Ravi felt himself slipping. Falling, whatever you wanted to call it. But it wasn't fair, either way. It just wasn't. He wasn't quite sure where it had started but he had managed to trace it back to the balloon ride. There was something in the way Taekwoon had held his hand, the sensation caused by their palms brushing against each other for the most fleeting of moments before the writer had pulled away. It had hurt a little when he had seen him wipe his hand on his jeans. Ravi didn't quite know why- it just did.

Or, maybe it was the way Taekwoon spoke. His words seemed to slip carefully from his mouth, each one carefully placed and thought out. Ravi was always happy to just sit there while he spoke about books he'd read, things he had wanted to write and never got round to. Taekwoon never spoke much, however, their conversations always seemed to consist of mostly staring and Taekwoon having Ravi read passages from one of his many novels on the shelves in the apartment. Ravi wasn't always as eager to talk about his music though, especially with somebody with as much knowledge as Taekwoon had accumalated since he left home. 

The writer was, on the other hand, eager to listen to his work, to hear the music he enjoyed. Soon, the rapper began to notice the records appearing round the apartment. Just like the books, they were everywhere: on the shelf, in the kitchen, in the shower; even in one of the pillowcases on the bed. Ravi really didn't know how that ended up there. He didn't question it though as Taekwoon probably didn't know either. 

Ravi enjoyed those days the most. Those long afternoons when it was raining but Taekwoon kept the window open because he insisted the sound helped stimulate his mind. Those afternoons they would start on the bed or sofa but somehow always end up sat on the floor, curled up with all the pillows and the duvet around their legs, with cooling mugs of tea. The tea never really tasted very good but they drank it nonetheless. Just because it was there and Taekwoon always tried. It just... never seemed to work out.

"What's your next wish?" Ravi asked one day as he slid off the bed, one foot splayed in front of him and the other bent up towards his chest. Taekwoon shifted so he was lying on his stomach, chin resting on the rapper's shoulder and arms folded under him. He enjoyed the comfort that he had discovered in Ravi's touch, in his presence. He supposed that is why he had given the man permission to simply come to the apartment anytime he wanted, which had ended up being most days. He couldn't help but feel he had found some sort of guardian angel in the rapper. It didn't seem plausible to him that he had arrived just in time to stop him from jumping, promisi