Thursday, October 9th, 1997

Τhere is a fine line between love and passion. It is easy to confuse one for the other, and sometimes the boundaries become so blurry that love merges into passion and passion merges into love. Passion is a state of being — it resembles a phase of complete ecstasy that you wish would last forever. It fills you with a sudden burst of happiness that is so strong, it needs to become temporary, otherwise its effect weakens.

Love is more of a state of living — it draws you in, it roams around you like the strong scent of cologne, it captivates you in an invisible way, almost as if it does not exist and no matter what your state of mind or being is, it will always find you in the form of solace. This is exactly what gives it longevity in its effect.

You tried to keep a mental note of these thoughts for the time being until you could write them down, before you completely forgot about them and they ceased to exist.

You were standing outside your favorite café in Seoul, patting your hair and brushing your fingers through thick strands to untangle them. Fall was your favorite season when you could hear the crunchy sound of leaves under your shoes or the patter of raindrops on your umbrella, but one thing you were certainly sure of was that you were not particularly very fond of the wind.

With a firm push on the door, you stepped inside the place you liked to call your second home and, almost in a cartoon-like way, you rushed towards the front counter, drawn in by the magical, mythical, delicious scent of caramel.

The boy behind the counter was busy placing pastries in a paper box and didn’t immediately notice your presence, even though you thought that he could sense how much you were craving that cup of hot caramel latte you were dreaming about all morning.

“Jisung,” you raised your voice as you spoke, and the boy jolted up in the air at the sound of somebody calling his name. You liked to mess with him in this way because of his sensitivity towards abrupt loud noises. You didn’t want to, but it always spread your lips into a smiley smirk when he would jump around and drop whatever he was holding. Exactly what happened right now.

“Oh my God, Y/n,” he said breathlessly, pressing one hand on his chest to calm his heartbeat. You let out a soft giggle at his reaction and he narrowed his eyes at you. “I just like to tease you, Ji,” you said as he bent down to pick up the box and the now dirty pastries. He threw away the pastries in a trash can under the counter and placed the box aside in the counter behind him. He rolled his shoulders backwards as he came towards the cash register and swayed his head left and right to move his bangs out of his face. “Alright, alright,” he whispered to himself and he cleared his throat, straightening his back even further. He flashed a wide smile towards you and spoke in a voice that seemed loud to him, but to your ears it still sounded like his usual velvety soft tone. “Welcome to ‘'Caramel Craze’,  what can I get you?”

“Just my regular, Ji,” you said and he kept a note of your order on a small scratch pad, even though he knew your order by heart. “I’ll go sit down at our table, you can come join me when your shift ends. Also, just so you know, Yerim is coming too so be more alert. You know I go easy on you with the jumpscares but she doesn’t,” you said and he laughed at the mention of your friend Yerim, who liked to tease him just a little bit more.

“Okay, you go sit and I’ll be back with your order,” Jisung said and you stretched your arm to ruffle his hair playfully.

You always sat at the table furthest back in the shop right next to the wall-length window. Whatever the season, you enjoyed the access to viewing the outside world through the perspective of the glass that separated you from the people on the other side of it. Today, the atmosphere was covered by dark clouds of gloom that seemed harmless, with no intention of rain. You hadn’t realized how angry the wind was until you looked at the way the branches of the trees moved back and forth to the wind’s direction and the people struggling to walk through the windy force. Behind the glass window, it was peaceful and quiet.

You sat down at your and your friends’ designated table and took out your sketchbook and pencils. Looking around the small coffee shop, you noticed a girl standing, waiting in line to order her drink and possibly a little sweet treat to go along with it. She was wearing a long plaid skirt, falling down to her ankles, paired with a short jean jacket that ended right at the start of her waist. What if she added a leather corset? The length of the skirt kinda throws me off. Maybe a shorter skirt, chunkier shoes, different texture on the jacket-

You picked up your pencil and quickly drew lines that resembled a female human figure. Eyes darting from the girl to your sketchbook, back at the girl and your sketchbook again, you started gaining inspiration for new clothing designs. That’s why you decided to study fashion design; the possibilities of mixing and matching colors, patterns and textures were endless, and your creative mind couldn’t help but be fascinated by the art of fashion.

You were drawing quick rough sketches of clothes, making small changes here and there, trying to find a new, innovative, interesting design to present in class. For the last couple weeks, you were completely stuck and couldn’t create anything. The scholarship abroad wouldn’t be yours if you presented some boring, mediocre stuff.

Lately, you found yourself deprived of inspiration. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why this was the case, but anytime you picked up your pencil to draw new patterns of clothes, your hand automatically moved away from your sketchbook and gravitated towards the pocket-sized notebook you kept on the side of your desk, and all you could do with your pencil was to write words.

the flowers inside my mind wither and fall; dark fog covers the sky that hangs above my consciousness i hate to see you wilt — perhaps a new seed will grow on the ground and replace the void with color regeneration mirrors the art of becoming again

Setting your sketchbook and pencil on the side, you moved to take out the small notebook from the front pocket of your bag, flipping the pages to find a blank one and quickly writing down the words that came to your mind at that moment. This is what you always did when you felt stuck. You could never voice the thoughts occupying your mind, so you wrote them down instead. It was always easier to put them in place this way.

A loud bang resonated in the small café and you jolted up in surprise, dropping your pencil on the table. This is probably how Jisung feels, I get it now. You lifted your head to see your friend Yerim setting her bag and extra books on the table as she sat down on the chair across from yours.

“You scared me, Yerimie,” you said in a shaky voice and her lips lifted up to a smirk. “And I thought Jisung was the fun one to tease,” she said.

You scoffed at her comment and dismissed it. Yerim’s eyes dropped to the sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere around the table, peeking at your trembling designs and the black smudges all over the pages that covered the designs you didn’t like.

“Still on designer’s block?” Yerim asked and you shook your head lightly. “I actually made some progress today,” you smiled, “I might have some ideas about what to make. These are pretty much the very first draft of it. If you can call it a draft,” you said pointing at your sketchbook.

Yerim hummed in understanding, but her eyes betrayed her true thoughts. Doubt? Hope? Simply processing what you said? You couldn't tell.

“Hey, listen, I have an extra class right now so I won’t stay, wanna meet me later in the library? I know you prefer studying here but I just came to pick up my coffee,” Yerim said. As if they communicated telepathically, Jisung approached your table holding two plastic cups with your beloved coffee shop’s logo on them. The intensely sweet scent of caramel betrayed what the liquid inside the cups was and you felt dizzy even at the thought of finally tasting the drink you were so desperately craving.

“Here you are, girls,” it felt almost as if Jisung mouthed the words by how softly he spoke. With shaky hands, he placed the cups on the table and smiled at himself for successfully bringing them all the way there without dropping them and spilling the hot coffee all over the shop’s floor.

“Are you coming too, Ji? To the library,” Yerim turned to him and Jisung nodded eagerly. “Of course! I’ll be there after my shift ends. Sorry Y/n, I can’t stay at the café all day, it's getting boring and it reminds me of work,” Jisung apologized to you and frowned.

“Don’t worry, guys, I’ll join you. Besides, apparently I also need to find this book for my project. You can go and I’ll meet you there later,” you said and you were going to keep your promise. 

Yerim grabbed her things and leaned over the table to give you a hug. She winked at you and waved at both you and Jisung on her way out the coffee shop. Jisung smiled and shook his head at Yerim’s sassy attitude and you couldn’t help but smile too at how adorable he was.

“You’d better get back to work Ji, or else someone out there is gonna rob all the money you keep in the cash register,” you reminded him and his posture stiffened, smile dropping and eyes widening when he remembered that his shift, in fact, hadn’t ended yet. 

“Oh, you’re right. But wait,” he said, putting his hand inside the pocket of his apron, only to take out a soft caramel cookie wrapped in sealed plastic packaging. He slid it into your hand under the table and offered you a shy smile. “It’s on the house. You need some energy,” he said softly as he walked away towards the back of the café.

You looked at the cookie and quickly put it inside your bag. You were sitting alone once again, blocking your surroundings as you stared outside the window to take a look at the outside world. The wind had calmed down significantly.

The flapping of pages one after the other echoed in the deafening silence of the spacious room. A few careful steps on the thick wool of the carpeted floors and the rhythmic clicking of fingers on keyboards filled in each quiet seconds that passed. The library was great for studying, but deadly boring.

Yerim was squinting her eyes at the screen of one of the library’s old desktops, scrolling and scheming through an article that she found important. Jisung, sitting next to her, fell asleep in the midst of keeping notes, head falling with a thud on the hardcover encyclopedia he was supposed to be reading. A soft snore escaped him, which earned a frown from Yerim. “Poor boy, he works and studies so hard,” she whispered.

You hummed under your breath in agreement as you sat up. “I’m gonna go look for the book I want. Care to join?” you asked Yerim but she shook her head instead. “I have to finish my work in 20 minutes, another girl needs to use the computer and all the others are occupied,” she answered and you encouraged her to keep on working.

You left your two friends to carry on with studying – or at least one of them – and slowly walked towards the massive corridors filled with shelves full of books. It was so intimidating. Tall bookshelves packed with books, aligned in continuous rows, leading you to the dead-ends of each corridor, almost in a maze-like effect. For a place that is supposed to be calm and quiet, it was safe to say that it rather filled you with anxiety.

You held your post-it note in your hand, looking at the name and serial number of the book you wanted to find. Despite the careful organizing of each shelf, you never seemed to find what you were looking for.

Eyes trailing along the shelves, you spent what felt like hours reading every single title on the spines of the books in hopes of finding what you wanted. Tracing your fingers along the shelves, moving your eyes up and down following the alignment of the books, you were trying your hardest to spot the title you needed before you got dizzy from the overwhelming sensation.

And bingo. The book was right there. Except, it was placed on the very top shelf.

You left an integral groan, trying to remain calm. You can do this, Y/n. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, you gathered all your strength to stretch out your legs and arms in an attempt to reach the top shelf. Wiggling and pushing yourself on your tiptoes, you tried to hold on to the shelf with your one hand and grab the book with the other.

This plan could really work, yet instead of grabbing the book, you pushed it further into the shelf. There was a stepladder around here the last time, where the fuck is it now?

Sighing in frustration, your feet touched the ground again. Asking for help isn’t an option; you would rather lock yourself up in a room to hide the embarrassment of showing such a weakness. And it wasn't even a weakness, just your pure stupidity.

Looking around the corridors in hopes of finding that stepladder you needed, a shadow came upon you, reaching out a hand over your head.

“You were looking for this?” a low voice asked, barely upon a whisper. You turned around to see a boy your age standing in front of you, very close to you, stretching out his hand to you. And he was holding the book you wanted.

You blinked a few times, moving your gaze from him to the book and back to him. With swift movements, you took the book from his hands. “Yeah, thanks,” you whispered, looking down at your feet.

The boy didn’t move. He was standing still in front of you and you had no idea why. You could feel his burning gaze on you, traveling up and down your body to take in your full figure, his soft breathing as the only sound that could be distinguished in such an awkward silence.

“So,” he trailed off, with a prominent vocal fry in the way he spoke. He cleared his throat and you lifted your head to meet his eyes. “Introduction to Fashion Design, huh?” he asked.

His eyes were colored brown, so dark that they almost looked like an abyss you could get lost in. His nose was sharp, placed right in the center of his face, balancing every single one of his other features. His completely non-bumpy nose bridge led down to his lips, not thin but not full, stretched in an unreadable, Mona Lisa-like smirk that you couldn’t interpret. His jawline was forming a perfect triangular symmetry, connecting all his characteristics together in harmonious ways. You looked back into his eyes to finally notice the thick, expressive eyebrows framing every single detail on his face, slightly lifted due to the question he asked you seconds ago. His hair was short and bleached to a whitish platinum blonde color, neatly styled in a way that his bangs were parted to the sides of his forehead, split in an almost mathematical manner. You tried to find a flaw, something that didn’t fit with the rest of his facial features, but your attempts were in vain. He was perfect.

He was in fact gorgeous. Where the hell was he hidden all this time? Maybe you should have been coming to the library more often when Yerim and Jisung asked you to. 

You realized you were now staring at him, because he chuckled, smirk lifting upwards to show his ironic and teasing intention hidden behind it, eyes glimmering and brows going even higher. You also failed to notice that he was now leaning towards you, as he rested his arm on the shelf behind you, the one right above your head. “Staring much, kitten?” the teasing tone now obvious in his voice.

You gulped and dragged your eyes along his body, fully taking a look of his entire figure. He was taller than you, and he seemed quite buff under the hoodie and sweatpants he was wearing. The broadness of his shoulders and sturdiness of his stance betrayed his athletic physique. You tried to keep eye contact with him, smiling in an attempt to return the teasing attitude he had. “Are you flirting, Mr. buff guy?” you provoked him, laughing at the intentional choice of the teasing nickname. And you had no idea how you could master to give off such an attitude when you had such a good-looking guy standing inches away from you.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes playfully at your witty comment, looking right into your eyes, The fooling smirk he had plastered across his lips earlier was now replaced by a smile, a genuine one that hinted some interest. “You’re fun, I like you,” he said.

“Do you mean fun or funny?” you kept toying with him as he seemed to like it. “So you’re amusing, too” he said, but his voice implied that this comment wasn’t addressed to you, rather it was an observation he voiced out loud.

“Well, you seem amused so I won’t deny it,” you said and he laughed out of embarrassment. His laugh probably came out louder than what he intended, because someone from the corridor behind you shushed him, reminding him of what this place was. So he wasn’t that hard to read, after all. “Why do you need this huge ass book, anyway?” he changed the subject, tossing the conversation to you.

“Well, as you can see I study fashion design,” you said, “and I am currently suffering from a severe designer’s block so maybe this book will help me”.

“I’ve written some articles on fashion,” he said nonchalantly. “I can send you some of them, if you want. You might get some inspiration,” he added.

“You? Articles? About fashion?” you asked him in disbelief and he responded with one of his annoying chuckles he gave you earlier. “I study journalism, kitten. Writing magazine articles is part of the job, so I was assigned some fashion bits at some point,” he said.

“Now I’m amused,” you confessed honestly, raising your eyebrows. This was the last thing you expected from a guy that looked like that, whatever that would mean. He suddenly wasn't just a handsome, flirty boy but he actually became quite interesting.

“Yeah, maybe you’ve read some of them already. Well, I hope you haven’t because this way I have an excuse to contact you. I’m Na Jaemin,” he introduced himself, stretching out his hand initiating a handshake.

You accepted his handshake and introduced yourself too. “I’m Y/n,” you said, smirking at him due to his smooth flirtatious tactics that you hated to admit that they had you swept under his feet so easily.

“You can send the articles to my email address, do you happen to have a pen on you?” you asked him and he rolled his eyes once again. After all this time you were talking so close to one another, he took a step further back to search through the pockets of his sweatpants. He took out a scratch pad from his right pocket and a pen from his left. He moved the objects in the air triumphantly, raising his eyebrows at you. “I study journalism, remember?” he pouted and you chuckled.

He handed you the pen and notebook and you scribbled your email address on a random blank page you found as you flipped it open. You gave it back to him and he took it, looking at what you wrote down with drawn eyebrows, as if he tried to memorize it. “I was actually expecting you to write your phone number too, but it’s cool,” he said with a fake sadness in his flirty tone.

You giggled. “You can’t send me articles through my phone number, you know?”

He lifted his head and smirked at you, but in a way he hadn’t done so already. You could sense some excitement. “We’ll be in touch, kitten,” he said before turning on his heels, leaving you standing on the empty library corridor, burning like a rising flame.

hot lava builds up inside me, upon a single glance of yours scorching hot, scalding, sizzling, roasting, boiling, one more look from your fiery eyes, and my volcano will erupt — without any warning.

Friday, October 10th, 1997

“So you’re telling me that you carried out this full conversation while whispering?” Yerim asked confused, sipping from her caramel flavored hot chocolate.

“Basically, yeah. I mean, we were at the library. That’s how people are supposed to talk there,” you answered and she glared at you. “People aren’t supposed to talk at all in the library, Y/n,” Yerim deadpanned and you scoffed.

“That’s not the issue now, Yerim, focus,” you told her, averting her attention to what you had to say. “The thing is, I’ve never seen him before. And now he suddenly comes, looking as if he were sculpted by the gods, and he flirts with me!” you exclaimed.

Yerim opened her mouth to speak but she was cut off by Jisung, who rushed to your table with a coffee cup in his hand, slipping into one of the empty chairs. “Who haven’t you seen before?” he asked.

Last night, after your encounter with this guy, Jaemin, you couldn’t concentrate anymore. Your mind was occupied with the image of him, the way he looked into your eyes so attentively, the amusing tone of his words and the bulky physique that you could already remember in detail because of how much you stared at him. 

So you took your things and left the library because you felt shy. The confidence that had completely engulfed you while you were talking with him vanished abruptly and you immediately came back to your regular, shy self. You couldn’t admit to anyone, not even yourself, how flustered he left you after your brief first meeting with him, so you couldn’t face your friends after this, because your shyness would turn into embarrassment.

Jaemin sent you the fashion articles he had written, indeed, but that was it. You simply sent him back a ‘thank you’ email and that was the end of the conversation. Since neither of the two tried to continue it, you decided to just leave him be for the moment. You wouldn’t be able to say, or rather email him, anything proper after how bashful he left you. You actually took the time to read his articles instead, but they weren’t as helpful as you hoped they would be. At least you were thankful he kept his word and put in some effort.

You didn’t know Jaemin. But during the few minutes that you met him, the only thing you could read about him was that he was unreadable. Or, at least, difficult to read. The sharpness in his soft features, the softness of his tough body, and the deep brown eyes that were imprinted inside your mind hid things you couldn’t decipher.

His external appearance definitely lured you in, but the mysterious nature of his mind was what kept you intrigued.

So the next morning, you asked Yerim and Jisung to hang out at ‘Caramel Craze’. Jisung had a morning shift, so during his lunch break, he would have time to catch up with everything you had to say about Jaemin.

Jisung’s eyes traveled between you and Yerim, waiting for one of you to answer his question. You turned to him and hit him back with another question instead of answering his. “Ji, do you happen to know any Na Jaemin?”

His eyes lit up in realization. “Yeah, I do. He comes here quite often,” he said. In a matter of milliseconds, he narrowed his eyes at your confused ones. “Why, what about him?” he asked.

You blinked a few times. “You know him? And he comes here? Here, as in ‘Caramel Craze’? How have I never seen him?” you fired him with all your thoughts that you voiced out into questions and he stayed still, looking at you as if you were a madwoman.

“Yeah,” he trailed off, “I mean, how could you see him when you always look out the window? And then you constantly write on your notebook?” Jisung said and Yerim laughed.

“Don’t do her like that, Ji,” Yerim said. “She met him last night in the library. And apparently she developed a crush on him overnight,” she said and you slapped her shoulder. She let out a yelp and rubbed her shoulder right where you hit her, obviously in a dramatic manner.

“I don’t have a crush on him,” you said. But you do have a crush on him. Maybe it wasn’t a crush, but it was a great interest. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and the most frustrating thing was that you didn’t know what was so charming about him that he had you acting like this. You were too ashamed to admit to any growing feelings towards him, because you didn’t even know him. And even if you did have feelings, you would never voice them out; the words were stuck in your throat and could only be released through your silly little poems.

You repeated everything you told Yerim earlier so that Jisung knew about what happened at the library. Jisung listened closely, sipping from his coffee cup, nodding and humming at each of your sentences. When you finished, he placed his coffee cup on the table and leaned back into his chair, shrugging. “Why don’t you ask him to hang out?” he suggested.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks blazed with heat. “Are you serious?” you asked him.

“I might have to agree with him, Y/n,” Yerim pouted while fiddling with her fingers.

“I didn’t tell you to ask him out,” Jisung started, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned towards the table, “I told you to ask him to hang out. There’s a difference. You want to get to know him better, so you need to spend time with him” he said.

You realized that Jisung was right. He didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know, but hearing it out put some sense into you and prompted you to act beyond your thoughts. You were too shy to approach him, though. It still amazed you how well you handled his flirting and you were afraid that your actual reserved personality would put him off.

You didn’t even know why you were so curious about his idea of you. Were you that interested in him? You didn’t particularly mean to impress him, you just wanted to meet his expectations, whatever they might be. Your way of thinking was unknown to you, which made you believe you were starting to sound kind of desperate. And you absolutely hated that a boy had you acting so unsure of yourself.

Monday, October 13th, 1997

“So, what did you think about my articles? Were they any help?” Jaemin asked you curiously as he slowly propped himself up, resting on his elbows that were touching the moist grass.

You had just finished your morning classes and were heading to your dorm when you bumped into none other than Na Jaemin himself. You preferred the fact that you met him this way, on a random day on campus. It saved you from all your embarrassment and second thoughts you had about sending him an email. Who even sends an email for such a silly reason? It was times like this that you wished he had given you his phone number. So it was better this way. He seemed quite thrilled to see you, so you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse his offer of an impromptu picnic on the campus’ hill.

The weather wasn’t very ideal for a picnic, though. Spring needed to wait for her turn to come, so for now fall was in charge of setting the mood. The soft gray clouds were playing hide and seek with the sun and, if the sun cheated, the clouds would drop a couple of tears here and there out of annoyance. The freshly-cut grass beneath you was clearly affected by the clouds’ behavior, so you laid your jacket down and sat on it in order to prevent the dampness from wetting your pants.

You sat down on your jacket, knees drawn to your chest. You were looking ahead of you, eyes scanning around the open campus thinking of where all these people were going. Faces kept on coming and going, mouths talking and laughing and screaming, brains occupied with thoughts and stress and concerns. You could spend an entire fortune if it meant that you could have access to every little thing all these people were thinking about. But you were mostly interested in the thoughts and concerns that occupied the brain of the boy who was laying right beside you.

“Thank you for sending the articles, really. I honestly didn’t expect you to do it, but thanks. The thing is, though, they didn’t help me that much. But still, I appreciate it,” you answered with more honesty than what you intended. You didn’t have the heart to tell Jaemin that his articles were almost useless for what you wanted, so you tried to say it to him as carefully as possible. It wasn’t even his fault, there were good articles and this surprised you pleasantly, it was too bad they didn’t work for the topic of your assignment.

Jaemin frowned at your response. “Damn, were they that bad?” he voiced out his thoughts with a tone that hinted at some sadness, and you immediately turned to look at him. You lifted your hand to use it as a shield, as a sunray peeked through the clouds and fell right on your eyes. 

“What? No, what are you talking about? Your articles were great, just not what I needed,” you reassured him but he shook his head, lost in worry. The sunray moved and rested on Jaemin’s face, which earned a frowning look from him, squinting his eyes at the violence of the light.

“I don’t know,” he started, not looking directly at you, “sometimes I feel like I suck at what I do. I am probably a shit journalist.”

You fully turned your body to look at him directly and you couldn’t explain why you felt the sudden urge to slap some sense into him. The last thing you expected from a guy like him was to be insecure of himself and his capabilities.

“What are you even talking about?” you said, and he turned to look up at you, waiting for what you had to say next. “Those articles were great; your writing was precise, the content was informative and it was crystal clear that you worked your ass off to do this type of research. Look, I’ve only known you for like, what, five days? And we haven’t even talked during half of them, but you seem like a really good journalist. Never underestimate yourself again,” you encouraged him but the frown never left his beautiful face.

Jaemin scoffed and looked down on his lap, swaying his feet so the tips of his shoes touched each other. “I don’t know, it’s just,” he started again, pausing a little to think. He lifted his head and looked at you with his deep brown eyes, that hid a slight sign of dissatisfaction. “Everything is so much easier with photos,” he said.

You visibly blinked a couple of times at the ambiguity of his words and he took it as a sign to elaborate. “You know, sometimes I just wish I could abandon everything, grab my camera and just…just take pictures of things,” he said.

You stared at him. His words went right into you. You resonated with what he said, you related to his concern and just stayed still, eyes focused on the grass, reflecting on his worries.

Sometimes you felt like this too. Sometimes, you just wanted to leave everything and everyone behind, lock yourself in the comfort of your room and get lost in words. You wanted to block everything, focus on your notebook and just start pouring out your entire inner self onto the paper. 

“I think,” you whispered, “I think I understand how you feel,” you said and Jaemin nodded his head. It wasn’t a nod of agreement, nor a nod of understanding, but rather a nod of feeling heard.

You were taken aback by the way Jaemin opened up to you so easily. Behind the façade of the flirty, witty, handsome boy hid a boy full of concern, worry and insecurity. His mindset intrigued you even more, and you were captivated with the way he expressed himself to you with such firmness. It felt as if you just turned over the hardcover of a huge book, eagerly but hesitantly brushing your finger against the front page.

my journey to the vastness of your intellect began — let me travel all over it, walk along your roads, skip around the corners of your parks, run through the sand of your beaches, jump on the train to your heart. i just took the first snapshot of your mind; i would love to stay in this place.

Something light and wet fell on top of your head, landing right on the middle part of your hair. You winced at the sudden sensation, lifting your head upwards instinctively. Jaemin did the same, and a droplet of rain fell on his cheek. The clouds lost another round of hide and seek to the sun, and their anger started becoming obvious as more and more droplets fell on your faces and down to the already damp grass.

You exchanged a quick look with Jaemin and quickly got up from the grass, picking up your jackets. The back of your jacket was damp and a lot of tiny green specs were stuck all over it. You made a vain attempt to shake them off, but the droplets fell quicker with a sharper manner and soon enough the water seeped through your clothes.

You shivered a little but remained still, not moving the slightest. Jaemin was standing still too, looking at you attentively with one of those expressions you could never read. Was he smirking? Smiling? Grinning? His face started becoming a bit blurry due to a couple of rain droplets that fell in your eyes.

You rubbed the droplets off your eyes and looked at Jaemin with a clearer eyesight. Now he was indeed smiling. You didn’t know why he was smiling, and you didn’t realize how contagious his smile was because now you were smiling at him too. And as more droplets fell on your bodies, your smiles turned into laughter.

