8th of August

The night blends in with the morning in a restless sleep this time around before it's shattered by a form of obnoxious ringing and several chirp, little whistles. In my drowsy state, I assume it's part of a dream. I will it to stop by just putting my mind to it and order my head to conjure up a less agitating scene so I can continue to dwell in the safety of a blank sleep. 

When it doesn't stop, I try to roll over away from the source, getting tangled up in the messy sheets. 

"Chanyeol..." I muttered into the sheets, voice croaky from sleep. 

"Yeol, turn it off, it's Sunday," I almost whine, cocooning myself and gripping hard onto the tail of sleep that begins to slip away from my fingers.

The ringing dies down, one last high-pitched whistled tune still hanging in the air before the room is silent again.

Exhaling in relief, I pull the mischievous tail of sleep forcefully towards me once it's not warded away by the noise, as if saying, you're staying right here now. Before I let it engulf me once again.

That impish creature of slumber swims away again several hours later, this time too fast for my hands to catch it and hold it at bay. As if it were a bat flying from the light, repulsed by the repetition of the cheerful ringing's return. 

I fight off the covers agitatedly. Why didn't he turn it off? Can't he see I'm trying to sleep here?

"Ch--" The name dies on my lips as I turn my body over and see the empty mattress that haven't been touched by anyone but me for so long. My eyes flicker to the phone ringing and buzzing to seek some attention in the upper drawer of the nightstand. 

In that instant, my heart suffered the impact of a million deaths, stopping for a record time of four and a half seconds. I have to clutch my chest tightly just to make sure it's still there, screwing my eyes shut and counting the faint thumps and their intervals as they slowly come back to life.

One, two, three... four... five.... six, seven, eight, nine....
Okay, it's working again. 

Yet why do I feel so disappointed?

The vibration is growing more intense now, almost like it's banging inside of my head and not in a drawer, as if the walls are going to cave in soon due to the shaking.

Make it stop! I mentally scream out, swallowing a large lump from my throat.

After a while, it does stop and silence splashes back over it, reminding me why I'm really so shaken by it. And I don't know which was worse.

That was two days ago.

I woke up the same way today, the same computerized noises resounding in my ears. I could have screamed had my throat not been so raw.

I thought it was the replay of that day, a re-encounter of that nightmare where you are calling out to someone you've finally been able to acknowledge is gone. Yet you're still shocked when they don't respond.

Sitting up, I shield myself with my arms, too sore to do much else. My hand then slips to my chest once more and tries to keep up with my heartrate like then, checking to reassure myself it's still there and alive and so am I.

Then, I calm myself somewhat and struggle through the wait for the piercing sound to die down. 

I'm fine.

I remind myself before I sit up and scramble to the nightstand,  frantically trying to find that treacherous device to toss it, to tear it apart, to--

6/8 Two new missed calls- Dr. Han Bastard. 

8/8 Three new missed calls- Unknown number.

I'm so startled by the latest record of the unknown number's amount of missed calls, I even forget to cuss and loathe that devil therapist for being the birth of my trauma the other day. 

Three missed calls. Why would someone call the wrong number three consecutive times? 

I drop the device on my lap and noticed that I've knocked the pine piece of furniture onto the ground, splayed there with the first drawer spilling its contents. 

It doesn't occur why it even matters to me but as I decide to get a move on and prepare for the day, work was called late today for some meeting the boss had to have. I have to fight off the urge to take the phone with me in the bathroom. 

I still have time after I wash up, will the knots out of my hair and put on decent attire so I go make breakfast, the phone clutched in my hand tightly as I go. I manage to get halfway through a bowl of honey oats and dried fruits before the device on the table comes to life again, shrill with excitement as it buzzes and I almost choke on the oats as I grab it almost instantly. 

📞Calling- Unknown number

I am almost reluctant to pick it up however, the green panel on the screen so tempting to me and I consider just setting it down. 

Yet I know I've been curious about this persistent caller so I swallow the cereal and swipe my finger slowly against the screen, picking up. I then hold it to my ear, hearing the faint static sound as I wait for a voice. 

