just your average moon

in the past eight weeks, you've figured out three things about lohen from his letters.

one, he has a friend named illuga whom he frequently hangs out with and a senior named varka whom he challenges on a daily basis. you suspect that both have been blackmailed by lohen because you can't fathom the possibility of anyone willingly forming any remotely positive relationship with that man.

two, he's frustratingly good at switching to another subject and giving non-answers whenever you ask him about seven years ago.

three, he's part of the university's boxing club and wants you to visit him at practice one day. you wish that you could ignore it but lohen, being the detestable roach he is, has been asking in every single letter.

for five consecutive weeks, there's always some mention of "come see me wipe the floor with 'em!" or "my victory would've tasted sweeter if you were here." or "will you PLEASE come see me fight? pwetty please with a cherry on top?"

he'd drawn a chibi of him with big googly eyes for the last one. you used a pen to cross the eyes out.

it's no surprise to you that lohen chose to join such a club. when you were younger, he'd jump into any fight he could, even if he wasn't one of the kids who started it.

it didn't matter if the other person was taller, older, or sturdier than him, lohen would still barrel into them and throw punches with all his force. you still remember the time he tried to fight your father because your old man's teasings made you cry, climbing onto the table and launching himself off it to land on your father's back.

lohen had used gravity to weigh himself down, putting your father in a chokehold and causing the poor man to bend backwards while trying to maintain his balance. he only let go when you bit his arm, crying for him to stop.

his parents came knocking on your door after, apologising profusely and making lohen kneel on the ground to ask for forgiveness. instead of being furious, however, your father hurried to scoop him into his arms, a hearty laugh erupting from him as he said:

"if this rascal becomes my son-in-law in the future, my daughter will surely be in good hands!"

you think your father must've had the oxygen cut off from his brain for too long to have made that statement. he wasn't the one who had to deal with a lohen drunk on post-fight adrenaline and patch him up biweekly.

you hate it, truthfully. you hate the word 'fighting', you hate anything related it, and you hate the colours red and purple because they always appeared when lohen was hurt.

you hate how red stained your hands and the gauze you'd use to dab against his cheek, the vibrant colour smearing its trail across.

you hate how purple dotted his features, like some painter's ugly and careless mistake on an otherwise flawless canvas.

you hate how the skin on his knuckles were irritated and torn, the old bruises on his back barely faded before new ones took their place.

you hate how you insisted on him coming and going through the back door, not wanting your parents to see him in such a state.

you hate how your eyes would sting whenever you caught a glimpse of his scars or felt the hard calluses that littered his hands.

you hate how lohen still dared to smile as you cried, pleading for him to not be so reckless.

"i've gotten better at all this, see?" he'd coo, voice soft and syrupy. "been getting hurt less too."

"don't worry, i'll become so skilled that you won't even need to patch me up next time. so don't cry your pretty eyes blind."

lohen would say all that and still come back injured, the bruises and cuts and scars all fusing together to form some hideous amalgamation that seemed to grow larger each time you saw it.

"but if it bothers you so much, i'll let you draw over them. do anything you want to me." he'd say, handing you a box of those washable kiddy markers and lohen would sit perfectly still, allowing you to doodle whatever came to mind.

you'd draw flowers and vines on the days you weren't too upset about it all, and scribble out his scars on the days you felt the need to be angry at something else other than lohen.

the art, if you could call it that, barely did anything to soothe your displeasure or your worries. it'd all disappear by the time he took a shower, and anyone could tell that it was a thirteen-year-old's crude handiwork.

still, lohen glowed with pride when he looked into the mirror, the compliments flowing out of him like second nature.

a liar, he is. lohen's never cared for aesthetics. how would he know the difference between a masterpiece and a disaster?

you hate how you fell for the words of a liar.

you hate even more how you still care for said liar.

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"now here's a face you don't see every day! (name), right?"

some guy calls out to you with a wide grin on his face, waving as he approaches you. you almost glance behind to see if he was greeting someone else, but upon closer inspection, you recognise him to be the man you asked to pass on your letter all those weeks ago.

tall, burly, blonde, an undeniable presence...so you actually met varka himself all those weeks ago. lohen's description of him is surprisingly accurate, even with little detail. subconsciously, you straighten out your posture.

it's an exaggeration, but you swear varka seems to grow larger as he nears you. and to think lohen pits himself against him on a daily basis? how is he still alive?!

even though his imposing stature intimidates you somewhat, you flash what you hope to be a relaxed smile.

"and you are varka, i presume? it's nice to meet you. officially, i mean! lohen mentions you a lot. thank you for helping me the last time."

"oh, don't mention it! any friend of lohen's is a friend of mine." varka laughs amicably. "he's told us all about you too. you look just as he described! you two are pen pals, huh?"

"not by choice. kind of." you mumble out, half in jest and uncertainty. the pen pal project's somehow brought the both of you closer together, or at least allowed you to feel a sense of normalcy around lohen.

you're not sure when it happened, but the meetings became more frequent as the weeks passed, and you found yourself looking forward to see him, laughing at his jokes more and reciprocating his teasing from time to time. just as you did in childhood.

the change frustrates you more than it confuses you, in the way that your brain and heart had seemingly forgotten everything when lohen apologised and asked you to give him more time.

in the eight weeks that have passed, your subconscious mind has apparently made the decision to forgive him.

should you forgive him?

you don't get to dwell more on the question as varka claps a large hand on your back, the force knocking the wind out of your lungs and making you stumble forward slightly.