You and Jaemin were laughing, for no particular reason. Your clothes clung to your body due to the rain, and your hair was almost soaking wet. Despite the shivers running down your body from the abrupt change of the weather, your heart was filled with comfortable warmth and you didn’t bother to move until Jaemin spoke in between his laughter. “Quick, we’re gonna get wet!”

He held his jacket above his head to create a makeshift umbrella and you followed by doing the same, even though both of you were practically soaked. Without any warning, he grabbed your hand with his firm one and started running. You followed him, turning your fast walking into a quick run in order to match his pace. You let him lead you, smiles never leaving your faces, running towards an undefined destination.

Later during the day, when the sun was slowly moving further down the horizon, you found yourself laying in the comfort of your bedsheets, feeling surprisingly calm despite the almost aggressive pattering of raindrops on your window. You could say that this sound was rather the reason for keeping your mind at ease, because if it weren’t for this distraction, you would be going insane.

After you ran away from the campus park with Jaemin due to the sudden heavy rainfall, the two of you found yourselves drawn to the closest and coziest place that would keep you covered from the rain; and that is ‘Caramel Craze’. With Jaemin leading you by a couple steps, he barged into the coffee shop, practically passing through the glass door and entering the caramel-scented atmosphere that blocked away the threatening water force that soaked you entirely. Thankfully, the shop was relatively empty, and thankfully, Jisung was working there at that moment.

At the abrupt sound of you and Jaemin violently entering the coffee shop, Jisung knocked over a plastic coffee cup on the counter, right before he was about to hand it to the customer who just ordered it. Luckily, he had sealed the top part of the cup very well, so there was no sign of the liquid container spilled. Jisung apologized to the customer numerous times, panting and bowing nervously. The customer spared him a lopsided smile and left the shop, leaving Jisung behind, who was still apologizing under his breath.

He didn’t blame you or Jaemin for scaring him; he always blamed himself for being so sensitive to sounds, even though both you and Yerim had told him multiple times that it wasn’t his fault either.

Jisung then noticed that you and Jaemin were wet everywhere from the very top of your head down to your toes, water droplets falling from your hair down to the tiled floor and mud smeared from your shoes on the same tiled floor with every hesitant step you took. He quickly walked over the counter and came closer to you, offering you some hand towels he kept in his apron to help you dry yourselves as much as possible.

He then gave you his umbrella and asked both of you to go home. You, then, told him to keep his umbrella because he would need it, but he denied, saying something along the lines of ‘you guys will get a cold’ and ‘Yerim will pick me up’.

So you left ‘Caramel Craze’ with Jaemin, shortly after you patted your clothes somewhat dry and caught your breath from your previous marathon in the rain. Jaemin insisted on walking you home first to make sure that you wouldn’t get struck by lightning on your way, and then he would go to his dorm too. He kept his word and only left when he saw you enter the front door of your dorm building, keeping Jisung’s umbrella with him, as the rain didn’t seem to get any calmer at all.

And now, after you took a warm shower, you stayed in your room, hugging your pillows while lying in bed, trying to keep your thoughts away from the one thing that keeps on occupying your mind.

And that is Jaemin.

Only a week before today, you had no idea that this guy even existed. You had never seen him around, or even heard of him, and now, after one brief encounter you had with him at the library, he has become the only thing you’ve been thinking about. And the fact that you keep on having more and more encounters with him doesn’t help at all.

You didn't know Jaemin very well. In fact, you barely knew him. The only times you talked with him were when you first met, then a couple of emails you exchanged, and finally today with your eventful hangout.

You didn’t know him for a long time, definitely, and all these brief encounters with him weren’t enough for you to know him better. But even from this little time that you had spent with him, you knew for sure that he was a person worth getting to know better.

Jaemin was flirty, funny, smooth with his words, wrapping you around his finger in an instant and hooking you with just a smile that lights up his entire face. He is willing to help, he is curious and careful. But Jaemin is also just a regular college student, just like you, and he shares the same anxieties as you do. You were surprised by his openness and honesty earlier today, and, even though you were a little shy around him before, now you feel like you grew significantly closer to him.

All these traits you found in him made you realize how much you respected Jaemin as a friend. Although you couldn’t call him a friend yet, you knew well enough that you wanted to keep him as one. And the more he kept on occupying your mind and you kept on thinking not only of his personality but also his insanely good looks, you started to wonder if you wanted to develop a relationship with him that went beyond what you called friendship.

It was too soon to admit that you were slowly developing a crush on him. You were even more embarrassed to admit it when you thought about how fast you were falling for him and how the most trivial of things made you swoon over him. Instead, you kept on denying any feelings that were building up inside your heart because you knew that, if you let them free, you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else.

You tried to distract yourself by focusing on the repeating pattering sound of the rain when your eyes fell on the books and notes scattered everywhere on top of your desk. Your focus shifted to your studies, using them as an excuse to keep your mind from constantly thinking about the platinum blond-haired boy with the wide smile and the broad shoulders.

It was already mid fall. You were supposed to deliver your assignment by the end of the winter semester if you wanted to earn that scholarship abroad. With every leaf that crunched under your shoe, every droplet of rain that fell, every branch of the trees that moved along the wind, you were getting closer and closer to what you wanted the most; to pursue your studies in a foreign country, meet a different culture and broaden your horizons, just like every young fashion designer should do.

Yet, you were afraid. You were afraid of all the new things that awaited you, all the troubles that you may encounter, all the people that might judge you. 

The rain kept on hitting the double-glass window of your dorm room and you sank deeper and deeper into your mattress. You hugged your pillows as tight as you could, bringing them closer to your body and letting your head fall back, closing your eyes softly, inviting sleep to bring you comfort. You wished you had one of those delicious caramel lattes that you always drank at ‘Caramel Craze’. And most importantly, you wished you had a pair of broad shoulders wrapped around your body and a platinum blond head resting on the crook of your neck.

Tuesday, October 14th, 1997

The next morning, the sun and the clouds seemed to have made up from their last night’s aggressive fight, as the sun spread his sunrays all over the place, hitting your window and dancing all over your room. Their intensity of light sat violently on top of your eyes, forcing them open in an instant.

The sun wasn’t the only reason for your waking up, though. You felt an intense heaviness in your lungs, your throat was dry and your nose was so stuffy that the breathing air could hardly pass through your nostrils.

Fucking rain. You had a cold.

With weak movements, you managed to get out of bed and tried to find something that would ease your cold. You grabbed a spare hoodie you had on your desk chair and put it on, as a sudden shiver ran through your body. Your dorm wasn’t that cold, but your body sure was.

Searching through your bathroom’s cabinets, you managed to find a thermometer that was barely working. I hope it still does the job. Indeed, it didn’t take too long before it beeped and the temperature written on the tiny screen was enough evidence to know that you also had a fever. Great.

Your body felt heavy and weak, you found it hard and exhausting to breathe and the atmosphere around the closed space was inexplicably cold. Jisung warned you not to catch a cold, but it turns out that it was an inevitable outcome concerning last night’s weather.

With long, dragging steps, you managed to take a painkiller and make yourself some hot green tea. With frail fingers, you turned on your desktop to check today’s news. While you were waiting for the computer to load, you noticed the tiny screen of your Nokia flashing, indicating that you had voicemails. You opened your phone to listen to them as you logged into your email account.

You have six voicemails from: Jisung

You smiled at the notification and pressed play. Jisung’s deep anxious voice resonated in the small dorm room and you couldn't help but giggle at how worried he sounded about your well-being. You made a mental note to call him later and assure him that you were fine, even though you were burning in fever.

When you turned your attention back to your computer, you found one unread email from Jaemin. You weren’t sure if you expected it or not, but it made you curious when you saw the time the email was delivered. 20 minutes ago.

He could just leave a voicemail or send a short SMS like normal people. Why does he have to be so dramatic? Oh, yeah. He still doesn’t have my number.

You quickly opened the email and read through it very carefully. Apparently, he was feeling the same way as you did. His throat was sore, his body was aching and when he tried to talk, the soreness of his throat led him to a coughing mess.

Unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough to avoid getting soaked in the rain, and the fact that you took it even further by running into this mess of a weather wasn’t the brightest idea. But you can’t say that you regretted it, not even the slightest; the memory of you and the boy that piqued your interest to the fullest, running, laughing and holding hands in the rain may be recent, but it is definitely engraved in your mind. And it certainly awoke feelings that you hadn’t felt for another human being before.

After drinking half of your cup of tea, your body felt a bit stronger than it was earlier, signifying that the painkiller started to work. You quickly sent Jaemin an email asking him for his phone number. It would be so much easier this way. You were bold about it and the shame hadn’t kicked in yet. You couldn't keep on communicating with him solely through emails. You needed something quicker and more direct than that. 

Jaemin was quick to respond with his phone number, accompanied with a smiley emoticon. You smirked at that and slowly and carefully pressed the number he sent you on the tiny device. Gathering all your courage, you cleared your throat and waited for him to pick up at each beeping sound that passed.

You almost didn’t want him to pick up, though. The fast beating of your heart and the sharp breaths you took revealed your nervousness. No matter how comfortable you felt in his presence, any initiation of contact between the two of you from your part still made you nervous. You didn’t know how to approach him without feeling like you’re embarrassing yourself and this made your relationship with him awkward in theory.

“Hello?” his voice, deep and hoarse, echoed in your ear and your fingers trembled at the sound, finding it difficult to properly hold the phone in place. “Hey, Jaemin,” you cleared your throat but your voice still sounded quite husky, “how are you?” you asked.

You heard Jaemin sigh from the other side of the phone before he quickly cleared his throat. “Not very well,kitten,” he coughed, “I think you can probably tell”.

You let out a breathy laugh, completely ignoring the familiar nickname he liked to use. Your voice was giving up already and this was the loudest it would come out. “Likewise, I feel awful” you said and it was his turn to laugh now.

“Listen,” he groaned and immediately coughed a few times to open up his voice, “our little hangout session didn’t end well, so,” he trailed off, “do you wanna come over later? At my dorm?” he asked.

Your eyes widened in surprise and you felt your fever rising again at his straightforwardness.

“B-but,” you stuttered, “we both have a cold. Do you think it’s a good idea?” you asked, trying to avoid seeing him in this situation.

“Exactly! We’re both cold, so what’s the matter? I j-just wanted to s-see you,” he stuttered his words due to his dry coughing.

He was right. You both already had a cold, so there was no risk of spreading any viruses between you. And it would be a huge lie if you said you didn’t want to see him. As much as he made you nervous, there was no denying the fact that he offered you great comfort. His presence felt warm and homely like an embrace and the quietness of his thoughts left room for conversations to unfold. You were grateful he was the one who asked you to hang out, because, as much as you liked him and his company, his intimidating aura and your slowly-developing crush on him were enough excuses for you to avoid initiating any contact.

You finally sighed and smirked at Jaemin’s tone, which was far from persuasive but whiny enough for you to fold. “Make sure to drink something warm. I’ll be coming over later,” you said and you smiled brightly at the childish exclamation of happiness from the other side of the phone.

“Your room is cleaner than I thought,” you said as you sat down on the edge of Jaemin’s bed in the middle of his dorm room. Jaemin scoffed and put a hand over his heart, as a way of expressing hurt and betrayal. “Now I feel offended,” he said, but his voice cracked due to his cold which sent both of you in a laughing outburst.

His room was indeed very neat and put-together. Upon entering, you could clearly tell that it belonged to a boy strictly from the boyish scent that engulfed the atmosphere inside those four walls. With minimal furniture and decoration, the room felt almost plain, as if he didn’t actually live there. The only sign of personality inside the room were the pictures hanging on the walls, as well as the journalism books scattered on top of the desk. On the right side of the bed, the short wooden bedside table had collected some specs of dust around the reading lamp. On the left side, closer to the wall, Jaemin had positioned his camera on a tripod.

“Would you like some tea? I had boiled some water earlier and I think there’s still some of it left. It must be enough for two cups,” Jaemin suggested and you nodded, accepting his kind offer.

You didn’t have to speak a word in order for Jaemin to understand you. For some reason, a short and simple up and down movement of your head was the only sign he needed to grasp the positive answer you expressed at his offer. He was quick to turn his heel and go to the single kitchen counter of the dorm to grab two tea cups, placing one chamomile tea bag on each of the cups and slowly pouring the boiled water from a kettle in the cups.

You could see his actions unfolding with the corner of your eye. His dorm room was just a little smaller than yours; there was one big room that functioned both as a living room and a kitchen, a bathroom big enough to fit just one person and a bedroom which included a bed, a tall and narrow double wardrobe, a nightstand and a desk. You found yourself staring at Jaemin, watching him carefully as he filled the cups with the flavored warm liquid, his movements slow and weakened due to his ill state. He would halt his movements sometimes to cough on the inside of his elbow and then go back to what he was doing. His broad back and shoulders hunched as he slightly bent his body downwards to reach the short countertop, and you imagined how his toned back muscles would flex under his hoodie with his every movement.

You couldn’t see the entirety of his face, just a glimpse of his side profile every time he moved around the so-called kitchen area of the room. His defined features darkened due to the shadow that casted upon his face, created by the yellow light that illuminated the tiny space. You weren’t sure why but you felt incredibly attracted to him at that moment. Even with the dark circles under his eyes, indicating his lack of sleep due to his cold, his puffy red nose and swollen lips, he still looked beautiful.

You’ve never called him beautiful. Your attraction towards him was clear, but the fact that you still find him presentable in such a state ringed a bell inside your head and you didn’t really like the sound of it.

Jaemin placed the kettle back on the counter and picked up the now full tea cups, clearing his throat in order to suppress a cough. You quickly teared your gaze away from him, fixing it on the pictures hanging on his walls. Your eyes landed upon a picture of the open sea.

“What are you looking at?” Jaemin asked as he handed you one of the teacups, his voice rough. He coughed a few times, giving you time to think of an answer. He placed his own teacup on his bedside table and then climbed on his bed, sitting cross-legged with his back pressed against the headboard.

I was looking at you thinking about how beautiful you look and how amazed I am by your aura and how I am afraid I am falling in love with you but I don’t want to admit it because it’s stupid, I’ve only known you for a week. You obviously couldn't say that.

You mimicked his position and crossed your legs on the bed too, still holding your cup. “These pictures are beautiful,” you said in a breathy voice, probably due to your cold and not due to your sudden nervousness.

Jaemin suppressed a smile, biting down on his lower lip and quickly shooting a look at the picture-covered wall and then looking back at you. “Thank you,” he said with a rasp, yet it sounded genuine.

You brought the cup to your lips, taking a few sips of the hot chamomile tea, swallowing it carefully as you let it glide down your throat, opening up your vocal chords. “How did you even take a picture of the open sea? Can you fly or something?” you asked him, voice coming out a lot clearer and now Jaemin let out a throaty laugh.

“No, silly. I was at the beach. I took it using this,” he said gesturing towards the tripod on the side of the bed, “It’s called a tripod. With the right angle and zooming in, you get this kind of result,” he finished and you stared at the picture once again.

The sea had a slight movement to it, little waves rising and falling as the bright blue color of the sky reflected a darkness on the water. You couldn’t understand how a photo, a still image of something could contain so many kinetic elements, and the more you focused on it, the more you could see your own eyes appearing through the sea waters because of the reflection caused by the light of Jaemin’s bedroom.

“What’s in that pretty little head of yours, kitten?” Jaemin asked in a whisper, protecting his voice. Without taking your eyes off the photo, you spoke up as loud as you could. “The sea looks so…” you trailed off, “sad,” you found the word you were looking for. This simple small word made Jaemin tilt his head to the side, squinting his eyes in thought. “Why do you say that?” he asked you.

You pouted your lips. “I don’t know”.

His silence prompted you to think further and voice out your thoughts, to make sense of the feeling this image created inside you. At that moment, you wished you had your notebook in hand so that you could write down everything that was inside your head instead of voicing it out. It would be so much easier. But doing that would make the silence awkward rather than comforting, so you gathered all your strength and tried to put into words the emotions you were feeling.

“There’s something about the sea, its blue color and the unexplored depth that evokes such melancholy,” you started, “I just feel empty looking at it. Like there’s a hole inside me as deep as the open sea and it’s so hollow that it oozes with gloom and somberness,” you finished and Jaemin let out a stifled laugh, hinting at an ironic tone.

You turned to face him for the first time after you entered his dorm and your expression must have looked as if you were misunderstood, so Jaemin stopped his laugh abruptly and his features molded to a serious face. “I mean, you poets are so desperate to read so much into things. Not everything has to be depressing or sad. I look at this image as something that gives me calmness, serenity. The blue color fills me with peace and imagination. Why is blue considered a color that represents sadness when it brings such tranquility? I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jaemin said and you cracked a smile at his final comment.

“I’m not offended, I just never thought of it that way,” you whispered and you sipped some of your tea to ease your throat which had become hoarse again. “And I’m not a poet,” you deadpanned.

Jaemin couldn’t help but smile widely, his full teeth on display. You could swear that you had never seen such a perfect set of teeth before, or just a beautiful smile per se, and you mentally slapped yourself for finding someone’s teeth attractive.

“But you are, I’ve seen that notebook you have. That day at the library. You didn’t notice me but after you went back to study I followed you and saw you writing on it. I couldn’t make out what you were writing, but the format of it looked like a poem,” Jaemin said and your mouth dropped open. You never wanted him to find out about this. These little ‘poems’ were everything you were feeling, it was just between you and yourself. Only Yerim and Jisung knew about it and they had never landed a hand on it. Only you were allowed to see what was inside of it.

“I will not comment on the fact that you followed me, stalker,” you emphasized the last word and Jaemin managed to smile even wider, “but in a sense, yeah, I am a poet. But it’s not what you think it is,” you said, drifting your gaze to somewhere, anywhere, away from his eyes.

“Then what is it?” he asked, waiting for you to elaborate.

You didn’t know Jaemin for a long time. That was for sure. But what you definitely knew very well was the urge to open up to him, to finally be able to say everything you felt, everything you thought about without any inhibitions or any fear of judgment. You’ve never clicked like this with anyone before. Jaemin was indeed calmness personified; you knew that he would listen to you whenever you just wanted to vent. He had his way of bringing out your true self, he radiated such security and you just couldn’t help but let your inner self loose, stripping your inner consciousness naked and allowing him to access your bare mind.

“The reason I use this notebook is because it helps me express myself,” you began and Jaemin’s eyes softened. “I-I struggle with this sometimes, you know, saying what I want or what I feel,” you said and gulped in an attempt to ease your sore throat, the teacup in your hands long forgotten. “So I use this to write down all of my thoughts. This way I can let it all out without feeling any pressure from others to talk about things,” you finished off and Jaemin stood still, searching for your eyes which now landed on his compassionate gaze.

“This is so beautiful,” he said with a squeaky raspy voice and the both of you struggled not to laugh at the sound. “I totally understand you, I’m not the best at expressing myself either,” he said and looked around his room, gesturing at the walls. “That’s why I take these,” he mumbled, moving his eyes around to look at the hanging photos, “photography helps me put some boundaries inside my head and kinda gives my feelings substance, like they become tangible, you know?” he said and you nodded in understanding.

“I guess we’re not that different after all,” you smiled and Jaemin giggled at your observation. “You know, when we first met at the library you seemed so cocky, so confident, as if you owned the place. You made me feel shy, but it turns out you’re as much of a hopeless romantic as I am. It’s a shame, it ruins your buff aesthetic,” you said and Jaemin burst into laughter.

He coughed a couple times because laughing caused damage to his already sick vocal cords and regained his composure. “Maybe we’re both too emotionally intelligent and seek ways to express ourselves artistically. The difference is that you picture your emotions through words, while I try to voice out my own feelings with photos,” he said.

You liked what he said because it was true. Your poems were your way of conversing with yourself and the means to communicate what you wanted. Jaemin probably felt the same way about his photos and it seemed to you that maybe you could gain access to his mind through them, speaking to each other through a code of communication that only you and him shared.

“Now who’s the actual poet?” you joked and Jaemin threw his bunny plushie at you. The two of you were laughing, and this simple action just felt so intimate with Jaemin. If every time you spent time with him was like this, then you surely wanted to spend a big part of your life with him.

You brought the teacup to your lips but Jaemin’s sudden movement made your hands wiggle, causing a few droplets of tea to fly up and down your shirt. “Hey, now I have tea stains!” you squealed and you immediately regretted having this reaction as you physically felt your throat ache.

“Oh shut up,” Jaemin said playfully, moving towards the camera resting on the tripod. He took the camera in his hands and sat back down on the bed, right at the place he was sitting earlier. With a few clicks on some buttons, he brought the camera close to his face. He lifted one knee and rested the elbow of the hand holding the camera for support. Jaemin squinted his eye and with a quick push of a button, a soft click was heard in the quiet room.

You stood there still, looking at Jaemin with a confused look as he set his camera aside and grabbed his teacup instead, tilting his head backwards to gulp down all the liquid content left inside the cup. He gulped loudly as he finished and placed the cup on his nightstand with a thud.

“Um, what did you do, exactly?” you asked him and he shrugged. “I took a picture of you. Too bad you can’t see it now. I have to print it first,” he said and you froze.

“Are you an idiot? Why would you do that? I probably look awful! I mean, you didn’t even warn me,” you whined and Jaemin rolled his eyes.

“You’re so dramatic, Y/n. It was just a picture. You know, to remember our little sick hang out session. You’re gonna look back at it in a few months and laugh at our pathetic condition. Also, don’t yell, kitten, you’ll damage your voice,” Jaemin said and you frowned, you hated that he was right.

“And if you want my honest opinion,” he continued, “you didn’t look awful. Y-You actually looked very beautiful,” he whispered the last part of his sentence and focused on the bunny plushie you threw at you earlier, suddenly finding it interesting.

You suppressed a smile and muttered a small ‘thanks’ under your breath. You didn’t know if he heard it or not. If he did, he acted as if he didn’t hear it. Jaemin thinks I’m beautiful.

“Can I ask you something, Y/n?” Jaemin said after a few awkward seconds and you looked into his eyes expectantly, waiting for his question. “Do you know what a ‘blue person’ is?” he asked and you made a confused face which earned a giggle from him.

“Well,” he started, “it’s a person who comes into your life when you need them the most. A person who inspires stability and loyalty, who makes you change your perspective in life for the better, someone who has a soothing effect on you,” he said and took a moment to process this.

You’ve never thought about it before, but in that moment, sitting on Jaemin’s bed talking about things that are serious yet make no sense at all, drinking warm tea and laughing at your sick condition which was caused by your silliness and carelessness, you brought a particular face in your mind, coming to the sudden realization that you knew exactly who your blue person was.

Saturday, November 15th, 1997

“Do you smell that?” Jaemin asked as he sniffed, his nose scrunching at the apparent unpleasant scent he could sense. “No?” you responded confused, sniffing in an attempt to smell whatever he was smelling.

“How can you not? This place is 20 square meters big. I swear something is burning,” he said and kept on scrunching his nose, as he took his yellow highlighter and went back to underlining things he found important on the newspaper spread across his lap.

Your eyes widened in surprise when you finally remembered the cinnamon rolls you put earlier in the microwave. “Oh no,” you muttered and stood up from your chair abruptly, going towards the built-in kitchen counters of your dorm. Without even turning off the microwave, you opened the microwave door and pulled out the plate with the two cinnamon rolls, hissing at the touch of your fingers on the hot glass plate. You placed the plate on the empty space of the kitchen counter, looking at the brown-colored cinnamon rolls with almost teary eyes.

“Is everything okay?” Jaemin asked as he walked towards you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you turned your head to look at him, “I hope you don’t mind eating a slightly burnt cinnamon roll,” you said and shook his hand off your shoulder, opening the small fridge under the counter to grab a bowl. “I mean, once I put the glaze on top you won’t even be able to taste the burn,” you laughed awkwardly.

Jaemin grabbed your hand and turned your body around fully so that you were entirely facing him. He squeezed your hand slightly and with his free hand and moved a strand of hair that fell on your face behind your ear. “It’s okay, we don’t have to eat them, don’t stress about it. I’ll go grab some fresh ones down at ‘Caramel Craze’. My treat,” he said soothingly, rubbing his thumb unconsciously over the palm of your hand that he was holding.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you let go of his hold and turned back around, grabbing a spoon and dipping it into the bowl with the glaze, scooping some of the glaze with the spoon and spilling it over the cinnamon rolls. “Ugh, I’m so dumb! I can’t even make microwavable pastries!” you cried out and dropped the bowl on the counter as your shaky hands couldn’t hold it anymore. You run both your hands through your hair, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Jaemin moved closer to you and started rubbing your back in circles, as you hunched over the kitchen counter. 

“You’re not dumb, don’t make me listen to bullshit. It was just a little mishap, no big deal. In fact,” Jaemin trailed off and let go of your back to grab a cinnamon roll from the plate. You pouted at the sudden lack of his touch, but he didn’t notice. Jaemin took a big bite of the cinnamon roll, chewed a few times and looked at you. “With the glaze on top, you can’t even taste the burn,” he said with a smile and winked at you as he went back inside your bedroom, sitting down at your bed to continue reading the newspaper.

You had known Jaemin for about a month now. And you spent almost every single day with him. Yerim and Jisung whined at you, saying that you don’t make enough time for them anymore and that they’re not your favorite friends now that you’ve met Jaemin. This was not true, but it definitely rubbed them the wrong way when they wouldn’t see you every day, like they used to, because Jaemin would make plans for you and him on the spot.

During this period, you and Jaemin grew significantly closer. You could confidently walk around and say that the two of you were friends, despite the underlying flirty attitude on both sides, and the looks people gave you upon hearing this statement were priceless.

Nobody could understand how a girl like you, shy, introverted, soft-spoken, could hang out with a guy like Jaemin, popular, friendly, outgoing. The two of you might seem the complete opposite of one another, but in reality, you had so many more things in common than people could imagine. They just didn’t wanna see past a person’s external appearance and initial vibe. That’s why your friendship with Jaemin seemed weird and unexpected to them, but to you, it was just right.

