#kyokih

     To follow his heart has never quite been something the photographer would take as a law in his life, mostly because emotional decisions would never lead his paces somewhere remotely safe–if anything, trouble would be he outcome instead. The whole line of thoughts is triggered by a simple question as he sits by a bench along with the female taking her spot by his side, lithe rows of fingers tracing the outlines of the cold material resting on his lap, a camera. If he was to be honest, it has been a while, other than the one exception made towards allowing himself to love, letting his hide decide on this one matter … it has been a while, mostly because the demons crawling through Earth have made their way into his mind long ago, haunting and scattering his mind deep within.

    As his head falls back, long lashed clash, his eyes now closed and the pure air roaming around inhaled to meet the inside of his lungs, a deep sigh following to be exhaled before his words flow past thin lips. “I guess … it’s been too long. Sometimes I do think I should let my heart decide more often, however, I’m scared.” And so the fear he has been carrying through his entire is finally brought up, the hold on his camera tightening and lids cracking open so the chocolate orbs can reflect the blue sky painted by pretty, white clouds. “I guess I‘m way too scared of hurting myself if I do.”

          The question was thrown our merely because she had been pondering over it herself, for a long while now. It wasn’t something easy to answer, but she thought so it was since she believed that no one else in this world was as messed up as her. The truth was that no one was as messed up -- she refused to believe otherwise. Stubborn much? Yes, very. But no one knew that she, out of all people, couldn’t listen to her own heart. It was impossible, because it wasn’t beating. Well, practically it was, but saying that she had a heart was too much of a luxury for her. The chance that lingered around snapped out of her hands just as she reached for it; that was just her luck, obviously.

     The words flowing past the delicate lips of the female sitting next to him has an eyebrow ascending, slender fingers towing with the paper cup containing a smoking liquid within, the sight before their eyes being more than enough to tangle with the reasons behind her words. Yes, the storm had taken an uproar through the entire city and its provinces, leaving nothing but wind and rain to wash over the grounds–however, rain has always been taken as a breathtaking phenomenon of nature in the photographer’s eyes. Perhaps it was the soothing scent left by the collision of droplets of water and the solid ground, the green below, or maybe it was the nice weather left in the air, cold and soft to leave him floating, but it was also the demeanor to his uprising mood at the moment.

     “Oh, come on, Hana. Do you not like rain? The storm is beautiful and it gives me amazing shots. Nature is the most perfect theme to be photographed.” And so pale lengths fall to the cold material laying over his lap, his gaze traveling out of the coffee shop’s window and towards the pouring rain outside. “I like rain way better than a sunny day.” There’s a smile forming on his previously bold features, some of the frosting from the cake laying over the table taken by the tip of his index before being pressed against the female’s nose, soon enough dragging a laughter that ceased way too soon by the glare laid on him. “Smile. You look prettier with a smile, Hana.”

The rain isn’t bad, she likes it. It’s just her moody personality striking again. Hearing the droplets of it fall onto the harden surface and her lids felt much heavier than before. Exhaustion is built up in irises because the sound of rain is soothing, it brings her at ease with her head inclined to the side. Muscles relaxing when doing so and her arms were resting on the sides. It seems odd, to find her ‘older brother’ here besides her after so long. Without speaking or contacting one another. Hana wasn’t mad at that at all, would never be because she understood that Thomas has a hectic schedule from the beginning. It’s pleasant, being around someone who cares about her.

❝I know what you mean it’s just.❞ Well, there’s no reason to dampen the mood when they reunited recently either. The female lets out a small sigh in defeat, reaching over to claw at the side of her neck. Nails lazily sinking into the flesh to find an excuse before her head inclines towards the older and much taller frame. Lower lip sticking out, refusing to display a smile when she genuinely wasn’t in a mood to do so. A whine falls out first, nose scrunching at the feeling of frosting smeared against it. ❝No let me look ugly then, Thomas. Maybe all the gross boys can go away too.❞ Mumbling childishly, tongue sticking out to wipe it off which obviously had no chance in being smeared away anytime soon.

A breath knocked out of his lungs as nails dig slightly on the mattress, a sensation of happiness tinged with an unsettling sensation, born off faith in his heart and a mind marred with a faint poignancy. That same one that leaves a knot in his throat that he may not swallow down. That same one easily reduced to nothing when lips meet his skin between whispers.

Think about it, you can live centuries, you can travel miles, you may reign above all and yet, that hollowness is bound to remain unfulfilled. Perhaps it was a piece they forgot to put in its respective place when human kind was created and thus we are condemned to spend a lifetime searching for this one piece. Making amends for what was never our fault.

That is, perhaps, our purpose in life.

Yet they find one another, whether it be by a mere coincidence or by fate.He learns what love is in an April. It is solace, a pair of hands entwined in his, a voice to silence the excruciating thoughts, an ideal he thought for so long as impossible. And when his skin meets the latter´s it is not death lurking in a near future but a hope of life brooding in his chest. He may not be perfect, but he doesn´t want perfect. He learns to love in the ocean, cradled by the waves and their voices in a symphony to keep them ashore.  And when he says he loves him it doesn´t leave a bitter taste on his lips. And when the words reach his ears, they don´t leave a doubt in his thoughts. He finds completion in a figure fitting perfectly with his, in eyes filled with wonder and lips curled in the sheerest joy. He finds completion in a voice muffled against his skin every night and the same dragging him out of sleep every morning. He finds completion in his future, his past, his present, the universe kept within meat and bones. All of it under the name of Thomas Oh.

