The evening was getting steadily colder - frost freezing the breath that left his parted lips in small puffs, chapped skin cracking and peeling back to show little slivers of the cacophony within. He thought it was perhaps late in January now, or maybe early February: frozen night, winter chill, same old-same old. The leftover residue of holiday cheer still clung stubbornly to some of the busier streets in the city, as thought not quite willing to usher in the new year and let go of the past just yet.
Once again, heâd disappeared for longer than intended. Weeks, months; how far into the future was he thrown this time? How much had he missed in his absence? He didnât know - didnât care enough to check for a date. For one night at least, heâd like to forget the world around him, and forget the mess ( a cocktail of uncertainty and fear and questions heâd probably never find the answers for ) swirling in his head. Tomorrow he could wake up and try to filter through his jumbled memories, dig around for a hint of who heâd been before the last crash - who heâd left behind - but for nowâ
Um, excuse me, mister. Could you please write your favorite color here? Kai looked away from the pale wisps heâd been contemplating to stare instead at the stranger whoâd interrupted his thoughts. Who was this person? He squinted ( as if that could help him make sense of the unfamiliar features before him ) taking a second or two to process the otherâs words. Odd sort of question, odd sort of fellow; odder still how Kai had no answer to give for even such a simple request. A child couldâve done better. âDonât have one,â he said eventually, watching as white fog disappeared into the darkening sky. âWhy donât you pick a color for me.â
Why he has to do these sorts of jobs, he isn't entirely sure--but he's more curious about why he has to be the one to complete these tasks. Surely there are a hundred, maybe even a thousand, other people more qualified for these assignments than he is, especially considering how it's difficult for the boy to even meet a stranger's gaze, let alone hold a conversation with them. So while he waits for the taller male's answer to the question, Kyungsoo keeps the notepad and pen held out for the other to take, hoping to finish this task as soon as possible. It goes without saying that his confidence--already precariously low--takes a nose dive the moment this stranger states that he has no favourite colour. Strangely, though, what the boy is most distraught over isn't the fact that the other man won't write on the paper, but rather the outrageous revelation that he doesn't have a favourite colour. How could someone not have a colour, out of all the shades and hues in the cycle of light, that they favour even a little bit more than the rest? Kyungsoo just can't fathom the possibility, so as soon as the taller male tells him to simply choose one for him, the boy immediately shakes his head and stares up at the stranger with something between astonishment and incredulity. "I can't do that! Only you can determine your favourite colour, mister. Isn't there a colour you like even a bit more than the rest? Everyone has a favourite colour, mister. It's true."
