squirm under the bus he was just thrown under.

“Oh? Is that so? Does Jongin have a little crush?” Tao asked as Chen laughed on the other side of the café.

Jongin sighed; there was no way he was getting out of this today.

Kyungsoo observed the cup of coffee that innocently sat on the island in the small kitchen of the shared apartment. As he paced, eyes strained on the cup, he began to question. Should he go back, to that foul shop with the elixir of life, or should he stay away, and figure out how to save the cup of gold. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Hey Kyungsoo, what’s up? Here are the new jeans Luhan ordered, don’t worry about paying me, he already did,” Ga In’s happy voice filled the air as Kyungsoo opened the door.

“Oh, thanks Ga In, won’t you come inside?” Kyungsoo asked grabbing the jeans from her to put in Luhan’s room.

“Thank you very much. Oh, I heard about your shop burning down, sweetie. I’m sorry,” Ga In said sympathetically as she sat on the stool next to the island, “but I see you found another one.”

Kyungsoo noticed her pointing to the cup, and flushed. Normally, he would have kept it a secret from people, but even Kyungsoo had to admit that Ga In was extremely perceptive.

“Yeah, I guess I have,” Kyungsoo laughed, taking the cup off of the counter. Ga In laughed; a twinkling that resounded throughout the apartment.

“Kyungsoo I have to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell a soul,” Ga In suddenly got serious as Kyungsoo looked surprised.

“Okay?”

“I’m pregnant!” Ga In squealed as she got up and danced around the island, Kyungsoo joining her in her jubilee.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it!” Kyungsoo shouted excitedly.

“I know! I have to go, so much to do and so little time,” she exited the apartment after bidding adieu. Kyungsoo shut the door, a smile playing on his face as he took his drink and proceeded to the kitchen table. He needed to catch up on his work before tomorrow.

The University of Washington was full of youthful people that starved for either knowledge or money. Kyungsoo envied and pitied those who came to classes. As he walked up to the library, he wondered if his thought process would change if he was like them; ignorant yet hopeful.

The library was probably one of the more grandiose buildings in Seattle. Not from the outside, but the outside. He strides through the main aisle, people on both the left and the right studying in older looking desks, until he gets to his post that’s marked with a piece of notebook paper.

He is an English tutor.

Kyungsoo didn’t know whether to laugh at the irony or cry at the taunting when human resources at the college told him he would be a marvelous English tutor. But, Kyungsoo couldn’t complain since the pay was what paid for his half of the rent. So he sat, grinding his teeth as his pupils questioned his every fiber of patience with stupidity and ignorance, all the while maintaining a strained smile.

He normally had no idea as to who he would get. They would meet in the library, then go to the writing center, at least, that was protocol. Apparently people who were not very good at writing also had problems with sight and directions.

He fumbled with his pencil and arranged his paper, waiting for the pupil to show up. They still had four minutes, so he wasn’t going to get impatient yet. It’s not Kyungsoo’s fault he is chronically early for everything.

He began to doodle.

Kyungsoo would be the first to admit he severely lacked talent for anything except knowledge, but even that was given to him. The society he lives in requires that knowledge takes precedence to talent, and being able to prove that talent effectively. Talent is beautiful, and while it makes people stop and stare in wonder, knowledge is dominant, and it will get you farther in life than talent alone.

“What are you thinking about?” a voice pulls Kyungsoo out of his thoughts. He looks up, his polite smile in place, only to have it fall a second later.

“Are you stalking me?” Kyungsoo asks indignantly as Jongin laughs, sitting down and opening his laptop and a notebook.

“No, not really, Kyungsoo. And can we stay here? I don’t like the writing center,” Jongin said, logging into his computer. Kyungsoo stared at Jongin dumbfounded, but quickly brushed it off. He was getting paid to teach him, and a pretty good sum.

“If that’s what you want. What is it that you need help with? I also need you to fill this out during our session since you’ve never been with me,” Kyungsoo handed him an assessment sheet.

“I can’t do creative writing, and I need to write a piece on a flower, and its symbolism,” Jongin whines, throwing his head back, probably expecting sympathy from Kyungsoo, but to no avail.

“What flower do you want to write about?” Kyungsoo asked, taking out a sketchpad and eraser.

“I have no idea, I’m a man, I don’t know anything about flowers,” Jongin stated, looking curiously at Kyungsoo.

“This is why I have problems with today’s society,” Kyungsoo murmured as he began to sketch a quick outline.

“Okay here,” he said when he was done, handing the pad to Jongin, “here are some flowers you might like to write about. We have the Rose, which is love, Azalea’s, which mean abundance; we have Chrysanthemums, which mean-”

“That one,” Jongin points to a picture on the pad.

“The Chrysanthemum?” Kyungsoo asked as he looked at the picture.

“Yeah. What do those mean?” Jongin asked.

