C O L O R S

P I N K

"How long?" Kris asks one time at the coffee shop a week after their swearing of oath. Maybe for anyone who will hear them, it's being to insensitive for discussing such topic. But they both agreed to be pink---to be radical---to open their minds to those things that are highly inevitable.

One week and they are both open to each other. Rose has been telling more stories about her life. And for Kris, well, he had started adding words that he should speak of. It's not much, but for them, it's everything.

Rose is still devouring her pancakes but she answers anyway. "Two years. Are you still going to eat those waffles?" Kris shakes his head, sliding his plate to Rose. He doesn't let her see it, but his forehead creased at the thought of her leaving and never coming back.

"Two years because of dialysis?" He's aware that it's the process of removing some if a person's blood, cleaning it, and then returning it to the body. He just thinks that the amount of time she has left, is too short for a person like her. "How did you become a kidney patient anyway?"

A loud burp echoes around the shop, earning glares from people around them, but Rose chooses to just laugh about it. After wiping her mouth with a tissue, she rests her elbows on the table, puts her head on the back of his hands and gives her attention to Kris.

"It runs in our blood. My grandpa had it and then my father. My kuya is lucky enough to dodge it, and then here I am." She shrugs, like everything is so natural. "Let me tell you a fact about me," taking the topic to a little segway.

Kris then nods. "Without makeup, you can see deep bags under my eyes, my deep cheeks for being skinny, and my pale skin. And I don't use to be this thin," she pouts as she rummages inside her purse until she slips a 3R photo of herself.

Kris chuckles upon seeing it. It's not his first, so Rose is not surprised that he will laugh about the little things. She's not that sure if those little things include her fifteen-year old self in a wacky pose, wearing a tight red jacket that shows how round her face used to be.

"People do change," he comments before keeping the picture in his wallet.

"We don't. That's absurd. And give my picture back." But Kris refuses to and instead gives Rose his picture in return.

"Fair enough," she says, setting her eyes to the picture and then to Kris, looking for differences. "Who's this?"

"My brother," he answers, stating the obvious.

Rose then snorts and waves Kris for looking at her pike she's some kind of joke. "Of course. You look exactly the same. Where is he?"

That keeps him quiet. Just like that, he lowers his head and even attempts to put on his hoodie if it isn't for Rose holding his hand. "It's okay not to say anything."

"He's dead," he musters to say, though he doesn't look Rose when he tells it. He just stares at his chocolate drink, getting lost as his mind drifts off to that one chaotic day.

"You're blaming yourself. Don't."

But how can he not? He's killed him after all.

Even if Kris is used to not concealing his face when he's with Rose, he doesn't do that at school. When he's at the lockers, he still keeps his head bowed down, to keep himself from not having eye contact with anyone else.

Lingering stares mean something, and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want the look of pity of those teachers passing by. He doesn't want the look of disgust of every student who used to know his brother. He doesn't want the look of trouble. He's never wanted to, but it so happens that it keeps coming his way.

"Hey there, farthead," Gregory greets in his usual booming voice that's laced with arrogance. And when Kris doesn't spend him a single glance, he bumps him with his shoulder. With Kris being smaller, he is then hit in the face, making him stumble back to the lockers, creating noises that gather the students around.

A single change doesn't alter how the world goes. With Rose coming to his life, he's thought for once that maybe things will start to make sense. That people will try to understand him like how he tries to do to them. But yet again he's wrong.

Maybe Rose is right. Maybe people aren't capable of change after all.

"So you really decided to be tough, huh?" Gregory hisses, grabbing Kris by his jacket to hover him to his eye level. But he's caught off guard when the hoodie falls off from Kris' face and reveals his smirking face, provoking Gregory of what he will try to do.

And it works. Gregory fumes---his face as red as pepperoni and tomato, mixed---as he balls his free hand into a fist, preparing to connect it with Kris' face.

But then the crown has been shoved to the side; divided into two like how Moses has done to the sea, as Vice Principal Calixto appears cross-armed and one brow raised to the highest way imaginable.

"Mr. Fernandez, to my office. Now," Vice Principal Calixto orders in her firm voice. Gregory groans but still obliges and puts Kris down rather harshly before he heads first to the office.

The students gradually decreased in number, going back to their own routines. But Kris seems to be intrigued by the student that's still talking to the vice principal. He thinks if he knows his name or even recognizes his face. But no, he doesn't know the kid. All he knows is that he has something to do with that rescue aid.

"Thank you then," he says, though keeping it to himself, before he turns on his heels and heads to the stairs for the cafeteria.

"Hey, wait!" He hears the boy calls but he doesn't stop. Instead, he keeps his feet into a steady fast pace as he covers his head with his hoodie once again. "Hey!" the boy calls for the second time until Kris realizes the he's catching his breath, already beside him.

He's doesn't know who the boy is just as well as what he really wants. Nevertheless, he doesn't want to know. So he stays on his usual ways and heads straight to the farthest end of the cafeteria, there beside the trash bins.

With such subtlety, he roams his gaze around to see if the boy is still following him. Luckily, he's not, and is now nowhere in sight.

Kris doesn't really comprehend that kind of people, which brings him to the realization that maybe, that's also exactly why he can't get the understanding that he's been seeking.

Life is just a matter of connections, he thinks.

"Hey." It's the same boy again. Kris doesn't walk away that time. But he doesn't even look at him, too, even if he sits across from him. "Name's Raphael Santos," he says, extending his hand to Kris. He doesn't take it, though. It's not being snobbish or what. It's just his hands shaking and his feet bouncing like every single time he will be in that same kind of scenario.

But Raphael doesn't seem to take it the wrong way, as he just stares at his unfavoured attempt of handshake before he snickers.

"Can I sit here?" Raphael asks and that's the chance Kris takes for him to look at the boy with questioning gaze. Perhaps he thinks Raphael is not sane. Who will take something first before asking for consent, anyway?

Raphael sighs at Kris' kind of treatment. "I just want us to get along, you know? That's all. No hidden agenda or anything," he explains. He probably has read what Kris is doing and what his purpose is. "Man, I hate seeing you always alone."

With that, Kris lets out a small chuckle, making Raphael's face lights up and laughs a bit as well. Well, the awkwardness is still there, but they both know that they will indeed get along.

"Thank you," Kris says, not even finding it hard to utter those words. He knows that choosing that newly found friendship with that curly young man of the fitness gym with fake nerd glasses will probably cause him trouble, but he doesn't care.

Life is too short to waste, he remembers Rose will say whenever he will ask why she likes to break the rules. That's also what Kris is actually doing that time: letting anyone that comes knocking in his once tightly closed door, towards his life.