It is perfect like this, this room dim, the only thing betraying the darkness being the faint moonlight from the uncovered window. You said you like it best like this. “Nobody will see my flaws,” you said. If only you could see how beautiful you are.

It is perfect like this, shut in this confinement, isolated from the judgment and the condemnation of the judging eyes. In this confinement, there are only two persons in love. In this confinement, there are only you and me.

It is perfect like this, you, beside me, your full lips letting out yawns for the umpteenth time, glassy eyes blinking back tears as you fight back against the sleepiness threatening to steal our time. The soft, constant patting of my hand on your arm does not help. I know you hate falling asleep on nights like this, because when you wake up the next morning, you have to swallow the truth.  Cold and hard, like the bone-biting December nights.

You want to bask in this warmth. You want to bask in these lies.

“Sleep.” My voice was weak.

Your full lips stretch into a small smile and you wipe at the corner of your eyes with your tiny hand.

“But I am not sleepy.”

I sigh at you defiance and bring my hand to tuck your side hair to the back of your ear, – I think you are adorable like this – and settle my hand on your right cheek. A contented hum passed by your lips as I do so. Your skin feels soft on my fingers. Your warmth feels a lot like home.

I hope I never forget how you feel against my fingers.

It is perfect like this, your shirt crumpled on your side, mine on neither side, -- because you hate having your shirt lying on the floor, because it is dirty you said. Even in the morning you refuse to let me kiss you, before we part, until after I have brushed my teeth. But I love how our moment of passion always tires you enough to not care about sleeping with sweat-slicked skin and waking up to our mingled smells wafted in the air of this cramped space.

Of dried sweat. Of love. Of lust.

Of us.

“You drool in your sleep.” Those words were of mere whispers which came out groggy in your half-awake state, and in the dim light, I see the mischievous smirk riding on your full lips. Is it possible to not smile when you are being like this?

“Sleep.” I hope I sounded stern enough.

“Your nose is big,” you snorted playfully.

I guess not. My voice always betrays me when it comes to you.

Before you mumble yet another word, I grab your arm that is splayed limply in between us, straightening it out. “And you,” carefully tracing fine lines with my fingers on your forearms, I proclaim “are hairy.” This steals a few chuckles out of your lips, and I feel fuzziness and warmth spread across my being. I wish I could make you make those sounds more often. I wish I have a gramophone in my brain to record and play those sounds throughout my day. 

“Shut up. You love my hairiness.” Your glassy eyes shine in the moonlight, drowsiness replaced with playfulness.

Bright-eyed. Bushy-tailed. Mischievous eyes crinkled and buried by the pouches under.

How more lovable can you be?

“Oh, I do?”

It is perfect like this, sly fingers prodding against your rib, immediately retracting from you a sharp shriek. I love how sensitive you are, love using it to my advantage. Within a short moment, laughter fills the room, jumbled with your begging for mercy from my relentless fingers and at times your fail attempt to tickle me back as I wrestle my way on top of you, ending up pinning you against the bed, our hands clasped together at the sides of your head.

Even in such a futile situation you try to get me off of you. As a final straw, I attack you where you are really sensitive. With the unshaved stubble below my lips, I tickle your exposed neck. That only worsens your struggle to get me off, and you are laughing so hard you have trouble breathing. Your palms are clammy against mine as you try to shimmy your body off my pinning. When I stop, we end up with a giggly you pinioned between the bed and me, your watery eyes glistening under the moonlight.

Do you know the fluttery feelings in your heart when you hear a baby chuckles? That is how I am feeling right now. Those feelings swell in my heart and I feel like I could burst from all the love they bear.

But of course, Jung Daehyun does not give up easily. With voice confident and sure, you say, “You love me,” and poke your tongue out. Sometimes I just want to kiss you mute. But I am too tired to deal with your newfound energy and the potential effect a simple kiss could have on your teenage self, so I give out a tired smile, just to not let your heart down.

“Sleep, kiddo.” My voice was soft. Slowly, your wide grin subsides to a smile, and you place a small kiss on my nose.

“I think your nose is cute.” There was no hint of mischievousness in your voice anymore. I guess you are tired too.

“And I think—“ I peck your nose like you did mine “—that your nose is cute too.” Even in this darkness I know that the smile on my lips and the contentment in my heart are reflection of your own lips and heart.

It is perfect like this, even in this darkness. If only the clouds tonight do not cover too much of the moon, and in doing so covering too much of your beauty. Maybe they are just like the world. Maybe they don’t approve of us.

“You are beautiful.” Even though this darkness hides everything but your glassy eyes, I did not lie when I said that, because every mark on your skin, every scar, every flaw etched deep inside my memory, are beautiful. Jung Daehyun, is beautiful

And I would say it every single day of my life until you actually believe it.

You just sigh.

One day you will believe my words.

If only you could see how beautiful you are.

One chaste kiss on your lips, and I am flopped back down beside you, turning aside so I could soon see you in your sleep.

Your eyes are still as bright as you look at me.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

There was a momentary pause before you say your next words, and as you say those words, the hesitance is heavy in your voice.

“Why … why are people like us wrong?” In the gleam, your eyes look sad.

How do I even answer that?

It is perfect like this. The way everything is. Can’t we just bask in these lies?

I want to bask in these lies.

That we are just two persons in love, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Just two persons in love…

‘We’re not wrong. They are.’ I hate myself for sounding so weak, so uncertain.

You are quiet. Those brown orbs look remote even from this distance.

I wrap my arms around your tiny shoulders and pull your head close to my chest, feeling your cold nose press against my chest. Your eyelashes faintly brush on my skin, fluttering a few times before warm wetness is felt.

I’m sorry.

It is perfect like this. Only you, Jung Daehyun, and me, Bang Yongguk. Nothing else.

Can’t we just bask in these lies?

I want to bask in these lies.