"yeah, that kid has some...interesting qualities. it takes some time getting used to, but i can vouch for his character. he's a good apple, that lohen."

"though blemished on the outside, the core isn't rotten at all." you recall your father describing him as such too.

"anyways," varka continues, "what brings you here? exercise, check out the boxing club, or..."

he waggles his eyebrows up and down, his voice teasing as the look on his face turns mischievious.

"or you're here for that certain someone i just mentioned?"

"no! of course not, why would i...?" you immediately spew out, denying your intentions.

varka stares at you. you stare back at him.

eventually, you give up on lying to yourself that you are not there for lohen and admit defeat. (guess your pride can take a few hits.)

"lohen...said he had a match today. i came to support him." your mouth feels like sandpaper after your admission, the words almost foreign to hear. what exactly is lohen doing to you? first he makes you question your own resolve, and now this.

"is that so? guess he won't be craning his neck looking for you in the crowd this time!" varka chuckles. "lohen's a bit busy prepping, but you'll see him in the ring soon. in the meantime, why don't i show you around?"

the thought of refusing his offer crosses your mind just once, but you agree in the end, not wanting to seem rude. might as well spend your time wisely instead of standing around.

"i don't mind. curious to see what that guy gets up to in his free time anyways..."

"great! follow me then."

there isn't much to see apart from what you noticed when you first stepped in here. there are people milling about everywhere, either working out at various corners or chatting with their friends. weaving through a few bodies, you find yourself running a little to keep up with varka's large steps.

he's well-liked, you can tell. each person who has walked past greets with either a high-five or fist bump, and varka responds to each one with a laugh and a call of their name.

with such an easygoing attitude, the possibility of him willingly choosing to be lohen's friend doesn't seem too far-fetched now.

the two of you walk around for a while more, with varka introducing you to the various equipment and some more of his friends, before you guys decide to take a break and park yourselves near a water cooler.

"so, what do you think? pretty impressive right?"

"well, i can understand why lohen calls this his 'happy place'. ample space to fight, enough punching bags to use..."

"i bet he considers me to be one of those punching bags too." varka says the words with a certain despondence, and you let out a small cough to hide your snort. he sighs before turning to you with a sparkle in his eyes, an excited expression on his face.

"enough about me. you've known lohen since childhood, right? how was he like as a kid?"

"there's not much to say. he hasn't changed much from when we were younger, still eager to fight and annoying as ever." you don't elaborate any further after that, hoping that the answer was enough to satisfy varka.

huffing, you point your gaze towards the ceiling, as if you'd find some hint as to why life is so complicated and messy.

even if he did, i wouldn't know. the thought is left unsaid in your heart, but you get the feeling varka heard it anyway just by observing your body language. he clears his throat and continues.

"well, i can tell you're special to him. he wouldn't be spending his time writing all those letters by his own hand otherwise."

"he doesn't write by hand?" you tilt your head, confused.

varka grumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "every time i ask lohen to fill out anything, he hands it off to someone else to write. it's always someone else's handwriting i'm seeing! does he really think i can't tell?"

shaking his head, he nudges you lightly, eyes kind and comforting.

"but when it comes to you, he's suddenly so eager to grab a pen and paper! i swear, the difference is like night and day. i've caught him hiding in the locker room a couple of times scribbling away too."

something in your chest comes alive hearing his words, the heat rising to your cheeks as you try your best not to look so happy. you don't even know why you're happy.

"i didn't know that." you say softly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible, trying to concentrate more on the fact that lohen apparently avoids paperwork like the plague.

"lohen re-reads the letters you send before each match as well. i'm guessing it's like some extra motivation for him. he always looks so pumped up after and knocks his opponents down twice as fast."

varka laughs and pats your shoulder once before retracting his hand, stance gradually becoming more casual as the conversation goes on. his next words come out almost nostalgic, like a dad who's seen his son grow up and finally step out into the world.

"there's not a lot of people lohen's close with, y'know? it's hard getting him to interact with others, and he doesn't trust easily."

"being around you brightens his day a lot, and i couldn't be more grateful myself that another person is looking out for him."

"you're something good for him, (name). with you around, i won't have to worry as much anymore." his eyes seem to shine as he says so, the twinkle equal parts proud and relieved.

you're certain you're not as important as varka makes you out to be, yet you can't ignore the earnestness in his tone when he tells you of lohen's actions. you know he isn't lying.

unsure of what to say, you settle on the first thought that comes to mind.

"i'll look out for him."

varka nods, patting your shoulder once more. "thank you, really. sometimes lohen lies to me about his condition and pushes himself too far. i've had to force him to rest a few times now."

you pause for a moment, registering what he just said in your mind.

"what condition?" you ask tentatively, the surrounding noise suddenly going mute as you wait for a response.

it's varka's turn to look puzzled now. the expression causes unease to settle low in your gut. "his condition." he repeats. "you don't know? did lohen not tell you?"

your mind races through the letters and texts you've been exchanging with lohen in the last two months, but you can't recall a time where you heard a mention of any condition.

has he been hiding one from you?

your surprise must be clear to see as varka seems to realise he said something he shouldn't have. it looks like he's about to play it off, but you speak up before he can.

"varka, is lohen sick?"

"shit, he really didn't say anything. o—of course not! lohen's as fit as a fiddle!"

varka sputters and averts his gaze from yours, his confident persona now nowhere to be seen. it only makes the unease in your gut settle even more.