"Hello?" I ask when the static sound prevails instead.

The same ear-tingling sound perseveres and I feel put off, I was so apprehensive of something that's probably some prank call. I pull the phone from my ear to hang up and had I done so any sooner, I wouldn't have heard the familiar, deep voice that haunts my dreams and waking. My heart really is going to need treatment soon, I think as it seems to jolt in place once more. 

"Baekhyun?" the voice asked and I immediately pull it to my ear, lips parted yet empty of words. 

"It's Kris," it continues and I almost drop the phone, my whole being crushed by the stark correction. Of course. It's Kris.

"W-Why?" I ask when I've found my voice. Why do I keep envisioning Chanyeol? 

He interprets my question wrongly, answering, "I just wanted to talk to you. It's been a while and we haven't coincidentally run into one another so I decided to take the matter into my own hands." 

Had I been paying attention, I could almost see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes that grin instead of his lips. But I am not, I am pressing my finger against my temples before dropping them to my lap and asking another inquiry, "How..?" How does this pain never grow old?

"Your phone number? Well, since you disappointed me by not actually showing up to the place I hinted I'd wait for you," he replied, though I know he isn't accusing me, really. 

My brain finally begins to tune in with the words he's saying, calling back the memory I must have let slip, upon our exit where he bid me farewell. He added the detail that he "might be going to look over those paintings in the gallery once again, maybe see something new this time," before he grinned at me and left.

"Sorry," I mutter lamely under my breath. 

The man let out a chuckle, "I almost figured you wouldn't come anyway, though you look through paintings like a critic, you don't think twice to do so with words," he mused, pausing before getting back to the point, "I remembered that the gallery was your landlord's cousin--"

"Nephew," I correct, sitting up straight and exhaling to myself as the pulsing in my head begins to reside.

"Nephew, yes," he corrects himself, continuing on, "So I saw her with that landlord of yours there and I managed to get hold of your number for 'urgent business' purposes."

I raise an eyebrow to myself at how far this man can go to get through to conversing with lousy, old me. 

"You may hold back the applause," the male remarked sarcastically with a chuckle.

"You're lucky I'm not in work," I reply, stirring the oats in the milk.

"I'm lucky I met you," he says so casually as if he was just talking about a schedule.

Then the thought must have just occurred to him, "Oh, yes, it's a weekday," he says, "You have a day off?"

"Meeting. We start late," I answer, finding it so much easier to act uncaring and nonchalant when I don't have to look at him. I decide it's safe to disregard his previous statement.

"I see," he replies and stays quiet for a while.

I let the silence linger before checking the time on my watch, "I--"

The man cuts me off however, "Are you having breakfast?" he inquires like it's such an interesting topic to know what Byun Baekhyun is shoveling in his mouth.

"Mhm," I reply anyway, wondering where the conversation is going as I scoop up some of the oats into my mouth for good measure.

"What are you having on this fine day?" 

"I don't see where this is heading--"

"Is it a sin to ask what's keeping you from going to work hungry?" 

I exhale, glancing down at my bowl and the soggy pieces of oats floating, covering the dried fruits, suddenly conscious of my lousy breakfast. "Honey oats and fruits," I reply dumbly before defensively asking, "What?" as he laughs on the other end.

"How lame, I expect something more of you, Baekhyun, than oats," he says and I can almost hear that perfect toothed grin in his voice.

Scooping up the last bits and dropping my spoon in the bowl to prove my point, "Well, that's a pity. I like my breakfast as it is, thank you." 

"We're not really going to have our first fight over breakfast are we?" The man asks and I have to hold back from choking, standing up and putting away the bowl in the sink; drinking up the milk was just too dangerous at this point.

"At this rate, we might as well," I say once I'm done, "You're going to make me late now."

The male finally gets to the point, "I asked just in case you were eating something inadequate and by the looks of it, I made the right call," he explained and I feel frustrated now, "Let me take you out to eat, Baekhyun." 

I'm collecting my blazer now along with my keys, mentally sighing at his persistence,

"I don't have time for that, Kris," I say, saying his name out loud for the first time and it feels so personal, I want to take it back.

