"I never realized that the term Kindergarten was meant to be taken literally."

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Eli Liu was a man of few regrets. Currently, however, he was well and truly occupied with adding a new one to the list. Moveables indeed. Could it be possible for any term to be more of a misnomer? He was starting to think not. Not that he had time for thinking at the moment. 

Cursing under his breath, he tried to angle himself in a way such that, should the precariously leaning wardrobe looming overhead tip over, the ensuing personal cataclysm would not result in a broken nose from the boxes cresting the perilous piece of furniture. Moving alone had been a bad idea. But, enlisting the services of others meant admitting that maybe he was getting older;  not to mention, it also meant an incurred cost if he hired someone, or worse: the necessity of asking for help if he didn’t. A broken heirloom here or there and a minor injury or two were small prices to pay for avoiding an equally minute blow to his pride—especially if no one else was around to see the consequences of his questionable thought process.

The amount of time it had taken him to find the address had been embarrassing enough, particularly when taking into account the fact that he had grown up in this neighborhood. No thanks to the absolutely asinine naming conventions that Amarilla county seemed to favor for its thoroughfares (or Liu’s childhood habit of completely disregarding signs, but that was neither here nor there). Dahlia was a nonsensical name for a street anyway, particularly one that was still just as flush with roses upon roses as it had been decades ago. ‘Misnomers again!’ he thought with extreme prejudice.

However, unlike the foliage lining Dahlia street, times changed, and he was getting old—case in point being his failing memory that only further exacerbated his predisposition towards directional difficulties, as well as his growing (yet stubbornly refused until deteriorating vision was no longer merely a private inconvenience) need for glasses in recent years. Glasses which were now slipping down his nose at a dangerous rate, their escape only aided by the sweat slicking down a face that was starting to resemble a freshly greased skillet. As the seconds passed, it started looking more and more like Liu would have to choose between his artificial eyes or himself. If the lenses broke, that would be slightly more inconvenient than a shattered plate or a broken nose—a fact which thusly uncomplicated his dilemma. 

Just as he was about to resign himself to receiving a cardboard corner to the face, the dresser righted itself with a creaking protest, matching his own groan of relief. Bracing an arm against the peeling varnish, he took a few moments to catch his breath, shakily pushing the smart frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Relieved as he was, Liu had always been the type of man to look a gift horse in the mouth, so, now suitably adjusted (if not somewhat nonplussed), he raised his head with a semi-baleful glare, the cutting look blunted by the stray salt and pepper hairs hanging before his eyes just so as to irritate him. With an exasperated huff, he smoothed his hair back in a futile attempt to regain some of his composure and was finally able to get a look at his rescuer, more disappointment immediately descending upon him as a result.

Colorless. That was his first impression of the youth before him, a thought which was shortly followed by the words 'sickly' and 'waifish'—adjectives which made his act of physical heroism (saving Liu from the vile, splintered clutches of worn woodwork) all the more insulting. He wanted a cigarette. (Never mind that the occasional nicotine stick likely was not helping his stamina.)

His internal musings were interrupted (most fortunately, given the acrimonious turn that they were taking) by a light clinking as the interloper pushed himself away from the now rectified wardrobe with a casually catlike movement, the dog tags, and source of the noise, dangling from his neck briefly catching the light as they completed a half arc. There was another beat before the young man flashed an easy smile in his direction, and, when he spoke, he spoke around it, words shaped by a natural mirth that was unhindered by the strained, breathy quality to his voice. “Do I get a thank you, or was this just meant to fulfill my public service quota for the week?”

Narrowing his eyes, he gave the youth a disgruntled look. Still, abrasive as he was, Liu was raised on Dahlia street and not in a barn, so, biting back the acerbic retort that desperately wanted to bubble forth from his gullet, he merely raised an eyebrow, drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms with a collected properness that did little to bely his internal vitriol, and, finally, left the other hanging for a moment longer before he deigned to coolly respond. “I appreciate the gesture of good will, unnecessary as it may have been. Thank you, kid.”

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Instead of pointing out the obvious untruth to the statement, the young man laughed good naturedly with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No sweat.” 