"you're a bit too nervous for someone claiming that everything is fine."

"it was a slip of the tongue! i was...talking about his general condition!"

"didn't sound like that to—"

the toll of a bell interrupts you and people start to move, with the lights dimming and focused solely on the boxing ring. when you look at the stage, you spot him.

you hear varka sigh, seeing him turn to face you in your peripheral vision.

"(name), i think it's best if you heard it from lohen himself. it's not my place to say anything on the matter, i'm sorry."

as if that bastard would tell me! you want to shout and demand an answer from varka, but it's obvious he won't give you one even if you try to question him.

you take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, trying hard not to snap at him.

"...i understand. you don't need to apologise."

varka nods in response, wearing an apologetic smile as he starts leading you through to the centre of the crowd.

"thank you. c'mon, we need to find you a good view. lohen will kill me if i let you miss anything."

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your hands are cramping up and cold sweat is beading at the nape of your neck.

you're nervous. really, really nervous. with each punch lohen's opponent swings, you glance away, not wanting to see whether the hit connected or not.

the organ in your chest squeezes and pulses with each minute the match goes on. you find yourself praying silently, hands wrung together and nails digging into your own skin. to who or what for, you don't know, but you hope someone receives it either way.

you don't cheer, and you don't clap, watching that familiar stranger trade blow after blow, and take blow after blow. under the bright lights, red and purple once again create the painting called 'lohen'.

you can't understand his motivations or his insistence, nor the reasons behind his actions. perhaps you never will.

the referee holds lohen's arm up, declaring him the victor of the match. cheers and whistles erupt all around, the cacophony deafening amidst the slowing beat of your heart.

over the noise, varka projects his voice.

"lohen! look who's here!"

lohen's eyes flicks over to your general direction, eventually meeting your own. in an instant, the fire in his gaze seems to burn even brighter, his teeth now fully bared and smile split wider.

he waves at you and seems to say something. you can't hear him, but you can make out one of the words to be 'wait'.

there's pure joy pouring out of him, like a beacon illuminating the dark night. for a moment, your nervousness seems to melt away.

lohen's right where he wants to be, you think.

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about five minutes later, your phone buzzes.

if you had a hitlist, lohen's name would be at the very top.

shoving your phone back into your pocket, you resolve yourself to the waiting game and step out of the gym, deciding to sit on a bench nearby.

the late afternoon sun warms your skin and the balmy summer wind kisses your cheeks. in the blink of an eye, half the year has passed, while you and lohen have been pen pals for two months.

two months, and yet he's told you almost nothing about his reasons for leaving. furthermore, he seems to have kept you in the dark about something for longer.

"sometimes lohen lies to me about his condition and pushes himself too far." the sentence has been bouncing around in your mind for a while now, its phrasing and implication too serious to ignore.

the initial questions of what and when pop up first, then comes the why and how.

like why didn't you notice something, anything sooner? how serious is whatever he's ailed with? when did he get sick?

how lohen didn't tell you, who was supposedly so special to him, about this matter at all.

has he ever really seen you as his friend?

the further you go down the rabbit hole, the more your mood sours. at some point, tears begin to sting your eyes and you dig the heel of your palm into them. no wonder lohen calls you heulsuse.

you pinch yourself, hard, hoping the sting will distract you from your overthinking. it barely helps, but at least it's something else to focus on. the indent stays for a good minute before it fades, leaving no trace.

"screw you, lohen."

"oh? i heard my name."

jumping out of your skin, you whip your head up to see lohen looming over you, now changed out of his gym clothes and freshened up. there's a faint scent of mint coming off of him. his hair is slightly damp as well, the water droplets dripping onto his sweater.

"...that was quick. you texted me three minutes ago." you gape, still recovering from the scare.

lohen quirks an eyebrow, sitting himself on the armrest of the bench, resting an arm on the back and leveraging his position to lean in closer to you.

"what're you talking about? it's 4:12 pm already. and here i thought you'd chew me out for the two extra minutes."

"it is?" you glance at your phone, frowning when you see that the time is indeed 4:12 pm. seems like you were daydreaming for longer than you should've.

lohen pokes your cheek, the gesture prompting you to throw him a glare. he laughs and raises both hands in surrender, his glee in your annoyance unmistakable.

"you look a little lost." he says matter-of-factly. "what's running through your mind this time?"

lohen's observation irks you a little, more specifically the ease in which he deduced that you were thinking about something. though the frown you're sporting probably aided in his conclusion as well.

suddenly feeling conscious of your facial expressions, you angle yourself slightly away from him.

"nothing important."

you're a liar. you are such a liar, lohen, you want to say.

you move up from the bench, mostly fearing that you wouldn't be able to control yourself from punching or slapping him if you sat next to lohen for a minute longer.

"let's go, i'm getting cold."

"cold? in this weather? okay, hey, don't walk so fast!"

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the walk back is quiet, apart from the sound of your footsteps hitting the pavement.

the sunset dips the sky in hues of orange, baby pink clouds covering its vast expanse. it's similar to the one back home in millhaven, where there are flower fields aplenty.

in your youth, you'd help your mother harvest flowers for her perfumery business. the both of you would wake up bright and early, filling big baskets with all kinds of flora.

"handle the blooms gently and don't crush the petals. most importantly, take your time." your mother would remind you. by the end of it all, your hands would be stained with different colours and carry a sweet fragrance.

as the sun rose, the golden glow would make the fresh dew on the petals glimmer like jewels.

you should really plan a trip back home some time after your exams, if only to see that view again.

the sweet reminiscence is short-lived, however, as you bump into lohen. (who very obviously stepped into your path, causing the collision.)