"Let yourself loose for a bit, it's not going to be some posh outing, we'll just go out to eat some place," The man continues to say, giving me gentle yet subtle nudges towards the idea. 

I head out of the house and lock the door behind me, "I might have plans," I lie, still affected by the happenings of this morning and the last. 

"If not, call me, alright?" he asks, adding, "I'll be waiting."

As if you don't have other things to be doing than wait around the phone, I think, heading towards the elevator, giving in to get the call over with, "Alright."

"Have fun at work."

"Mhm, if those words even go together."

"Had to give it a try," he laughs and amusedly adds, "See you then."

"If--" we both start to say in varying tones. 

"If," he repeats and seems to taste the word.

"If," I then say after him, pressing the button with the arrow pointing below me to call the elevator up.

"Good bye, Baekhyun," he says on a lighter note.

"Bye."

For the rest of the work day, my phone is tucked away in my bag away from me as I have the raging impulse to check it constantly. For what, I don't even know anymore. 

I wished that I was more active in the crowd in those moments as I can hear my employees around me making plans and just being social.

What Kris does with his free time, who knows, but why did it have to consist with prodding him to go out and be someone? 

He must have plans of his own rather than stalking down my number and fretting about what I consume.

The man is just someone that is blind to what other people want, it's all centered around what he thinks they want. He thinks I need his help. He thinks I have gone off the clock. Newsflash: I'm perfectly fine on my own. 

I feel irritated, pushing my bag aside away from my vision before continuing to work, deciding it'd be another day gazing out at the city. 

Yet what I didn't know was that I'd be gazing at it from somewhere other than my private window. 

Something happens, a turmoil in my brain, maybe because he sounds so determined over the phone when he gives me directions or I've gone more insane than I've imagined. I drive over to a lofty diner that sits right by the slope into downtown Seoul as if precariously on the edge. 

'Do or Dine' flashes brightly in fluorescent colors atop the building, just like he described on the phone.

"I'll be sitting in the center," he said and I almost cringe, "Just beside the towering waitress made of kitchen utensils." 

The diner seems awfully busy for a weekday so I park around the corner and walk, this time guaranteeing thrice and more than I have my wallet. 

"You owe me, remember?" 

I did, that's the only reason I'm here. To pay him back. And straighten things out.

I find him reclining on a circular seat when I enter, the back of the curved couch faced towards the entrance so that he only catches sight of me when he glances back  and he practically beams in his casual way.

"Baekhyun," he calls out as if I cannot see his tall figure as he stands up, waiting for me to come around and sit on the edge of the half-circle, away from him by the exact radius of the circle. Then he sits down on the other edge after me. 

I occupy myself with crossing my legs as I spot a waitress coming over, trying to steer clear of looking at the man that keeps his eyes fixated on me. 

She lingers on another table to hear a joke, laughing as she approaches us with two neatly folded menus, salmon pink like the rest of the diner, hinted with a metallic green, "Coffee?" she asks as she holds out the transparent coffee pot. 

"I'd love some," the man across from me replies and she pours him some into a cup he seemed to have already drained waiting for me. As she turns to me, he stops her and cracks a grin, "He just got back from work, pour him some anyway." 

I keep my mouth shut until the coffee is poured into a cup she brought for me and she walks away as someone calls for her.

"I don't need your help," I snap as soon as she is out of earshot. 

"It's just coffee," he replies, eyes studying me and looking straight into mine.

"It's not just that," I say and I have the impulse to cover his eyes, to stop their constant inspection, Yet I stare right into them as I speak, "And you know that."

"Baek--"

This time, I interrupt to snap once again, "I don't know why you are interested in me and frankly, I don't care. I am here to get even with you and pay for your meal. Don't think otherwise," I say and I feel like screaming in boiling frustration. It just tears at my self-image to think that this man that girls are ogling so obviously at from tables away is here to pity me. 

"I don't know what you think about me, but I can handle myself perfectly fine," I conclude, picking up my menu mostly to cover my face that's undoubtedly flushed now. "Pick what you want to eat," I order him. 