You would be fooling yourself though if you said that you only wanted him as your friend. It was undeniable that every time your hands brushed against each other, every time he hugged you, every time he would play with your hair or pinch your cheeks, you wished you could call him more than a friend. Skinship with Jaemin felt so natural, nothing he or you did was forced and there were always genuine intentions behind each touch. You had already laid out your inner self to him, both of you had opened up to each other about different thoughts and worries you had. Expressing your feelings vocally gradually became easier, the words slipping out of your tongue every time Jaemin would ask you what was wrong, and you just melted at the sincere concern in his voice and the curious eyes he looked at you with. So being more comfortable with each others’ bodies was bound to happen at some point. 

He made you feel listened to. You didn’t remember when the last time you wrote poems in your notebook was. You didn’t have to. But, to be honest, you also didn’t have the time to write anything. School became hectic and the pressure of deadlines was enough to make you stressed about the assignment that was supposed to earn you the scholarship abroad.

You stood still, taking deep breaths to help yourself calm down. Picking up the plate with the remaining cinnamon roll, you straightened your back and headed towards your desk. You sat down at the chair, turning to face your messy sketchbook filled with semi-colored designs. Your project was progressing a lot and you were kinda proud of it, but not entirely. You kept having doubts about it and the pressure to succeed messed with your entire mentality.

You made a move to pick up your pencil to add a couple of details on a jacket you just designed but you decided otherwise. You hesitated for a second but mastered all your courage instead. Turning your chair around, you looked at Jaemin. He was wearing a concentrated expression on his face, eyebrows drawn together as he was seemingly reading something he found important.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and immediately cleared your throat. You didn’t expect your voice to come out so small.

At the faint sound of your voice, Jaemin averted his gaze from the newspaper to your eyes. “About what?” he asked, his furrowed eyebrows carrying confusion now.

“About whatever that was earlier. I don’t know what’s got to me, I feel stupid for behaving like this. I’m sorry,” you said and lowered your head to look at your lap. You felt weak under Jaemin’s concerned eyes, and holding eye contact with him at that moment felt like an extreme sport.

Jaemin put down the newspaper and turned his full attention to you. “Aw kitten,” he murmured and your head jolted up at the sound of the nickname he had given you. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize about anything,” he reassured you and you felt your lips lift upwards into a grimace that you hoped resembled a smile. “I know you’re stressed about the assignment, I would be too if I were in your shoes. Forget about it already, will you?” he said and you nodded.

Jaemin went to grab his highlighter when your voice halted his movements. “How can you always stay so positive?” you asked him out of pure interest. You were a bit jealous of him, of his way of viewing the world. Even in the worst of moments, when there is no sign of light, he would still find a tiny glimpse of hope to hold on to. You wished you could do that too.

Jaemin offered you a tight lipped smile. “Kitten,” he started, “if people didn’t stay positive about life, we wouldn’t be able to move forward in anything”.

His honesty caught you off guard. He didn’t notice your tangled face as he immediately refocused on his school work. You decided not to push him any further, moving what he said to the very back of your mind. When he felt ready, he would open up to me.

You turned your chair and started working on your assignment too. For a few minutes, both of you remained silent. The room was filled with sounds of pages turning and pencils scratching on paper. Your mind was entirely focused on your project, completely forgetting about the boy who was in the room with you.

Jaemin was keeping notes on the side of a newspaper article when he spoke up, addressing you. “Remind me again, where is that scholarship supposed to be?”

“Canada,” you answered his question without losing your concentration on what you were doing.

Jaemin lost focus and his mind went blank, forming different thoughts inside it. “Damn, that’s,” he mumbled, “that’s a bit far away,” he said with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah,” you smiled nervously, not being able to hide your disbelief. You couldn’t believe an opportunity like that was offered to you, so you had to give your all into that silly project.

“At least you have something planned. You know, something to look forward to, for your career,” he said casually. “Unlike me. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, let alone what I wanna do in the future,” he continued.

“Well,” you started, picking up a red-colored pencil to paint the inside of a coat, “I haven’t got the scholarship yet. If I do, then we’ll talk about it”. You switched the red pencil for a blue black. “And you still have lots of time to think about your career, no need to stress about it now”.

“Whatever. The point is, you will get the scholarship, I know you will. I’ve seen your designs and if these don’t deserve a scholarship abroad, then I don’t know what does,” Jaemin said and you giggled at his encouraging words.

“Thank you Jaem,” you said and you couldn't see him, but his eyes lit up with love at the sound of the nickname you gave him on the spot. The beating of his heart quickened abruptly and the pen he was holding slipped from his fingers as his hands became sweaty. He swore his hands weren’t sweaty a few seconds ago.

Before he resumed with his homework, he spared a last glance at you and gulped. He knew that he shouldn’t be feeling whatever it was that he was feeling at that moment.

Friday, December 19th, 1997

Shades of blue, red and yellow reflected on the thick glass of the wall-length window, trapping the little specks of light inside it in such a way it made them look like colorful halos. The fun and playful nature of Christmas lights gave the dull and moody winter atmosphere a hopeful tone, the kind that was in complete contrast with the darkness of this cold season. Feathery flakes of snow in the color of purity were falling rhythmically on the already snow-covered ground, making a little dance in the air due to the chilly breeze in the sky. It was already late afternoon; people were roaming in the streets of Seoul, walking quickly with their heads hanging low in an attempt to prevent the crispiness of the cold from hitting their face. Whether they had finished their night classes or their corporate jobs, all of them were walking towards one specific purpose, the warmth and comfort of their own homes.

You were an exception to this rule, though. Well, not just you. ‘Caramel Craze’ would still be open for about an hour. Students were still sitting at the shop’s tables with their books scattered across the wooden surfaces and their warm coffees accompanying them in plastic cups. Looking at them, you could sympathize with them. Their dark circles under their eyes were prominent and the strong and sweet scent of caramel-flavored coffee made them more sleepy than they already were.

Sitting at your favorite table, you wrapped your fingers around your plastic cup to help transfer some of the liquid’s temperature to your freezing fingers. Winter offers itself for plenty of layering and experimentation in fashion, but the cold weather it comes with is unbearable. 

“Hey, girl,” Yerim’s voice shook you out of your thoughts and you greeted her back as she unwrapped the scarf from her neck and folded it at the back of her chair. She sat down, dusting the front of her coat to shake off some snowflakes that had landed on its woolen material and eventually took it off too.

You and Yerim started chit-chatting about your day. She started filling you in with all the details about some guys yelling at each other on campus, but the context of the reason behind their argument was unknown.

Your conversation was interrupted by the screeching of the chair on the tiled floor to your right. You winced at the sound and turned to look at the culprit. Jisung pressed his lips together apologetically and greeted you and Yerim softly. He sat down carefully and lifted the chair as he dragged it closer to the table, shutting his eyes closed as if this would help him avoid any more screeching.

“So, what did you want to tell us Y/n? Come on, I can’t wait anymore,” Jisung complained and you ruffled his hair playfully. “Just wait a bit more, please? Jaemin is not here yet,” you said and he nodded in understanding.

“Oh yeah, we’re still waiting for you boyfriend,” Yerim commented and Jisung snorted, covering his mouth with his fist to prevent his laughing.

“How many times do I have to tell you? He is not my boyfriend,” you reminded them but your defensive tone didn’t seem very convincing to them. Jisung raised his eyebrows and Yerim rolled her eyes, but you couldn’t really do anything about it.

The truth is, you didn’t know what your relationship with Jaemin could be labeled as. He was a very good friend, indeed. But at the same time, he didn’t act like just a friend. During the past month, you and Jaemin practically became attached to the hip; wherever he went you went and wherever you went he went too. He grew closer with Yerim and Jisung too, and the four of you started hanging out together quite often. Jaemin liked your friends a lot and they liked him back too, even though Yerim was a little skeptical about him at first, saying that a popular guy like him couldn’t possibly be that nice. Jisung always disagreed, saying that he found him easy-going and fun to talk to, but he always muttered this under his breath to prevent Yerim from getting angry.

The four of you made a really good team. But there was no denying that Jaemin treated you differently from the other two. At first, you thought that it was maybe because he was more comfortable with you and that it would take him some time to warm up to the others. Time passed, and you were finally able to see the Jaemin you knew with Yerim and Jisung too. But he never found excuses to touch them, or hold deep eye contact with them, or buy them coffees or ask them to hangout without you. He only did all those things with you.

Yerim found this suspicious, but you kept telling her that she was delusional and none of all of this was true. She was just trying to make you feel better about your huge crush on him by feeding into your own delusions, but her tactics made things even worse because every time Jaemin did something remotely romantic, you would overthink about it for days.

It’s not like you couldn’t open up to him about your feelings. The two of you had already gone past that stage. You could talk to Jaemin freely about anything that bothered you and you knew that he would listen, just like you would do. Expressing yourself wasn’t so hard anymore. Jaemin made everything easier. But these were not just any feelings. These were your feelings about him. No matter how bad you wanted to let it all out, the words were stuck in your throat and, even worse, you found it difficult to even write them on paper. So all you could do was ignore them.

A cool gust of wind entered the cozy café when the front door opened, revealing the boy you have been dying to see all day long. Jaemin took a couple of glances around the room to spot where you were sitting, although he knew you would probably be sitting at your favorite table, unless some other people went there first.

His eyes landed on yours, staring at him and waiting eagerly for him to come towards you. With dragging steps, he made his way towards your table and sat down on the chair to your left, his deep brown eyes never leaving yours. “I’m not too late, am I?” he asked, addressing Yerim and Jisung too this time.

“It’s fine, man. I just came too,” Jisung replied to him casually and you didn’t miss the way Yerim smiled at the volume of Jisung’s voice, which was noticeably louder than his usual speaking tone. 

“Don’t you have a shift, Jisung?” Jaemin asked as he made himself comfortable on the chair, refusing to take off his puffer jacket. By looking at his shifting posture, you could tell he was feeling a bit uncomfortable in it.

“No, I was working in the morning. Chenle is covering the afternoon shift,” Jisung said and Jaemin nodded, muttering a soft ‘cool’ under his breath.

“Okay, so,” you began speaking to grab their attention. It was becoming harder and harder to keep the secret from them any longer. You just wanted to get it done and over with.

“Let me guess,” Yerim interrupted you, lifting her finger, “you have already booked tickets for our Christmas holiday vacation,” she said and you stared blankly at her.

“Oh I knew it!” Jisung exclaimed, eyes widening. “It’s Jeju, isn’t it?” he asked with great anticipation. Jaemin remained suspiciously calm.

“Jeju in winter? Are you serious?” Yerim cut off Jisung’s enthusiasm in a second, his eyes dropping and lips forming into a soft frown.

“No, actually I’m going back home for the Christmas holidays this year. I’m spending time with my family,” you said but Yerim shrugged upon hearing this statement.

“So? I bet you booked it for after the Christmas holidays then,” he said and turned to Jisung. “But it can’t be Jeju, right?” Yerim asked but the question was mostly directed at Jisung who just sighed in annoyance.

“Actually, guys,” you started, leaning more towards the table to feel physically closer to them. Jaemin mimicked your stance, but the other two remained still in their positions. “I’m not gonna come back to Seoul after the holidays,” you said and they froze.

“What?” Yerim whispered, looking at you with confusion spread across her face.

“Well,” you said, suppressing the smile that was creeping up your lips, “I won’t be back because I got the scholarship. I’m going to Canada!” you said and this time you couldn’t help the wide smile that appeared on your lips.

All three of them looked at you with wide eyes, swarming you with a bunch of exclamations that sounded like a mix of ‘congratulations!’ and ‘I knew you could do it!’ and ‘you deserve this so much’. Yerim even got up from her seat and came to sit next to you in the booth, hugging you so tightly you found it difficult to breathe.

Your eyes were searching your friends’ bright ones filled with excitement for you. They were proud of you. It was obvious. You have been constantly talking about the scholarship and now that you actually got it, it seemed unreal.

Yerim let go of you but still remained seated beside you. “I’m so happy for you, I can’t even think about how much I’m gonna miss you! How did I forget about it completely? What a shitty friend, I was too busy studying for my exams. I gotta tell my friend Mark about it, he’s gonna be so excited!” she said, clapping her hands together.

“Who’s Mark?” Jaemin asked, his voice as cold as the temperature outside. “He’s the coolest! I’ve only met him once but he’s so nice, man,” Jisung said with more excitement than he intended to show.

Yerim turned to Jaemin, reaching for his puffer jacket to remove a platinum blonde hair that fell from his head. “He is a friend of mine. He moved to Canada when we were in elementary school. I had told him about Y/n’s interest in this scholarship and he promised to help her with anything she needed if she got it. And now she did! I’m so excited for you, you can’t imagine!” Yerim addressed her last sentence to you and the smile plastered across your face could not die down at all.

“Don’t bother him too much, Yerim. He’ll probably think I’m completely clueless. Trust me, I can handle myself in a foreign country,” you reassured her but she waved her hands at you, going into a full rambling mode. Jisung would butt in the conversation from time to time to add his own comments, but mostly to agree with Yerim on whatever it was she was saying. Jaemin remained silent, eyes fixed on the wooden table in front of him.

You were fully immersed in the conversation you were having with Yerim and Jisung, which mostly revolved around tips about what to do abroad and warnings about creepy strangers. A loud screeching of a chair echoed in the room, following the rustling of clothes and the decisive thumping of footsteps. You turned your head to see that Jaemin had got up from his chair and was heading towards the café’s front door, opening it and letting it shut close behind him.

You exchanged a weird look with your friends before you got up and followed suit after him. You went outside the crisp atmosphere, your skin meeting the frosty environment. You felt your eyes water at the sudden cold sensation, so you pulled your coat closer to your body. Damn, I left my scarf inside.

Among the huge crowd of people, you managed to spot a certain platinum-haired boy walking towards somewhere you didn’t know. You called out his name, skipping and pushing through the people walking towards the opposite direction, not having the time to apologize to them for your rude behavior.

“Jaemin!” you finally called once you were closer to him and he heard you, turning around to search for the source of the voice calling his name.

Once he spotted you, he sighed and slowly turned his heel to continue walking away. You were quick enough to tug at his jacket before he could make more steps ahead. “Jaemin, listen to me,” you said, your chest heaving up and down.

“What happened? Why did you leave like that?” you asked him, raising your tone of voice thinking that he wouldn’t be able to hear you in the midst of the busy street. 

“What was I supposed to do? Sit there and listen to your friends planning out your life abroad? About that random guy you’re supposed to meet there? No, I don’t wanna listen to any of these,” he said with a hint of anger, making a move to turn around again.

You were still holding onto him. You pulled him again and he turned around, sighing deeply. “B-But I thought you were proud of me, I thought you were supporting me on this,” you said. Your vision became blurry, thick clear liquid forming at your lower lash line. It wasn’t the cold that caused this.

“Of course I support you and of course I’m happy for you, you have no idea how proud of you I am. But-”

“But what? What, Jaemin?” you interrupted him.

He shook his head, gulping thickly before he opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t want you to go. I’m not ready for this, okay? For the past two months, I have been living my best life with you around me. I-I can’t just sit here and watch you leave. You’re leaving, Y/n. You’re leaving me,” he said, his voice breaking at his last sentence.

You stared at him in disbelief. He can’t be serious right now. 

“I’m gonna miss you too, Jaemin. I really am. But what you’re saying is irrational. It’s only gonna be one semester! I’ll be back before you even notice it. And we’ll always be in touch!” you said, your throat itchy from the shouting, and the tears you were holding in. 

“You will forget about me,” he said, lowering his gaze.

“I will not-”

“Yes you will. Y-You know what, Y/n? I was really rooting for you. And I still am. And maybe I’m saying this because I don’t feel ready to let you go, but you don’t really want to pursue this career. Deep inside, you know this too,” Jaemin said and walked away, leaving you in the middle of the pavement, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably, frozen in place like a centuries old iceberg.

thick as ice, my heart burning from the cold inside it, throbbing and shaking like a weeping child; your knife, freshly sharpened at the edges points and cuts through me crack! — shatters fly up and I am bleeding as you melt away, far away

Sunday, January 11th, 1998

As soon as you stepped your foot out of the plane, your body immediately reacted to the winter breeze of the atmosphere. Although you knew that the temperatures in Canada weren’t that different from the ones in Korea, the air in Vancouver felt much fresher and cleaner than the urbanity it carries in Seoul. But as you were standing outside the airport for nearly half an hour with two heavy suitcases in both hands, the cold air became a lot crispier and your clothes weren’t warm enough to keep you from practically freezing.

Yerim promised you that she would send her friend Mark to come pick you up from the airport as soon as you landed. You insisted that he didn’t have to, you were capable enough of finding a taxi and your English was almost at the level of fluency, so arriving safely at your new dorm wouldn’t be a hard task. But you also knew better than to argue with Yerim, so you just let her do her thing. The problem was, you didn’t know what Mark looked like and the fact that you were waiting for so long wasn’t a good sign.

You looked at the watch on your wrist and sighed. He must be in some kind of trouble, it’s been 40 minutes now. You had no means to contact this guy and even if you did, you weren’t sure if your Korean phone number could work in a foreign country. You promised yourself you wouldn’t panic if things don’t go the way you wanted, but at that moment, the fact that you were far away from home started to fully kick in. You were standing outside an airport of a foreign country, in the midst of thousands of strangers passing by you, with no familiar faces in your peripheral vision. The idea of studying abroad was fun in theory, but in practice it actually was scarier than you imagined.

But you had to manage somehow. Winter offered itself for coziness, hot drinks and movie nights; the situation you were currently in reminded you of the exact opposite side of the cold season. You let out a deep sigh, visible like cigarette smoke in the crisp air. You noticed a line of taxis on the other side of the airport entrance and decided that it was the best thing you could do to avoid your fingers and toes from going completely numb. Gathering your luggage, you turned your heel towards the lined-up taxis and made a mental note to explain everything to Yerim later.

“Um, excuse me?” you heard a voice behind you and halted as you recognized that this person was speaking Korean. You turned around and noticed a guy your age with flustered cheeks, wide eyes and heavy breathing staring at you. You understood that he was speaking to you and the gears in your head turned upon realizing who he might be.

“You must be Y/n, am I right?” he asked and you moved closer to him, flashing him a smile. “And you must be the guy who was supposed to pick me up. Mark, I guess?” you asked him back and he offered you a boyish grin. That was cute.

He walked towards you and lifted one of your suitcases. He went to grab the other one too but you stopped him, taking it yourself. “Look, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting. I know I have no excuse but trust me, when I tell you the traffic in Vancouver is a mess, I really mean it,” he apologized as he began walking towards the airport’s parking lot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/n,” he said in English, his tone revealing the sincerity of the words he uttered.

“Don’t apologize, I’m the one who should be sorry,” you followed him, trying to match his pace but you realized that he was walking quite fast and with the suitcase weighing you down, you had difficulty catching up with him. “I told Yerim I could manage on my own, but she was so persistent. I didn't want to be a burden,” you apologized. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” you said in English too, just like he did earlier. Mark turned to catch a glimpse of you, smiling at the sound of you switching to the country’s language. His smile didn’t last long; it was replaced by his widening his eyes when he saw how far behind him you actually were.

He stopped to wait for you and when you finally caught up, he stretched his free hand to take your other suitcase from your hand, muttering ‘Give me that, I got this’ under his breath.

Mark sighed as he resumed walking. “I guess you can’t really argue with Yerim, huh?” he asked in English but this didn’t take you by surprise. You decided to start using your English more from now on, since you’ll be needing it more often now.

As soon as you reached the parking lot, Mark stopped at a gray Audi 100 and put your suitcases on the ground as he searched inside his jacket pockets to find the keys. “You own a car?” you asked him in English and he took a double take at you before smiling. “It’s actually my brother’s,” he said as he opened the car trunk, putting your suitcases inside. “I asked him to borrow it, he said no, but I took it anyway,” he said, closing the trunk and you laughed at his nonchalance.

Mark walked towards the driver’s door to unlock the car and quickly stepped inside, unlocking the door at the passenger’s seat from inside so you could get in. He carried such an easy-going and comfortable aura around him, cracking jokes and making you feel welcome even though you only knew him for a few minutes. He was talkative, extroverted and seemed nice. Right away, you knew that reading into him wouldn’t be that difficult, his facial expressions betrayed every single emotion he carried in his heart and you only got that from one simple conversation. He was the exact opposite of Jaemin. But you didn’t know why you felt the sudden urge to specifically compare these two boys with each other.

After your last encounter with Jaemin before Christmas holidays, you didn’t see him or speak to him again. You did not go back to Seoul, but neither you or him made an attempt to contact each other and you weren’t sure why. You didn’t like the way your last encounter with him ended. At that moment, you thought that he was being utterly selfish for speaking to you like that. But looking back at it now, you can see how it must have looked like from his point of view. A person you grew so close with leaving you for a semi-long period of time. It must be as hard for Jaemin as it is for you, even though he is the one who stayed behind. Yerim and Jisung also noticed that Jaemin was distancing himself from them, but they did their best to cheer him up as much as they could.

You missed him. And you missed your friends too. But you missed Jaemin differently because he was more than just a friend. And things became even more complicated because he was less than a lover. This confusing situation between the two of you was becoming a mess, and since neither of you would open up to each other, you thought that maybe taking some distance from one another would be for the best. It was times like this when Jaemin became unreadable, and no matter how close you two were, his deepest thoughts still remained unexplored and far away from the surface.

The sound of a car honk shook you out of your reverie and you were reminded of your surroundings and the person waiting for you inside the car. You skipped towards the right sight of the car and opened the door to the passenger’s seat, stepping inside.

“Everything okay out there?” Mark asked you as he revved up the engine. “Yes,” you responded, wearing your seatbelt, “it’s just that it just hit me that I’m in a foreign country, away from my family and stuff, you know?” you said and Mark nodded, turning on the air conditioning of the car as he reversed the car to drive off the parking lot. The car engine made a loud noise as Mark pressed on the gas, and you guessed that it might be due to the weight it carried and the high temperature of the air condition. The car wasn’t in its best condition anyway.

“That’s how I first felt when I came here,” Mark shrugged, looking at his rear view mirror, “it’s hard at first, but you get used to it. When you’ll have to go back, you won’t even want to leave,” he told you and you smirked, thinking that this scenario is highly likely to happen.

“Yerim forgot to mention what your field of studies is,” Mark initiated the conversation and you realized that comfortable silence wasn’t something he enjoyed.

“I study fashion design,” you said and his mouth dropped open, eyes never leaving the road ahead of him. “No shit!” he exclaimed and you giggled at the sight of his surprised expression, his cartoon-like eyes so wide you thought they would fall off his face any second now. “Damn, I should have worn something better then,” Mark said as he briefly eyed his outfit and you burst into a fit of laughter. “Don’t worry, I don’t dress my kind either,” you said and he giggled playfully, the sound making you take a better look at him.

You could only see his side profile now but you managed to take a quick good look at his face earlier. His eyes had a bambi shape and were a deep shade of brown, carrying a youthful spark in them almost resembling a starry night. His features were sharp, cheekbones popping out and jawline clean-cut as a knife. His small nose had a faintly red undertone to it due to him previously being in the cold for a long time. His thin lips were slightly parted as he stirred the wheel on a crossroad, revealing a set of small teeth that looked a bit crooked from the side, even though you noticed earlier that they are not. His hair was a natural dark brown-black shade, his wavy bangs falling into his eyes in a bowl-cut shape, even though you could see the clean-shaved undercut from the side. As he turned his head to speak to you, you also noticed the uneven shape of his eyes, which added some uniqueness and personality in his looks. Even though he didn’t look like the type of guy you usually found attractive, this particular combination of features in his visuals made him look interestingly adorable.

“That’s true, those fashion majors are kinda loud with their outfit choices. I wouldn’t guess you majored in fashion because, no offense to those crazy-dressed people, you dress normally,” Mark said and you narrowed your eyes at him, sparing him a soft chuckle.

“You didn’t mention what you are studying,” you said, eager to know more about him as his sense of humor and witty responses piqued your interest to the fullest.

“I study literature,” he said and he didn’t miss your surprised expression because he turned his head again, grinning at you with confused eyes. “Wh-What’s wrong with that?” his question sounded genuine, but also hinted at a nervous undertone.

“This is so cool!” you exclaimed and you saw him visibly relax. Just when you thought he was just a fun guy to hang around with, he became one of the coolest people you know with this simple statement.

Mark giggled nervously, eyes back on the road. “Not gonna lie, you had me there for a second. I thought you would find me weird or something,” he said and you rolled your eyes at his response.

“Are you kidding me? I love literature! It’s so cool that you major in it. I actually write small poems from time to time,” you confessed and it was Mark’s turn to widen his eyes and open his mouth in surprise. Again. 

Indeed you loved literature and you did write poems, that was true. Those little things you called poems were just all your emotions poured into words in a piece of paper. When Jaemin called you a poet, you immediately denied this title but you knew better than everyone that he was kinda right. Yet your poems were just for you and not many people knew about them. You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was that made you open up to Mark so much already, but you just felt safe with him. Similarly to how Jaemin made you feel. You revealed to Mark a part of yourself with so much ease, yet it took you longer to talk to Jaemin about your silly notebook.

Why do I keep comparing Mark to Jaemin?

“Damn, you write poems? Dude, you gotta show me someday. I’m more of a novelist but that’s just too pretentious to admit,” Mark was laughing away both his nervousness and excitement, code-switching between English and Korean. The glimmer in his eyes couldn’t go unnoticed either and you just found his speaking habits cuter and cuter.

I can’t show you my poems, but I like your enthusiasm, you wanted to tell him but you couldn’t. You just nodded instead.

Mark slowed down his driving speed, swerving into a parking lot outside a tall building with plenty of small windows, which you assumed were the dorms. “Well, you know what? I’m actually mad at Yerim now, she didn’t mention that you were so cool,” Mark said and you felt your cheeks burning at his comment.