"woah! careful there. are your eyes working alright?"

"my eyes are fine. you should watch your feet." you spit out the words, stepping to the left to move past him. lohen mirrors you, blocking your path.

okay, that's fine, you'll just go right and—yep. he's standing in front of you once again.

"what're you trying to do?" you question.

"oh, nothing at all. don't you think this particular spot is suitable for a fulfilling conversation?" lohen responds.

the two of you are literally standing in the middle of a footpath, the only ornamental piece in view being the school fountain. there isn't much traffic due to the hour, so it only emphasises the barren nature of your surroundings.

you stare at him, unimpressed by his excuse.

"forget me, you should get your eyes checked."

"i'll have you know i have 20/20 vision. but back to my point..." lohen moves closer to you, his demeanour suddenly becoming more chipper as he languidly drapes an arm over your shoulder.

"you finally came to see me today! i thought i was dreaming when i saw you."

when he doesn't let go even after you jab your elbow into his stomach, you resign yourself to your fate and allow lohen to guide you forward.

"it was a last-minute decision and i just wanted to see if you were as good as you claimed." you argue, looking away to prevent yourself from being blinded by the sparkle in lohen's eyes.

he lets out an amused huff. "and? did i live up to your expectations?"

the voice is eager and anticipatory, taking on a higher note than his usual tone. from your peripheral vision, you can see that lohen's looking at you intently, popping his head into your field of view to meet your gaze.

"i wasn't watching too carefully." you trail off, your eyes flitting over lohen's appearance. there's a bandage on his cheek and minor bruising at the corners of his lips. he must've gotten hit hard during the match earlier.

a part of you withers.

"really? that's unfortunate." lohen puckers his lips, his fingers drumming against your shoulder as he sighs theatrically. "guess i'm going to have to fight the thing that stole your attention away from me."

he laughs, but you can see the cogs turning in his mind. lohen's genuinely considering it.

he'd be fighting something non-existent, but you believe he would still find a way. stubborn fool.

the two of you are strolling slowly now. at some point, your footsteps gradually synchronise until the beat of them is indistinguishable on the gravel. the gap in between has been dwindling too, with you and lohen walking hip to hip.

he jumps from topic to topic: school, hobbies, the childhood you shared. it's akin to a performance, really, how lohen's able to switch his intonation and pace so easily.

his voice drags when mentioning mundane things and picks up when recounting frustrating events, each word tinged with an uncharacteristic tenderness.

it makes your heart ache and quiver, hearing such a melody. one that holds so much memory and meaning, from one so close and yet so far.

which is why you need to know.

"lohen, be honest with me."

"hm?"

"are you ill?"

he stops a second later than you, the movement causing his arm to fall from your shoulder. when you turn to look at lohen, it feels like you're looking at a stranger.

they're dark. his eyes are dark. they're dark like the void and lohen is standing motionless in front of you, seemingly unsure of how to react.

"what makes you say that?" he asks, tone low and dull. "do i look sick to you?"

"you don't, which is why i'm asking." you admit, hands clenched at your sides. they've begun to grow cold and slick with sweat. discreetly, you wipe them against the fabric of your pants.

"what did you hear?"

"...that you have some kind of 'condition'. it flares up when you exert yourself."

"anything else?"

"that's all i know. lohen, is it serious?"

lohen stays silent for a minute, gazing at you with this...listlessness about him. it's like his mind is somewhere else while the physical body is in front of you. eventually, he snaps out of some daze and gives you an empty smile.

"it's not. i'm fine, heulsuse." the nickname sounds more patronising than ever coming out of his mouth, and you grit your teeth to tamper down the indignation.

you know lohen is lying. you are certain he is. why can't he just tell you the truth? can't he tell how worried you are for him?

"i don't believe you. it's clearly more than that." stepping forward, you reach out to him.

you barely move a centimetre before lohen takes a step back.

stunned, you glance up to meet utter coldness. there's no trace or hint of the warmth you received from him just minutes ago, and his body language is closed off.

"i said i'm fine. it's none of your business, (name)."

it's pure despise, the way lohen says your name. you pushed him too far, and now he despises you.

it's your fault. you caused this to happen.

"your fault, your fault, your fault." your inner critic chants.

"it's your fault lohen hates you. it's your fault lohen despises you. it's your fault lohen detests you."

"all along, the reason was you."

it is your fault lohen left seven years ago.

"that's not true. how can the blame be placed on me alone? lohen is guilty too!" your inner child cries.

"i wasn't the one who left. i wasn't the one who forsook the other. i wasn't the one who lied!"

"i just want to understand him!"

it is not my fault.

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you hate him. (you hate him you hate him you hate him.)

you hate that lohen left. you hate that lohen lied. you hate that lohen didn't keep his promise seven years ago.

you hate that you love lohen so, so much.

you want to tell lohen how much you love hate him.

"i'm sorry." you mumble. "i overstepped. it's my fault."

without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and leave.

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for the past four weeks, lohen's been writing letters to you.