As the spurt of anger fades away, so does my courage as I allow my eyes to flit from the brightly colored list of food available, catching a glimpse of his calm posture as he thumbs through.

We don't speak till we're obliged to when the waitress returns, her smile tightening as I can tell she feels the tense aura. 

"One barbecue cheese burger with extra sauce and a Caesar salad with dressing along with an iced lemonade," she reads off her jotted down notes cheerfully and Kris sends her a small smile with a nod before she walks away with several clicks of her heels, tattling our order to a man in the kitchen. 

That's the thing about this man, he barges in on all the wrong times, talks when you don't need him to and acts so casual about everything. When I actually need him to talk and break this heavy silence, he placidly piles up our menus and looks around the oversized diner. What do I expect him to say anyway?

If he ventures the line and tells me he's interested in me, I'll for sure flee and cut off contact with him. If he tells me he just thinks I needed help due to my 'withdrawal', the same thing will happen except I'll probably add in a y comment before leaving. 

There are so many possibilities with this man and it's scaring me. 
What does a man like you want with me?

I hear him take sips from his coffee, the first sound he makes so far, and remember I have mine as well, looking down into the mug, I can just clearly see my distressed reflection. The strong aroma the air wafts up to my nose makes me confident it's a hundred and two percent black coffee. So I let it sit there and lose its flavor gradually.

"This diner has been around since before downtown has even been formed," he finally says, though he's not looking at me, he's looking past me. "All the sculptors and artists native here were called, they wanted to make a building entirely out of art," he explains and I have to wonder where those almond eyes are fixated at, not on me, that's for sure, "That's why the walls are uneven, you see?"

I take the bait and glance at the walls and look around for the first time, it seems like the place used to be someplace else once. Before they plastered the tacky wallpaper over the evidence. He finally looks at me now and I can feel it. 

"As you can see, the plan didn't turn out as smooth as they'd like it to have. Art everywhere, all around, didn't seem like it would be so appealing, the owner said it was not worth continuing. The sculptures just took away from everything. So they stopped, chipping away all the crafted work yet as you can see they were unsuccessful," he speaks, his tone so calm and melodic I cannot help but follow along. 

"This is where you cut me off and ask me why I'm giving you a history lesson," he chides and a hint of a smile plays on his lips.

I avert my gaze and don't say anything, it's come to me how much of a snob I've been to this guy that doesn't understand anything. This man that's never seemed to face pain, or suffering. How do I expect him to understand? 

"Or not," he replies to himself yet not at all disheartened, surprising as I bet he never faces rejection either. 

I part my lips and just close them again before shaking my head to myself, "Listen, it's nice of you--"

"It's because they are like you," he insists in explaining like I did actually ask him, "You seem to have all these sculptures inside of you, all these works of arts built up magnificently and you chiseled them down to rough edges and asperity because you thought it wasn't good enough, or too much. I thought of this diner when I say you that day in the gallery, you have so much to say and do, yet it's in the dust and marble you've discarded."

I exhale and place a hand on my temple, "Kris, please don't act like you know me."

I look up and meet his eyes, almost pleading with his, "You don't, okay? And I hope you never will." 

The words hang in the air and we resume wavering eye contact, the calm and reassuring look in his eyes seemed to dissolve in his hazel orbs and like that it's gone. 

"Can't say I didn't try, right?" he remarks and cracks a small smile. I wish I could snatch the words back, shove them back down my throat yet they're the most honest I've been all day. 

The food comes  and gets served to us by the tan hands of the waitress, her finger nails perfectly clipped and filed and colored a bright blue hue. We eat up quietly, him starting into his cheese burger in a way to match his appearance, eating it neatly with thoughtful bites. It's the most delicate way I've ever seen people eat burgers, really. I pick at my salad and manage to sip my beverage meanwhile, finally just opening my eyes and looking around yet my eyes keep stopping on him. I am so full with questions I need to ask.

"What do you do?" I ask eventually, wondering what he has to do that he's lounging around all the time. 

"What I feel like doing," he replies simply, seemingly satisfied by my start of conversation.