“Well, it means many different things. Hope, happiness, truth; even Confucius said they could be a source of meditation. It depends on the color, and the culture. Basically, it’s a flower that gives people hope, hope that a new life will start, and everything will be okay,” Kyungsoo explains as he stares at the outline he drew.

“Okay, I want to do that,” Jongin states.

“Okay, what do you want to do with the Chrysanthemum?” Kyungsoo asked.

“I don’t know, maybe a poem?”

“Like Knapp?”

“Who?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo sighed, and began reciting.

The rose is called the queen of flowers,

Surrounded by her sisters fair,

A lovely throng of beauties rare,

She holds her court 'mid summer bowers,

'Neath smiling skies of sunny blue,

Gayly they bloom the summer through

Brightening all the golden hours.

But when the autumn days have come

Then blooms our sweet Chrysanthemum.

As we watch the summer days depart

And the painted leaves in silence fall,

And the vines are dead upon the wall;

A dreamy sadness fills each heart,

Our garden seems a dreary place,

No brilliant flowers its borders grace,

Save in a sheltered nook apart,

Where gay beneath the autumn sun

Blooms our own Chrysanthemum.

Ah! she is not a "Summer Friend,"

She stays when all the rest have flown,

And left us flowerless and alone;

No singing birds, or blooms to lend

Their brightness to the autumn haze,

'Tis she who cheers the dreary days;

'Tis joy to know so sweet a friend;

No fairer flower blooms 'neath the sun

Than autumn's queen Chrysanthemum.

Kyungsoo ended the poem with a slight cough, and turned to Jongin, whose mouth was wide open.

“Like that?” Kyungsoo asked, irritated by Jongin’s expression.

“Kind of? Maybe? I don’t know, how am I supposed to write like that?” Jongin asked, completely surprised at how unreasonable Kyungsoo was being.

Kyungsoo thought for a little while on what Jongin could do. He needed to write symbolisticly, but nothing really came to mind for a flower. Especially something so happy, and sacred.

Wait.

Sacred.   

The Festival of the Chrysanthemum.

“Jongin, you could write about the festival,” Kyungsoo said excitedly.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Jongin deadpanned. Kyungsoo sighed, and grabbed the boy’s arm.

“Come with me.”

The recently revamped Japanese garden in Seattle was one of Kyungsoo’s guilty pleasures. As he drug Jongin through the brick walkways and the stone bridges, Kyungsoo could feel himself become happier with the sun beating down on him. Finally, they reached their destination.

“Kyungsoo, why are we here, surrounded by Chrysanthemums?” Jongin asked exasperated. Kyungsoo shushed him and hid behind a tree.

“Just follow along and keep up, okay? This will only work if you are smart,” Kyungsoo stated. Jongin sniffed, he didn’t know whether to be offended or not.

“Tell me Jongin, why do you think Chrysanthemums are normally cheerful in the United States, but means death in other parts of the world,” Kyungsoo questioned, hoping Jongin would catch on.

“Maybe because America is jacked up,” Kyungsoo’s hopes fell, “or because death in America is regarded as a tragic and sad thing. It is dirty, not clean.”

“Maybe the reason such a beautiful and vibrant flower means death, because no matter the death of something, if it is beautiful, it will stay beautiful. Like a woman, lost to quickly to the sweet embrace of the Reaper. While she lay on the bed of the perished, her beauty still lives. Death isn’t ugly. Death is graceful, sharp, but vibrant, like the petals of the flower death is represented by. True death only harms the inside, which is something no one can truly see. The beauty of death is frozen forever in time, like a rock, or God. Death cannot be counted nor measured, because it is different every time, like an individual flower. Death is honest as well. Like the white Chrysanthemum, death is the only honest thing we have in life. Honesty is pure, like white, and cold in shade, yet warm in fragrance like all else we view in life. Death is an illusion of separation. We truly do not lose someone to death, because they were not ours to begin with. We did not own them; we truly own nothing in this world. That is honesty, and the truth is as cold as the white that brushes over the petals of the flower that represents death. Death is beautiful, and grief is sharp, happiness is deceitful, and honesty is cold. That’s why the Chrysanthemum represents Death,” Jongin said, looking at Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo was speechless. It was as if the boy standing in front of him had taken every thought Kyungsoo had, and spoke with such eloquence it made Kyungsoo feel inferior. Kyungsoo had nothing to say, for everything had already been said.

“Maybe if you write like you talk, you wouldn’t need a tutor,” Kyungsoo mumbled.

“Maybe if I had someone like you to talk to, I would be able to write like that,” Jongin replied, his ears tinting red.

They walked in silence through the garden. Kyungsoo admired the petals and the water, but not with nearly as much fervor as before. The words Jongin had spoken were engrained in his mind like a new revelation. He was so engrossed in the analysis, he had barely notice Jongin stop, and stare at him.

Kyungsoo looked up, and saw Jongin standing next to him. His eyes were a golden brown again.

“Will you go out with me Kyungsoo?” Jongin asked.