Title: Week 9, Day 1 of asking for your forgiveness.

to (name),

hey, i know you probably don't want to hear from me right now. (understandable, i was being a dick.)

i want to apologise, i shouldn't have said that to you. it wasn't right and i want to make it up to you.

let's meet up after your classes to talk?

sincerely,

lohen

Title: Week 10, Day 8 of asking for your forgiveness.

to (name),

you must be really upset, huh? you haven't been replying to my letters.

it's so quiet without you around, y'know? when are you going to come back and annoy me again? soon i hope.

i'll be having practice until 6pm today. you can come see me if you want.

sincerely,

lohen

Title: Week 10, Day 12 of Life update

to (name),

figured you'd get tired of reading about me apologising, so here's something new.

i ate the jueyun chilli chicken i wrote about in my last letter.

it was delicious! i burned the roof of my mouth and my tongue is kinda numb, but the pain was wonderful so it was all worth it. woke me up for my next class.

i went with illuga. you should've seen the look on his face when he took a bite! i laughed so hard water shot out of my nose.

don't tell him, but i actually sprinkled a few more chilli flakes onto his portion while he wasn't looking. i know, i know.

"lohen, you can't do that!" that's what you'd say, right?

don't worry, i apologised after. thank goodness illuga's so kind hearted.

let's try some together next time.

sincerely,

lohen

Title: It's Week 11 and I broke my arm and nose! (surprise!)

to (name),

no joke, i actually fractured my arm and broke my nose. here's what happened.

this guy called ajax joined the club recently. he's a pretty good fighter and is tough as nails, so naturally i wanted to test my skills against him. (one of the best ideas of my life.)

we started sparring, things got a little heated, and next thing i know i'm knocked onto the floor and blood's gushing out of my nose and my arm's twisted in an awkward angle.

i did manage to bruise his eye and break his jaw though before varka caught us. (unsanctioned fight, he was pissed.)

long story short, i have a new friend now! and varka's banned us from being within ten feet of each other. we're planning how to bypass that.

i'm healing well and i'll be back to normal soon.

sincerely,

lohen

p.s. sorry if my writing's all wonky. ajax broke my dominant hand.

Title: just checking in

dear (name),

i hope you're doing well. it's been about four weeks since that day. i haven't heard a single peep from you since then as well.

i wonder if you've been reading all these letters. if you didn't, well, that's okay too. i'm not going to stop either way.

varka probably told you before, but i absolutely hate writing. maybe you figured it out too, with the number of times i asked you to do my homework with me back when we were kids.

i still remember how we used to huddle up together solving math problems, with you holding the pen and me providing the answers.

writing is so inefficient. there's simply no way one person can truly convey what they want to say through words on a page, much less if that person has so much they want to say. it's why i prefer 'doing' instead.

i've been told by different people that the desire to write often just needs a reason, like how you just need to find someone to be brave for in order to have bravery. i honestly think it's nonsense.

as corny as this sounds, you are my reason to write.

i write because i don't want to be a stranger to you again. i write because i don't want to live another seven years without you.

if writing is the only means of communicating with you, then i'll write as many letters as i have to to bridge that seven-year gap.

you make me a different person, (name). a better version of myself.

i've never stopped thinking about you.

sorry. was rambling so much that i'm running out of space now.

anyways, hope to hear from you soon!

sincerely,

lohen

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"do you need me to enact vengeance."

you choke on your drink and hurry to swallow rather ungracefully, pounding on your chest as the mouthful travels painfully down your throat. seeing this, eula flusters and reaches across the table to give your back a few firm pats, handing you a napkin as she does.

perhaps talking about the incident over brunch wasn't one of your brightest ideas, but you desperately needed to vent out all your frustrations with regards to the life crisis called 'being lohen's pen pal'.

thanking her with a raspy voice, you slowly regain control over your breathing and shake your head.

"there's no need, eula, i swear. i can deal with it."

you'd like to think so, anyways. maybe saying it aloud will help convince your heart that it isn't affected by the complicated mess of feelings and memories that surfaced after your meeting with lohen, as futile as it is.

eula stares at you for a good minute before letting out a sigh, a concerned frown marring her fair complexion. the worry in her gaze is palpable, and you know she doesn't fully believe you. it's understandable, really, because you don't believe yourself either.

in an attempt to reassure her, you reach for both her hands, clasping them gently in yours and send an earnest look her way.

"i'll be fine. it's just for one year."

eula huffs.

"yes, a year communicating with a scoundrel who's brought you so much pain sounds like such a fine idea to me. (name), surely you understand my concern?"

her tone reminds you of the time you overheard an older sister reprimanding her younger siblings for running off on their own in the mall, the younger ones sporting guilty expressions as their sister continued to admonish them. you feel quite like them in this case.

you've mentioned lohen a handful of times to eula before, when life grows to be too much and the both of you bond over personal turmoil, seated on the carpeted floor of your shared dorm while drinking the cheap wine she snuck in with plastic party cups.

on those days, your passionate ranting always ends with you becoming a blubbering drunken mess sprawled out on the floor, aggressively wiping the hot tears rolling down your cheeks. eula's never shown you any disdain or annoyance, only comforting you in her own way.

"cease your crying." is what she says, gently prying the cup from your hands and giving you an awkward but tight hug. though the words sound harsh, you can feel the care in them all the same.

over the three years you've known her, eula's become more like family to you than a close friend. you're grateful to have her in your life.

"i understand where you're coming from, and i know what i'm getting into."

you pause and avert your gaze from hers, opting to stare into your drink instead. the liquid's still surface reflects your determined expression.

"i've tried convincing myself that i don't need to know, that i don't want to know, but the truth is that i've never stopped caring for the past seven years."