The thump banging against he wall of his chest from the inside was a warning, one, two, three times in a row–why did the latter’s words sound so … alarming? For some reason, the blood was boiling within thick veins, worry building to pale features while having slender fingers fiddling with the material of the camera handing around his neck as per usual. If anything, the young male knew the other was one to be trusted, someone who had actually taken care of his well being throughout a tough childhood. A deep sigh escapes past nostrils while furrowing perfect sculpted brows, the apartment then falling into deep silence when gazes locked. Curiosity sparkled, both arms then coming to cross over a broad shoulder. There was something to it and it was making him nervous, perhaps because the atmosphere had grown to thick to even breath properly. Secrets.

    “I–Han, why wouldn’t I keep it a secret? Of course I promise … but you’re making me both worried and curious right now. Is it something of a serious matter?“

    ϟ — Han is nothing, if not terrified. 

    But, he has to tell someone. The weight of his secret has been getting heavier, shoulder slumping and head aching, desiring a remedy in the form of loose lips. 

    A breather.      A confidante. 

    Part of him feels guilty, because he knows there are other people who deserve to know the truth about him, people who have worries wedged in their bones, anxiety seeped into their hearts because of his odd behavior. Han knows he owes more people an apology, an explanation, but he decides to start with his baby brother. 

    Thomas is no longer wide eyed and fragile. He no longer plays on the safe side of the street because Han told him to do so. He is bigger, and stronger, and capable of helping Han with his inevitable luggage. Han knows this, because Han has helped water the flowers that have now bloomed in Thomas’s heart. Strong. Capable. Reliable. His baby brother.

    ❝I--❞

    Silence.

    Han disappears, a few seconds, not more than three. And when returns he is dressed in a deep red, a yellow and white crest adorning his chest. 

    Casual bumps between two people along the streets of Seoul were something quite usual to happen, maybe because people were way too busy worrying about themselves to even spare a look towards whoever was coming the other way … at night though, emptiness was to be found along the paths through the whole city. It was late, past dawn and Thomas was yet again at it, blood splashed over the fabric of his white shirt and black pants, a heavy black coat zipped up to half in order to try hiding the evidence from the last crime committed against his will. Then again, his body was completely taken by the one mastermind responsible for his acts, the puppeteer, having each and every step calculated. As per usual, the control would only be given back to his will when he was back home … yet this time, a simple bump against a figure in the dark was enough to snap him back. To say he was having a panic attack was too much, his the way cold droplets of sweat started rolling down his temples and long fingers came to spazz and tremble was a sign that he needed to get home–that was, if he wasn’t caught by the coat by the other’s hand who claimed it was the photographer’s fault and he had to apologize. Just perfect. The hint of despair in his voice though, couldn’t quite be hidden.

    “No, it cannot. I’ve got work to do so if you could get your hands off my clothes, I would be thankful. You bumped into me. Accept it and let me go. I need to fucking go.“

Mistakes are mundane, accidents are bound to happen. Ear buds lodged into his ears, left and right found in their respective spots as he ventures down the sidewalk in a slow, leisure pace. He wasn’t in any rush, but the pedestrians around him, however, seemed have been. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that moon is out, illuminated the city of Seoul in black nothingness. Baekhyun isn’t afraid of the dark. In fact, he’s grown to find comfort in it; the same comfort that most found during broad daylight. His thoughts are aside when he bumps into another - the male tall, lanky, and undeniably handsome, though those observations mattered little. His fingers curl against the fabric of their shirt, before grasping said garment in a closed fist, grasp tight, anything but warm and inviting. "When you bump into someone - regardless of who’s at fault - you apologize, simple as that.” He spat out, tone impassive, words venomous. He should have let it go, but that was neither then, nor now.  Turning his head toward the side, he stares at the other with half-lidded eyes. Their expression intrigues him; frantic, wary, almost as if they had just committed a crime. Then, he traces the scent of tainted copper, though, it’s faint. Interesting, he thinks. “Apologize, and I’ll consider it.”

The voice he had come to love as much takes him by surprise. That phrase he has doubted for his entire life, poisoned by underlying intentions to his eyes. Yet somehow, when spoken by that same voice they manage to leave him at a loss of words. To have the warmth welling in his chest consume him slowly and the world fading out in the blink of an eye. To have him falling deeper and deeper, if that was even possible at this point. 

To have him genuinely believing. 

It is completely terrifying, but when their gazes lock he can’t really bother to care the slightest bit about the thoughts at the back of his head. A faint smile plays on his features at the simple sight of him lying down beside, the voice lingering in his mind for a few seconds before dissipating in thin air. Fingers brush over the male´s skin, tracing out his features with what could only be perceived as love in its purest form. Thus his response is but a whisper, lost between their lips as they collide.