"Should I guess, or..?" 

"I'm a critic," he states as he wipes at the sides of his mouth, "for companies mostly." 

I toy around with my straw, "And for people as well, I see." 

I don't realize I made a joke until he laughs, a cheerful yet composed sound, before speaking, "Yes, I do take pride in that as well." He then bites into his meal again and comments nonchalantly, "This burger is really a moutful."

"You seem to criticize art as well," I note, stirring my lemonade and watching as a drop falls down towards the counter from the glass, "And food, places, and habits. Not to mention people's breakfasts..." 

He laughs again and my lips curve up a bit, I keep going to conclude, "I think it's safe to say that you, Kris, are a critic of life." 

Pointing a long finger at me, he grins, "I like that very much. That'll be my new occupation." 

Scooping up more of my salad to eat it slowly, I let out a small laugh. The male raises his brows and glances up before back at me, "Forgive me, but I thought I heard the angels calling. Baekhyun, what sort of sound was that?" he grins widely now. 

I roll my eyes and use my hand to brush the topic away though I can't keep from laughing again, "Hush now, you are going to make me choke on the cheesiness." 

"Well," he says, holding up his burger with its slabs of cheese protruding, "Can't help it, can I?" 

"Seriously," I say and I'm literally going to choke on my croutons as I let out a chuckle, "Kris, stop."

He does stop then, giving me an amused look and musing, "I like when you call me by my name like that." 

I am so expectant for another lame joke that I take a while to interpret how seriously he's saying that. I didn't even notice I used his name, it slipped out. "You use my name a lot so.." I say sheepishly with a shrug as I get back to eating. 

"I do," he agrees before speaking once again, "So now enough about me, what about you?"

"What about me?" I ask self consciously. 

"What does Baekhyun do other than avoid me?" he says as he sets his burger down on the ceramic plate that has the diner crest emblemished on the face.

Nothing, really. "I work in the glamorous world of business," I say instead dully.

"Really?" he quirks a brow and then asks, "Which company, may I ask?"

"Ahn Corporation," I respond, "The branch under Ahn Youngsoo." 

He seems to think it over before nodding his head with a hum, "Been there before, quite a well thought out business. Nice facilities. Uptight employees.."

Homophobic boss, I think.

"Over all, a good business," he replies before pausing and sending me a small grin, "Unless you've got any opinions otherwise. I could file in a complaint for you."

I smile a bit at the thought, "Jeopardizing your job for me, it's too early for that."

The amused glint in his eyes appears once again and he grins wider this time, "When do you suppose its an appropriate time for it then?"

"Hm," I say as I pretend to think it over, stirring my lemonade before taking a sip, "When they discover that people who eat oats in the morning deserve to rule the world?" 

He laughs and rolls his eyes, "You could have just said 'never'." 

The man scoots over a fraction so that he is closer to me, moving over into the center of the curved seat, his long fingers pushing his tray along with him. As I raise a brow in inquiry at his actions, he sends me a smile, simply saying,

"We can't go on yelling across the table to one another, we're going to disrupt the whole diner." 

"Fair enough," I give in, yet don't budge off the lip of the couch. 

It's a bit awkward again then, at least in my part, as his body is just an arm's length from mine now but I eat up and just try to get distracted by the taste of the sauces blended with the fresh greens. 

We finish our meals in a satisfying silence, he dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin while I try not to slurp too loudly as I empty my glass. 

"Done?" he asks and I give him a small nod, he then gets to his feet and says, "You can pay for that later, I want to show you something." 

I glance at the waitress, she seems busy so I look back at Kris and he seems to take it as agreement as he holds up his hand. It's an innocent gesture yet my gaze seems stuck on those elegant fingers asking to hold mine, it feels like if I do take this step, he'll feel like it's a gateway to all the rest that comes with skinship. Wary of the hand protruded towards me, I waver my gaze away and instead make use of both my hands to grip the edge of the table as if to help myself up, feeling guilt and anxiety as he comes around with his hands my his sides then. I purposely look around to avoid reading the expression in his eyes. 