“I’m mad at her too because how could she forget such an important detail?” you said and Mark parked the car just before he burst into a shrieking laughter, the loud volume of which made you wince. What a weirdly charming guy.

Mark turned off the engine of the car. Pulling up the hoodie of his jacket, he opened the door to step outside, immediately moving to the back of the car to open the trunk and take out your suitcases. You got out of the car too, closing the door carefully behind you. The door made a soft clicking noise and you stared at it confused. “It needs a little more pressure to close properly, here,” Mark said when he noticed your baffled face and stepped closer to you, stretching out his arm to grab the door handle. You took a step back,distancing yourself from him. The sudden proximity of his body to yours made your cheeks blush. Despite the freezing atmosphere, Mark radiated a comfortable warmth that couldn’t explain. Pulling the handle, Mark slammed the car door shut with a loud thud. You shut your eyes momentarily at the sound and Mark turned to you with a sly grin across his face. “That’s how it’s done. You could say she likes it a little rough,” he joked and your face was boiling hot at how explicit he was with his jokes. Maybe it’s a cultural thing.

Closing the trunk shut, Mark handed you your suitcases and gestured at the tall building behind you. “So here’s where you’ll be staying. My dorms are down the street, just a five-minute walk from here. If you ever need anything, you will find me at the 7th building, room 200. So,” he trailed off, “we’ll be in touch?” he offered you a tight lipped smile and you nodded.

“We’ll be in touch” you confirmed. Lifting your suitcases, you turned on your heel towards the entrance to your new experiences of your student life. “Will you be okay with these? I can help!” Mark shouted and you turned your head while still walking. “I’m fine! Go get some rest Mark, you deserve it. Thanks a lot for today!” you said and you turned your head back quickly, missing the wide smile that spread across Mark’s face and the sparkle that lit up inside his eyes.

Upon entering the 15 square meter room that was supposed to be your home for the next five months, you dropped your suitcases on the floor, putting off unpacking for later. Shuffling through your backpack, you pulled out a pen and the small notebook, a couple of its pages creased. You searched for a blank page, sitting cross-legged on the carpet of the tiled floor, lifting up your knee as a supporting surface to place your notebook. Taking off the cap of the pen with a pulling of your teeth, you scribbled on the page to warm up the ink of the pen, before you started pouring out your thoughts.

have you ever noticed how all snowflakes are different? shape, size, design, even color, intricate is their form, sculpted in detail and care, you will find not one that looks like another — their beauty lies in their uniqueness. “what’s the strangest snowflake you’ve ever seen?” “one that delicately landed suddenly on my cheek; its texture unusual, its form not as elaborate as the others, yet once i picked it up with the softest brushing of my finger, i realized that it was the most beautiful snowflake of all”

Sunday, January 11th, 1998

The first snow of winter had already fallen in Seoul weeks ago. The white season was already in the midst of it, crossing its deepest parts with the temperatures dropping to the lowest degrees of the latest days. Jaemin found this coldness excessively present, as his heart has been frozen ever since Christmas.

Jaemin hadn’t talked to you since your last encounter before Christmas holidays, which ended in an emotional argument. Ever since that day, he kept feeling guilty of the way he spoke to you; he wished he could turn back time to relive that moment with you, filter his words better and tell you all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say that day. All because he was scared.

The sentences he spoke that day kept on pondering all over his brain, over and over again. No matter what he did to distract his thoughts, everything came back to that painful day. ‘You will forget about me’. ‘You don’t really want to pursue this career’. Even though he truly felt everything he said, he deeply regretted every time he recalled in his memory your tear-stained face and the thought that he had hurt you.

Jaemin was scared of losing you. Despite being popular and hanging out with large groups of people, he had difficulty getting substantially closer to other people, opening up to them and allowing them to see his true self, allowing them to discover his inner world and feeling like he didn’t have to hide things or pretend to be someone that he’s not. All it took from you was a look of sincerity from your bright eyes, a genuine smile promising him that everything is going to be alright and a touch of your tender hand to know how much you loved him.

Jaemin was sure of it. You didn’t have to say anything; he could sense it all. He viewed people as pictures; people are just moving images, they don’t have to make a single sound to express what they want. A careful look at their body language was all it took to reveal a plethora of things that words could never describe.

You didn’t have to say anything for him to know how you felt about him. Or maybe he was trying to excuse himself and justify his delusions, because his feelings for you were probably even stronger. He was sure that somewhere in that little notebook you carried, scribbled with messy letters on a random page you flipped open, was where your feelings for him were laying. He once tried to take a peek at it, in hopes of finding what he wanted. Fortunately, he soon realized that what he was about to do was a violation of your privacy.

He regretted how he handled the announcement of your departure. He wished he could express his happiness more, he wished he had told you all his worries in a more intimate way, he wished he didn’t storm off like that, he wished his anxiety didn’t realize as anger but as love, he wished he could tell you how much you meant to him. Whatever he did, the result would be the same; you would still leave. He just wished you didn’t leave thinking he was mad at you for doing so.

It wasn’t too late to make things up. Looking at the clock on his nightstand, Jaemin realized that you would have probably already landed in Canada. He was counting down the hours, keeping notes of the different time zones. He refused to go to sleep without knowing you had arrived safe and sound. He hated the fact that you were so far away from him. Just when he had you so close to him, he lost you in a slip of time. His growing fear of people leaving him behind kept on becoming reality with every single encounter he had in his life. No matter what you promised him, and no matter that he knew you would always keep that promise, a part of him creeping up like a little devil on his shoulder knew that eventually you would get tired of him and leave.

Pulling the drawer of his nightstand, Jaemin took out a picture and studied it, a precious smile appearing on his solemn face. The picture he took of you that day the both of you were sick. There was so much movement and color in this photo; your nose looked exactly like Rudolf’s, your eyes were puffy from your lack of sleep due to your difficulty to breathe properly, your mouth opened in a weird way because he snapped the picture while you were talking. A normal person would find you completely appalling, yet Jaemin treasured this photo in his heart because through the lens of his own eyes, you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

This is exactly how he felt. If anyone would ask him how he felt about you, he would show them this exact picture. All his emotions were captured perfectly in this random snapshot of your life with him. A single moment in time hiding an entire relationship only available to the two of you. No one else would understand. No one but you and him.

Jaemin hated himself for keeping distance from you. The physical distance was hard enough to deal with on its own, but the mental distance was what killed him the most. He wished you knew how much he loved you, how much he appreciated you and how much he hoped that one day he could say all of this without fear of rejection. Your actions were enough for him to understand that the same feelings he had for you were reciprocated, yet the constant fear of misunderstanding held him back from acting on his emotions.

He needed to take small steps at a time. With you being in Canada and Jaemin being in Korea, he wanted to, at least, get you to start talking to him again. Jaemin realized that he was in the wrong, it was his responsibility to make things right. He thought his reactions were justified then, but now he had no excuse for excluding you from his life before you even did anything to leave from it.

I don’t have my way with words, but I will try, he thought, keeping mental notes of what he would say to you first thing tomorrow morning in his attempt to compose a readable email. Jaemin drifted away to a lovely, peaceful sleep, one he hadn’t had in weeks, dreaming of you and only you.

Saturday, February 21st, 1998

Mark’s lips were softly pressing on yours, moving rhythmically in a slow yet passionate motion, his hand gently cupping your cheek. You played with his hair, tangling your fingers between short strands falling at the back of his head and scratching the nape of his neck in between. You had been kissing nonstop for over 20 minutes now, and the temperature of his room started feeling warmer than before.

Pulling away from Mark’s lips with a last loud smooch, you let your head fall slightly back, breathing heavily through your mouth. Mark opened his eyes in surprise, his bottom lip, swollen and pink, falling into a nervous frown. “Everything okay, love?” he asked in a raspy tone, his hand falling from your face and dropping to his side.

You smiled. “I got kinda tired there, Mark. I felt like I was suffocating,” you said, fanning yourself with your hands to create some air.

Mark’s expression turned into a smug one. “I really took your breath there, huh? Sorry, love,” he smirked and leaned closer to you, pressing a soft peck on your temple before wrapping his arm around the small of your back. The familiarity of his touch spread warmth all over your body, the scent of his freshly washed clothes calming the storm inside your mind as you let yourself melt into his embrace. The old bed inside his dorm squeaked at the sudden movement of your body.

You and Mark had been dating for a week. He asked you to be his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day, cliché. But you found this action extremely adorable and that was purely because it was Mark Lee the one who did it. 

The two of you had gone out initially as friends, to comfort each other for being single on the day of love. For the past month you were in Vancouver, Mark was the only person you came this close with. While you were hanging around large groups of exchange students from all over the world, none of them stuck with you the way Mark did. He was there for you all the time, helping you adjust to the new place at first, introducing you to his friends and keeping you company during lunch and dinner so that you wouldn’t have to sit and eat alone. He was always there.

You hadn’t realized your growing feelings for him until the moment he blurted out the question. “Y/n, will you be my girlfriend?” That’s all he said. He didn’t have to say anything more. It was something in the way his bambi eyes glimmered under the streetlamp that illuminated the sharp features of his adorable face, his crispy delicate voice asking you with so much tenderness hiding in his tone, the snow falling and landing in tiny snowflakes on his damp wavy bangs. Mark looked at you as if he treasured you in his eyes and heart; he waited patiently for your response, taking in your appearance as if he was taking a picture with his eyes. For the very first time in a month, it was the only day you didn’t think about Jaemin at all.

You said yes in an instant. Mark scooped you up in his arms, laughing awkwardly at the disbelief of what had just happened. He spun you around in the snow, holding you tight in his arms and wishing you would never let go. He was beaming with happiness and his radiant energy transferred to you, smiling so wide your cheeks went numb. The moment your lips touched, you were sure that this day was the warmest day of winter.

That night, Mark took you back to your dorm, not being able to let you go until you closed the door to your apartment. That very same night, you filled your notebook with poems. You stayed up all night, pouring yourself on the paper, the pen in your hands running fast across the lines of the pages, filling the blank space with nothing but emotions. All the things you kept bottled up inside your heart finally resonated in your mind. The realization hit you like a snowstorm, there was a tornado of emotions building up inside you all along, and it took one simply phrased question from Mark to let it all out.

The last time you were standing on a snowy street was back in December in Seoul, when Jaemin left you alone with the coldest heart and stalactite tears. This painful memory, although very recent, was luckily replaced by one of the happiest experiences you’ve ever had, when Mark confessed his feelings for you on the snowy streets of Vancouver.

You didn’t like to compare Mark to Jaemin. But at the same time, the comparison was unavoidable. Everything Mark was, Jaemin wasn’t. The two of them were comically the opposite of the other and you couldn’t help but notice the different versions of yourself that each one of them brought out. While Jaemin was steadily trying to open you up to the best version of yourself, Mark was highlighting the already existing good version.

You hated how much alike you and Jaemin were, you only realized this once you warmed up to Mark. When you first met Jaemin, you were instantly attracted to him because of how different from you he seemed. The confident aura around him, the smugness he carried himself with, his flirty nature were all characteristics you would never have. Once you got close to him, though, you realized that he was so much more than what he presented himself to be. And the fact that both of you had issues communicating with other people made you so similar in character that everything else didn’t matter.

You shared the same mindset with Jaemin, but your views of the world were different. He offered you his own perspective of things, and you offered him yours. You would spend hours bickering about your different opinions which most of the time resulted in Jaemin convincing you to view things from the brighter side. Yet your beliefs originated from the same place; an overly romanticized view of the world.

You and Jaemin were polar opposite when it came to everything else but the emotional aspect of your personalities. Both of your inability to communicate in a healthy way was probably the reason why you couldn’t understand each other, even after you became so comfortable around each other’s presence. Perhaps your expressing of your emotions wasn’t as transparent as you thought it was.

Maybe this was the reason why you found such comfort in Mark now. You hadn’t heard of Jaemin in months. The only updates you had of him were through Yerim and Jisung, who claimed that Jaemin was hanging out less with them now and that he became suspiciously introverted. They also told you that Jaemin asked about you a lot, but they couldn’t figure out why he didn’t ask you directly about your wellbeing.

That’s why Mark was a big emotional support for you. You weren’t as open with him as you were with Jaemin, but part of it was probably because Mark was so expressive and open to talk about everything he thought or felt. He made communication so much easier this way, so you were content with keeping things to yourself, like you always have, and the only one who had access to your emotional state was you and the silly poem-filled notebook.

Mark was slowly dragging his fingers down your hair, as you rested your head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind, love?” Mark said, his eyes searching your thoughtful ones.

“Nothing,” you replied nonchalantly, eyes vacant staring at nothing in particular.

Mark leaned his head to meet your face, seeing your empty expression. “Alright, there’s clearly something bothering you, so tell me, talk to me,” Mark said, gently lifting your head to meet him at eye level.

“You know I’m not good with that stuff, Mark,” you said and he huffed. “I know, but please. There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’ll listen,” Mark encouraged you and you found him cute for trying to help you speak your mind, even though his attempts were completely useless.

You remained silent for a few seconds. Sighing, opening and closing your mouth, Mark noticed your discomfort and the struggle to speak. Cupping your face with the palms of his flimsy hands, he turned your face towards him. “I know this is hard for you, so let’s play a game. I like to call this game, ‘what color is your emotion’,” he said and you giggled loudly.

Mark scrunched his nose as a tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He let go of your face and grabbed your hands, resting them on top of his lap as he drew circles around the back of your hands with his thumb. “So, tell me,” he started, “what color is your emotion?” he asked, the smile still evident in his small face.

You thought hard about it. Searching all over Mark’s room, you tried to find the color that best described your state of emotions at that moment. Mark’s room was full of personality, unlike Jaemin’s. He had painted the walls himself a shade of light beige, adorned with posters of his favorite superheroes along with quotes he cut out from his literature books. The chair of his desk was piled up with worn clothes he didn’t have the time to wash and his shoes were all lined in the small empty space between his desk and the moldy wall. The bookshelves hanging above the desk were filled with books and comics, which he had organized so neatly it reminded you of a library. Beside the creaky bed covered in a plaid blanket, he kept his beloved acoustic guitar. The building was old, but Mark had managed to bring out some freshness through his personal touches.

“My emotion right now is blue,” you said after a while and Mark gulped, his previously smiley face turning stone cold.

“B-But I thought you were having fun,” he trailed off, moving his hands away from yours. “Did I do anything wrong?” he asked, worried.

You smiled and shook your head, taking his hands in your again. “No, silly. I don’t mean blue as sad. Although I think there’s some melancholy in how I’m feeling. I miss home sometimes. But I meant blue as in calm. Did you know that blue can also symbolize calmness and serenity?” you said and Mark looked at you completely baffled.

“Yeah, I knew that, but that’s not the first thing that came to mind,” Mark said. “I’m glad you feel calm with me, and I’m sorry you miss home”.

“You know,” you said after a couple of seconds, “I never saw blue as a happy color. It always carried so much sadness for me. A friend of mine told me it can mean calmness too. He says it’s supposed to bring you peace and tranquility,” you said and Mark smirked.

“He? You didn’t mention any friends other than Yerim and Jising,” he said and you smiled. “Well, yeah, it just wasn’t brought up. His name is Jaemin. Although we haven’t talked in months so things are a bit weird between us,” you said and Mark got up from the bed, moving to sit at his desk chair, throwing a pair of pants on the floor to make room for him to sit. 

“So…Nothing happened between you and him? Like, romantically,” Mark asked, crossing his arms in defense. You laughed awkwardly, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. This question was more complicated to answer than what he thought.

“No” you said sternly, a tone you used more to convince yourself rather than Mark. “He’s just a friend. Nothing else,” you said. Liar.

Mark’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but something in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. It was the first time you had ever mentioned Jaemin to Mark, but you didn’t think he would feel threatened by another guy. His eyes were filled with flames.

“It’s my turn now,” you said with a sigh, grabbing the spider pillow on Mark’s bed and throwing it playfully at him. Mark’s reflections were fast, catching it in the air with one hand. “What color is your emotion?” you asked, voice hinting a glimpse of fear.

He placed the pillow on his lap and looked at you with the same perplexed eyes he had earlier, gritting his teeth, before speaking with the raspiest tone. 

“Dark green”.

Tuesday, March 17th, 1998

“What’s with all this gloominess, lover boy?” Yerim asked Jaemin, flicking her finger at his forehead to grab his attention. Jisung, although busy and occupied with doodling random things on the page margins of the book he was trying to read, winced at the sharp tapping sound.

“Nothing really to smile about,” Jaemin said, shrugging, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, void of any sign of emotion.

Yerim started laughing hysterically, hitting Jaemin’s shoulder during her laughing outburst. Jisung hesitantly looked up from his book, smiling awkwardly in an attempt to catch up with what was going on between his other two friends, muttering a soft ‘what happened’ with a breathy voice.

Jaemin didn’t flinch at all with Yerim’s reaction. He started twiddling his thumbs, lowering his sorrowful gaze at his lap, trying to avoid the confrontation that was about to come.

Ever since Jaemin found out about your relationship with Mark, he’s had a hard time enjoying himself in life. As dramatic as it sounded, when he found out that Mark wasn’t just a friend but he was your boyfriend, he realized that whatever it was he was feeling for you ran deeper than he thought. He tried to capture this feeling with pictures. Carrying his camera with him everywhere he went, he took pictures of whatever he felt like was mirroring his current emotional state, even if it was the most random object or place or person or food or clothes. Looking back at his collection of photos, all his recent ones captured, in one way or another, the exact same feeling; heartbreak.

Jaemin was punishing himself for feeling heartbroken. He tried to convince himself he didn’t have the right to feel this way. He never had you in the first place. He blamed himself for not making good use of all the time he had with you to express himself more clearly. He hated himself for being so selfless back then, and he hated himself for being so selfish now. 

Jaemin never sent you that email he wrote. He was afraid of you feeling repulsed by him. He didn’t have any excuse for his behavior, and by sending you a crappy email of him trying to apologize he thought it made him seem desperate and insincere. He kept putting it off, saying that one day he’ll find the courage to do it. He missed you more than he wished to admit, and it was killing him that he couldn’t have you near him either physically or mentally. Once Yerim broke the news of you having a boyfriend in Canada, it was a complete dealbreaker.

He didn’t have to voice out his feelings for you. His reactions to things betrayed everything. Yerim very easily caught on to how Jaemin was feeling for you, although she was a bit ignorant about it at first. After Yerim confronted Jaemin about it, he started hanging out with her and Jisung again, and even grew much closer with them too. They liked Jaemin. They realized he was actually very good company, like you had said, and started to see the side of him you always talked to them about. Even Jisung became comfortable around Jaemin to the point they had no problem teasing each other about nonsense.

Yet your absence was sensed deeply. Yerim, although very close with Jisung and slowly becoming close with Jaemin, missed the feeling of having her girl best friend around. Jisung missed his friend who acted like his good older sister who counterbalanced the evil big sister nature that Yerim radiated. Jaemin, most of all, missed the person who highlighted the best of him and the person he fell madly in love with.

The group of friends was having a picnic at the campus’ hill. Yerim said that the first sunny day of spring needed to be celebrated. March graced himself with the usual weather instability, with the cold nights and rainy mornings which mostly resembled autumn rather than spring. Every single day of March it had been raining non stop, the rain drops falling from dark clouds covering the vastness of blue placidity that usually describes the sky, transforming the atmosphere into an abyssal calamity that could only be stopped by the sun’s miraculous appearance. Jaemin thought about how much the weather inspired you and smiled bitterly to himself thinking about the connotations you would make when you related the weather with your feelings. It’s a habit he adopted too when he considered the pictures he took.

Jaemin cleared his throat, interrupting Yerim’s laughing outburst. “Don’t laugh, Yerim. You know how much I miss her. She’s probably hanging out with this Mark guy now, and he’s probably telling her jokes which she pretends to find funny. And if we take into account that it’s night time in Canada now, I don’t even wanna think about what they could be doing,” he said, his monotonous voice making Yerim laugh even harder. Jisung brought his fist to mouth, covering a stifled laugh that threatened to come out.

“People can do the thing you think about even during the day, virgin. Even Jisung knows this,” Yerim told Jaemin in between her laughs and Jaemin glared at her. “I’m not a virgin, you know,” he said but Yerim dismissed him. Yerim earned a surprised glare from Jisung too, who was called out without even saying a single word.

Yerim sighed, reaching over to Jaemin to rub his back gently. He visibly relaxed at the touch of comfort, taking a deep breath and raising his head to look up at the gloomy sky mirroring his feelings, batting his long eyelashes to prevent his own downpour falling from his cloudy eyes. “I miss her too, you know,” Yerim said and Jaemin nodded.

“I was the one who convinced to go follow her dreams and now I’m complaining about her being on the other side of the world,” Jaemin said in a low voice after a few beats, and the two friends nodded. “Why am I sad now? I should be happy for her, this is all so selfish. I keep thinking about everything I told her before she left and I just wish I could take it all back, I was being mean because I was scared of losing her,” he continued his confession and Yerim leaned her head on his shoulder, pouting.

“You know what, Jaem,” Yerim started, raising her head to look at her friend, “fuck the past. You keep thinking about the past like it’s something you can erase and rewrite. But you can’t, so let it go. You said things you didn’t mean and it was all a projection of your fears. So instead of whining about it, think about ways to make it up to her,” she said and Jisung hummed, widening his eyes in surprise at the girl’s unexpected wise piece of advice.

“What if she stays with that other guy? What if he treats her better and she loves him more?” Jaemin’s jealousy made him insecure, his eyes burning with anger and the threatening falling of tears.

“Dude, if she loves you, she’ll come around. I’m sure she will,” Jisung said with confidence that even took himself aback and everyone else nodded in agreement.

Tuesday, April 21st, 1998

“Let us go then, you and I, / When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table;” the middle-aged woman started reciting and you let yourself get lost in the words.

Despite the weather being deep into spring, the only thing resembling the blossoming season was the sun peaking through the freshly cleaned window, hitting Mark’s concentrated face in a way it turned his eyes into pools of honey. His hair, grown out of the boyish undercut he had when you first met him, was longer now, brushing the nape of neck.

You were sitting next to each other cross-legged with your big plaid scarf spread above your legs. The temperatures were significantly higher than they were in winter, yet the Canadian mountain climate was sensed even inside the back room of the cozy café. It wasn’t as good as ‘Caramel Craze’, but it was the one that came closest to the feeling your comfort place back in Seoul gave you.

You and Mark decided to join a book club three weeks ago. At the end of each week, the book club would meet at different spots around Vancouver and every member would read a poem or a passage from a book, give recommendations and start discussions around different literary pieces. Even though this wasn’t related to your field of studies, being surrounded by people who valued literature and its craft as much as you did filled you with happiness and content you couldn’t find in anything else, not even in fashion design.

“That was ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’, hope you enjoyed it,” the middle-aged woman finished reciting her poem of choice and everybody clapped as she sat down on the floor. 

“Did you know this poem?” Mark whispered towards you, pushing his glasses further into his face because they had slid down his nose. You shook your head and he couldn’t help but crack a smile at your wowed expression. The poem was beautiful.

As soon as the applause came to an end, you raised your hand to ask permission to speak. The coordinator of the book club was a girl only a few years older than you. As you waited for her to notice you, you carefully scanned her outfit which was particularly creative today, keeping mental notes of it so that you could draw something similar later.

“I find the message behind this poem devastatingly beautiful,” you started after you were given permission. A few people hummed positively, urging you to continue. Mark’s warm gaze was fully attended to you, crossing his arms in anticipation of what you were about to say.

“All of the speaker’s anxieties and preoccupations of his inner life, his romantic hesitations and regrets, everything was voiced out so beautifully to the point it becomes devastating. Hence my description,” you said, averting your gaze to your lap. “I loved the line ‘Do I dare / Disturb the universe? / In a minute there is time / For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse’, I think it perfectly captures fate and our inability to change it because everything can have a different outcome depending on what time brings and what time cannot take back. I don’t know, I think it’s perfectly worded,” you said and noticed a few approving looks at the other book club members’ faces.

Turning towards Mark, you noticed a ridiculously wide smile plastered across his small face, to the point you didn’t think a person could smile this wide. “Wow,” he breathed out, “you’re becoming even better than me. Are you sure you don’t wanna pursue this thing professionally?” he joked and you giggled, yet something in your heart sank for a moment.

“I just expressed what the poem made me feel,” you said. And it was true. You and Mark were spending so much time together to the point you were inseparable. You were surprised how neither of you had grown sick of one another at this point. Most of the time, you would spend hours cramped up inside either of your dorm rooms, reading and writing poems and songs for hours in between hot makeout sessions and other things. You grew so close to him to the point neither of you hid anything from each other. Ever since you talked to him about your confessional poetry notebook and your struggle with expressing yourself, Mark has made the impossible things possible to help you be at peace with your emotional world and be open with what you feel.

Part of the reason why he suggested that the two of you joined a book club was to see your progress become tangible. You had become profoundly open with him, and his encouraging words kept you wanting to keep on trying more and more. Mark thought that being in a safe space, where you felt the most comfortable in, you would manage to overcome this suppressing state. Once again, like in many other things, he was right.

A man with his little son started reading a passage from a children’s book and his soothing tone made your eyelids flutter as you stifled a yawn. Mark gently wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing you a bit closer to him. You nuzzled your nose against the fuzzy fabric of his sweater, which smelled like a mix of detergent, Mark’s cologne and a slight scent of his skin. He noticed that you started getting sleepy, something that was always betrayed by your clinginess, and he moved his arm to stroke your hair and your back as you rested your head on his chest. An old lady noticed your affectionate state and flashed a warm smile at Mark. He returned the kind gesture before leaning to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

Mark’s attention was back at the man reading the book, trying his best to make sense of what the story was about based on the context. As you were laying on his chest, the faint sound of his steady heartbeat acted as a lullaby, becoming the background music for the thoughts that occupied your tired brain. As much as the warmth of Mark’s body calmed you down and eased your consciousness, it brought your senses into reality at the same time. No matter how much you wanted to freeze frame this moment and forever stay in his arms, you knew that sooner or later this moment would come to an end and eventually cease to exist. You would have to go back home.

