CWTCH

(n.) a warm, affectionate hug, cuddle or snuggle that gives a feeling of a safe place or home

by valdec_

She closes her eyes and let her mind escape from all her responsibilities. The messy bed. The unwashed dishes. The tattered dress she worked so hard to make only to find out she wasn't cut out to sew. The book she vowed to read a couple years ago but ended up tossing on the ground with her dirty clothes. The unwound mixtape her first heartbreak gifted her after their first date. That week-old laundry she had piled up on the chair beside her bed.

She lets her body shut down and her mind wander. Time was of no essence when she is like this—burrowed under the familiar smell of his sweat on the sheets. She remembers days of lesser messes and no mess at all. Days of the sun, of cherry blossoms floating through the air, reminding her of longer days and warmer nights. Voices from the television series playing in the background. Closed window blinds offering a view of the blue waters, violet skies, and wet earth. And sometimes, when she can close her eyes a little more tightly, she could also remember the curtain of stars and the skeins of moonbeams kissing the vast expanse of the sleeping sea.

But those weren't all that she remembers.

There, in the midst of bad brain clusters, was the image of a boy—clear and crystal. A boy whose smile could pierce through her bones, whose eyes could melt her into a puddle of goo…

He was the boy she loved. A little bit cheeky. A little bit messy. A little bit awkward. But he was so beautiful she sometimes asks herself if she even deserve him at all.

Before him, she fancied herself as a free spirit—not bound by any place, any time, any person. She belonged everywhere, her footprints washed away by rampant waves visiting the shore. It was easier that way—no lingering feelings and unwanted distractions. Just the pure, innocent, white flag of freedom.

And then, there he was.

It all changed. What once was a set of footprints became two. What was once a lonely figure toasting her wineglass to the night sky was now a girl and a boy kissing underneath the moonlight. Late nights spent in strangers' closets were now nights of peaceful bliss. It was…

Perfect—being with him, that is.

***

They weren't strangers when they met. In fact, she knew him for a very long time. He was that charming boy who would sit at the very back corner of the classroom with a frown on his face, possibly judging everyone for passing notes and texting behind their teachers' backs.  He didn't know her—she was one of her class' average-looking wallflower girls at the time. Puberty had hit her a little too late but she was grateful it had hit her else no eyes would have been her just in time for their starry-night-themed high school gala.

The first time he took notice of her was a couple of hours after the gala's after-party, sitting glumly on her dormitory porch. She looked like a sight—hair unkempt and face with smeared mascara.  Not only had her date ditched her for someone who was more than willing to give up her v-card, but she had also managed to miss curfew and lock herself out of her building.

She didn't believe in fate then but it was as if he came at the right time and sat beside her. It wasn't one big romantic episode—he, like her, got locked out of the co-ed dorm. They didn't talk but he had wordlessly put his blazer on her shoulders then—he must have heard and saw her teeth chattering and her body shuddering as the dawn was approaching.

"I'm not going to eat you," he said in that baritone voice of his when she flinched but he had said nothing since that time…well, up until they had woken up on the stair steps hours after, bodies all snuggled up for the whole clan of students to see. He had mumbled a quick Excuse me as he fled that scene, leaving her in confused disarray in front of almost-jeering students.

Being seen like that was equivalent to a public walk of shame but ordinary-looking as she was, the spectacle was easily forgotten in less than half a day. She didn't forget and neither did he when they finally met again in one of her wilderness treks half a decade after. She had greeted him with a half-smile then—recognizing him at once but not even remotely wishing he recognized her as well. He miraculously did, though. Called her the blazer girl from ages ago. "It has been ages." He had uttered, his bigger hands enveloping hers. "I shouldn't have left you on the porch then." he added, "That was a jerk move."

She had replied by way of shaking her head, saying that happened a long time ago and that it didn't particularly do anything to ruin her virtue. He laughed it off and insisted that he make it up to her and who was she to say no when a beautiful man like him ask her out to dinner?

One thing had led to another after that dinner—friendly catch-ups became exclusive dates, monthly travels became stay-at-home dinners, and before they could stop anything, they had confessed what they felt for each other was more than just attraction. It was love—the kind that makes you unfurl your fingers to entwine with his. It is the kind where footprints on the sand and toothbrushes on the sink double to indicate what once was half was now whole.

Memories like these help her remember all the good in their relationship to combat that one bad.

***

"I knew that I'd find you here." A voice says from the doorway. She looks up only to see her mother with a sweet smile. "Come on, it's time," Her mother adds, softly sitting on the edge of her bed and giving her knee a gentle pat.

"I'd rather sleep and dream." She answers back, getting up groggily as her mother watches her with a look of concern.

"You don't want to keep him waiting, Dara." Her mother reminds her. She gets the black shawl from the pile of unfolded clothes to her right and handed it to her daughter. "It's time, dear. You can't avoid this any longer."

She wishes she could.

***

A couple weeks ago, she was out in the sun with Donghae, seemingly enjoying the trip-of-their-lives in Maldives. He had gone to her bedside that one night and had surprised her with plane tickets, telling her it was time to go there—while they were young and had the resources—and she had happily agreed, kissing him all over his face to show her gratitude.

But now, here she was, standing in front of the big podium in all-black and looking at all the people in the pews who were also looking back at her morosely and solemnly.  

She takes a deep breath before wishing herself good luck.

***

This was going to be a long eulogy.

***

"Isn't it ironic to be up here, all alone, wearing an all-black ensemble when all the invitations clearly said, 'You're cordially invited to Dara and Donghae's wedding'?" She asks. Their closest friends and family laugh, albeit hesitatingly. "It's okay to laugh, you know. Even I thought I would be wearing my wedding gown today. I never knew wh