"Where to?" I ask, fingers moving to keep them occupied and away from future awkward moments as they dig into my pockets. 

He must notice as his eyes quickly skirt down to them but they quickly bounce back up to gesture me to follow with his fingers, his face is still as composed and pleasant as always so I comply and follow behind him, growing stiff as he disappears down a dim corridor plastered with old movie posters.

My whole body with all its systems has been screaming in warning since his perfect hand reached out to guide mine, yellow caution signs appearing and flashing by quickly in my vision. It's stupid and Kris probably has 100% innocent intentions. It's really stupid as the man probably has suitors lined up across the street from his doorstep that aren't wrecks like me. Not that I mind at all. 

But, Chanyeol, I feel like the moment I give in to someone other than you, even just for companionship, I feel like you'd feel I'm giving you up. 

Like I've found a new source of company. 

The man glances over his shoulder as he notices I'm a couple of steps behind, wearing an assuring grin,

"Hey, keep up." 

I must seem unassured as he turns around to face me, his hand reaches up to ask for mine again but then falls back to his side as if remembering the last attempt, "Just going to show you something," he replied. 

I exhale quietly, that makes it all better, I think before walking over anyway, squinting in the dim light at the posters, feigning interest in them, "Do you take everyone you meet to creepy, dark hallways is all I'm thinking," I reply honestly, looking away from him.

Laughing, he shakes his head and continues to walk down, taking a turn at the end,

"Only the people I think are special enough," he answered by hidden question, "That makes it sound worse, doesn't it? If you are wondering, no, I am not going to go all axe-murderer on you like a psychopath." 

"That calms me down," I say with a roll of my eyes, knowing he must figure I am worried he might molest me or something, trying to change the topic, "Are we allowed to be in here?" 

"No," he says simply and chuckles, the sound echoing off the walls. 

"Go figure," I say under my breath, wondering when the labyrinth of a hallway would end. The stark smell of old newspapers is getting stronger as we go, mixed in with grease and a faint minty detergent.

Kris seems oblivious to my words as he reaches out to grip a handle I wouldn't have noticed had I been on my own, giving it a hard push before it gave way, the musky smell of the night substitutes the pungent smell as he pushes it open, stepping aside then. His bright eyes search for mine, now lit up by the full moon, his sharp features look softened in the moonlight as his lips curve into an inviting smile. 

"Ready?" he asks yet my body responds before my mind does, as I can just see a peek of distant array of bright lights. 

I step out before him and glance down at the narrow and unguarded ledge of cement and brick, my feet a mere meter away from the down slope where the ground just caves in, a sudden drop of a man-made wall. The extreme fall then surfaces to play the role of the base of buildings that sprout out hundreds of meters beneath me, lights twinkling like little eyes of critters taking shelter in downtown's landscape. It's almost breathtaking, standing there, so close to the edge as you stare down at all the different buildings, all buzzing with the humble static of life. 

"Woah.." I whisper, my eyes unable to move away from the source of this energetic surge in my veins. 

A voice beside me reciprocates my feelings as it murmurs, "I know." 

A boundary inside of me feels like it gave way as I continue to speak when I am finally able to word my thoughts, "It's like if I jumped out, I could fly over it and see an endless panorama of it all. Or if I fell instead, something or someone would be there to catch me," I say, feet taking tentative steps forward. He doesn't speak then, but I don't mind as I just let myself loose and exhale the airy words, "It's so beautiful." The wind seems to carry my words off down to the buildings and lights, carrying my spirit with it and sharing it with whomever exists down there. 

My feet continue to inch forward with my eyes too occupied to know better before a warm hand reaches out stop me, trailing down my forearm from where it had its grip towards my open hand, carefully as if not to scare me away. It then clasps mine and pulls me gently away from the hazardous edge towards the rest of its body. 

"Wouldn't want you to risk testing out that theory, as real as it seems," Kris spoke and I could feel his gaze on me, I tore my eyes off the sight and found I was correct, he was smiling that smile again. As if he knows something I don't. 

