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There was not a single day that you showed up to class without wearing pink.
Koby realized this some time ago while the TA went on a four-minute tangent about the intersection between Greek philosophy and modern ethics. A heated discussion entranced the class, so much so that only he heard the door click open and shut close. The new arrival whizzed past the last row to sit at the other end of the lecture hall, a blind spot from Koby's vantage point. When he craned his neck forward, he noticed immediately the pink school bag and umbrella, then the pink school supplies beside the rose-colored laptop on your desk.
"You into somebody?"
Koby snapped his eyes back to his notebook. Helmeppo sneered.
"Shoot your shot, pal. About time you see someone."
Koby was annoyed that his friend caught onto his thoughts so easily, but he had to thank him for mentioning it because it drove him to search you online. That night, he learned that your Twitter account was private, but your Instagram had an active following and a decent number of posts. As expected, you curated your layout to match the shade of pink you proudly paraded everywhere, with subtle hints of greens and whites making their way into your thumbnails.
Koby scrolled further. As he hit the bottom of your page, he found a post so out of place that he clicked on it without thinking.
It was a celebratory post. You were celebrating the first three months of your relationship with somebody Koby never knew you had. Your friends flocked in the comments section to compliment your pretty face and clothes, while your man posed in front of a candlelit dinner and some wine.
It was an ordinary photo. But you were so committed to the red palette for some reason that it felt . . . off.
It felt incongruous with this whole pink theme you had going on.
Koby shook his head.
I'm just jealous, he thought. He's special. Of course he gets another color for himself.
He was quick to accept that you were taken but wasn't quick to forget. Koby found himself looking at you every time you entered the room, and every time he heard your name. He caught himself finding you in places he never thought he'd find you in—the historical section at the school library, the study café thirty minutes away, and a pop concert that Helmeppo somehow convinced him to attend. That evening, you held eye contact for a solid three seconds before your friends dragged you to the VIP section, only to be lost in a crowd of fans.
Koby saw you as often as he thought about you, and it was killing him. He never spoke to you because you were happily taken by another man, and it wasn't like him to interact with someone he had no business with. So he was set to move on from this hopeless romance until he found himself approaching you one night—an opening, as some people might call it, but he couldn't describe it as such when you were pouring tears in front of him.
There, on the last few steps leading to the study hall, he found you curled into a ball with your face buried in your knees. It was dark in this area of campus, the full moon covered by a dense canopy of trees. Koby wouldn't have seen you if he were any less aware of his surroundings. Given your current state, he was glad he noticed.
Unfortunately, he didn't know how to proceed. You knew each other, and it should've been okay. Yet he had never spoken to you, and you had a loving boyfriend. Was it wise to speak to you now?
He rethought the decision and decided, Screw it.
"Hey," he started, "are you okay?"
Koby was a few feet away when you looked up, your eyes glossed over and cheeks puffy. You hurriedly wiped your tears.
"Koby?"
His heart stopped when you recognized him.
You knew him. Not just by face, but also by name.
"Let me help you," he offered.
He pulled you to your feet and escorted you to the nearest restroom. When you came out a few minutes later, Koby handed you a bottle of water.
You chuckled.
The packaging was pink.
"It was all the vending machine had," said Koby sheepishly.
You smiled.
"It's better than nothing."
You led the way around campus while Koby lagged behind to allow himself to put his thoughts together. You seemed comfortable in his presence, yet he wasn't sure how to continue where he left off. He rethought every word he could say only to sink back into silence. Soon enough he realized that he sucked at this, with his feelings for you digging him an even deeper grave.
You eventually stopped at a bench overlooking the campus greenhouse, tucked away in forested terrain. Warm street lights illuminated nearby vegetation. As you sat down, the chilled bottle in your hands now half-empty, you beckoned him to sit next to you.
His chest thumped loudly.
The air was intimate. Too intimate for his liking. He wondered if you felt it, too.
"Thanks for checking up on me," you croaked. Now beside you, Koby ran his sweaty palms across his pants. He would have suffocated if you hadn't broken the tension. "I owe you an explanation."
"You don't owe me anything," he insisted.
"Well . . . ." You held up the water bottle and smiled. "Think of it as payment. Will you hear me out?"
He returned your smile. "Do I have a choice?"
And that was when he learned everything.
As perfect as you were, your boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend—was still capable of seeing other people behind your back. Worse, he never intended to break his affairs until he got caught. Koby had zoned out when you went into detail about catching him in the act, your frustrated face far too pretty for him to concentrate, but he heard enough to rightly call him a douche.
"He cheated on me," you wept, "and he deceived me into thinking it was my fault that he cheated. I was distraught. Then he took advantage of the situation and broke up with me."
