Whenever I see him, he’s crying. I’ve tried to write about him, but the words never seem to encompass the total sadness he’s feeling.

Turning off my desk lamp I sit in the darkness. It’s here in the loss of light that I can see him so clearly. In a chair in the corner of my office, he holds his leg to his chest, crying uncontrollably. All I can do is sit with him, watching. I wish I could go to him, slide into the chair next to him and hold him tightly. I would fuse him back together with my caring embrace. But every time I get close enough, he’s gone.

When I sit in bed, trying to find a way to bring him from his misery into reality he sometimes appears. He’ll sit at the edge of my bed and look out the window as if he’s wishing for something he lost a long time ago. His eyes are glassy with tears and his skin is deathly pale, almost translucent when the full moon shines in over him.

I’m tired of seeing his deep depression. I’m tired of the useless feeling I have, knowing I can’t do a thing for him.

As I fall asleep this night, I imagine as hard as I’ve ever wished for something, that he’s in my arms, letting me hold him while he vents through liquid pain, all his inner tortures. I want to help him so badly, tears form in my own eyes and I fall asleep, empty and alone.

In my dream, I feel the bed pressed down by the weight of another. Opening my eyes I see the porcelain depression. His skin, glistening from fresh tears that have fallen down his cheeks, freshly break my heart. He’s regarding me this time. He’s never looked at me, never acknowledged my existence before. He cries more when he sees the tears marking a path down my cheeks.

Reaching for me, I sit up and pull him tightly into my arms. He’s real. He’s cold. He’s shaking in my arms as he cries harder. My breath catches as I squeeze him as tightly as I’ve wanted to all along. I’m holding him together. I feel he really will break if I let him go, or loosen up even slightly.

As his crying calms to soft sniffles and gentle shivers in my arms, I risk moving a hand into his raven hair. It’s soft, but hasn’t been brushed for a while. through the tangles, I smooth his hair gently. I feel a soft kiss to my cheek as he accepts more of my kindnesses.

We don’t say anything to each other. But the general feeling of things being okay now, encompasses us. Pulling him carefully, I set him up in my bed, comfortably in my arms and under my blankets.

I don’t know if he’ll be here when I wake up, but I don’t care. He needs me now and I need him.

“Heechul,” I breathe to him, giving him his name.

“Leeteuk.” He knows mine too and the feeling clenching my heart makes me cry again.

“I love you.”

He nods and hides his face against my chest, clutching slender hands onto my shirt.

Shaking with my own heavy tears, I hold him close, breathing in his hair.

…

Heechul woke the next morning. His head was sore from crying the night before. Suddenly remembering his dream, he opened his eyes and searched the bed next to him. But it was empty. He was gone. There was only white.