Defining home has become difficult for you now. Your whole life, your home was Seoul. Home was your family back in Korea, your best friends for life Yerim and Jisung, Jaemin. You remember how hard it was for you to let them go, but you knew that your leaving was only temporary and you would soon go back to them, go back home.

Yet home took a different face now. Home was engulfed in Mark’s face, who stood by you throughout the journey of finding yourself in the premises of an unknown land. You grew to love Canada, you became used to the habits of Vancouver’s local residents, you met people from all over the world who shared their experiences with you, your horizons broadened in ways you didn’t even imagine they could when you were limited to the restricted views of the place you grew up in. You had grown so used to everything new around you that even the thought of having to go back to Korea at the beginning of summer saddened you.

Your thoughts momentarily fleeted to the face of a boy you held dearly in your heart. You hadn’t spoken to Jaemin in months. Neither of you made any attempt to initiate any type of conversation, so the air between you two remained foggy like a Halloween night. The opaque veil of grey clouds that rested upon you spread all the way across the ocean, reaching the heart of a boy who bore heartbreak without you even knowing.

You hated that Jaemin still had a place in your mind and heart when you knew you loved Mark a lot. You didn’t dare to admit it, you were scared that at times you wished it was Jaemin who kissed you instead of Mark, you wished it was Jaemin the one who you would come home to after your classes and talk about your day, you wished everything that Mark did it was Jaemin in his place. A part of you felt guilty for even thinking this, let alone wanting this, and you despised yourself for betraying Mark’s love and trust like this. Jaemin probably didn’t want to do anything with you after you left things hanging this way, so why even bother with him?

But you had come to terms with the fact that everything you did in Canada would be temporary. The initial fireworks of excitement died down after a couple of months, and reality kept reminding you that all good things come to an end. It would realistically be difficult to maintain a long-distance relationship with a boy on the other side of the globe. You loved Mark but you slowly had to learn how to unlove him. This way leaving would hurt you a bit less.

Mark’s soft caressing of your hair shot waves of safety over your body, the man’s voice reading the book was simply a bedtime story to your ears. Before you slowly drifted away to a peaceful sleep, behind your eyes flashed the image of a certain platinum-haired boy, wishing that it was him holding you to sleep at that moment.

oh how much i love you seoul! even though i left you oh how much i miss you! walking on every filthy pavement in hongdae, crossing every busy itaewon street, wandering around every beautiful night in gangnam — but you left me too. oh! how many days and nights will i spend without you so that we can meet again? your presence is always mirrored  in every place that i see

Friday, May 8th, 1998

The chopsticks he was holding cluttered against each other as he reached down his bowl to grab a bite-sized portion of rice, bringing it hastily to his mouth. He chewed the food obnoxiously, not caring about looking polite or well-behaved, his ears ringing for a reason unknown to him. The girl sitting across from him on the restaurant table hadn’t touched her food yet. She was too busy running her mouth nonstop ever since they arrived at the cozy traditional place.

“So, what do you think about all that, Bun Bun?” the girl asked, batting her eyelashes in anticipation. Jaemin stared at her but his eyes weren’t looking at her. His ears weren’t listening to her. His mind wasn’t present at the moment. He continued chewing his rice, swallowing with a loud gulp. He reached for the glass of water on his left, chugging the cool liquid down his dry throat. With a thud, Jaemin placed the glass on the table, licking his teeth in an attempt to clean them from any remaining food that could be stuck in between. With a click of his tongue, he addressed the girl in front of him for the first time since the food arrived at their table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Minjeong. You see, I was busy eating. Something you didn’t do because you talk all the damn time,” Jaemin said and the girl rolled her eyes.

“Oh for God’s sake, Bun Bun, I told you about this last week too. Remember my friend Soyeon who was dating that guy from Chemistry whose name I cannot remember now but he wears glasses and his hair is like dyed blonde with a side part and he…” Minjeong started and Jaemin’s ears started ringing again.

For about a month now, Jaemin has been going on dates with a girl from his journalism classes, Minjeong. The girl has been eyeing him for quite some time now, but Jaemin never paid her any attention, neither during classes nor after that. When she found the courage to go up to him and ask him out, both she and Jaemin himself were surprised he actually said yes.

Even more surprised were none other than Yerim and Jisung, whose eyeballs practically fell out of their faces when Jaemin came into ‘Caramel Craze’ holding Minjeong’s hand. Jisung was very curious about how everything happened, but he never cared to ask Jaemin about it, not because he feared his reaction but because it made Jisung himself uncomfortable. He didn’t want to pressure Jaemin to talk about it because he knew that whatever Jaemin’s reason behind this was, he would talk about it once he felt ready. Yerim’s nosy nature, however, urged her to learn as much as she possibly could. One warm spring evening, right before ‘Caramel Craze’ got rid of all its customers at the dusk of day, Yerim yanked Jaemin down a table and began interrogating him.

“What’s up with you?” she snarled, eyes darting him up and down. Jaemin sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, preparing himself for Yerim’s upcoming rant.

“Look, I’ll break up with her, okay? Not that we’re actually dating but…” Jaemin trailed off and Yerim’s eyes softened, holding herself back from screaming at him like an overprotective mother once she saw his hands tremble on the table.

“It’s just that I will never have a chance with Y/n. She’s coming back next month but at what cost? I never apologized to her because I’m a coward, and now I can’t bring myself to face her. She has moved on anyway, so I must do the same,” he said and Yerim reached across the table to grab Jaemin’s hands, rubbing soft circles to ease his trembling.

“I’m sorry, Jaem,” she started, “it’s that, I-” Yerim struggled to form her thoughts. She inhaled with her eyes closed and opened them slowly once she exhaled, looking at her friend with a sadness filled with sympathy. “I don’t know if that’s good for you. Of course you can’t wait for Y/n all your life but-” Yerim pressed her lips shut.

“But what?” Jaemin whispered, removing his hands from Yerim’s grip.

“I want both of you to be happy. If you choose to move on, then I won’t stop you. I support both of you and you’d better apologize when Y/n comes back, I can’t stand seeing two of my best friends act like total strangers,” Yerim said and Jaemin flashed her one of his widest and brightest smiles which hid a malicious smirk behind it.

“You think I’m your friend?” he asked her, earning an eye-roll from Yerim as she stood up to leave.

“Jisung has to close up the place, we’d better go. And if you want to move on, at least pick a girl who’s not that annoying,” she said and Jaemin laughed at this remark.

He didn’t really think through Yerim’s advice, dismissing it at the time saying that Minjeong wasn’t that bad. But he started to realize that Yerim was, as always, right after all, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly that drew him towards Minjeong. He kept regretting asking her out time and time again for dinner when he couldn’t bear listening to her talk. After giving it some thought, Jaemin came to the conclusion that Minjeong was just the only available option for him at the moment.

Jaemin didn’t like the fact that he was leading the girl on. Minjeong was clearly into him and his behavior towards her was inexplicably awful. On the outside, he seemed like the perfect guy any girl could potentially call her boyfriend; he took her out on the regular, he waited for her to finish her classes, held her hand in public and caressed her hair on the weirdly windy days of May to prevent it from getting tangled. On paper, and on image, he was perfect. In fact, however, behind all the nosy eyes running their mouths, Jaemin was trapped in a relationship he forced himself to be in. He was so bored of Minjeong to the point he dreaded spending time alone with her. He had to pretend to be the popular campus crush that everyone else around him always knew him as, and all this acting had him exhausted by the end of the day.

It was very pretentious of him to say this but he became a different person once he met you. It was a blessing and a curse for him. Sometimes he wishes he had never picked up that book for you in the library and sometimes he keeps thinking of the possible turns his life would have taken if he had paid you no mind at all that very same day. 

The thought of you tortured him. It pained him that he couldn’t have you anymore, yet he didn’t have the right to think like this because he was the one who messed things up. Now all he could do to make himself feel at least slightly better was to find someone else.

Minjeong was the first person that came to him. Jaemin saw the chance and he took it, wasting no time to ponder over whether he liked her enough or not or if they would be a good match together. None of these things mattered to him; he would learn how to like it, he would eventually grow feelings for her and they would find ways to fit their personalities and interests like pieces of a puzzle and at some point his attraction for Minjeong would grow and grow until his feelings for you became so suppressed and then completely vanished.

This was his plan. But everything Minjeong did, Jaemin would always find a way to compare her to you.

Minjeong kept on rambling about whatever drama she was interested in. She made short pauses to eat a little, although her bites were so small it would take her hours to finish her meal. Jaemin nodded or hummed from time to time in an attempt to show her a little interest, to make her feel that he was present.

Jaemin’s attention shifted for a moment to the world outside, his mind void of any preoccupations, eyes resting on the cherry blossom trees and the people walking around them aimlessly, admiring the beauty of nature. The season of love was at its peak; the flowers were blooming in every corner of Seoul and for a fleeting moment Jaemin wondered how the scenery in front of him would look like through your eyes, through your own lens, through the ink of your pen.

“Bun Bun, can you take some pictures of me?” Minjeong shook Jaemin out of his daydreaming state and he blinked.

With a deep sigh, Jaemin pinched the bridge of his nose, offering Minjeong a sad smile. “Ugh, um- sorry love I don’t bring my camera. I forgot,” he apologized and winced at the use of the pet name he used.

“You never bring it when I ask you to! I swear it’s like you forget it on purpose,” Minjeong whined and Jaemin pressed his lips in a tight smile. “I know, sorry. Promise I’ll bring it next time, okay?” he said, hinting at a hopeful undertone in his voice. He looked at Minjeong tentatively, searching for an answer in her eyes. She held eye contact with Jaemin for a few seconds, her expression stoic and still like a museum painting. Jaemin pouted softly at her and Minjeong rolled her eyes at him for the second time tonight. 

“Whatever,” she muttered under her breath and reached for her purse to pull out her lip gloss. Jaemin leaned back to his chair, sighing in frustration at his actions. His gaze rested briefly at his backpack spread next to his lap, the round camera lens staring back at him.

She wouldn’t look as pretty, anyway.

Sunday, May 31st, 1998

“I think we should break up,” you said sharply, exhaling deeply in an attempt to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

Mark’s eyes widened in surprise, and you swore you saw them turn glassy under the artificial lighting of your dorm room. “What?” his voice trembled, searching for your wavering gaze which you averted anywhere you could but his eyes.

“I said we should break up,” you repeated, clearing your throat. You never had to have a talk as hard as this one and you definitely weren’t very happy with the news you had to break into the boy you devoted your whole heart to for the past four months. 

“I-I don’t get it,” Mark started, his voice uneasy. “I mean, technology has advanced, like, we can keep in touch even when you’re away, right? I don’t get it,” Mark ran his hands through his hair, pacing around the tiny room which felt to him extremely smaller than he thought it actually was.

“I know,” you started, taking a step closer to him, reaching for his hand. Your fingers felt his touch only for part of a second as they brushed, Mark was too quick to yank his arm back creating distance between the two of you.

His reaction was perfectly reasonable and you expected him to respond the exact way he did; knowing Mark all these months and spending the majority of your time with him, it was safe to say that you knew him like the back of your hand. You were sure he would try to find a solution to the problem, brainstorming even the dumbest ideas just to make things work, just to keep you by his side.

Both of you knew that one day you’d have to go back to Korea and Mark wouldn’t be able to follow along. What he didn’t count for was how soon that day would come.

“Listen, Mark, I know you’re frustrated-”

“You’re still in love with that other guy, aren’t you?” Mark scoffed, giggling out of nervousness.

“Where does that even come from?” you asked, eyebrows drawn.

“I’m not dumb, Y/n, I mean, come on. I’ve seen how your face literally lights up when you talk about him. It doesn’t really take a genius to know,” Mark spared you a glance before he turned around to look outside the window.

It was ironic; in a few hours, May would finish his yearly duties and give his place to June, who would initiate the beginning of summer. The sun wouldn’t set until the early evening, the breeze would be welcoming enough for strolls around the fully bloomed parks and everyone would be carefree, looking forward to a few months of rest and relaxation before the start of the new semester of the academic year. If you didn’t have to leave in two days, you would rather spend your time walking hand in hand with Mark, talking about nonsense. Instead, you called him up to the old dorm room to break things off with him.

You didn’t blame him for reacting this way, you expected it. But you never thought that he would bring up Jaemin. There was no reason for him to do so, but he did anyway and suddenly everything made sense.

Mark was jealous of Jaemin. And it made him feel insecure knowing that you had feelings for both of them.

Which was true. You don’t know how Mark figured it out but he actually knew you better than you knew yourself. He could read through you just as easily as you could read through him. You just weren’t aware of how strong your feelings for Jaemin remained still, that Mark became insecure of your feelings for him. No wonder he thought of Jaemin as the reason you wanted to break up with him.

You couldn’t even lie to Mark about this either. After you mentioned Jaemin once, you found it easier to bring his name up in conversation along with Yerim and Jisung. He was one of your friends after all. Although you doubted he still liked you as a friend, let alone romantically.

You grew to love Mark a lot all these months. It was very hard for you to separate from him too, you didn’t want to break things off but realistically a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work and you were afraid that with Jaemin in your presence back in Seoul, things would be even harder for you to handle. You didn’t want to deceive Mark when clearly your heart was split in two.

You lowered your gaze to your feet, raising them up to your tip toes and back down. You huffed, turning to face Mark’s slouchy figure. Your eyes rested on his shoulders, contemplating whether you should go rub them in comfort or whether this act of affection would stir more hate in him for you. 

“I love you too much Mark, it’s best if I let you go,” you said and heat spread all over your reddened face. Mark whipped his head back at the sudden sound of your upright confession. “It’s not the time to admit something like this Y/n, you’re breaking me,” he whispered in a breath.

You noticed a stain on his cheek, like a shadow of a running river with crystal clear waters. You didn’t realise that he was crying. You took a hesitant step towards him, lifting your arm to touch him, feel him any way you could, but you were quick to keep it to yourself.

You softly cleared your throat. Mark wasn’t speaking. “We both knew this wouldn’t last forever, and I hate that it has to be this way because you taught me things about myself. You taught me how to express myself, communicate my feelings, live life without any concerns, follow my dreams and do what makes me happy. I don’t have the words to thank you enough for all of that,” you said and Mark nodded softly, a lingering question falling from his lips.

“So what changed?” was all he said with a desperate sigh.

You didn’t have any good answer to his question. Anything you could come up with at that moment sounded like a lazy excuse. You used distance as the most reasonable one, when in fact the thought of seeing Jaemin again and having all your past feelings for him resurface was what pushed to end things with Mark, even though you were unsure of Jaemin’s feelings for you.

You were willing to take the risk. You were thankful for Mark, you were beyond thankful for everything he taught you about yourself. You learned how to handle your feelings without fear of expressing them and you learned that being loved can be as easy as loving someone, all because of Mark. It was completely and utterly wrong of you to use all of this experience you had with Mark to learn how to love Jaemin easier. You despised yourself for that, having to fully devote your heart to one person when you were confused about who you wanted to devote your heart to.

“I’m so confused, Mark. Honestly. I don’t want you to think I used you because this is not true at all. I'm trying very hard to be optimistic but unfortunately I’m thinking reasonably this time. It’s best if we part ways,” you trailed off the last words.

Mark shook his head, nipping at his bottom lip. Running a hand through his hair, he started pacing in circles around himself. “No, Y/n, I think you’re thinking with your heart right now, because reason would urge you to stay with me. Your heart tells you it belongs to someone else, and this doesn’t happen to be me,” he said, stopping to finally look you in your eyes.

You stood still, frozen in place, keeping your eyes locked with his. In an alternative scenario, Mark would describe you as a newly blossomed flower that didn’t know which way to lean to look at the sun yet. In this scenario, you looked like a stone plaque standing in his way of moving forward.

You opened your mouth to speak but Mark was ahead of you. “I love you, Y/n. And I always will. You taught me things about myself too. For the past five months I’ve known you, I found myself smiling more, looking forward to the new beginnings every morning because I knew I would share all my happiness and sadness with you. We understand each other, Y/n. And because we do, I understand that you are conflicted right now. I respect your decision so that’s why I won’t fight you, I know you won’t change your mind,” he said and you both giggled.

Mark nodded his head a couple of times as if he was having an inner monologue. “I’ll miss you, you know? Promise we won’t be those exes who never speak to each other again. I would hate that. I’d be delighted to hear your news, to know that you are doing well, to know that you are still following your dreams, ” he said and your eyes stung, blurring your vision.

“I promise, Mark. You’re too precious for me to lose you entirely,” you said and he hesitantly took a few steps closer to you. In your current heartbroken state, you believed you would actually manage to keep this promise. But time would eventually heal this wound and you couldn’t bring yourself to say this to Mark.

the prettiest snowflake melted into the river; winter into spring

“C-Can I, um, can I at least kiss you, once? One last time,” Mark pleaded you with his eyes and you threw yourself at him, beating him to it by pressing your lips onto his.

Mark responded to your touch in an instant, cupping your face with both of his hands, kissing you back with so much passion it made the kiss look desperate. For a fleeting moment, the entire time you spent with him flashed before your eyes and you felt luckier than ever that you had met a person like him.

You parted your lips for his, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. You looked at him in his glimmering eyes, before giving him one last peck. “Take care, Mark. I love you,” you whispered, softly caressing his cheek.

Mark nodded and took a step back, grabbing his things to leave. As he approached the door, he stopped in his tracks. “Will he love you like I do?” he asked, locking his eyes with your teary ones.

You thought for a second. “I hope he does. At least I know I love him like I love you,” you said and felt your heart mend, as if the broken pieces found their way back to each other.

Mark smiled softly, reaching the doorknob. “If this is what you truly want, if this is what your heart really aches for and desires, then I won’t dare disturb the universe”.

Wednesday, June 3rd, 1998

The atmosphere around you hung heavy as you walked past the busy crowd of Seoul, making regular breathing feel like exhausting exercise. The humidity of summertime in Korea left a feeling of a thick lump resting on top of your lungs, paired with your baby hairs sticking everywhere around your sweaty face and neck. This type of weather was the thing you were looking forward to the least on your flight back home, but you kept on trying to convince yourself that summer in the city wasn’t as bad as you remembered. The effort, however, wasn’t very successful, as you immediately started reminiscing about the Vancouver frostiness.

The change of environment was sudden; one day you were at the other side of the globe, watching the flowers bloom in a city that thrives in between snowflakes and icy pavements, and the next day you were back to your core roots, sweat accumulating around every hollow place in your body, in a city that thrives in crunchy orange leaves and soft breezes. You came to understand that in life, you always want what you cannot have.

Through the thick atmosphere hanging above you, you tried to trace with your nostrils the scent that lead you to your inner calmness. It had been six whole months that felt like agonizing eternity since you tasted the specific caramel lattes on your tongue, the enjoyable sweetness of the complementary glucose mixed with the comfortable bitterness of the main ingredient of the drink that couldn’t be compared to any other similar recipes in any coffee shop in the world other than ‘Caramel Craze’. Tracing this beloved scent was particularly harder while walking through a sweaty crowd in one of the busiest streets in Seoul.

Since you stepped foot onto Korean ground, it was like everything you experienced in Canada was wiped off your brain storage. On your entire flight back, you read through the notes you kept about everything that happened so that you could fill in both Yerim and Jisung about all the things you saw there without leaving any details out. Reading back your notes helped you refresh your memory, but your brain at that moment only had room for the memories of two boys, split in half.

You had broken off things with Mark only a couple days before your departure. The decision you made was definite, no matter how much it hurt you and the boy whom you devoted your whole mind and soul to for the past five months. You came back home with the sole purpose of reuniting with the person you loved the most, although you had no idea how to approach the situation.

Fate works in mysterious ways. Walking with your head tilted towards the ground, you swayed your ponytail to the side to fan the back of your neck with your palm. Keeping your eyes glued to your feet, careful with your steps, you bumped into a shoulder, sturdy and equally as sweaty as yours. Lifting your head to apologize, you’re met with the eyes that took up the other half of your brain.

You froze in your place as Jaemin stood in front of you, mouth slightly agape due to his surprise upon seeing you, or because of his fast breathing caused by his rapid steps. You couldn’t tell which one it was. Your heart beat anxiously, sweat turning colder at the sight of the boy you were dreading to meet yet looking forward to meeting. 

Jaemin looked good, but different. His hair had faded into its natural dark brown color, his skin looked slightly tanner than it did in the winter and his shoulders and chest indicated that he particularly worked on building his muscles even more. The black tank top he was wearing was hugging his torso tightly, arms glistening in sweat under the burning sun. Even though he didn’t look exactly the way you remembered him, the way his eyes shined and the smile he tried to suppress once he took in your figure showed you that he still was the same boy you were in love with.

Jaemin lifted his arms in an open gesture, as if he wanted to pull you into his embrace, but he halted his actions by scoffing, finally breaking into a wide but hesitant smile. “You’re back,” he breathed out.

The sound of his voice immediately helped calm down your rapid heartbeat. You missed him. You missed him more than you could imagine, and it took seeing him in person to realise it. Your eyes creased as the corners of your lips lifted up, greeting him back. “I’m back,” you giggled.

Both of you stayed there. Standing still in the midst of the walking crowd, a scene that gave you déjà vu, reminiscent of the moment you parted ways in winter only to recreate it again when the two of you came back for each other. Jaemin lowered his gaze and you started twiddling your thumbs, thinking of what to do or what to say.

“Liste-” Jaemin started.

“So-” you said at the same time. Both of you stopped your sentences abruptly, giggling at the incident. 

Jaemin, with a wave of his arm, gestured towards you. “You can go first,” he said.

“Why didn’t you contact me while I was abroad?” you didn’t waste any second, firing him with the question you always wanted to ask him ever since you stepped foot in your homeland.

Jaemin opened and closed his mouth, sucking in his bottom lip while thinking of what answer to form. An old man passing by yelled something about you blocking the way for those in a hurry, but you didn’t pay him any mind. All you wanted was to hear an answer, any answer that would justify Jaemin’s actions.

“I could say that I was busy with school or that the time zones were weird but that would be the lamest excuse ever and I don’t wanna lie to you. I wasted too much time being a coward that it took me losing you to another guy to realise how much I love you,” Jaemin said in a breath, and you took a small step back, blinking at his blunt and forward confession.

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, genuinely confused, waiting for an elaborate explanation.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n. I didn’t want you to find out this way but this is exactly the reason I never reached out to you,” he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“T-This d-doesn’t make any sense! At all! You’re confusing me, Jaemin, I…” you trailed off, your turn now to wipe off the sweat caused by your confusion, the humid heatiness of the weather long forgotten.

Jaemin gulped, moving a step forward to close in the gap between your bodies. “The day I invited you over to my dorm room, after we caught a cold because of the heavy rainfall, that’s when I knew. I had fallen in love with you. But I was cherishing your friendship so much I didn’t want to push you away and ruin things if I said anything about it, I was so unsure of your feelings,” he said, taking a deep, shaky breath.

Licking his lips, he continued. “You were so happy when you got the scholarship, it was all you had been thinking about before getting it. And I was rooting for you so much, I always told you how much you deserved it, that you would get it no matter what. But even though I was completely sure you would get it, I hadn’t thought very thoroughly about what I would do once you left,” he said.

Jaemin paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Looking into your softening eyes, he continued his confession. “That’s why I was such a jerk when you announced it to us, that day in the snow. I-I didn’t know what to do, you were slipping away from me and I was completely losing it. It’s such a selfish thing to say and I only realised how awfully I spoke to you until after you were gone,” he ran his fingers through his hair, composing himself.

“And then,” he let out a big sigh, “I learnt that you had a boyfriend. I tried to be happy for you but, to be honest, I was so fucking jealous. I regretted all the time I wasted not talking to you about my feelings but I knew that it was too late to change anything because you didn’t feel the same, and if you did, you had clearly moved on. I even tried dating other people hoping I would forget about you but it didn’t work. In fact, I just broke up with the girl I was seeing. She was boring as fuck, it took me too long to do it because I wanted to keep trying, I was pushing myself to convince my heart and mind to move on, but the truth is, no else can compare to you Y/n. You’re the one I want. I only had the courage to break things off with that girl today because, in the back of my mind, there was a glimmer of hope that when I see you again and explain everything, you might want to try giving me a chance to make up for things and let me treat you like I’m your actual boyfriend,” Jaemin said, breathing heavily after letting out all the thoughts he kept suppressed all this time.

You waited a moment to fully grasp everything. Jaemin loved you. He had always been in love with you. It took him blatantly confessing to you to realise how much in love with him you were too. You thought that whatever it was you were feeling with Mark was love. You loved Mark too, but the feeling of that love was different than what you're feeling right now about Jaemin. So this, this is what love was supposed to feel like. You just knew.

Sighing with a soft smile, you completely closed the gap between you and Jaemin by grabbing the hem at the collar of his tank top, pushing your lips against his. Jaemin reacted in a millisecond, melting into your touch, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you even closer, as close as it was physically possible. Your arms moved to rest on his shoulders, sliding down to his chest. Your lips moved rhythmically, finally tasting the love he had for you. The high temperature in the atmosphere could not be compared to the heat of the moment the two of you shared.

Pulling away to take a few breaths, you looked at Jaemin’s swollen lips and loving gaze. “You finally talked to me about your feelings,” you said and placed a soft peck on his lips before you lifted your toes up and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on top of his shoulder. “And you finally showed me yours,” Jaemin said.

You stayed there, closing your eyes to take in his familiar scent, fully grasping the moment. You were finally able to fully open up your mind and soul to the person you felt the closest to. Your heartbeat had calmed down, your breathing was steady and your mind was at ease. You turn to speak into Jaemin’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine due to the proximity of your bodies. Public display of affection was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

“You know, I broke up with Mark thinking I would come back to you. I was hoping you would accept my feelings even though we had drifted apart these months. We’re such huge idiots, huh?” you said and you felt Jaemin’s chest vibrating as he laughed.