In contrast, the corners of Liu’s lips remained distinctly downturned as he brushed passed the unnamed (and frankly, there was a strong desire to maintain that status quo) youth to stand outside the moving van, extending his arm upwards to grab the handle of the door in an obvious cue for the other to extract himself so that he might close it. Liu would finish moving later, when there were no longer overly interested fruit flies buzzing about. ‘Perhaps during school hours,’ he thought blasely. 

The source of his annoyance, at least, seemed to be adept at following implicit directions and lithely leapt from the back of the van. Admittedly, the fluidity of the act surprised Liu, since he would have been more inclined to believe that someone who appeared so fragile’s bird bones would be snapped by the slightest of jostles, let alone the impact of a body hitting pavement. The one point that had been added in the other’s favor quickly evaporated into the ether as, instead of continuing to take the extended olive branch of an inference and leaving completely as Liu had hoped, the other instead chose to resume his laid back posture against the exterior of the van. Cocking his head in a loose indication towards the house that Liu would much prefer being inside of currently, the pest opened his faintly curved mouth anew. “Your new pad, I presume?”

Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Not only did the hellion not leave—now he wanted a conversation. How quintessentially abhorrent. The impulse to unleash a sharp, scathing rebuke was tampered by the niggling rational notion frantically clawing for purchase in the dregs of his warring mind: one which roused itself with a battle cry that perhaps starting off on the wrong foot with a potential neighbor was not the proper way to make a first impression—even if Liu had not been the principal offender. “Yes,” was his lackluster reply.

“Not one for talking, are you? Bit of a drag, if you ask me,” the mosquito teased, although he didn’t sound at all upset by the revelation.

Liu’s patience, however, was frayed just enough to allow a bit of flat snark to seep through. “I did not ask.”

“No, I s’pose you didn’t.” Laughing bashfully, he scratched the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture, tousling the wavy, ash-blond strands that crested over the bone pale of his fingers like seafoam crashing to shore. “You also haven’t asked my name, but I s’pose I haven’t asked yours either.”

Fighting with keys that seemed intent on chewing his slacks to shreds with how much the teeth insisted on catching the cotton fibers of his pocket lining, Liu barely spared him a glance. “And you still have not, so I have no reason to tell you.” 

“Wow, way to shoot me down. You this difficult on purpose? I’ll tell you now though, I’m the type that hangs tough.” When he only received a noncommittal grunt in response, the youth sighed in concedence, and for one blessed moment, Liu thought it signalled an imminent departure—alas, it was not so. “Name’s Béla. What’s yours?”

With a triumphant exhale, he finally managed to extract his keys, and, mood buoyed by something finally not going irrevocably the opposite of his way, he benevolently answered the brat’s—Béla’s—question, “Liu. Eli Liu.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Liu.” Bending to lock the van, he almost missed the grin and cocky salute Béla gave in his direction. “Any relation to Jonathan Liu?”

Now, that gave Liu pause, and he finally gave Béla his attention—a mistake, if the widening of the other’s smile was any indication. Nonetheless, curiosity outweighed the perturbation of giving Béla satisfaction, so he bit, “My father, but I do not know how you would know that."

Béla held his hands out, palms facing the heavens, with an equally open smile. “My old man used to be his neighbor, s’all. Thought it’d be funny for us kids to be carrying on the tradition.” Well, Liu didn’t like that: In his experience, the people who came off the most genuine had the most to hide.

He snorted derisively. “I am hardly a child, and I find it surprising that your father would mention mine at all. He was not known for his warmth towards neighborhood kids.” Perhaps the pointed look he shot Béla following that wasn’t the most subtle of gestures.

Instead of being deterred, however, Béla chuckled, sly cat eyes curving upwards with a decidedly mischievous look. “I never said they were tight or anything. Don’t have to be best friends in order to see someone frequently if they live close enough.”

Oh no. If Liu hadn’t needed that cigarette before, he certainly needed it now, self-restraint be damned. Carelessly shoving uncooperative, serrated metal back from whence it came, he proceeded to make a display of pulling aside a tailored, wool-hugged sleeve, the cloth of his sweater providing some resistance, to dramatically look at the crystal face of his overpriced watch and recite a few dry clichés, “Oh, would you look at the time. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I really have so much to do. Good evening.” 

Marching towards his door, he caught sight of Béla performing another lazy salute in the reflection of his new house’s front-facing window. “Hang loose, Mr. Liu!” 

Charmed as Liu was, clearly there was only one dignified response—close his door with extra finality.