"this is my chance to finally get an answer, eula. even if i have to jump through hoops to get it, i'll do it. i just want to know why."

you say it all in one breath, heart thumping crazily in your chest and the blood rushing in your ears as you inhale deeply. you never planned to say all that, it just came out in the heat of the moment.

glancing at eula, you watch how surprise morphs into something akin to approval. she adjusts her grip so that her hands covers yours instead, the spark in her eyes clear as day.

"if that's your choice, i'll support it. just be careful, alright? don't get too involved with him."

"i won't, promise!"

you really hope it'll be as simple as that.

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Title: Week 1 of torture, only 51 weeks to go.

to lohen,

the title makes me feel better so no i won't be entertaining any questions on it.

i guess you're expecting me to make the first move since i'm the one who wants something from you. i don't know why i'm humouring you, but here we are. feel free to laugh.

as much as i'd like to delve deep into the complaints i have about you, i'm pretty sure this singular piece of paper won't be able to fit everything. not that you'd care anyways.

back to the point of this letter, let's meet at the angel's share at five. i've double-checked your schedule and everything so don't tell me you can't show up. call it an abuse of power, but to use your own words, i frankly don't care.

be punctual. you know i hate it when people are late.

sincerely,

(name)

p.s. i've decided to write one complaint: your smiles are uncanny and scary. they've always been since childhood. that's all.

Title: Week 1 of the BEST year of my life.

to (name),

you're cute, you know that?

you have no idea how thrilled i was to find this at my seat! making use of what i sent you, hm? compared to the one you wrote last time, this letter seems much longer. not that i'm complaining! i always love to hear from you, whether or not you have anything to say. that hasn't changed.

don't worry, i wouldn't dare be late. a loyal knight shouldn't disappoint his princess after all.

speaking of which, you still remember? you used to throw a fit when i didn't play the role of knight well, stomping your foot and everything. it amused me so much that sometimes i did it on purpose just to make you tick and see you pout. i would apologise, but i'm actually not sorry at all.

anyways, can't wait to see you!

sincerely,

lohen

p.s. and since we're talking about complaints, i have one for you too: you didn't give this to me in person. that's all. :)

the words should aggravate you more, but all you can focus on is how your cheeks flush when you get to the 'princess' part. unwittingly, a small smile makes its way onto your face as well when you realise the general pettiness of it all.

it seems that even in adulthood, lohen still manages to effortlessly match whatever attitude you give him. you hate to admit it, but you've missed squabbling with him, even if it's over words on paper.

you wonder if lohen misses it too.

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1 message from: pen pal guy (WHY)

pen pal guy (WHY): look up

when you glance out the window to your left, you see lohen with his phone in hand and the message interface open, a subtle smile on his face as he waves at you. before you can decide whether or not to wave back, he disappears out of sight and reappears through the doors of the angel's share, making a straight beeline for your booth.

"you're an hour early."

you somehow manage to keep your tone neutral, fighting down the butterflies threatening to flutter out your throat as you watch lohen slide into the opposite seat, the two of you facing each other perfectly now. his eyes form tiny crescent moons when they meet yours.

"i said i wouldn't be late. why do you sound surprised?"

"your past history would say otherwise."

the glance you receive from lohen tells you that he definitely heard your mumble, but just chose not to respond. a brief spark of glee makes itself known as you clear your throat and offer a placating smile.

"i thought you were supposed to be busy at this time."

lohen shrugs and lets out a non-committal hum, picking up a butterknife from the side tray and twirling it between his fingers, addressing you as he does.

"i was. but then i decided the rest of the stuff i needed to do was less important, so i cleared my schedule."

the way he says it is casual, like choosing you over prior commitments was what came naturally and something that didn't need a second thought. like you were never a second thought.

under different circumstances, perhaps you would've been overjoyed to hear that instead of feeling ever so conflicted.

"if that's the case, why did you leave without telling me?"

there's a slight pause in the knife-twirling before it continues again, though the speed has significantly decreased. lohen's brows knit together for a split second before smoothening out again, easily missed if not for the fact you were watching so closely. he laughs breathily, the sound more courtesy than actual joy.

"not going to ask how i've been first? that's a little heartless."

don't scream, don't scream, don't fucking scream. you repeat the mantra in your head over and over again, until the sudden hot flash of anger slowly simmers down and your thoughts aren't somewhat consumed by rage. you take a deep breath before asking again.

"only friends ask each other that. answer my question, lohen."

it's obvious that your voice is strained, the threads of composure slipping away the longer you sit there waiting. but of course, lohen being lohen, he has to say something to test that patience.

"aren't we friends?"

"seems like you're not feeling conversational. let's try again another day, i'm leaving."

"no, hold on."

a sharp clatter is heard as cold fingers wrap around your wrist, the grip light but firm and the butterknife left abandoned to the side. lohen's gaze is already on you when you look at him, serious and intense in a way you can't describe.

"i want to talk. but there are some things i can't tell you yet, why i left being one of them."

the words are soft, devoid of the snark and slyness from before, and the whiplash causes your skin to turn to gooseflesh. even so, the indignation caused by them still burns in your heart.

"that's the equivalent of telling me nothing!"

"i know."

"do you?" you scoff. "i don't think you were left waiting for five whole hours like a fool, but you were definitely the one who left without a word. tell me what kind of a friend does that."

a minute of heavy silence falls thereafter, the clinking of glasses and the chatter of other diners serving as the only background noise. you don't dare move as you feel lohen's touch travel down to your palm instead, encasing your hand in his.