Koby was raised well, arguably a little too well—he had a history of getting picked on because his kind heart didn't know violence. Then he met his friend Helmeppo, who had it just as hard as he did on top of his family issues growing up. Koby sought vengeance in his name, which was probably the worst thing he'd ever done to date. All that is to say, he sought blood only when necessary. Koby could grit his teeth and tolerate the bad and ugly, but his energy was reserved for when he actually had to fight back. And hearing the long list of terrible things your boyfriend had done to you made his blood boil.
Surely you weren't the only person in the world to be played by a manipulative prick, but Koby ought to do something about it.
Only to realize that he couldn't.
After all, he was just another stranger you locked eyes with every so often, someone you shared classes with for the past two semesters. He didn't mean anything to you other than some guy who wanted to help.
He was in no position to do anything.
Until you came to him yourself.
"Can I talk to you, Koby?"
You had approached him a few days later with a sunken expression, eyes trained on the ground and an arm wrapped around your stomach. Something was up. Not even the bright pink clothes that you often wore hid the anxiety on your face. The afternoon sun, burning in this time of summer, didn't help calm your nerves either.
"Anything wrong?" Koby asked once you pulled him to the courtyard. An open area, safe for you to talk.
"I know you have better things to do," you began, "but I need a third opinion on this cheating fiasco, and you're the next best thing there is."
"I am?" Koby was unbelieving.
You nodded.
"My boyfriend. He said he was sorry and that he wouldn't do it again. I didn't believe it, of course," you explained, "but the apology was genuine. I could tell that far. And for the many months we've been together, I just . . . ."
You sucked in a deep breath.
Koby knew what you were going to say before you even said anything.
"You want to get back together," he finished. Your head fell.
"My friends think it's silly. It is, considering all that he's done, but"—you bit your lip—"it's hard to forget. To leave him."
Koby was stunned, to say the least. With pursed lips he stayed silent, refusing to speak without thinking things through. He understood that it was a difficult decision; you were manipulated by the guy, for goodness' sake. To get up and go with fresh wounds was not easy.
"Don't you think it's better to just leave?" he challenged.
"I can't get myself to do it," you confessed.
Thinking to himself, Koby bit the inside of his cheek. The least he could do was provide comfort, but you wanted his opinion on the matter, and it bothered him. He couldn't possibly tell you what to do—Koby had a solid opinion on your lover, but he was not about to dictate the course of your relationship. Not while he had feelings for you.
"Look, I'm not good at this," he prefaced, "so I won't tell you for certain what to do." He slid his hands into his pockets, thinking to himself. "Although if there's one thing that you should do, it's to make a decision you won't regret. Do what makes you happy. Not just now, but in the long run, too."
Suddenly, your phone lit up. A text came through.
Moments later, it rang.
Your ex was calling.
"You should take it," said Koby.
You played with your fingers. "I-I don't know."
He offered a tight-lipped smile. Somehow, it looked forced.
"You'll get through it," he said. He looked down at your phone. "I should go."
Koby distracted himself with a music playlist on blast, then cut through the grass to leave the perimeter swiftly. He left the courtyard with no intention of looking back. Just when you were about to chase after him, your phone rang again.
A few hours later, Koby received an Instagram notification that he would've otherwise ignored if it hadn't come from you. A new story had been posted on your account. To satisfy his curiosity, he clicked on it.
A photographed bouquet of red roses greeted him in the passenger seat of a brand-new Aston Martin. You were in a car that wasn't yours.
"Crap," groaned Koby. His mind raced with a million thoughts, none of which he could articulate. "I screwed up."
Looking back, Koby was sincere with the advice he gave, but there were a couple of things that he regretted. First, he should've been upfront with his thoughts—surely your friends shared the same sentiments, so Koby wouldn't look like an opinionated jerk had he told you to leave him for good. Second, he should've stayed while you took the call. He knew you were vulnerable. Your ex knew you were vulnerable. Koby had no right to be jealous, but it bothered him immensely that you were taken advantaged of.
It annoyed him even more that your ex was reclaiming the color red like he still deserved it.
To hell with him. Koby ought to do something.
Not with violence, but with something much better. Something you'd appreciate.
The next day, you opened your Instagram to see a couple of messages from Koby. He had replied to your story a few minutes ago, just as it was about to disappear.
Koby: You got back together?
You sucked in a deep breath.
You: hi!
You: uhh it's complicated
You: i can explain..
Koby: No worries. I just wanted to check up on you 😄
You frowned.
You: thank you
Koby: Did he give you those flowers?
Your eyebrows drew together.
You: yeah! why?
Koby: Do you like flowers?
You: i do, they're beautiful :)
You: any reason why you're asking?
Koby: Well...
You watched as the chat bubble disappeared and reappeared a few times.
Koby: I don't doubt your love for red bouquets specifically, but I'm sure you like them better when they're the same color as my hair...
Your eyes grew large.
Koby: So I was thinking if you can open your door to get them?