“Remember when you asked me if I knew what a ‘blue person’ was?” you asked him and Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows, although you couldn’t see, but you knew. You came back down on your feet to look at him, keeping your arms around his neck. You gave him a bright smile filled with love, a contagious one, as he pressed his own lips into a tight smile. “I didn’t know what it meant, but when you told me, I knew exactly that you were my blue person, Jaemin,” you said and now it was his turn to respond by locking your lips with his. 

You were both smiling while pressing small soft kisses onto each other’s mouths. You pulled just a little bit back, enough to meet his loving eyes. “I love you, Jaemin,” you confessed, three words that took all of your strength to come out. Jaemin’s eyes lit up, pressing his nose onto yours. “I know that now,” he said.

Jaemin released himself from you and you whined at the sudden lack of his touch. He noticed and immediately grabbed your sweaty palm, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Come on,” he led the way towards ‘Caramel Craze’, “you have to fill us in with all the details about your studies abroad. Yerim and Jisung will be thrilled,” he said and you leaned into his side, walking together as if not a single day had passed.

you splashed color onto the confused abyss of mine you shed light onto the maze of my soul and you let me see the progress of you doing it — the summer to my winter, the picture of my thoughts, the answer to my question 

Saturday, September 12th, 1998

September was your favorite month of the year. September usually signaled fresh beginnings and change, blended the warmth of summer and the chill of fall, and was the month during which drinking caramel lattes became the most acceptable.

You were holding a paper cup of hot caramel latte on your hand as you walked with slow steps looking at the different photos displayed around the small exhibition hall, with Yerim and Jisung tailing right behind you, each holding a cup of their own drink of choice.

Today was Jaemin’s first ever photo exhibition. Jisung made sure to have the day off from work so that he and Yerim could attend the opening. Still, the three of you stopped by your beloved coffee shop before heading to the exhibition to equip yourselves with your favorite warm drink.

Summer was slowly fading into fall, yet it still left some remnants of the hot and bright moments you shared with Jaemin. You had been officially dating for three months now, and neither of you intended to back out from this relationship anytime soon. Or ever. It became easier to understand each other now; the initial hesitation of speaking your mind or expressing your emotions which engulfed you in the beginning of your friendship had completely vanished the moment Jaemin broke it with his confession back in June. Both of you still struggled with communication, but as soon as you felt Jaemin’s reassuring hand on your timid one, it was as if your heart was released from the shuckles surrounding it and your tongue spoke the words you always wanted to say.

You showed Jaemin your poems. You opened up your most vulnerable self to him and he let you in, embraced you and held you firmly in his arms, all of you. You made sure to equally act as a safe space for him too, letting him in too and keeping him there, too scared to let go and too much in love to hurt him. You were each other’s person.

Yerim and Jisung’s reaction to your relationship was nonexistent; it’s like they were waiting for the moment you and Jaemin finally admitted to your feelings and let your egos aside just for a moment so that your hearts get what they deserve. You swear you saw Yerim wipe a tear when you announced it to them, but she convinced you that the summer wind brought a grit to her eye.

Over the course of summertime, Jaemin expressed his want to quit journalism and pursue photography as his career. He was so confident in taking this decision. He claimed that something inside him clicked, he just knew what was right for him in every aspect of his life. Journalism was what he thought was his passion, what he would love to do for a living, the career path that was guaranteed to make him happy. But when he held the camera in his hands, looked at the world through the camera lens, through his own eyes, he felt as if he could transform the world into anything he wanted. And this is what made him truly happy.

His rebellious spirit went into your own head and you started contemplating whether fashion design was the career for you. After showing Jaemin your poems, he wouldn’t stop saying how talented you are and how much potential these little drabbles of your thoughts have. You weren’t ready to leave school and everything you had worked so hard for behind, so you convinced yourself to push through college and graduate, even if life has other plans laid out for you later on.

So when Jaemin told you he would host his own photography exhibition, you couldn’t help but feel the happiness he radiated at the sound of this announcement. It was a huge step for him, and he could only do it with your help. “I want you to write the captions to my photos. You are the only one who can capture the essence of an image into such few words,” he told you with glistening eyes and the bright smile you fell in love with. You would never decline this offer.

You were standing in the middle of the exhibition hall, where Jaemin had placed the main photo of his collection. An image very familiar to you; you spent hours arguing about whether it was a good idea to include such an intimate picture in a collection for the whole world to see, but Jaemin insisted. “It’s the world seen through my lens. It needs to be included,” he said holding both of your hands dearly, his voice trembling in nervousness.

So here was hanging on the big white wall a collage of two images; a cutout of your sitting figure, teacup in hand accompanied with a puffy face, red nose, mouth open mid-sentence glued on the background of the dark open sea. The caption you chose for this picture was placed underneath it, carved in small italic letters on a glass engraving:

shades of blue; the color of you

You hated this picture. But it was so special to Jaemin. He kept saying how beautiful you looked in it, over and over again. It was raw, unfiltered, it captured reality; it represented the very moment he realised he was in love with you.

You stood in front of the image, taking it in. This was the result of your and Jaemin’s combined love for art and everything it expressed. It was an indicator of the love you two shared. Yerim and Jisung stood on either of your sides, looking at the image with as much appreciation.

“You look a little funny,” Jisung muttered and Yerim didn’t let this comment slip, giving him a light slap at the back of his head.

You giggled at the interaction between your two friends. They still hadn’t seen their own picture, a still image of them bickering about nonsense, with Yerim threatening to throw a huge encyclopedia on Jisung’s head, and Jisung raising up his arms as a shield. They have no idea that Jaemin was quick enough to capture this endearing moment.

“Have you guys seen Jaemin, by any chance?” you asked and Yerim pointed towards the space behind the main exhibit. “He’s over there, with these fancy looking guys,” she said and you nodded, heading towards him.

You approached Jaemin as he shook hands with the two middle-aged men, bidding them goodbye. You slipped your arm around his neck and pulled his free hand, bringing his body closer to yours to peck his lips. His arms easily rested at the small of your back, tracing circles with his thumb.

“Everything is so beautiful, Jaem. I’m so proud of you,” you said softly, feeling his cheeks heat up at the sound of your compliment. “It was all possible because of you, my love. Thank you,” he said, locking his lips with yours once again.

Pulling apart, you grabbed his hand and motioned him to walk around the exhibition hall. “Who were those men, by the way?” you asked out of curiosity and Jaemin’s eyes beamed. “Those were the director of the exhibition and another photographer. He’s professional. They came to congratulate me and I can tell they liked my collection a lot. I don’t want to brag or get ahead of myself but I’m sensing a job offer of some sort,” he said and you stopped in your tracks to squeeze him into a tight hug.

“That’s so amazing! You deserve this so much, baby,” your voice was muffled as your mouth was blocked by his shoulder, but Jaemin still managed to hear you, chuckling at your excitement. “Thank you, kitten, but nothing is for sure yet. So far, everything is running smoothly, though,” he said.

After about two hours, the exhibition officially came to an end. It would be open to the general audience again tomorrow, and then again for two more weekends ahead. The first day was crowned a success; Jaemin received a lot of positive feedback on his work and people seemed to genuinely enjoy their time there.

As the hall closed, your friend group gathered at the entrance, escorting the last remaining people out, thanking them for their attendance. Once the four of you were the only ones who remained, Jisung spoke up. “I have an idea. I know it’s late but that’s the fun part. I have the keys to the coffee shop. ‘Caramel Craze’. I know we should be out celebrating with alcohol but none of us likes that stuff. So what do you say? We sneak in and celebrate there. No one will notice,” he said and this offer sounded particularly delicious at the moment.

Entering the coffee shop, the cozy familiar place seemed a lot different in the dark. Jisung didn’t lift up the blinds nor turned the lights on. Instead, he grabbed a torch light from behind the register counter and headed towards your favorite table, setting the torch in the middle to light up the space around the four of you. Going to the back, in the little café’s kitchen, Jisung quickly heated up some frozen cinnamon rolls which were meant to be displayed and sold in the morning. When he came back, the four of you sat in a comfortable silence eating the warm pastries.

As Yerim was about to speak, she was interrupted by the coffee shop’s phone ringing. Jisung stood up mid bite, yelling with his mouth full. “What the hell? Who’s calling this late, we’re closed!” he said, running to the phone. As he picked it up, he whispered to himself, ‘please don’t let it be the boss’.

He brings the phone to his ear with a soft ‘hello’ and he remains still and expressionless for a few seconds before he tilts his head towards the table you were sitting at. “Y/n, they say it’s for you,” he yelled and you blinked in confusion, Jaemin and Yerim giving you the same expression.

You stand up, grabbing the phone from Jisung’s hand with hesitation. You nodded to him and he turned his heel towards your friends. 

Sighing, you place the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing your universe,” the familiar raspy voice reverberated through your ear, your back straightening at the sound of the boy you once loved.

Turning you back to your friends, you greeted the boy back. “Hey, Mark,” you said in a whisper, although your friends were too busy chatting to pay attention to you.

“I saw an article online about your friend’s – um, your boyfriend’s photo exhibition. It was today, right? I-I mean, the time zones are a bit weird, a-and I wanted to congratulate you both on the project. I didn’t expect anyone to pick up though, I j-just made a guess to call the coffee shop since you always said you spend all your time there, a-and I didn’t want to disturb you on your own phone and an email seemed too impersonal-”

“Mark, you’re rambling,” you chuckled and he sighed with a soft giggle. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous. If you can tell,” he said.

“Yeah, Mark, I can tell. Relax, it’s just me,” you said and the silence from the other line dragged on for longer than what you would’ve liked.

Finally, Mark broke the silence by sighing again. “Listen, Y/n, I just wanted to say congratulations. I’m so glad you decided to follow your dreams, with slow steps at a time,” he said, the smile evident in his tone of voice.

Your lips stretched upwards too, though you tried to suppress the smile. “Thank you, Mark. It’s such an honor hearing that from you”.

Another pause. You began to speak, you needed an excuse to hang up the phone now, you were missing from your friend group for quite some time now.

“Liste-,” you and Mark said at the same time, but you stopped, giving him permission to speak.

“Listen,” he cleared his throat, “I just want to know that you’re happy. That’s all that matters to me. Are you happy?” Mark asked and your eyes dropped to your feet.

Were you happy? How could you answer this question so easily? You tried to think, swaying in your place, running your mind through places to find an answer. Turning your head to the sound of Yerim’s loud laugh, you saw your friends throwing small chunks of food at each other, Jisung running around the table in an attempt to avoid Jaemin’s attacks, his lovable bright smile on full display.

You smiled to yourself. “Yes, I am happy,” you said and you could feel Mark nodding from the other side of the line. “Good, good. That’s great, that’s all I needed to hear. Congratulations again, Y/n, you deserve it,” he said.

“Thank you, Mark. You too. Stay happy and take care,” you whispered and slowly hung up the phone, without waiting for him to say anything else, if he wanted to that is.

You stood there, unable to move. Jaemin’s lovely voice brought your conscience back to reality. “Who was that, my love?” he asked, Yerim and Jisung stopping their food fight to look at you, waiting for your answer.

You pressed your lips and shook your head, shoulders lifting upwards. You looked Jaemin in his eyes, which looked glossy under the light of the torch. You flashed him one of your brightest smiles, as you walked towards his open arms.

TAGS: @peachjaem00 @hyuckieslove @bbyyhyuck @vdollys @positionslab

@matchahyuck @renjun-fairy @back2jisung @xxxx-23nct @doieslefttoe

@uwuheeseungie @markleefuckme @letmein2urheart @jungaji @minhwalovebot

@museulgii @lelengerine @neocity-net

THERE’S AN ODD SORT of intimacy to strangers.

If you come across someone you’d never met before, if you bump into a woman you hadn’t seen before that very serendipitous encounter, you could pretend to be someone completely different from your true self and she wouldn’t know. Perhaps you could act more like your true self, let the front you usually use around family and coworkers fall away in favour of a different you, and the gorgeous girl in front of you would be none the wiser. 

For all you know, she’s pretending to be someone else as well. Maybe she’s finally being herself.

All you know, the only thought you share in the usually short moment you’re together, is that you won’t be judged. You won’t be judged, or mocked, or ridiculed, because the chances of you ever running into someone you’d met by chance in a sandwich shop are incredibly low.

For Sicheng, as he’d assumed, the chances of running into you again after he’d taken you on a whirlwind adventure one night were low.

Apparently, though, not zero.

1994 年 4 月 28 日

28 APRIL, 1994

香港 HONG KONG

The streets were bustling with people as Sicheng raced through them, the city of Hong Kong bustling with life new and old, glimmers and glimpses of people’s lives following him wherever he went; a couple’s half-heard argument as he rounded a corner, hot on your heels, an old woman laughing over a game of mahjong with her friends as he leaped over a stack of boxes carrying fresh fruit, university students and salarymen yelling at him to slow down, to be careful where he went after he almost bumped into them. He heard these voices, these calls for peace, these insistences from strangers, but he did not listen, could not listen, too focused on the beautiful woman in front of him.

You were a figure wrapped in mystery, shrouded in all which was unknown to someone like Dong Sicheng. It wasn’t as if nobody knew who you were—the entire Hong Kong was familiar with you: the woman in the mask, known only by her voice which cut through protests and police sirens, which called for the equal treatment of others; the women, the children, the foreigners.

The woman with the black high heels, whose vague visage appeared on wanted posters across the country, across China, who advertised a need for free thinking, for renewed academia. Everything the men in power stood against, you stood for.

You, the protester who had been plaguing Sicheng’s dreams for longer than he could remember. You, the person who’d single-handedly started riots in offices and schools. You, the presumed drug lord who’d stolen children and kept them from their rightful guardians in the name of freedom.

You, the foreign woman in blue.

He’d been chasing you for five months now.

And he was so close to catching you.

You cut corners, took shortcuts through shopping centres and dingy districts. Sicheng could only see the back of your head, the curve of your hips in the fluorescent lights, could only hear the click of those familiar red-bottomed heels. So close.

I’m a cop. No 1028. My name is Dong Sicheng.

He muttered a hushed apology when he bumped into a young woman, barely brushing her shoulder in assurance before he took off after you again, this time through a narrow, harshly-lit hallway that led somewhere between two buildings and a shopping centre.

He wondered what you were thinking, what was going through your mind as he, the cop who’d been plagued by you for the past five months, got closer and closer to finally catching you. Were you scared? Regretting, perhaps, being so outspoken in your disapproval of everything the government stood for?

If you were scared, you did a fine job at hiding it. Though, Sicheng reminded himself, he couldn’t see your face. Perhaps you were smirking, thinking to yourself what an idiot he was, following after you when you’d devised a bigger, far worse plan that you yourself wouldn’t be executing.

For a moment, doubt rippled through Sicheng at the thought. Curse him and his overactive imagination, because now the only thing he could think of was your nonexistent higher scheme, how this whole chase could’ve just been a diversion to take his attention from the larger things that were about to happen.

It was no surprise, then, that Sicheng didn’t notice you stop. You’d tripped, palms spread and split open over the pavement, internally cursing yourself for not seeing whatever you’d lost your footing on.

Only when he turned back to you, having dismissed all thought of your potential master plan, did he notice you touching your ankle with a hesitant hand, rolling the joint in an attempt to see if anything particularly terrible had happened to it. His heart lurched, eyes widening at the sight of blood. Crimson splotched your palms as you attempted to regain your footing, your legs wobbling uneasily.

He almost forgot that you were a fugitive, wanted by the city for your crimes, when he saw you give a shaky exhale, bottom lip drawn under your teeth as you hissed in pain. That was all he could see of your face beneath the makeup, the mask you painted to hide your true self—your lips, pink, plump and glowy under the city lights; all the details he was allowed to see were those that couldn’t betray humanity, that couldn’t lead him to believe you possessed a soul, that couldn’t trick him into drawing closer and closer just to look deeper and deeper into your eyes, searching for any hint of benevolence. 

Then, he remembered himself.

“Freeze!”

He lunged forward, nearly covering the distance between you in half a step, one hand shooting out to reach for your own, the other already making a grab for the handcuffs that hung from his waist.

Your skin felt soft under his fingertips, wrist delicate, hands clenched into fists as you surged up; he’d gotten so close to wrapping his calloused hand around you, holding you in place, catching you. For a moment, he was the cat that caught the mouse.

This was the closest we ever got. Just 0.01 centimeters between us.

And then you were gone.

But 57 hours later, I fell in love with this woman.

Sicheng spent the rest of the night drinking.

After you’d made away with his dignity, disappearing among the twists and turns of the city streets, the dejected police officer had all but given up on his pursuit of you. In a few seconds, five months of fight left him, battered, bruised, and breathless at the start of a narrow hallway between two dingy buildings, while you disappeared through the end of it.

The cityscape sounded muffled as Sicheng stalked back home, to the overpriced matchbox he lived in, though home to Sicheng didn’t necessarily mean his actual flat. It didn’t mean the place he lived out of, a small, dingy place he paid too much to live in, nor did it mean the neighbourhood he lived in, just as small and just as expensive.

He stopped by the local grocery store just a few blocks from his apartment complex, and asked the shopkeeper if they had any tiramisu left. He got a no, was told that he’d bought it all himself, and their new stock hadn’t arrived yet.

“Are you sure?” he asked, in the best broken Cantonese he could manage.

The man gave him a look that said, Yes, I’m sure, and Sicheng knew then that he wasn’t going to be humoured tonight. Not by the shopkeeper, not by you, not even by his cat, who would probably turn away from his affection once more, leaving him cold and yet again dejected. He wondered if he was wallowing, moping around a grocery store and thinking about how the world must hate him. But can you resist a good wallow, really, can you deny the fact that the world is against you when you’ve got hoards of evidence to prove it?

Lily broke up with me six months ago, over a cup of tiramisu at my apartment. 

“I’m sure,” the shopkeeper said, before turning away.

“You don’t maybe have any in the back?” the detective asked, making the older man sigh, turning to him with a chagrined expression.

“Why would I be lying to you about whether or not I have tiramisu in-store?” he asked incredulously. “If I lied to customers just because they bothered me, I’d go out of business! What we have available for desserts is what you see on display there. I— Why don’t you give me your number, so that I can call you when we have stock again?”

Sicheng froze. “Really?”

“No!” the shopkeeper scoffed.

“Oh.”

After deciding he’d annoyed the older man quite enough for one night, Sicheng called Lily. Or, perhaps a better phrasing would be, Sicheng tried to call Lily but, once again, got her answering machine. Heard the voice of another man, saying with a smile Sicheng could hear, “Apologies, but Lily Chung can’t come to the phone at present. If you have a message for her, wait until the beep!”

A voice that said the words he once had, through a smile he once wore.

She did it on April 1st, so I thought it was a joke.

Sicheng sighed, staring dejectedly at the bright blue telephone in his hands. He thought perhaps to try someone else’s number—an old flame, a love that had long not been rekindled. He coughed up about three numbers besides Lily’s.

Kawasaki Shiina.

“Shiina-chan… long time no see, huh?” he said, deep voice swallowed by the passing cars and bicycles as he held his plump lips close to the receiver. “It’s been, what, two years? Four? Oh, that’s too long. What say you we catch up tomorrow night over a few drinks, just you and me? I heard you’re in Hong Kong for good now, and I’ve got the day off— You’re married? For… three years?” He smiled ruefully. “No, no, it’s alright. You don’t need to come. Congratulations, by the way. Leslie’s one lucky man.”

Chow Fei.

“Fei!” This, with a delighted, flirty smile. “How’s work going in Singapore? I heard you transferred there after we broke up, and I got curious to see how you were doing all of a sudden.” Silence, then her hesitant answer. “Oh? You’re back in Hong Kong. For how many years, now? Two? And you’re— That’s great. Great, that you’re seeing him. I always knew you two would end up together. Anyway, uh, you should probably go to bed. It’s late. Yeah. Good night, Fei.”

Margot Wong.

“How are you, jiejie? I know you haven’t heard from me in a while. Yeah, I— I, uh, got caught up with work for a while, sorry, jie. Mm. I know I promised to call you back, but— Oh, do you have a visitor? Well, you should probably get to them, then. Uh, nice talking to you, and we should definitely have coffee somet— Hello? Margot?”

Each and every moment more and more dreary as it passes, each and every call more embarrassing as they come. Somehow, all three girls he’d had prior passionate connections with had realised their worth and got busy, cozied themselves up to men who could offer what Sicheng had once teased them with. He supposed it served him right—even if he’d grown out of it, there was no denying he used to be one sick bastard when it came to romance.

That was almost one month ago.

The tabletop was cold, polished slick and slippery as Sicheng laid on it, resting his head in his arms as he exhaled deeply, desperately. His tongue was athirst for the sweet, creamy taste and texture of tiramisu, the same that he’d eaten right before Lily looked him in the eyes and told him she was leaving him; his eyes longed for a pretty woman to look at, fingertips aching for just one hand to hold onto, one pretty, plump hip to squeeze. Lips to kiss, a tongue to taste, whispers to share, hair to card his lean fingers through.

Sicheng probably sounded really perverted, he knew. But loneliness—romantic loneliness—did indescribable things to the psyche, especially to those of people like Sicheng’s. Quiet people with too much love to give, reserved humans with too many praises to sing to lovers they didn’t have.

I’m hoping she’ll come back to me before May 1st, in 55 hours.

Burgers had never really been Sicheng’s favourite food; hotpot had always been more his speed. But that was a food to enjoy with others around you—burgers, on the other hand, the solitary, pathetic lone meal, working perfectly for someone like Sicheng.

He sat on the steps of a local fast food place, chewing sadly on a burger that would’ve tasted so much better if he hadn’t been so depressed. Everything is affected by your mood, he thought. Tastes, sights, experiences, people—how you perceive and receive them is totally dependent on how you feel that day. I hate that. Sips of the soft drink in his hands didn’t taste as sweet as they would’ve if he’d had someone to go home to. The softness of the bread didn’t satisfy him the way it would’ve had he been able to release some of this pent up longing, to love on someone worthy of his time and affection. Perhaps even someone unworthy. 

Hopeless romantics tend to get desperate the longer they’re alone.

Two days, and then some.

Sicheng didn’t have much; a cat named Peanut that had started hissing at him out of the blue a month ago, two goldfish named Mako and Miki who didn’t do much besides blow bubbles, and fifteen forgotten cups of tiramisu in his fridge, right next to the unopened bottle of whiskey and oddly-coloured vitamin drinks. But, god, did these few things make him happy when he got home.

Peanut allowed his owner to give him a few scratches behind the ears before a low, familiar yowl building at the back of his throat made Sicheng sigh, retracting his hands in a gesture that showed he understood what his grumpy cat was trying to say. The aforementioned bottle of cheap liquor was balanced precariously between his slim thighs as he leaned against his kitchenette wall, head tilted forward as he tried to light the cigarette between his lips. The first few puffs were satisfactory, warming his cold lungs with stony, bitter smoke, before that warmth came instead from erratic sips of whiskey.

Sicheng sometimes wondered how he went from the Chungking Precinct’s best detective to this. This… this pathetic, numbed shell of a man he once used to be. Longing and wishing for a life he couldn’t ever have, because he was too busy working toward the life that so plagued him presently. 

A low hum eminated from his fridge, occupying most of Sicheng’s thoughts, acting as a backtrack to his ruminations; a fronttrack, even, he wondered, as his thoughts drowned out, gave way to the constant thrum of the machine. Smoke clouded his vision, the biting scent clinging to his clothes, to his skin, glowing and dewy to the touch in the Hong Kong summer heat. A fan was on somewhere, probably on top of his fridge, uselessly recycling warm air from above him. He didn’t care to turn it off, to stop wasting his electricity for something that wasn’t even working properly. He wasn’t even working properly, and no greater power would’ve had the authority to dispose of him just for his uselessness.

When I found the cups of tiramisu in my fridge, I saw that they had an expiry date.

May 1st.

Sicheng had gotten to thinking, these days, about how everything had an expiry date. Even tiramisu, which he’d always held in high regard like some immortal entity of cream and coffee-soaked biscuits, went bad if left uneaten for too long. Bread, milk, cucumbers, cabbage, pineapple, tiramisu—every product had a ticking clock.

Everything seems to have an expiry date.

The same could be said for people—relationships, personalities, careers, emotions, everything eventually expired. People outgrew each other the way cucumbers went soft, got watery the way friendships faded out and into oblivion. They changed like dairy changed colour, changed tastes the way people did in an entirely different sense.

If love could expire, I wonder how long mine’s going to last. I hope it never expires.

He wondered if his love for Lily would expire the same way that tiramisu in his fridge was going to. He wondered if his love, his affection, too, only had 53 hours before it went bad. What would he do in those 53 hours?

These days, I feel like crying often.

And it’s not as if he hadn’t—he’d spent many a night and morn laying on his back with hot, salty tears streaming down his face, dotting his bedsheets. He’d coughed and hiccuped his way through showers as the boiling hot water cascaded down his back, did nothing to warm his numb skin as steam fogged up every reflective surface in the room.

Dong Sicheng had never been a man that denied himself a good weep every now and then, in the comfort of his own home, especially after the most kind and beautiful woman he knew left him. However, he never saw the sense behind doing it too much, crying. He could cry, and cry, till his eyes were puffy and the tip of his nose was red, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he was alone, that his girlfriend left.

He easily slipped into his running shoes, shrugging on a black jacket over the T-shirt he’d thrown on earlier. It was already dawn when he looked out of his window, and he felt the ache of exhaustion in his shoulders when he remembered the lateness of his late night chase for you. Then, he tried not to think about you, because thinking about you made him want to cry even more.

A good way to forget about wanting to cry is going for a run.

You’d been running all night.