"heulsuse," he starts, and you berate yourself internally for the shiver that runs down your spine at the nickname. "i'm a total piece of shit, i know, and a peasant who doesn't deserve anything more than the scraps you're willing to give him."

"but i need you to trust me and give me more time, heulsuse. please."

oh, how long it has been since he called you that.

because you are of weak will, you make the mistake of stealing a glimpse at him. and boy does lohen look ever so pitiful.

those dark, soulless eyes are watery and practically begging for you to believe him, for you to open up that sweet little heart of yours so that he can occupy it once more. not that the space reserved for him in there is completely gone, that is.

the whole act would've been believable if not for the self-deprecating smile upon his lips.

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"heulsuse, heulsuse! look at what i caught for you!"

with a toothy grin, lohen presents his catch to you: a wriggling white rabbit with ruby red eyes.

the poor thing struggles and squeaks helplessly in the air, held up by its long ears as lohen proudly looks towards you. however, you seem to care less about the animal and more about the broken music box in your hands.

"i have a name, lohen! stop calling me that! and go away, i don't want to see you!"

with that, you turn your back towards him, clutching the wooden box close to your chest as you fiddle with the parts, sniffling while trying to piece everything back together.

bunny still in hand, lohen sits down on the steps next to you, watching as you shift away from him when he gets close. this continues until both your tiny bodies are squished together at the edge of the steps, with you leaning into the railing and lohen leaning into you.

"i said go away."

"why?"

"because you broke my music box, you brute! how am i supposed to play it now?"

"on accident! it's just a music box anyways, i can buy you a new one."

instead of comforting you, lohen's flippant words only make you bawl even harder, the tears and snot running freely down your face. you land a weak punch to his shoulder, with lohen angling himself so the rabbit in his lap doesn't get caught in the crossfire.

"it's not 'just a music box'! my nana gave it to me for my birthday, so it's special! i'd been taking such good care of it until you had to knock into me and make me drop it!"

he stares quietly as you hiccup, the heartbroken look on your face leaving a sour taste in his mouth. after thinking for a moment, lohen makes up his mind.

"give it to me. here, hold the little one."

"wait, you can't do that!"

ignoring your surprised cry, lohen dumps the fluffy animal into your lap and takes the box from your hands, scrutinising it from every angle before getting to work.

it isn't long before he's done and returns the repaired object.

"see if it works, heulsuse."

both of you watch in anticipation as you turn the dial of the music box, waiting for a minute before a tune begins to play. instantaneously, your somber expression lights up with joy.

"you fixed it! oh, thank you thank you thank you, lohen!"

you throw your arms around him for a quick embrace before releasing him, too enamoured with your music box to notice the blush on his chubby cheeks.

"does that mean you forgive me, heulsuse?"

even though he sounds like he couldn't care less about your answer, his voice is still tinged with the tiniest bit of nervousness and bashfulness. lohen stares at you intently as well, as if it will help him to figure out how you'll respond.

fortunately for lohen, you've always been weak when it comes to him.

"um, only if you stop calling me heulsuse!"

at your proclamation, lohen only giggles and uses his sleeve to wipe off the junk on your face, causing you to whine something about dirtying his clothes. he isn't too bothered though.

"but you cry all the time. i only chose a name that suits you."

"no i don't! i'll stop playing with you if you keep calling me that."

"okay, i'm sorry. forgive me, (name)?"

"...hmph. i guess i could."

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heulsuse. heulsuse, heulsuse, heulsuse.

the name both mocks and soothes, reminding you of the girl who had once devoted her love to her childhood friend, the one too soft-hearted against his pretty words and promises.

you haven't changed much, you think.

"fuck you."

you swear honestly, full of spite and half in longing. in response, the lunatic cackles loudly, not caring for the looks sent his way.

he plants a kiss upon your fingers, the touch as light as a feather, eyes never leaving yours as the nonsensical words come out of his mouth.

"good! you should."

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-> from: tevyat university

"congratulations student, you have been assigned with: lohen. thank you for signing up with the pen pal project! happy writing!"

"...you have got to be fucking kidding me."

the name 'lohen' stares back at you from your phone. you double and triple check the email, refreshing to see if it would change at all. however, when the name remains unchanged even after five refreshes, the reality of the situation starts to sink in on you.

seven years. seven years since he left a sixteen-year-old you waiting in the fields in your hometown, seven years since you lost all form of contact with him, and three years since you've stopped seeing him in your dreams.

exactly two years since you ran into him on campus while exiting the library, and two years you've spent actively avoiding him.

and now, in your last year of university, the school system has decided to pair you up with him.

you deny it at first, thinking of it as some kind of scarily specific prank by some hacker who has a vengeance against you. but the email address is legit, the number pasted at the bottom is a real one and this is definitely an event you regret joining.

according to the website, you and your pen pal will be matched according to your answers given on the questionnaire provided when you first sign up. based on your personality, interests and hobbies, the perfect partner will be found for you. (the website's words, not yours.)

once you are matched, an email will be sent to each of you, containing the other person's name and phone number. then, over the course of one school year, you'll exchange letters and get to know each other better. obviously, the main goal of the project is for willing participants to make friends and connect with other students on campus.

by that logic, it meant the system believed you and lohen would get along with each other and were highly compatible.

the algorithm they're using must be outdated, you believe, if they put you with lohen of all people.

