He was never understood.

He was to be left unsolved,
and the key was to never put his pieces together.

Not many knew, that behind his pale skin and thin lips – what was hidden.
It’s never been a blessing to know, either.
Jongup doesn’t think he’s blessed. All that’s to it, is a mess.

Of feelings;
and hormones.

‘I hate this, Junhong.’ Many a times, he had repeated. And he still does, hoping that someday – that it could be an acquisition. On Junhong’s side.
They are not the same, and Jongup can’t be a part of the crystal.
Because he’s the bit that never settled properly.
‘Because I’m the flaw’

Junhong’s done this to him.

Perhaps he thought too much about life.

When Junhong kissed him, he saw through Junhong – clearly, like through a glass; and the world beyond. He saw through to the purple hue of the galaxies deeper beyond the skin he felt, and in those eyes, everything felt distant.

Everything was painted black.

Pain and pleasure.
That’s all that’s to in life.
It’s been a long time since Jongup had concluded that, and when he felt Junhong through his fingers; he stripped every bit skin in his mind.
Jongup looked deeper into every heartbeat he accelerated within Junhong.

Junhong was red, within.

But skin had always held him back.
Skin between them cocooned Junhong – and always held him in place. 

Against a universe, Jongup felt paper thin.
He saw it all so clearly, and scared Junhong at times.

On those nights, when they cried, Junhong said he’s fine with see-through skin.
He never missed a beat.
He was so sure.

When it rained,
Jongup felt the stir of emotions inside, the fragrance of awakening earth, and looked beyond the showering hope.
Those clouds lined with thick silver ropes were mocking him.

Junhong is going to die.
The rain can’t stop it.

It hurt.

Junhong made him a cup of hot chocolate and every sip down his throat felt like eating rocks.
The rain was heavy, thudding too confidently on their windows.
The fire behind the two on their couches hummed as it burnt; but it was still cold.

Blankets though wrapped round and round; Junhong’s fingers always trembled.
I can’t make it stop.
Kisses won’t make it stop.

Since when had another day to come had become a step closer to death?

All he could think about as Junhong lay in his six foot box, dressed most neatly in his entire life – was how he laughed at himself.
‘It blooms like flowers inside me, Jongup.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘It’s pretty… too.’

But Jongup could never picture the blots of white inside Junhong.

To him, Junhong was red.

Where everything beyond his eyes were painted black, in a dimension where he felt no depth; Junhong was red.
Junhong was red, and alive.

As a first of earth fell on Junhongs’ grave, each time, he let himself paint Junhong black.
A swift, merciless brush of pitch black death.

And he was alone.

Despite his fears,
he saw it all so clear.

Because he had let his colors bleed and blend with Junhongs.
All his time.

The earth, despite being burnt red by the sun – was green.

White flowers reminded him of Junhong.

Since the day he wanted to see, the colors were his.

-

AN : Junhong died of cancer here.

... yeah.