The streets grew hot and stuffy the longer you ran, limbs screaming for a moments’ pause, sweat beading on the tip of your made up brow. You knew you probably looked ridiculous to passersby unfamiliar with you—a strange woman in blue, hair and face done up most oddly, running through the streets of Hong Kong without once looking back; but people knew you. Most of them did.

Dong Sicheng knew you especially well. 

You knew he’d given up trying to catch you, for tonight, at least, due to the lack of laboured breathing over your shoulder, the lack of his worn-in sneakers crunching against the hot, dewy pavement as he ran after you, thin, lean fingers reaching to curl around your wrist.

It was as though, however, you couldn’t stop, despite knowing you were in the clear. Once you ran past the dingy Chungking mansions, and the even dingier areas that followed, you didn’t stop until you arrived back where you started, at the building you’d been operating out of for the past five months.

I’ve been living at Blue Moon Mansion for nearly half a year.

A temporary arrangement, you’d told yourself. You’d been pressed for money, couldn’t pay your rent, and were friends with one of the receptionists at the hotel, so finding cheaper lodgings came easy. A bit too easy, you supposed, because you’d settled into the hotel lifestyle so quickly you were afraid to try and try following your old routines.

You allowed yourself a brief glance over your shoulder when you arrived at Blue Moon, half-expecting to see the handsome detective who’d been on something of a witch hunt for you since January. You found nothing, however, besides the normal crowd of people who milled about this side of town. 

Your stomach grumbled in protest, and you were reminded then that you hadn’t eaten in nearly an entire day. Nothing a call to your favourite sandwich shop wouldn’t fix, you thought, already looking around for the nearest pay phone to call them.

Just after you’d put in your order, you wandered up the front steps of the hotel before making your merry way down again, plopping onto the bottom step with a huff, hugging your knees to your chest. It was a childish sight, you were sure, but you were too tired to care. To think, you still had flyers to hand out and posters to place across town, a feat that could easily take up the rest of your night.

You lifted yourself to your feet uneasily, begrudgingly tugging your coat tighter around you. Your makeup was starting to feel stifling, loose like someone else’s skin, though you made no effort to take it off just yet. You couldn’t; though everyone in Hong Kong knew who you were, they knew this you—not the one that existed beneath the many layers of white paint and red rouged lips, the swipes of black around your eyes and the dusting of pink on the apples of your cheeks. No one knew who the real you looked like, without all those layers hiding your face, hiding your body, and no one could. Part of your confidence came solely from the anonymity.

That’s why, in the dark night of the twenty-eighth of April, fifteen minutes before midnight, you walked to the Midnight Express to pick up your meagre dinner in heels and makeup; you walked past the Chungking mansions, bumped into another foreigner who’d been shopping for second-hand cameras—some younger girl who wore the same colours as you—and shuffled into your favourite food joint, all with a face painted like a court jester, an opera singer, a clown.

These days, you were starting to feel more and more like one, and there seemed to be nothing you could do to stop that feeling.

Most nights, sleep doesn’t come easy to me.

After dinner, you loitered on the steps of the Midnight Express for a little while longer than you suppose you should’ve. Your fingers itched to curl around a glass of the strongest whiskey you could afford, and you felt as if you desperately needed a smoke. What’s worse, you weren’t someone who drank or smoked at all. 

Tonight it was even more difficult.

You eventually stalked back to Blue Moon, this time taking the steps one by one until you got to the elevator that would take you to your room, and you stumbled through halls and doors until you came to your front door. You unceremoniously flopped onto your bed, not bothering to remove the paint caked on your skin, or the red-bottomed heels digging into your toes.

It wasn’t as if you weren’t tired; your joints ached from overexertion, your lungs screamed for rest. You were not complete without a tremble running through your body, shaking your fingers, making your knees knock. Everything about you was exhausted, but your mind was restless like a sleepwalker’s legs. There was nothing that could silence it, or even bring the frantic scheming to a whisper, a murmur to lull you to sleep, to welcome your slumber. You were tired, but it was as if you’d been struck by lightning and were still living through the aftershocks of electricity travelling through your body.

Most nights, you simply wished for a warm pair of arms to curl around your shoulders, your waist, the small of your back. You felt as if the warmth of another would relax your body, as if soft shoulders would have your heavy heart resting easy.

But just as well, you’d never known that kind of affection from anyone. The people you worked with weren’t with you for company, for friendship, merely to complete their mission, to get the job done and make sure your efforts weren’t in vain.

Your mission to fight back against the oppressive, close-minded reality the government was insisting their young people endure, the prejudiced systems which discarded talented people in favour of obedient ones. Your effort to lift up those overshadowed in the largely Eastern, masculine society which ran Hong Kong, to snuff out the censorship which ran rampant across the country.

Such endeavours came not with romance, with any sort of affection.

Sometimes, you wished it did.

Some nights I manage to get in a few hours of shuteye before the banging wakes me up.

It usually happens around eight o’clock, five hours after you stumble back home, seven hours before you go outside again. You’d asked around and found out that it was construction for a new library, one apparently geared towards students of a nearby school, for extra studying time, or recreational reading, or just somewhere to be alone.

It was for monuments like these that you worked so hard.

Besides being a literary radical—among several other things—you were a librarian, though not at the library you previously mentioned being built. Not a very good one, you supposed, because you spent your days reading and gossiping with university students whenever you got the chance. No one knew who you were there, the expert disguise of a bare face and modest clothing doing wonders for concealing your true identity.

I wonder what that is a lot. My true identity, I mean.

You mention your job now, because you remembered that it was your day off when you lurched to the tiny, lacklustre bathroom of your hotel room to scrub the paint off of your face and apply a brand new layer. When you saw your reflection, you sighed with great effort. The paint had seeped into your skin, smeared in odd places. You looked a mess.

Is it this… this painted clown, white as a ghost, with daring eyes, blushing cheeks, and bold red lips? This face I painted on at the beginning of every day?

You barely looked at the skin, your skin, underneath the paint as you removed it, wettening your brush and smearing white paint right over washed skin, delighting in how the cold air dried the mask in an insant. Next came your lips, red as fresh blood, shining bright under the glaring lights. Then, your cheeks, from your apples to the high bones, dusted with pink like the opera singers from the northeast.

Or is it the young girl hidden beneath, skin soft and supple and slick with tears, lips plump and cracked? The face I was gifted on the day of my birth?

“Who am I, without this paint?” you wondered aloud. “Without the protests, the posters… without Officer 1028 running after me, chasing me, giving me meaning?”

You didn’t really know anymore.

The last day of April came quicker than expected.

Sicheng wasn’t sure what he’d occupied himself with between the twenty-eight and the thirtieth—it was all an unpleasant blur, anything on from the night he’d lost you in the haze of neon lights and street signs. Perhaps he’d simply been laying in bed, hands folded loosely over his chest, wondering what he was supposed to do with his life.

You were gone.

Lily wasn’t calling back.

Peanut hated him.

Why was he still here, again?

I spent the last night of April wandering aimlessly through the streets of Hong Kong.

He sighed shakily, risking a look up at the starry sky, high above the pesky city lights. Someone yelled at him to step out of their way, and he did, eyes not straying from the stars.

Gripping onto my police badge as if it was going to give me meaning.

First, he went to a bar. It was a sort of burlesque scene, but he came in too late to see any of the dancers; the lights were low, the barstools uncomfortable, his collar hot. He had three drinks, all strong, all leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Then, he went to the local library. He’d always liked making conversation with the young librarian there, though she’d made herself scarce this past week. There was no one there save for a student cramming last minute for a test she had to write the next morning, and a couple making out somewhere in the back by the world atlases. Sicheng didn’t even bother to shine the flashlight hanging from his belt in their eyes, didn’t even lift the badge he’d been holding onto for dear life, didn’t even tell them to break it up and book a motel instead.

He visited an old lady’s pastry stall, and left with powdery fingers and plump lips dotted with whipped cream. He stumbled to a payphone and tried to call Lily, only to get her machine again. He wondered what her new boyfriend’s name was. He sounded like a Sangyan. 

Whenever I want to cry, and I can’t run, I eat.

He leaned against a lamppost, the cold rod digging into the soft flesh of his back, through his denim jacket. He adjusted his sunglasses—rounded, yellow, sitting low on the bridge of his nose—and looked around for his favourite sandwich shop, which he knew was nearby.

It’s as if food cures me of all illnesses or unhappiness.

The Midnight Express was a small, somewhat dingy sandwich shop nestled between a boutique and a record store. Sicheng knew the owner the same way the owner knew Sicheng’s order; by heart, and like the back of his hand.

When Sicheng walked into the tiny establishment, hands shoved in his pockets, stumbling only a little, the owner perked up from behind the counter and gestured for him to come closer, leaning over the glass barrier between them like he was sharing some great secret, though not whispering like he was.

As the detective approached the counter, he nearly bumped into a waitress—a new, quirky-looking girl he didn’t recognise—as she swept past him, dragging a wet mop across the floor.

This was the closest we ever got. Just 0.01 centimeters between us.

She glanced up at him, straightening her posture, purply blue crop top riding up to reveal a toned tummy, before dropping her raised brows and continuing with her work.

But 15 hours later, she fell in love with another man.

There was another customer in the shop, though Sicheng didn’t see their face when he entered. They were wearing a large, blue coat, and he thought for a moment of your own coat, the one you wore whenever he bumped into you or tried to catch you. He didn’t pay the stranger any mind, however, turning back to the owner of Midnight Express.

“Evening, boss man,” Sicheng greeted, smiling lazily, and he could hear himself slurring in the slightest.

“Hey, Sicheng,” the man said. “What can I get for you tonight? The usual?”

He nodded. “You know it. Shredded pork sub with lao gan ma, and grape soda. How much will it be?”

“Same as always,” came his reply. “Ten dollars, with a guarantee to listen to some advice on the side.”

Sicheng sighed. “Do I have to listen to your advice tonight? I’m really not in the mood for it. Now, less than ever.”

“Listen,” the owner started, hands working deftly underneath the counter as he grabbed the ingredients for Sicheng’s order, “you’re still hung up on Lily, right?”

“You could say that,” Sicheng said begrudgingly.

“Okay, well, I might have a solution for you.” When the cop raised his brows, the owner said, “Sweets over there!” and pointed to the waitress Sicheng had bumped into, who had abandoned mopping to wipe down the windows. “She’s a new hire, a foreigner, and very perky, if you know what I mean.”

Sicheng’s face contorted in disgust. “Gross, boss man. Can’t she hear you?”

He squinted. “What? Oh, no, she can’t. She’s got her Walkman with her.” He pointed to the circular device in the waitress’ hip, and the chord that split into two earphones which were popped into her ears as she bobbed her head to a song no one could hear. “She’s a bit manic, kind of difficult to talk to, but like I said—”

“Yeah.” Sicheng nodded. “Perky.” He didn’t much feel like discussing the look of a young woman he didn’t know, who couldn’t hear what her own boss had to say about her. It made him feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Boss Man placed his neatly wrapped sub on the counter, accompanied by a can of grape soda—Sicheng’s favourite. The detective handed his acquaintance a ten dollar bill, nodding in thanks.

It was then that the other customer made themselves known, walking with a limp in their step to the counter. “Just a bottle of water, boss man.”

Sicheng stilled.

Hearing that voice made my blood run cold.

Because he’s heard it somewhere before.

Made my entire body feel hot.

Because he’s witnessed it speaking words of encouragement, of resistance against the system he worked for, of taunting as he nearly caught up to you, of flattery as you recommended him a book, smiling with a face he didn’t know belonged to you.

In an awful moment, he spared a glance downward, at your feet, just to make sure. 

Black heels. Scuff marks on the toe. You raised your right leg to rub against the back of your left leg, to satisfy a faint itch. Red bottoms. Faded golden circle with a six in the middle, for the size.

And sure enough, when he looked up, a phoney Peking opera star looking back.

Your expression didn’t betray any surprise, or any fear, as he thought it would. Instead, your eyes, the eyes he finally got to see up close for the first time in his life, darted over his face, settled on his lips, and dragged back up to look into his own eyes. Your pupils were soft, almost misty at the edges; there was no fight, no daring look, no insistence that seemed to say, Try and catch me. Just gentle, welcoming eyes.

Boss Man handed you your bottle of water, exchanging it for a wad of cash you were all aware was far too much, and you walked out without another word.

It all happened so quick that Sicheng didn’t even notice his legs moving of their own accord, plump, beaky lips forgetting to form a goodbye or a thank you to his friend, didn’t even notice how one second he was inside the Midnight Express, grabbing his food, and the next he was outside, staring at you while you stared right back.

When I saw her, the woman I’d been chasing for five months, my words failed me.

He stood there for far too long, and you allowed him to stare at you for as long as his brain didn’t catch up with what he was seeing, merely staring back.

Then, pathetically, after you’d turned round and starting walking up the street, Sicheng following desperately behind,

“Do you like tiramisu?”

Once, in Cantonese. When you gave no answer, he tried again in Mandarin. Then, in English.

“Not particularly,” you admitted, turning to look at him again. “But I don’t hate it.”

Sicheng gulped. “I like tiramisu.”

You stopped, tilting your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asked. “I… I have food.”

You smiled softly. “Why would I do that, or care that you have food?”

“You look tired,” he supplied. “As if you haven’t had a proper meal in a while.” No matter that he was currently holding his own dinner—not homemade, not proper. But he wanted to make you something proper. “Or proper sleep.”

“I haven’t,” you admitted. “But why do you care?”

“Let me help you with that.”

Sicheng’s soft, velvety voice broke the silence that had been perpetuated on the way back to his flat. His hands skirted over your shoulders, giving your coat an experimental tug to see if you’d drop them, let your heavy coat fall from your body so that he could hang it up somewhere, over a chair or something. You did, and Sicheng didn’t trust the way his heartbeat sped up at the sight of your bare back beneath the straps of your camisole. He wondered, then, what you were doing wondering around the city in summer pyjamas, full opera makeup, a coat that reached your shins, and heels. 

His flat was uncharacteristically warm, he noticed, feeling a distinct lack of goose flesh on his arms when he slipped off his own jacket. He then noticed you looking around the place, a curious look in your eyes, on your made up face, and he smiled nervously.

“It’s not much,” he supplied to the woman he’d considered his mortal enemy mere days before, “but it’s home.”

“I like it,” you commented. “It’s homey. Much better than the Blue Moon Mansion.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You live in a hotel?”

“Only temporarily,” you explained, stepping further into the small, dark flat of his, switching on one of his smaller, warmer lights, as opposed to the harsher main lights.

From somewhere in Sicheng’s living room, Peanut gave an questioning meow. You stopped in your tracks when the blue-eyed, black and beige ball of fur approached you, though you did crouch down to scoop it up into your arms.

Sicheng sucked in a sharp breath, surging forward to pull the aggressive feline off you, only to stop dead in his tracks when he heard Peanut purr for the first time in months.

“He’s not growling at you,” the man observed.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you asked, joking.

“It’s surprising, is what it is.” Sicheng laid a hesitant hand on Peanut’s head, and was pleasantly surprised when his pet melted into the touch. He could almost feel the warmth of your chest beneath his hand, the proximity of your bodies not lost on him. “He hasn’t allowed me to touch him in months.”

You took a hesitant seat on Sicheng’s couch, fingers still deftly working behind Peanut’s ears.

It was odd to see you like this, his greatest, most powerful adversary in her pyjamas, on his couch with his cat curled up in your chest, but still dressed in your greatest weapons—your face, and the shoes you used to step on anyone who disagreed with you.

“I have, um… tea,” he offered. “And a pullout bed. Uh, makeup wipes, too, for that.” He gestured to his own face, and you got the hint that he was talking about your makeup. “Or sponges, and hot water, if that would work better. You don’t look very comfortable in that. Your skin looks dry.”

You merely hummed, standing up without a second thought. Peanut was deposited back into Sicheng’s arms, and he tensed up, waiting for the infamous, throaty yowl, but it never came. He showed you to his bathroom, and filled his washbasin with warm water, wetted a sponge for you.

“Actually…” he muttered, placing his cat down. “May I?”

Slowly, and with all the gentleness he could muster, Sicheng removed your makeup. You let him, not once flinching as he gently scrubbed the paint off, as he attempted to wipe the lipstick from your lips. He patted your face off with a warm, sweetly-scented towel afterward, and the pads of his own thumbs followed, pressing gently into your soft skin. He glanced only into your eyes, never allowing his gaze to stray anywhere else.

You looked so much younger without the mask. The apples of your cheeks looked soft, squishy to the touch, the curve of your lips could entice anyone to lean forward just to feel them against their own, your eyes soothed when the harsh black paint was removed from your waterline. You looked, to Sicheng’s utter delight and dismay, like the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen.

He carried you to his couch once he’d caught on that your legs were tired from walking, gently laying you down on the worn furniture, disappearing into his kitchen for a moment before returning with a cup of tea and his Midnight Express purchase split in two.

He handed you half of the sandwich, placed fancily on his best bright blue plastic plate, already halfway through a bite of his own.

“What about your dinner?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I’m eating, aren’t I?”

An unfamiliar silence befell the pair of you as you ate, not even exchanging glances between bites of food and sips of your respective drinks. 

Sicheng sank further into his seat, though showed no signs of continuing conversation with you. You, whether out of fear or indignation, similarly made no effort to speak.

I’m not sure when I fell in love with her.

“Why do you do it?” Sicheng asked.

I think it was somewhere between midnight and two in the morning.

You scowled. “Do what?”

Somewhere between her telling me why she did what she did, and me explaining why I did what I did.

“…What you do,” Sicheng said, gesturing loosely to you. “Protest, fight for change. Why? What for?”

You shifted in your seat, crossing your legs one over the other like a businesswoman. The swell of your thighs were almost as distracting as the curve of your hips. “Because people forget of those who are different from the rest,” you said. “They’re ignored, or shunned, not given a place in society. They can only find community on the outskirts of the city, can only see themselves in one in a million people. Soft women, men, children, anyone in-between or otherwise, all get pushed into the boxes that the hard, heartless men in power built. No one stands up against it, calls for more freedom, for more creativity. The big companies and corporations want slaves, not bright minds that can think for themselves.

“There’s a perceived mould for a ‘perfect person’,” you continued, shrugging, “and I didn’t fit it. When I came to study in Hong Kong, there was barely any place for me to do what I came to do—write, paint, be creative, and not in the mainstream way. All my friends slaved away their youth, sitting in desks that broke their backs and learning from books that broke their hearts. I… I do what I do because I want other children to have what I didn’t have when I came here.”

You turned to him then, a question on your tongue. “Why do you do what you do?”

Sicheng paused.

Took a long moment to consider his next words. 

“I used to think I was changing people’s lives for the better,” he started. “Keeping the city safe, bringing justice to the vagabonds, the people who didn’t contribute to society the way I did. But now it just seems as if I’ve spent all my time as a detective chasing the wrong people, bringing the wrong outcasts to justice,” he chuckled. “I’ve never had a school library built in honour of my work, like you had. The average citizen doesn’t look at me with respect—not the same respect they’d look at you with.”

You tilted your head. Not saying anything, not agreeing, not disagreeing; not nodding, not shaking your head, not showing any signs that you hear him at all, apart from the sympathetic downward tilt of your brows.

“I’m just as insignificant as the people you say you fight for,” he continued, “except I’ve got nothing more to offer than myself, and my time.”

“Those are already two very important things,” you said softly.

Your hand felt warm when it landed on his thigh, doing nothing more than rubbing comforting circles with your thumb as his breath hitched.

“I’m thinking of quitting the force.”

You nodded. “Then what?”

“…”

“I’ve always wanted to be a traditional dancer.”

There was a slight twinkle in your eye when you responded, though it was awfully sincere. “You’ve got the right legs for it.”

Sicheng found himself smiling at your words, plump lips twisting into a shy grin.

May 1st came with a beep of my analogue clock, while her and I were finishing off the last of that tiramisu I bought, right before it expired.

“You know,” you admitted, scooping another spoonful of the treat into your mouth, “tiramisu isn’t so bad.”

Sicheng turned to you. “It’s not?”

You shook your head. “With you, it’s not.”

You fell asleep on his couch, after he’d pulled it out to become a double bed that could fit both of your tired bodies. He’d offered up his bed, but you had refused. You didn’t know him well enough, you said.

Your cheek rested against a pillow he’d brought from his bedroom, lips open in a gentle ‘o’ as you breathed deeply, seeming peaceful for the first time since he met you five months ago. 

She was so beautiful to me in that moment.

Your legs tangled in his throw blanket, one hand on your chest, the other spread out under your pillow.

Sicheng gently removed your shoes, fingers carefully grazing over the gentle skin of your heels, of your ankle, before he laid them down side by side on his carpeted floor and took a seat on the edge of your bed.

My mom always told me that if a woman had her shoes on for too long, her feet would get swollen.

His hand swept across your face, fingertips brushing the slightest bits of you; the swell of your bottom lip, the curve of your brow, the intersection where your forehead met your hairline, the unpierced lobes of your ears.

Such a pretty woman deserves to sleep comfortably.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he murmured, quiet enough not to be heard. He knew it sounded insane, falling in love with someone whose soul you’d only caught a glimpse of that night. He sounded, and was, desperate, ridiculous, but he didn’t care, because he was sure you were in love with him, too. Just as desperately, ridiculously, stupidly, as he was with you.

Your reply came as a surprise, whispered against the pad of his thumb as it caressed your lips. “I don’t think it’s possible to fall in love with someone so quickly,” you’d said. “But I’ve believed crazier things.”

And that was good enough for Sicheng.

He’d never been at someone else’s mercy before, not like this. He’d always kept to himself. Stayed as silent, introverted, and unmoved as he could. Never asked a girl on a date first, never said I love you before someone else did. This… this was something new, and perhaps not the kind he hated. But certainly not the kind he got used to easily.

“I want you,” he said, admitted in earnest. “It doesn’t even have to be physical.”

“It’s not going to be physical,” you said, though you pressed a reverent kiss to the palm of his hand.

“That’s okay,” he whispered desperately. “I just want you. I want to get to know you. Your beautiful soul. If it takes a hundred years and I don’t get a taste of you once, that’s okay. As long as you let me stay by your side.”

You smiled, your eyes still closed, still half asleep. “You’ll get a taste of me someday. Just not tonight.”

Someday. That sounded good; as if you were considering it, keeping him close to you, whether as a friend or a lover. He didn’t mind someday. He could wait for someday.

The early morning air felt crisp against Sicheng’s skin as he raced along the dirt track, legs pushing him continuously forward across the circle painted into the ground, arms at his sides as he ran for all he was worth.

When I want to cry, I go for a run.

His legs had started to ache at this point; he’d been running for two hours already, trying his best to keep his tears at bay. There were moments when it didn’t work, when he could feel hot tears spilling down his cheeks and couldn’t do anything to stop them.

For the first time in a long time, he was okay with that.

My favourite song is That’s Life by Frank Sinatra. Not because I like the sound of it, or even because I like Frank Sinatra.

He arrived back at his flat just as the sun went up, and found you sitting on your bed, scratching the back of Peanut’s ears as he purred contentedly in your lap, soaking up the first rays of morning sun. You were still soft with sleep, a mark from your pillow pressed lightly into the side of your face you slept on.

Sicheng glanced at the scene with admiration, with ardent love ever-present in his eyes. He took only a few steps before you heard him, tuned in to the familiar scuff of his worn-in sneakers, the same sneakers that used to follow you through the city as you ran from a version of the man you discovered wasn’t real.

“You went out,” you noted.

Sicheng smiled, nodding. “I just went for a run.”

“Why?” came your curious enquiry.

He shrugged. “Because I felt like crying.”

It’s mostly because I feel as if anyone could relate to the lyrics.

You kissed him for the first time that morning, six hours after May 1st had started. Your lips felt soft pressed against his, your tongue tasting sweet mingling with his own. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, and he smiled, not because he felt as if he was in control, as if he had the upper hand, but because he was comfortable knowing that you did, that you were.

For the first time in his life, he allowed someone equal parts familiar and alien take up such personal space against his lips, in his flat, in his heart.

For the first time in your life, you found meaning beneath the mask, felt as if you had purpose outside of a fight. You had affection. Love, as he’d called it.

“Will you love me even when I’m different?” you asked. Or perhaps it was Sicheng who’d asked it; neither of you could remember.

There was a smile, full of light and love, a deep kiss. “I love you because you’re different,” Sicheng said. Or perhaps it was you who’d said it; neither of you could remember.

Puppet, pauper, pirate, poet, pawn, king.

perm taglist @hyuneskkami @jwiloves @bluedbliss @ayukas @rubiiisyeon @vantxx95

1；THE FIRST MEETING

YOU WOULDN’T DESCRIBE YOURSELF as a girl who enjoyed parties. In fact, you often said there were several other things you’d rather spend your time on, several other things that didn’t involve dozens upon dozens of sweaty bodies and pumping music, and yet, you’d caved in the moment one of your friends begged you to accompany her to one of your university’s ‘gatherings’, a very loose term for a party in the students’ district of Hongdae.

For the most part, you kept to yourself, not speaking to anyone besides Eri who, funnily enough, was just as shy around social gatherings as you were. The drink in your hands had already grown lukewarm, and you couldn’t be bothered to finish it—some fruity alcohol that you didn’t actually want, but the bartender had been such a good saleswoman that the moment you bought it as if against your will.

Eventually your pink-haired friend plucked up the courage to go talk to a guy she’d been eyeing ever since you’d arrived—Huang Renjun, a visual arts major in your year, and, you suspected, the sole reason you came in the first place.

“I think you should do it,” you encouraged, smiling kindly. 

Eri looked uncertainly from you to the table where Renjun was sitting, surrounded by his friends. You didn’t know them well enough, didn’t know their names, didn’t care enough to learn them, though you knew they were all about your age. She turned back to you, dark brows creased in concern. 

“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly, as if she was waiting for you to say, ‘No,’ so that she wouldn’t have to follow through with the promise she’d made to her and yourself at the beginning of the night—that she’d strike up a conversation with Renjun, even if it went horribly wrong. 