He waited for your reply.
To his horror, the chat stayed dry.
Koby: ...I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself
You: no omg
You: it's okay
Koby: I'm sorry!
You: NO
You: koby!!
You: i thought it was cute
You: are you actually outside my room?
Koby: It's fine! I just left!
You: NO COME BACK
"Koby—" you gasped the moment you swung your door open, surprised that he had gone back like you asked. "You're actually here."
"You, uh," he panted, "you told me to come back."
He took his bandana off and finger-combed his pink hair in an attempt to look presentable. Then your eyes looked down at the floral arrangement in his other hand, a professionally crafted piece of pink camellias in the same shade as his hair.
Koby took one last breath before he offered you the bouquet.
"For you," he said.
You accepted it.
"What's it for?"
He cleared his throat, looking nervous all of a sudden.
"First things first, I don't intend to court you. At least not yet . . . ." He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. Heat rushed to your face. "Second, I think you needed someone. A friend. We haven't known each other for long, but I wouldn't be a good friend if I lied to you about how I felt."
"Oh." You shuffled your feet.
"How I felt about your ex," he clarified. "Or your boyfriend, if you're back together."
"It's complicated," you muttered. "What are you trying to say?"
"What I'm trying to say is that you deserve better." He pursed his lips. "You can forgive him a thousand times and he still won't deserve you."
"Are you saying I'm unhappy?"
"No!" Koby flinched. He shook his head. "I just— I meant that you looked happier without him, not that you were necessarily unhappy during your relationship. Maybe it would be a huge burden off your shoulders to not think about someone who stresses you out all the time. I noticed you don't look as well as you did before, not that you were unhappy, like I said, but I . . . ."
He took a deep breath.
"I think you're unhappy, and I think it was a bad idea to get back together."
He looked down at his feet.
"I'm not beyond your relationship, but if it's bothering you this much, I hope you reconsider. There are better people out there waiting for you."
You brushed your fingers across the bouquet. The pink matched Koby's hair almost perfectly. From his little efforts to cheer you up, be it a bottle of water or a posy of flowers, he knew you would love it based on color alone.
"Better people like you?"
He turned pink. Arguably pink like his hair.
"When the time is right," he said.
After Koby left yesterday, your ex invited you over to talk things through. You drove yourself to his flat with clouded judgment, festered by your friends' sermon on your decision to offer him a second chance.
You had approached Koby that afternoon to clear your head—he was a good listener, and it felt good to talk to him. Unfortunately, it didn't go the way you wanted it to.
You knew little of Koby until a few months ago when he appeared everywhere you went. With no prior opinion, you expected less of him. But Koby had a gentleness you didn't see in anyone, not even in your own boyfriend whom you'd been with for the past nine months.
"C'mon, you know you want me back." Your ex wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple. "If you can forgive me once, you can forgive me again."
You pushed him away. "Let me think."
"You serious?"
"Just give me more time," you pleaded. "It's the least you could do."
Maybe Koby was only kind to you because he liked you. Still, he'd shown you respect in the short time you spoke with him, from his advice to his little gifts.
Shaking his head, your boyfriend grabbed his keys and stepped outside. "I have something for you." He led you to his car, where a bouquet of red roses awaited you in the passenger seat. "You like it?"
"They are pretty," you mumbled.
"Show it to your friends, yeah?" He seized your phone from your pocket and took a photo. "Beautiful. Let me take you home."
"Did you just post a photo on my story?"
He patted your head. "To capture the memory. Love you."
You cried yourself to sleep hours later, the bouquet left to wilt at your doorstep. You didn't meet for long, but being with him felt like an eternity. The drive home was suffocating. And while the flowers were beautiful, the red wasn't to your liking.
So to hold this pink bouquet from a guy you expected less of was a breath of fresh air.
Koby understood you, and it felt good to be understood.
"It means a lot to me, this bouquet and all," you said, "but I can't return your feelings so soon. It's not fair."
"Feelings?" Koby blinked. "Ah. Right. I do like you. I've liked you for months, but it's not what I came for. I'm here as a friend. At least for now."
"You came here as a friend with flowers?" you teased.
"I figured you wanted them pink," he muttered. You chuckled.
From the corner of his eye, Koby spotted the wilting roses on the ground.
"Do you want me to throw those out?"
You looked down at your feet, where some rose petals laid. You shrugged.
"Go ahead. I got what I wanted, anyway." You hugged the bouquet close to your chest. "Get me a vase while you're at it. Any color, but a touch of pink would be appreciated."
Koby laughed. Just as he was about to leave, you held his hand.
"Koby . . . thank you. For being a friend, and for understanding me. For knocking some sense into my brain."
He smiled. He held your hand in his and squeezed it tight.
Your situation wasn't easy. Leaving was better said than done. But Koby was glad that he could help, no matter how difficult.
"Anytime."