So close, yet so far.

Mei sat next to Sehun in his study, tending to his wounded hand.

He felt her cold fingers grazing his palm; he savored the comforting warmth of her presence; he breathed the air that was not loneliness.

But it felt like they were separated by the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean, even if she sat within an arm’s reach. They had not spoken a word to each other after the incident at the dining room, and Sehun had tried not to notice how she trembled when coming closer to him to treat his injury.

But he was happy, that she was right there besides him.

Her long eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her dusty pink cheeks, her brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to clean the wounds without hurting him. Sehun watched her dainty fingers, covered in his own blood, and wished he could wipe the obnoxious crimson away. He imagined pressing them softly against his face with its alabaster smoothness, so that her fragile hand would cup his cheek---and the scar she gave him.

The scar.

Memories flooded back, nostalgic and throbbing at the last page of his chapter of happy days. Subconsciously, his undamaged hand rose to touch the small scar on his right cheek, but he winced and his hand stopped in its tracks when Mei plucked out a shard of glass that had been embedded particularly deep into his skin.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she apologized.

Silence settled over them again like the white blanket of snow that was falling quietly outside. She gently coated his open gash with ointment.

“Do you think it will leave a scar?” he asked out of the blue.

Slowly, Mei raised her head to look up at him with wavering eyes. Sehun held his gaze strong, wishing he could just lose himself in her depthless orbs, but maintained his expressionless mask. He saw watercolors of recognition and uncertainty blend in her shiny eyes as she nibbled on her lower lip; still the same as thirteen years ago.

Neither one of them dared to break the gaze; Mei’s of incertitude, and Sehun’s of longing. The memories started to play in the back of his mind, but he let his consciousness be taken over by the beauty of those eyes. There was grief, there was hesitance, there was understanding, and a spark. Her presence wrapped around his forgotten, dusty heart like white lace ribbon.

Flames crackled in the fireplace behind them, and Mei broke out of the faint trance. She ducked her head down.

“I-I’m sorry, Master Sehun,” she repeated, and the way she was always apologizing stirred sorrow in his chest.

And so he closed his eyes as if to block this bleak reality away from the image of young Mei's smile that was tattooed to the back of his eyes. Listening to the sound of her laughter that he could not hear, Sehun sunk deeper into his reverie, letting the thumping ache of memories overwhelm the pain in his hand.

*ten years ago*

The snow had finally melted, allowing the newborn blossoms to say hello to the spring skies.

Ten year old Sehun ran across the garden, knowing that Mei liked to eat her meager rations near the rose bushes. He was excited.

Just the day before, Father and Kris, the second oldest son, had returned to the Manor after three years. The Lord had taken the illegitimate child along on a diplomatic trip across neighboring countries so he could pass down his ways of ruling to the one with the most potential. He had wanted to take a true son, but Xiumin was sick, Baekhyun disowned, and Sehun too young; Kris had been the next choice.

But Sehun wouldn’t have gone and left the Manor even if he had been old enough; Mei had entered his life a few weeks before their departure, therefore anchoring him to wherever she was.

He was completely indifferent to the two’s return; he never missed them while they were gone. But Father came back with an early birthday present from an emperor of a relatively far away kingdom.

A magnificent telescope. Sehun wasn’t too fascinated by stars and galaxies; he was fascinated by the way Mei’s eyes sparkled. Mei loved to gaze at the stars, and Sehun loved to gaze at them through the reflection on her eyes.

He wanted to give it to her, because he could already imagine her smiling at him; that wide, charming smile that was like a consoling fire in the midst of a blizzard. And that was why he was excited.

He ran to the spot where Mei usually ate, and found an untouched bread roll wrapped in old newspaper. Quite often, the oldest maidservant would give a bit of her own ration to the girl; Sehun didn’t know the woman’s name, but he was thankful for her kindness towards Mei.

Nevertheless, the girl was nowhere to be seen.

With worry nipping at his heels, Sehun raced back into the Manor; his giddy cheerfulness from earlier sunk down to the pits of his stomach into a wretched prognosis as he searched through the labyrinth of secretive rooms and endless corridors.

