Balance. 

A word that could not even remotely describe the odd pair.

One was the extremity of being down to earth - down to earth, closed in, and with the innate ability of being able to blend in with the background as soon as someone else stepped into the same picture frame he was in.

The other was the epitome, the reason, that people all over the world were waking up in the early dregs of the breaking of dawn, rubbing their eyes and contemplating why the hollow spaces besides their beds felt so pronouncedly prominent. 

But it worked. The whiff of romance always floated around the two, and their tightly conjoined hands always found their way to each other. And yet there was still something off about the two- they completely threw off the ones who believed in the existence of the word 'equilibrium'. If a pair of puzzled eyes focused on the Dreamer, the Dreamer seemed to be walking and talking at nothing- smiling with pearly teeth, plush lips opening to reveal gleaming white, and eyes flashing with a mad glee that were actions all done with a fluid magnitude - pretty and alluring. If another pair of eyes fixated themselves on the man next to the Dreamer, the observer would notice that the man who looked plain at first had odd features that stuck out like a sore thumb; like how the corners of his eyes were stretched tight with pain, like how the quirk of his lips upturned in a twisted manner when he mustered up the courage to ramble off words - and like how his fingers slightly shook even when his chest rumbled with hearty laughter. And the last startling thing about the couple: how could the wallflower glance at the Dreamer - presumably, his lover, with such intensity? An intensity unimaginable for a man with such a frail smile. 

Like beautiful piano chords that were slightly off key, but still pretty and tingly - light and pleasant.

Like the soft voice of a late-night singer at a particularly small and cozy cafe coating the drowsy atmosphere with honey - the music soft and steady, yet the coffee tasting bitter and warm. 

Like a beautiful, abandoned, serene lake with healthy, green stalks of tall plants - eerie, broken boats tied loosely around rusted poles. 

There was an odd harmony - they were the pale blue sky, and the pitch black sky. The brilliant sun, and the twinkling moon. The sticky summer and the dry winter. And they complemented each other. 

Their gestures elicited the most varied of reactions; from thoughtful smiles, to furrowed eyebrows, to a hearty exhale, to a silent nod. It was like any other relationship, except it wasn't. 

But it worked.

On days where the wind whistled for dead leaves to rustle about, the Dreamer would perch himself onto a cold windowsill, and laugh gleefully as the brisk breeze blew grains of soil from their garden onto their pale carpets. A thin gale of air would wander into the house, and dust would settle onto the tops of clean shelves, dusted pianos, and polished countertops. The temperature in the house would drop steadily with every breath the Dreamer took. 

And then after the clouds rotated their positions, a reserved man would step into the dark room that was illuminated by the pale light from the gray sky, and gently offer a smile at the messy picture of his lover dangling his