I glance down at my feet and the rubble underneath, finally noticing how dangerous being out here really is as the firsttime thrill of the view washes off, I unconsciously shift closer to the male and find my hand still clasped in his. I feel tense again, forgetting I must have allowed him to do so and being the observant individual he is, he lets my hand go then. 

His eyes leave me then as they are directed back to the laid out view, my own pair drift over to his face as he does so, over the curve of his nose to the eloquently shaped eyes of his that seem to stare beyond what I can see, the moon and buildings reflected within them. For the first time, I wonder what he is thinking and what is going on inside that poised and unperturbed head of his. So free from worry and anything negative, so tranquil. It fills me with wonder at how someone can be so untainted, it fills me with pain as I can match where I've seen that kind of person before, it fills me with guilt that maybe that's why I'm giving him a chance. 

Soon enough, his eyes divert their attention back to me and a smile braces his lips, "You're looking the wrong way, Baekhyun," he said, so quietly that the summer's breeze seemed to carry the words away. 

I didn't notice, it was the right way to me, I think, yet I don't say anything yet again, just stare back into his eyes because my body is torn two places at once, to leave and pull away from him, going back through the diner to just pay off what I owe and just forget he ever entered my life or to stay here and allow him to grow closer as the lights blink up at us from below, giving him that chance that I've forgotten I could give. 

He's looking over me now, over the hair I've worked so hard to keep tame to my temples and eyebrows and down the bridge of my nose, skimming over my lips to my move to my curved chin and pale cheeks, then lastly, they study my curious eyes and linger there for the longest. 

In return, I examine his own chiseled face, the defined lines that create his cheeks and the arch of his nose that seems to outline a gentle slope, down to his plump lips and his prominent chin. I then dodge his eyes to look over the well-kept hair that seems to be dyed a caramel-like hue, brushed away from his forehead and face.

I wonder vaguely if he feels as self conscious as I do know, feeling the weight of his stare everywhere it wanders. 

"If..." he breaks the silence, then leaning against the door he must have closed at some point.

I feel inclined to say something so I hushedly repeat the word, "If..." 

The man, no, Kris, turns his attention back to the view then and instead of feeling relieved that he found something else to be interested in, I feel strangely weak without his eyes trained on mine. 

I follow his gaze and look over the once breathtaking sight, feeling my legs ache beneath me from all the standing as I then sink down so I am crouching against the wall against my hams. The sense of being dejected washes over me for an unimaginable reason as I look over the night life of the peak of downtown, over the buildings that seemed to have grown out of the ground.

"You know what's ironic about all this?" Kris suddenly asks, still not looking at me. That I find both my sanity and insanity in a stranger? I think to myself, hoping he's not going down the route I'm expecting him to.

He bends down and squats beside me on his long legs and I prepare myself for the worst as he continues, "That what looks to us now as beautiful and just basically, a sight is not at all what it seems," he says and I'm waiting for him to say something that'll push me away from him forever or do the exact opposite, "The night cloaks it all with its mysteriousness and alters it into that. It'd be dull as it is in the light before us if it didn't have that cloak."

My heart is thumping now and I can swear it's shaking the ledge beneath us with the vibrations but he apparently doesn't mind it crumbling beneath us as he persists, "Patched and dirty downtown looks otherwise ordinary and nothing special."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and the world seems to stop, Oh. The buildings. It's the buildings, not us. Not me. Just the cold constructions beneath and around us. 

"You sure do have a way to turn something I found awe-inspiring into stark reality, don't you?" I say with a small sigh. 

Those words were repeated from you, when I finally gave up and said that maybe Porletzo's work didn't have any meaning or back story. It could be just paint on a large easel. 

"You know us critics," he replied and shrugged his broad shoulders so that they just brushed mine. 

"It'd be more helpful if 'you critics' could do the reverse, could put more meaning into something rather than it all out," I say, not knowing why I feel defensive, "Show how there is more to the object or scene or person than there really may be. Fill something up with emphasis and feeling so that it can actually grow to be that way. Because pointing out flaws and degrading it does nothing in the long run."

I don't feel satisfied till I add another statement, "Argue how there is more to a painting than the mismatched paint and colors on material."