Our secret library. With damp fringes plastered onto his sweaty forehead, he turned to the direction of the abandoned North Wing; his growing, urgent longing to see her face gave him a gut feeling that he would find her there.

Their secret library---Every night, Sehun would sneak out of his bedroom, careful not to be seen by inhabitants still awake, and go to the ancient library, where Mei would be waiting for him with a smile that made all the dust particles transform into powders of diamond. They talked, they laughed, read censored books that Baekhyun had given to him (which were mostly fairy tales and legends of past heroes), gazed at the night sky, or he listened to Mei’s piano. For Sehun, it was as if night and day was reversed; he felt so alive and free when he let the laughter flutter carelessly from his throat; it felt so exhilarating, so warm, so human. But during the day, he detachedly watched the clock hand move in an eternal slumber, lifeless and nightmarish, especially when he had to turn a blind eye to Mei’s suffering. To Sehun, the library was a sanctum; it was where his severely frostbitten heart healed and regained its life, which otherwise would have desensitized into a crisp of brittle ice. It was a special place, precious and sacred, and Mei was the vibrant essence to it.

The familiar touch of the library’s door handle greeted his clammy hands. He anxiously pushed it aside to let himself into the dead emptiness.

She wasn’t there.

He rushed to the piano and dragged his fingers over the surfaces as he had once done before, and found no relief of any lingering warmth.

She was gone.

A leaden burden of anguish, despondency, and confusion crashed onto him; he stumbled from the immense weight of it. He slumped down onto the piano bench, and noticed something glinting in the sunlight from the window, its glimmer cutting through the dust that hung in the air.

Squinting, Sehun recognized it immediately and surrendered under another striking blow of dread.

It was a pearl necklace, deserted on the cracked marble floor. It was the pendant that Mei never separated from her skin, because it was the only thing she had left from her murdered parents. With stuttering steps, Sehun neared the necklace and picked it up with trembling hands.

He tasted the revoltingly bitter bile rising up his throat---the silver chain was broken as if it had been harshly yanked, and there were splotches of crimson crusted on the milky white orb. Blood.

Sehun had never known what true fear was; he was forever protected in his inherited authority, and he had nothing to lose because he either had the means to retrieve it back or because he never cared enough to be saddened by its loss. But when he saw Mei’s blood on the pearl, he realized how foolish and ignorant---how tragically childish he had been. He had been too drunk in happiness to prepare himself for the eventual loss that would come, to remember that fate always had a wicked way of uprooting everything and tossing it around like a rag doll; he had let down his own guard because he had misinterpreted familiarity as permanency. And now, haunted by the intuition that something was horribly wrong, he was afraid, so dearly afraid of this unfamiliar notion of loss. For the first time, Sehun saw fear; witnessed it painfully well in all of its horrific glory.

Disturbed beyond sanity, he stumbled over to the open window, driven only by the instinct to breathe in fresh air. The air still chilly, it carried a hint of warmth and roses; the pleasantness of it was so ironic that it was utterly unnerving. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, wavering breath, commanding himself to calm down. Listening to the overwhelming thump of his pulse in his ears and feeling the rotting wood of the windowsill between his clenched fists, Sehun wished, hoped, begged, prayed, that everything was alright. But when he opened his eyes, everything dropped dead.

His heartbeat, his breath, the wind, the time, his prolonged daydream, came to a sickening end. It felt so surreal, as if Sehun were only looking at a painting of a girl standing at the mouth of the menacing woods, with remnants of shattered hope scattered around her bare feet. He couldn’t see her face for she was facing the forest, but he could sense the brokenness---the grief that strangled the cries of pain voiceless.

He didn’t know how he was able to call her name with such a parched throat, but he did. His strained voice managed to reach her over the distance, and she slowly turned around. He was too far to see that her eyes were tearless, but he detected the frightening emptiness of them, and so he called her name once more.

“Mei!”

She ran into the woods.

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