first love/late spring

there's gi jeong with her irrational fear of embarrassment, driving her to the point of faking an accident. nothing makes me feel more seen than the visual representation of me wanting to get hit by a truck every time i feel like i've been perceived. why can't you, the world, shut your eyes off to me existing? feeling tired to the core, all day every day without a valid reason to back it up. wanting to take off your arms and legs for a moment, wishing for someone to carry you and scrub your back. analogies that never sit right with anyone. i'm sorry i told you that i would pick up my lover's severed head, do you still think i'm hot? guilt soaring so high in your system that you're on your knees, bowing down to what? you don't know yourself. but bowing down nonetheless - i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry - as the moonlight creeps in.

chang hee with his lack of direction in life, living from one day to the next in itself can be be a chore at times and he's felt it. how do you expect me to peer into the future when i barely managed to survive today? why can't that be enough? realization dawning upon you that you might be the very thing you hate and wanting to slap the wits out of yourself because of it. in constant search for an elder male figure to validate you because you never received any from the one whose blood and bones are your very own. tell me i worked hard. tell me to rest. giving up on persuing romantic interests because you know, just know, that you will not be enough.

and mi jeong. mi jeong my beloved. no character has touched the inner workings of my soul as much as her. not feeling like you belong in public settings, forcing yourself to smile and nod because that's what they've told you will make you worthy of acceptance. wondering how people living on top of the world don't just jump off, thunderstorms making you comfortable because all you've ever wanted is for the world to end. never finding the strength in yourself to fight back, never being able to free yourself from the familiarity of attachments, never feeling complete. she's exactly what the personification of daily life existentialism would look like, neither happy nor sad, stuck in a repetitive state of being. how do you not want to coddle her in your arms? frogs getting torn to shreds, bad-mouthing your senior at work, biting into the flesh of what you adore - discovering that loving is listening, loving is saying out loud whatever comes to mind.

it lay in the tenderness underlining satoru's voice every time he would call out his name, the aching swell of his chest when his ears couldn't help but pick up the difference. gojo satoru, blindingly bright and lovingly loud and yet, only a child learning to open and close its mouth for the first time in his presence. geto would often be conflicted on whether he should pride himself on bringing out a side of satoru nobody could ever see or feel guilty for allowing him to dull his instincts so as to not outshine him.

if i drag you down, will you follow me?

"what is it?"

"sometimes, i feel as if i knew you in all my past lives"

geto could feel the damp grass lightly prickle his skin through the fabric of his uniform and on any ordinary day, it would've bothered him. but it wasn't just any ordinary day. how could it be when staoru was lying right next to him, long legs stretched out to their full capacity and back resting leisurely against a tree trunk. gaps of sunlight casted shadows along the rise of his cheeks which danced every time a gust of wind blew by and satoru looked as if he was the most content person to have ever lived.

"what do you think we were?" what am i to you?

"who knows? we might've been stray dogs fighting over scraps of trash in one, strangers who only brushed past each other in another, lovers in the next"

geto was glad satoru had his eyes closed, pale eyelashes fanning out like snow sprinkled atop mountain ranges. the deep flush of his ears would've been uncomfortable to perceive, too uncharacteristic, too unlike a friend, a comrade, a fellow second-year.

"suguru" don't call me that. stop clawing at my heart.

"are you even listening?"

geto had always been listening. he had listened to the buzz of crowds roaming the streets of tokyo as satoru's lean silhouette became one with them, their fall out ringing through every nerve in his body. he had listened to the churning of his insides, swallowing satoru's words had proved to be much more taxing than curses. he had listened to the voices in his head crying, begging to be let out, screaming - didn't you know? gods are meant to be worshipped, not loved. you were doomed from the very beginning of this story.

years later, as geto found himself defeated and tattered with unravelled strands of jet-black hair obstructing his fading vision and blood smeared across his temples, he gathered his last ounce of strength to look up at satoru for one last time. satoru, high and mighty, cold and detached. gojo satoru, a god.

all he could think of was a lousy summer morning, wet patches of grass, snow-covered mountains, a breath-taking boy and how he had felt known, seen, understood. he thought of the way he had smiled with furrowed brows, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he responded to the question he was posed with, wishing he could take it all back.

"what if you grow sick of me? we should take a break in our next lives"

i did not mean it. i never meant it. how could i ask for such a thing? if anything, i was only talking about our next lives. so tell me satoru, why did it have to be this one? i will let you claw at my heart all you want. i will worship you until my knees give out. so-

"at least curse me a little at the very end"

the words had only absent-mindedly tripped off suguru's tongue, a seemingly dull observation arising amongst the dewy whiffs of a dull afternoon. why could he feel his ribcage reverberate with a sound akin to church bells?

being the strongest.

suguru had turned to face him then, impassive eyes blocking out an emotion gojo hadn't learnt to name. one that held enough power to tear his soul to shreds and glue it back together again. perhaps, it was an emotion he recognized just as much as he recognized the dip of his own two palms, the curve of his own two feet and yet, refused to name. it must be that. but why was it that?

a soft breeze had blown past their periphery, ruffling suguru's long, raven-black hair the slightest bit as though playfully testing his patience like gojo often did. the itch gnawing at his fingers to brush it back into place was only growing stronger with each passing second. it was a single strand of hair, what was he so afraid of?

nobody has ever told me that. you're weird.

he had tried, like always, to dismiss the comment with a hearty chuckle, raising his voice by a pitch or two. but suguru's half-lidded irises wouldn't budge, stubbornly fixated and gently examining. suguru had never budged, not when they had first met with his sunglasses shielding both his strengths and weaknesses, not moments later when he had taken them off. most people would flinch, gape in awe, stumble at most. then again, suguru couldn't compare to most people. gojo wouldn't even consider the idea.

people only envy me for it, that's all.

well, yes. you have the whole world bowing at your feet after all.

whole world? gojo couldn't care less. he would forget about the whole world in a split second upon witnessing the way light and shadow played tricks on suguru's face, painting him in a crimson glow as day dissolved into night. whenever he found himself with him, he would be too occupied with questions rattling his brain, the answers to which he wouldn't allow himself to look for. he didn't have to anyway, suguru could always look right past him as though he were nothing but a translucent ghost, haunting every place he stepped foot on, dying once again to call it home.

in truth, it had been lonely long before gojo was even taught what loneliness meant. but what they hadn't taught him was that being the strongest came at the cost of feeling his bones decay, bit by bit, until the fear that they would collapse in on themselves kept him awake through the quietest of nights. loneliness had always been lurking, nibbling, scavenging. at least until the measure of his whole world became geto suguru, the boy with the piercing stare and off-putting bangs.