That makes him glance at me, a small hint of curiosity and amusement flashing before his eyes. 

"Then no one would need us if they're all patched up." 

"You'd have served a purpose everyone would remember."

I've never seen him smile so wide.

I smile back at him, a proper smile.

We then talk for a bit here and there, about what I don't remember and it was probably something fickle, and in the pauses, we let silence enevelop us snugly.

Somewhere along the lines, his arm moves from its initial position, raising and brushing my own arm before thinking better and sinking back down. I notice its intentions and shift my body over towards his, encouraging it as I look ahead of us. He takes the note and his arm lifts up again, moving around me and coming to rest at my side. 

It's so friendly and comforting of a gesture that I feel silly for making him re-think it and take it back the first time.

As time goes by, my body leans against his and I close my eyes for a while to savor this feeling of not being alone, of having someone so close.

I open my eyes to look up at his and find them hooked on me and as if caught doing something wrong, they flit away quickly and I let out a soft chuckle. It's the first time he acts so normal, it makes me feel normal as well. 

He smiles a bit then as he hears me, turning back to me as if hesitantly, eyes wavering over mine before he blurts out in a way that startles me, "It's Yifan."

"Hm?" I ask, head still perched slightly on his shoulder, raising a brow. 

"Wu Yifan," he repeats, looking away again, "That's my name." 

"What--" 

"Might as well call me that," he replies, running his free hand through his hair like I've never seen him do, "Kris is just something I use with short-time acquaintances and work.." 

"And I'm neither of those things?" I ask with a cocked brow.

He shakes his head and smiles a fraction, "Nope."

"Wu Yifan," I say, as if trying it out, then concluding , "Yifan suits you way better than Kris."

"It sounds better when you say it as well," Yifan says and he smiles warmly. 

I raise a brow nevertheless afterwards, "I don't see why you hide behind that name though, 'Kris'." 

"I don't hide necessarily, it's just less intimate, you know?" he asks rhetorically, shrugging his shoulders again, dislodging my head on it for a while before pulling me to him again. 

I frown then and sit up a bit, "I feel like you owe me something back then. I gave you my honest name and honest information and you passed off a faux name.." 

His smile falters then before his arms loosens around me, "I apologize. It's Yifan, now you know." 

"You owe me a piece of trivia about you now," I say, looking straight at him, "For it being tardy."

He seems to stumble for words and I enjoy it way too much for my own good, stifling a smile, "I'll, you know-- Well, what do you want to know?"

"Whatever you'll tell me," I say, noticing how his arm seems to be retreating from my waist. 

"I am Chinese-Canadian, I somehow got here because of the normal work and business--"

I use my hand to brush his words away and stop him, breaking into the grin that I've been holding back, "That's as boring as my breakfast, I'll keep the Yifan trivia card for when you have something interesting to say."

Surprised that I wasn't actually mad at him, he pulled me to his side all at once, wearing a similar grin as I let out a laugh at his actions. My head lands back on his shoulder and I'm laughing even more as he clicks his tongue as if to scold me. "You..." he says as if frustrated though I can make out his wide grin as he hugs me tightly with one arm.

"I actually screwed up and thought I messed up with someone that was actually interesting and different, not to mention pretty humorous all because of giving you the wrong name," he says with a laugh and shakes his head to himself, tilting his head back to let out a sigh. 

I curl my lips into a smile, "You haven't though, I'm just happy that you told me eventually, Yifan," I then slip an arm from his grip to encircle it around his body as well, "You forgot to mention my annoying eating habits in your description of me and how scattered my brain is."

"Not to mention how cute you are," he says as he looks back down at me with a one-sided grin that makes him look sort of stupid but sort of better then ever before.

I roll my eyes, nudging him a bit with my palm against his hip yet a smile is still evident on my lips, "Please." 

And it was there, behind the tacky diner that was once filled with art and now just holding cutlery sculptures, at the backlot of Do or Dine that I began to let him seep into me as if he's a type of cement and I'm a cracked road, churning and churning before pouring into the cracks and filling them to create a gradually smoother surface. Hence then, creating a path that was possible to walk on.