A lone portrait of two people sat by the bedside table. It was framed in varnished wood. A boy and a girl, hand in hand, seemingly unaware of the world around them. The boy’s expression was blank, but his eyes were bright with wonder. The girl, contrarily, appeared as sunny as her affable grin. The colors had become a little faded from exposure, but the memory it held would transcend time’s wear and tear.

This inanimate object was Sehun’s haven of solace. And at times like tonight, when no matter how much he would tire himself he still couldn’t sleep, he would resort to marveling at the portrait. Enter it as though it were a portal to a past of not so long ago, when his friendship with Aya was still untarnished and their time together, uninterrupted. The memory would caress his agitation and chase his restlessness away.

He grabbed the frame and jumped out of bed. He put on a coat and tucked the picture inside. He didn’t bother knowing what time it was, but he knew it was very late. Regardless, he stepped out of his house and stalked down the path until he was two blocks further from his own.

Aya’s house.

It had been a week since he had left her a note that epitomized however he was feeling towards her. There hadn’t been a single response, affirmative or otherwise. He wasn’t going to push her into anything. He was going to leave her alone until she finally deemed it fine to talk to him again.

But Sehun had never been the patient type. He was, as he had claimed before, selfish. He wanted things his own way. He was going to have what he wanted, as soon as he desired it.

And right now, he wanted Aya to acknowledge his existence. He was going to do whatever it took to make her yield.

As he had done a few times before, he climbed up the hind perimeter of their fence and crept up the swing posts that led to Aya’s veranda. She would be asleep, as was always the case whenever he sneaked up in hopes of stealing her for some company. He landed with a soft thud, instantly noticing how the curtains were drawn open to reveal a shadowed room. The sliding door was locked—not a surprise. It would have alarmed him if it weren’t.

He tapped on the glass twice, not knowing what to expect. He was practically trespassing. It was very improper, even for him, to suddenly invade the room of his girlfriend. But he was running out of options, and his patience was wearing thin. He could not tolerate the hollow within him that was also swallowing him alive.

If Aya’s parents discovered him, they’d probably never let him into their house again. He needed to leave. It would be the right thing to do. But he couldn’t. He tapped again. Still no response.

Drowned in frustration, he was going to descend the veranda and just head back to his apartment and probably break all his stuff until he had no more strength and he could finally succumb to sleep. Ever since he and Aya were going out, he had given up throwing fits. For Aya was more than enough the comfort he needed. The attention she dedicated to him, though it was never open and flagrant, was his calming drug. He never did tell her the reason behind his outbursts; he never had to. All she was aware of was that they had something to do with his family, with the people he’d been with in the years that he was apart from her. But that was enough. Aya never pried beyond whatever was shared to her. It made Sehun feel secure; made him feel unjudged. And being with her erased everything about him that he felt was unpleasant, even when on the surface, he still looked distinctly (but gorgeously) repulsive. Perhaps Aya had never known how much of Sehun’s world revolved around her.

He leaned over the wooden banister, heaving deep breaths. His lids rolled down. He strived to empty his mind, to calm his inner rage—rage that was always brewing there though he could no longer remember what had caused it. Slowly, with his eyes still shut, he pulled out the framed portrait. He was going crazy. Over her. He could never let her go. It had become an obsession. She had become his obsession.

But he knew, if he was going to keep her, he must begin to transform himself. Aya deserved better. She deserved to be treated like she was a timeless, priceless treasure. He didn’t know how he could ever achieve that, if he could even will it. But he must. If it meant keeping her, then he must.

The moon beamed at him when he finally opened his eyes. But it wasn’t this bright disc that caught his attention. It was the clutter of stars dotted around the overbearing illumination. Miniscule but sparkling. Blotches of insignificance. They were incredibly tiny, meager in the face of a beautiful moon, some specks disappearing as the twinkle faded out, and then reappearing again.

He blinked a few times and then widened his perspective. He was suddenly seeing himself as the entire blanket of night sky. His intolerable, overbearing self had always dominated his personality. His haughty, selfish and stubborn character: it was the most notable feature in the heavenly canopy that was he. And being outshone by this were the minute pieces of him that could be considered acceptable. He couldn’t think of any, but perhaps there were. Every person held some good within him, right? He couldn’t be so different, could he? For even in the midst of darkness, the twinkle of stars could, in one way or another, make it past the moon’s blinding light and still manage to capture human attention.

Maybe this was how Aya was able to tolerate h