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine on my own, Eri,” you said. You raised your hands in two uplifting little fists, and said, “Fighting!”

She sighed softly, nodding resolutely. Then, she was off, standing up and walking over to Renjun’s table on the other side of the club. You observed quietly as she caught his attention, her smile reciprocated somewhat begrudgingly, and before you could read the words, “Can I buy you a drink?” leaving the man’s lips, a small voice chirped,

“You look awfully pretty tonight.”

Eyes flitting up in the direction of the unfamiliar voice, they settled on a man who’d made his way over to your table, arms crossed over the back of your booth. Big brown eyes stared down at you in adoration, tousled honey locks shone lilac under the purple neon lights.

You smiled shyly, nodding in thanks.

He smiled back, eyes glimmering innocently. He picked himself up from his perch resting on the back of the booth, pointing to the seat opposite you that Eri had left unoccupied. “Is it alright if I sit?” he asked, in a voice that sounded like honey warmed in the summer sun.

You nodded, gesturing to the seat. “Of course. Have a seat.” 

He gave you a hushed thanks, sliding into the booth with natural ease, grace, almost. “So, um, I’m really embarrassed to be saying this, but it appears that I’ve lost the slip of paper you gave me earlier, the one with your number on it.” He smiled in mock apology, using his hands to articulate, “And I’ve forgotten your name as well. I know, how dare I, but… I just decided you were too beautiful to forget and not ask again.”

You almost wanted to laugh at his apology, more in astonishment than anything. You weren’t sure where this comfort came from, this comfort that you didn’t usually feel when a pretty stranger approached you, but that you felt around the nameless man in front of you. Perhaps it was his eyes, innocence swimming in dark brown irises, or the smile on his face, that made it easy to trust him. Whatever it was, you didn’t mind the man sitting across from you, or the way his glance seemed to be fixated on you and yours on his.

“Oh,” you said, still a bit breathless in the face of his adorable self-assurance, putting a hand in front of your mouth to hide the bashful smile that tugged at your lips. “That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

He nodded resolutely, shutting his eyes in regret, bringing his hands together in a gesture that desperately asked for your forgiveness. You certainly admired his commitment to the role he’d chosen for himself. 

“Well, I suppose I couldn’t deny you, given your honesty,” you said. You gave him your name then, and he smiled.

“Donghyuck,” he replied.

2；KISSES UNDER FLUORESCENT LIGHTS

“Are you sure that I couldn’t guess your major?” Donghyuck asked, pouting at your continuous dismissal of the guessing game he was trying to set up.

The café around you was nearly deserted, only a few people milling about, having a sobering coffee after a long night out. The lights were warm and low on Donghyuck’s golden skin, casting a heavenly glow over him; your seats were plush, of the softest crimson cushion sitting across from one another, your drinks hot, steaming in the chilly night air as you waited for them to cool down.

You chuckled, dragging your spoon through your warm drink as you glanced at the man in front of you, shaking your head. “I don’t think you could, no. You’ve guessed five times already and all of them were wrong.”

You’d guessed his correctly, though, on your first try—Music, with a focus in Classical Composition. You could tell by his long, lean fingers, and his habit of constantly drumming them along any surface they came to rest on.

He huffed, leaning forward as he crossed his arms over the table again. “I bet I could guess it,” he said. The innocent-eyed boy from the party had a competitive streak, especially when he was losing.

You shrugged, simpering. “Then try again.”

“Mm.” Donghyuck frowned contemplatively. “You’re very balanced, calm—STEM.”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“You’re gorgeous, smart—Modelling.”

“Big no.”

“You’ve a way with words—Literature.”

“Mmm… Good one, but no.”

Donghyuck wagged a finger at you. His tone was playful when he spoke, betraying a fondness for you that he didn’t mind to show. “You’re very patient—Education, perhaps, with a focus in Early Childhood Education.”

What he really supposed was Photography, though, when he’d seen your lockscreen, an image of Haeundae beach in Busan, perfectly capturing the way the setting sun reflected on the water, the way the bridge above glinted in the falling rays.

You tilted your head, though still shook it once your eyes settled on Donghyuck’s again. “Wrong again, but thank you for all of the compliments.”

He smiled softly, reaching across the polished table to grasp your hand, gently flitting over the tips of your fingers. “Even if I can’t figure out what you do at school every day, I’m fairly confident that I’ve figured out how I feel about you, and I did that without even getting one answer wrong.”

You laced your fingers with his, smiling. “Oh?” you wondered aloud, emboldened by his show of affection. “And how do you feel about me?”

“I’m mad about you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your pinky. “Positively and passionately obsessed.”

“I’m a Photography major, by the way,” you blurted out, twirling one of the rings around his fingers.

Donghyuck’s eyes softened. “Thought so. And do you know how you feel about me, the way I know about you?”

You nodded. You realised you liked Donghyuck when he spent half an hour guessing what your major was, when he made it obvious that he cared about the big things even so early on. “Guessed it on my first try,” you joked sincerely. “I’m mad about you, too. Absolutely and ardently infatuated.”

“Ooh.” He narrowed his eyes. “That was a cute thing you did just now, repeating what I said, just in a slightly different way. Very poetic.”

You shrugged humbly. “I try.”

“And you succeed,” Donghyuck whispered.

Later that same night, the man you’d met at a party insisted on walking you home, muttering something about the student district not being safe after certain hours. He also insisted on holding your hand all the way to your flat, claiming it was simply a way not to lose you in the crowds you passed on the side of the road.

His eyes on you were soft, attentive as he showed you to your door, leaning his head against the wall as he watched you punch in your keypad number. You’d already said goodnight, goodbye, thank you, and could only now glance at him with a grateful smile, twisting your door handle.

The door clicked open, and he found himself saying, “Wait.”

You turned, humming in question.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your door was hanging open, halfway caught inside your flat, and you found yourself saying, “Of course.”

His lips on yours felt like a sigh of relief upon release from a terrible tension. Your entire body seemed to relax, melt into his hold as he pressed his hands eagerly against your arching back. He turned his head to deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip. He tasted of café food and iced coffee, his lips felt like the softest, dewiest lips you’d ever kissed.

You lipgloss turned sticky and runny with the heat of his lips, and when Donghyuck turned away, he had a light pink sheen of the product smearing his top lip. He smiled breathlessly, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“You, uh… you kiss good,” he confessed.

You smiled. “Would you, um… would you like to come in for coffee?”

Donghyuck shook his head. “I can’t trust myself with caffeine after nine. Though, uh, that doesn’t mean I’m rejecting your offer to come in.”

3；JUST LIKE HEAVEN

The sounds of children running past you nearly made you want to look up, nearly made you want to look away from Donghyuck just to see what they were up to, what the cause was for their bubbly laughter. A pleasant breeze drifted through the air, gently rousing napping pets awake, drifting aimlessly over your boyfriend’s lips, though his soft hair.

“It might be odd of me to say this, but you kind of look like a bear.”

Donghyuck lifted his head from your lap, his chin resting in your skirt, his arms winding around your waist. He gently took one of your arms, pressing a kiss to your pulse, soft lips brushing over your lifeline. “Mm?” he hummed absently. “It’s the hair, probably.” He loosely indicated his brown hair, warm summer wind blowing through the wavy tousles.

You smiled. Even though you hadn’t been together for long—three weeks, two days, seven hours, fifteen minutes and counting, not that you were keeping track—Donghyuck’s ability to remain undeterred by your odd little observations never failed to warm your heart.

He reached up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving you deftly down to look at him. “You kind of look like a cat, yourself.”

You hummed, fingers absently carding through his hair. “It’s the eyes, probably,” you said, echoing his earlier words.

He smiled then, calm and content. A look passed between the two of you, wordless but intense, and he leaned up slightly, pressing his lips to yours. It would’ve been an odd position to be in for anyone else; kissing nearly upside down, his chin against your nose and vice versa, your lips meeting all the same. They felt soft against yours, and you exhaled softly at the feeling of his hand seeking a purchase on your face.

“You’re beautiful from this angle,” Donghyuck said breathlessly, eyes searching madly for yours as he pulled away, “you know that? It’s like I’m looking up at an angel.”

This was something he did often, Donghyuck. You’d be sitting together watching a movie, and he’d tell you that you look like a painting, from the side. He’d be laying in your lap, and he’d tell you that you look like an angel, from above. All you could do was smile abashedly, stroking his cheek, and say—

“So do you,” you murmured. “It’s as if I’m in the sky, looking down at one of the seven wonders of the world.”

Donghyuck just chuckled. A light, airy sound, like the cold wind on the beach; quick, soft, refreshing. “You’re being dramatic, now,” he said. “I’m at least the eighth wonder of the world.”

“Mm.” You stroked his cheeks absently, thinking. From this angle, he seemed more like the cat than you did, closing his eyes in bliss at your featherlight touch. “I’m kind of hungry,” you confessed, pouting.

Donghyuck’s eyes shot open. “I had just the same thought just now. It’s pretty cool how our stomachs are already connected, right?”

You chuckled. Maybe it wasn’t only your observations that turned out to be weird. “I guess so. What are you in the mood for? I could make us lunch at home, or we could go out.”

Your boyfriend hummed. “I want to treat you to an afternoon out, but your food is seriously good.” He sighed with mock chagrin, shaking his head in your lap though a smile graced his sunkissed features. “You’ve got me torn, woman! How dare you suggest two perfect options for spending the afternoon?”

“I guess our minds are as connected as our stomachs,” you shrugged.

You ended up going out that day, to a small, intimate restaurant near Donghyuck’s flat, exchanging idle chatter over shared bites of food, comfortably sitting under the low lights. He did, however, when you went back to his place to watch a film, request that you made him something considering he was still hungry. In that way, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, twice.

He pulled you closer to him on the couch, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he pressed his lips to yours. His kisses tasted of the spicy ramyeon you’d made him earlier, your skin stinging softly wherever his lips trailed.

“Thank you for today,” he murmured almost absently, infinitely more focused on trailing kisses where he could and tangling his hands in your hair, trying to get you as close to him as possible. “Thank you for every day you spend with me, really. Thank you for granting me luxuries like this.”

You snickered, feeling his nose bump against the crook of your neck as he pressed kisses there. “What, for letting you take me out to lunch and making you ramyeon afterward?” you teased, seamlessly threading your fingers through his thick hair. Donghyuck had made it easy since you started dating for you to be so casual in the midst of such an intimate moment; he loved you so naturally that it felt like typical behaviour, making out while simultaneously having a conversation.

“You make it seem like it’s not that special,” he said, momentarily pausing his actions, eyes flitting to your jaw where he lay his head in the crook of your neck. “But it’s just like heaven to me.”

4；BICKERING

Donghyuck was a workaholic.

Even early on in your relationship, you and your boyfriend knew each other well, and one thing you knew about Donghyuck was that he always gave his all in every single thing he did. That included his work.

After university, he became a vocal coach for preschool-aged kids, teaching at a music centre nearby, and usually only needed to work after school hours, when most of his students would come by. Sometimes he took morning lessons for an additional fee, but over all, his hours weren’t strenuous in any way. That didn’t mean, though, that he wasn’t always giving himself extra work.

He’d stay up late into the night working on sheet music for his students to take home the next day, would compose music throughout the morning and most of the afternoon, and would sometimes run down to the local school to give a few extra piano lessons for an additional fee. All of these things, these tasks, these missions, were accomplished without him stopping to take a breath, without him taking a moment to feed or hydrate himself, without him even once stopping to glance at you.

You had to admit, you sometimes fell prey to the ‘grind’ mindset embedded in modern society, and forgot to properly take care of yourself when working. But, just like how Donghyuck had started to sense your fatigue before you could think to feel it, you could feel his as if it was your own.

“You’re tired,” was the first thing you told him when he came home from work that evening.

Anyone would’ve been able to see it; his slumped shoulders beneath his white button-up, his shaking eyes, his messy hair mussed up by the several times he’d run his hands through it. Your boyfriend simply gave you a look, flashed you that pathetic look that he always gave you at the end of a difficult day, and fell into your arms.

You held him late into the night, in the hours he usually would’ve stayed awake to write sheet music for his students, running your hands through his hair, tangling your legs with his. A hot water bottle sat on his stomach, cradled listlessly in his tired arms, warming his stomach from under the tattered pyjama shirt he wore, while one of your hands trailed softly under the worn material, drawing erratic patterns on his back, fingertips skirting over his sunkissed skin.

At one point, he sighed, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. Rather, to stare at your chin, considering the fact that your head, your eyes, were both trained elsewhere; your hand trailing down a valley of skin, mesmerised by the way the two connected.

“You’re not going to scold me?” he asked, and you felt him reach out to take your free hand, the one that was tangled in his hair. He liked his current position, cheek pressed against your warm chest, nose nestled in the crook of your neck, but the action was done almost out of pure habit—him grabbing your hand, heated fingertips curling around your wrist. “Not even one little, ‘Baby, you’re overworking yourself!’ this time?” he continued softly.

It was certainly out of character for you. One of the things that Donghyuck loved about your relationship was how serious you two were about each other’s wellbeing; you scolded and nagged each other to take more breaks, chided one another that what you were currently doing just wasn’t enough and that, ‘No, stop. Let me do that for you, because you don’t know how to do it yourself,’ should be commonplace in every relationship.

You hummed in place of an answer, your eyes flicking down to the crowd of his head where it rested under your chin. Your palm spread flat on his shoulder blades, your lips subconsciously found their way to his forehead as they always did. 

“I didn’t think that’s what you’d need this time,” you confessed. “You’ve had plenty on your mind and on your plate these days, things that you don’t usually do. You’re more fatigued than usual. Nagging is for when you’re up for bickering.” This, while tilting his chin up, making his eyes meet yours. “You’re not up for bickering tonight.”

Donghyuck’s eyes softened as they met yours, his plump lips twisting into a pout at your words. “You know me too well.” His voice was low when he spoke; hoarse. “It scares me a bit, if I’m being honest.”

Your face betrayed no possible underlying emotion. “How so?”

Donghyuck shrugged. “No one knows me as well as you do, and that’s kind of a scary thought.”

“And you know me better than anyone,” you said, tilting your head. “I get scared sometimes, too.”

Your boyfriend pouted thoughtfully. “How so?”

You thought for a moment.

“I think there’s something incredibly daunting in knowing someone so intimately as we know each other,” was what you settled on, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “We’re scared because that’s the only way to feel about it; it’s unfamiliar to me to know someone the way I know you, the way I know the inner workings of your mind, the way I know how you feel when you feel it, even if you don’t tell me. To remember so much, like your favourite food, or which temperature you prefer in the shower, or how you can’t see colour too well and how sad it makes you not to see the world as brightly as I do.”

You sighed softly, brow twisted in thought, in slight worry. Loving someone the way you loved Donghyuck was scary, sometimes, now that you thought of it. “I’m not sure about you, but that’s how I feel about it.”

Your boyfriend stayed wilfully silent, plump lips caught in a small ‘o’ with shock, or surprise, or adoration—you didn’t know. He grabbed the hand that ran through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. He settled like that, then, not moving or loosening his hold on your wrist, not ceasing in his pecks to your warm skin. You chuckled softly, confused but delighted by the sudden action, and asked, “And now?”

“I just love you,” he murmured distractedly, lips pressed against your pulse. “I love you so much, you know that?”

You broke into a smile, continuing to rub his back gently, your nails lightly grazing over the bronze skin. “Donghyuck…” You shook your head. “I love you, t—”

Your boyfriend shushed you. “C’mere, let me kiss those pretty lips properly.”

5；“I CARE.”

You and Donghyuck knew that every relationship was not without its flaws. Couples could breeze through the honeymoon period thinking themselves incapable of disagreeing, of arguing, but would still wake up to a bleak reality once their infatuation with one another settled. You knew that this would happen sometime soon, considering the fact that you’d been dating for nearly six months; subconsciously you hoped that you’d be like those couples who have their period of obsession and frivolity for two whole years, but both you and Donghyuck had too much sense to indulge in such nonsense. 

Unfortunately for you two, but you were more grounded in comparison to other couples. More realistic.

What you hadn’t expected of your first fight, though, was that you’d be the one to start it.

Donghyuck had been swamped with work the entire month. You didn’t mind and, distracted due to your own workload, almost hadn’t noticed just how packed his schedule had been. Almost.

He started to neglect his health sometime between the second and third week of the month. Eating less turned into declining meals, and fitful sleep turned into none at all. You weren’t sure what was going on at work, hadn’t assumed it would turn out to be anything serious due to the nature of his job. 

Then he started to come home late, dark circles gathered under his eyes from insomnia, malnutrition. His hands would shake when he enunciated his points as usual, and his gaze would linger on your face in a manner more worrying than endearing. You shared your worries, asked him how he felt, told him he needed to rest, but he brushed you off with a smile each time.

He fainted on a Wednesday, in the early hours of the morning. He’d woken up—rather, gotten out of bed; he wasn’t sleeping in the first place—and shuffled to the kitchen, where you found him mere seconds after you’d heard a mighty crash that roused you from a peaceless sleep. You’d yelled, cried, shaking hands cradling his face and attempting to wake him up, until you did the smart thing and took him to the hospital.

That brought you to today, twenty-four hours later, sitting next to his hospital bed as his nurse gave him a rundown of what his week would look like if his health didn’t show signs of improvement.

“Since you’ve been suffering from insomnia, your hunger signals must’ve been delayed as well, which explains the lack of eating,” said the nurse, tilting his head as he checked over Donghyuck’s file. 

Your boyfriend nodded silently, and from the corner of your eye, you could see his fingers twitching as they searched for yours. You didn’t grant him that luxury; not yet.

“Your blood sugar levels have dropped exponentially, however we won’t put you on any medication just yet. Taking antidepressants for things like work stress is a risky thing, so for now we’re just going to make sure you eat enough and see if that improves anything.”

Donghyuck’s nurse turned to you. “You say he’s been experiencing a fair amount of stress at work?”

You shrugged. “I think so.” An incredulous chuckle made its way past your lips when the nurse gave you an expectant look, and you added, “My boyfriend hasn’t properly spoken to me in a few weeks, sir. You’ll have to ask him yourself.” A low blow, but a true one. In between reassuring you that he ate and that he simply wasn’t hungry, that he napped during the day, that he was okay, Donghyuck had essentially avoided talking to you for nearly a month.

Donghyuck sent you a chagrined glare, but smiled at the nurse, nodding in embarrassment.

The nurse glanced between you and your boyfriend with a look that said being in the middle of this made him just a tad uncomfortable, but continued to question Donghyuck and received several monosyllabic answers in return, whilst you caught his eye a few times, wilfully turning the other way the moment your gazes locked.

Based on the fact that the stress wasn’t too severe, according to his nurse, Donghyuck was discharged later in the day with a bit of melatonin prescribed to him, only enough to last him a few days. He changed into the pair of clothes you’d brought for him earlier in the day, a gesture which he softly thanked you for.

The two of you walked out of the hospital without exchanging a word, and when Donghyuck expectantly opened his palm for his car keys, you simply gave him a deadpan look, already climbing into the driver’s seat. Your shared flat wasn’t too far from the hospital—one of the reasons you moved there in the first place—but the ride back was certainly tense.

“You can talk to me now.”

This, with an annoyed look sent in your direction. You didn’t fail to notice the desperation swimming in his eyes, didn’t fail to notice how his fingers were twitching again. Your eyes momentarily flitted over his wrist, where a cartoon cat was embedded into his skin; you glanced at your own tattoo mirroring the placement of his. A brown bear.

“I guess I can.” Your voice was tight, involuntarily so. “The question is, do I want to?”

Donghyuck sighed. “Don’t do this to me. Not now. Don’t shut me out.”

You scoffed softly. “I’m not shutting you out. I can’t afford to do that. Not now, anyhow,” you added. Another low blow.

Your boyfriend could only mimic your scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t say anything for a moment, directing his glance to the passing scenery, looking on longingly at the cars and passersby as you made your way past several green lights. The dark and dewy night seemed to envelope the city completely, blanketing the buildings and cars with the navy-blue sky. 

Few people were about, most of them around your age, hopping from bar to bar or simply sharing a drink while sitting on the sidewalk. None of them coming home from the ER, none of them previously so stressed their girlfriend had to haul ass to the nearest hospital and get them on an IV drip and sleeping pills.

You decided to not try and break the silence Donghyuck left you in. If he didn’t want to speak, you wouldn’t urge him to.

And, truthfully, you couldn’t trust yourself to speak another few strong words without bursting into tears.

Donghyuck could feel something was wrong with you, though whether that was because you were afraid for him or incredibly upset with him, he didn’t know. He knew you held enough depth to feel all that and then some, and he feared for a moment that that would mean double the scolding from you. But you said nothing. You stayed silent, grip tightening on the steering wheel of his car, hands shaking uncertainly. Donghyuck yearned to reach out to you, to take your hands and warm them with his kisses, longed to press a peck to your cheek, your neck.

But you were mad at him, and if there was one thing he knew how to do better than anything, it was when to back off.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

At the inevitable question, Donghyuck sighed, slumping in his seat. This wasn’t exactly where he wanted to have this conversation, in the middle of traffic before nine in the evening.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he confessed. “You were the most stressed out of the two of us, and I didn’t want to dump anything new on you just because I was struggling at work.”

You gave him a look of pity, of rage, of love. “You know how you tell me not to shut you out?”

A sigh. “It’s not the same.”

“In what way is it not the same?” you asked, genuine. “You tell me I should be open with you, I should tell you the truth when something’s the matter. You’re not absolved from that same fate, baby.”

Donghyuck wanted to grin in relief at hearing the familiar nickname, but ultimately kept his façade for the next few moments. “Work’s different. It’s my own shit.”

“And that shit becomes my shit when you collapse after three weeks of not sleeping or eating enough,” you added, and your boyfriend had to admit that you were right.

A beat of silence passed, before Donghyuck said, “I don’t want to fight.”

Your brows creased, formed a worried frown. Did he mean he didn’t want to fight now? Or not ever?

“Couples fight, Donghyuck,” you reasoned. “Every relationship has its faults.”

“I know that. I just…” His shoulders slumped, he buried his face in his hands. “I wish we were different. I don’t like fighting with you. I don’t like it when we yell, when we’re not at peace. Life isn’t all peaceful, but I thought at least I could be your peace. And clearly—” he gestured vaguely to himself, his bandaged wrist, his sleeping pills, him— “I’m not.”

His face was awash with crimson as you approached a red light, and you didn’t turn to him when you said,

“There’s no such thing as constant peace. People aren’t meant to bring peace to their partner’s lives. It— That sounds really bad, me saying it, but I don’t mean it badly. People are meant to be uncomfortable, or excited, or angry. Couples are meant to fight, to disagree, to yell. But,” your hand inched closer to his, and Donghyuck nearly melted into the touch when your fingers laced with his, “the point is that people get to move on from it. You’re scared we won’t, aren’t you?”

“I am. I’m really scared.”

“So am I. But…”

You glanced at your boyfriend.

“‘Relationships are scary.’ You told me that when we first started dating,” you said. “‘They’re scary. You fight, you cry, your whole world comes crashing down, but the whole point is that you move past it’.”

Donghyuck smiled softly at the familiar words, his own words making their way back to him when he needed them most. “‘Arguments are resolved, bruises are kissed better, and nights are spent in forgiveness’,” he repeated.

“I’ll kiss all your bruises better,” you said, and Donghyuck’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Always. But— but that means you need to start telling me things. That’s why I’m so adamant not to let you bruise yourself in the first place, because you never tell me when you are.”

A look passed between you, eyes blown wide with emotion. Donghyuck thought you looked beautiful like this, bathed in ruby, looking at him with a mixture of sadness and adoration. He could only imagine that he looked the same in your eyes, desperate to make amends, pathetic in the face of your heartbroken confrontation.

The light turned green. You took off again, eyes ripped from your boyfriend’s, watery with unshed tears. You were close to home now, your front gate only a few metres away.

“There’ve been people in my life who didn’t like my bruises,” Donghyuck confessed breathlessly. “People who didn’t want to hear what bothered me, who didn’t want to take care of me the way they expected to be cared for. It’s… it’s difficult, trying to adjust to someone who wants to see my bruises, who wants to heal what’s hurt. I don’t tell you because I’m afraid…” He trailed off, slowly turning to you, eyes dewy with tears waiting to fall. 

I’m afraid you find me too bruised to see the sunkissed, eager, lovelorn skin beneath. I’m afraid you see the scars underneath the temporary bruises and shy away. I’m afraid I’m too much work for you to love back into one piece.

“…I’m afraid that you won’t like the scarring beneath the bruises.”

You kissed him then, after you’d pulled into the parking lot of your apartment building, after you’d leaned forward to capture his lips in yours. He made a soft noise of approval, of desperation, of love so ardent only he could’ve been the one feeling it, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head, to deepen the desperate kiss you shared.

“I like your scars,” you’d whispered against his lips. “I want to heal your bruises. I care enough about you to do the work you cared enough to do for me.”

Donghyuck had to keep it in himself not to moan, eagerly wrapping his arms around your shoulder despite the awkward position. “That wasn’t work for me. Healing your bruises comes with loving you.”

That, at least, was a sentiment you and Donghyuck shared that day. No matter how many petty fights you’d find yourself in, no matter how many times you’d raise your voices or point fingers even when you didn’t want to, you understood that these bruises would be smoothed over with apologetic kisses soon after. These nonphysical wounds would be wrapped in the gauze of forgiveness and be washed with the water of love. Not infatuation, not obsession. Not anger, not hate. Not apathy, not indifference.

Love.

@ayukas @bluedbliss @hyuneskkami @jwiloves @rubiiisyeon

thank you @just-puddding for haunting me even on here.

i'm just a Mika Häkkinen fan and it's his nick name, I know technically it should be double n but I though this looks nicer so it stuck, also I suck at picking out user names so imagine my surprise when this wasn't taken.