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lohen.

the name leaves a bittersweet taste on your tongue, reminding you of the childhood you once had with him until everything fell apart.

the both of you used to play in the fields behind his house when it was dark, catching fireflies and gazing at the stars. you'd stay there until dawn and then sneak back into your house through the window, with lohen waving you goodbye as he rushed back home as well.

a younger you would always look forward to when lohen knocked on the door, politely asking your parents for permission to play with you before throwing all decorum out of the way and dragging you out by the arm when they agreed. as he got older, he stopped asking and just waited by your bedroom window with his arms held out, telling you to jump down and he'd catch you.

"that boy is as unpredictable as can be." your mother would sigh. yet she never once forbade you from hanging out with him.

perhaps it was bound to happen, a given even with how much time you were spending with lohen, but you fell for him at the age of fourteen. from there, not only was he your best friend, lohen became your first love.

the fairytales you used to read as a child, where a knight would fall in love with a princess, suddenly meant so much more to you, your young, naive, foolish mind imagining that you were the princess and lohen was your knight.

you'd dream of a precious romance, one untainted by the struggles of reality and adulthood, one where you and lohen would skip off into the sunset together and live out a happily ever after together.

yes, it was childish for a girl your age back then, but it was your whole world. that's how much lohen meant to you. it's why you spent another two years pining after him before you finally decided to confess in the fields both of you so dearly loved.

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you waited.

you waited and waited and waited.

you waited until the sun set, until the sky turned dark and the stars made their appearance, until the fireflies came out.

you waited until your parents found you in the middle of those fields, crying your heart out.

lohen never came.

it wasn't until the next morning that you found out he had moved without telling you. no note, no words, nothing.

he just...left.

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*ding!*

2 messages from: unknown

unknown: hey

unknown: your my pen pal right?

great, as if you didn't have enough to worry about already.

you aren't lost on who this is. since they're claiming to be your pen pal, this is can only be lohen who's texting you.

you don't know why your heart is pounding so fast. you aren't the one who ditched someone and left without a word seven years ago. if anything, he should be the one who's nervous.

you: lohen.

unknown is typing...

unknown: straight to the point huh? i like it.

unknown: its been a while (name)

you scoff. he's acting like only a year has passed and not seven.

you: more than a while you mean

you: ykw i dont have to do this im blocking you

you: bye

your thumb hovers over the 'block' button when another influx of messages comes in.

unknown: wiat

unknown: u want an answer i know

unknown: meet me outside main hall

unknown: youll get one

the green dot beside the empty profile disappears. lohen's gone offline.

you're not going. you're blocking his number and you're not going. why should you? you didn't get an answer seven years ago, and you certainly don't need one now.

you can just ignore this conversation and pretend it never happened and carry on with your lohen-less life. you've managed to survive for this long.

...

you're going to regret this.

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it isn't hard to spot lohen amidst the sea of students, leaning casually against a pillar and scrolling on his phone. you spent more than half your life with him after all. you don't approach him immediately, opting to stand a distance away to observe.

visually, he hasn't changed much. still the same murky green hair, bored expression, the singular mole underneath his right eye. the only difference is that the baby fat around his cheeks has slimmed down and he's gotten taller, along with the dagger piercing on his left ear.

you curse your heart for picking up speed when lohen finally notices you.

he smiles at you, all smug and a hint of something you don't dare name as fondness. you shuffle over to him.

"hey."

"hi."

you shoot him a confused glance as lohen opens his arms, as if expecting you to do something.

"what are you doing?"

he tilts his head at you innocently.

"aren't you gonna hug me?"

"no? why would i do that?"

"you used to greet me with a hug when we were kids. you don't remember?"

the audacity of this guy. does he still think the both of you are on good terms to ask for a hug from you? how shameless can he get?

"we're not kids anymore. i'm not hugging you."

lohen only shrugs and crosses his arms in response. a minute of silence passes before you clear your throat and speak up.

"you said you had an explanation."

you watch as he nods and digs around in his bag, pulling out an envelope that has definitely seen better days. lohen offers it to you as you stare in disbelief.

the edges are torn, the envelope itself is crumpled beyond repair and there's even a red-brownish stain that you hope isn't dried blood on a corner.

"...what is this?"

"your explanation. anyways, i have a class to get to. don't be a stranger alright?"

with that, lohen brushes past you, leaving you stunned to process the whole interaction.

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you only open the letter after a long day of classes. it seems that apart from his appearance, lohen's penmanship is also another thing that hasn't changed after all this time.

it took you some time to decipher his messy scrawls, but you manage to get through the letter.

my dear to (name),

ignore that tiny mistake. anyways! i will be sending my schedule to you soon. it has all my classes, electives, my club activities, you name it.

i understand that this isn't what you want and i frankly don't care. but since the both of us are pen pals now, i thought why not make use of this opportunity? fun right?

if you want an answer from me, you'll have to write to me and ask for it.

you know my schedule, you know where to find me.

hope to hear from you soon!

sincerely,

lohen

as if on cue, your phone goes off with a message from lohen. he's sent you a document of everything he mentioned in the letter.

what a bastard.

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"lohen! a girl asked me to pass this letter on to you."

lohen takes the envelope from varka, the latter slinging an arm around his shoulder, a wolfish grin on his face.

"when did you get yourself a girlfriend huh? didn't even bother to tell the rest of your club buddies?

a yelp is heard from varka as lohen shoves him off lightly.

"she's not my girlfriend. yet."

with thinly veiled excitement, lohen opens the letter which reads:

to lohen,

i hate you.

sincerely,

(name)

truly, he couldn't be happier.

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