He was pretty sure from the first time they held hands that he loved this boy more than anyone else he’d met – it was a hackneyed statement but heartfelt. Even now at this moment as he watched him tapping away on the computer keyboard while squinting in an awkward fashion that made him resemble one of the old ladies he’d seen trying to read the signboard at the side of the busy streets, he was adorable; and it was an undeniable fact.

“Soo hyung, how do I enter this sentence-” The boy’s sweet mellow voice rang through the silent apartment and Kyungsoo felt a smile forming itself involuntarily on his face. He walked towards the boy sitting hunched over the monitor as he wrapped his arms around his neck, enveloping his strong frame. Reaching out for the paper he had been holding in front of his face, Kyungsoo read its contents intently before chuckling.

“Lay you’re really blur.” Kyungsoo pat his head before placing the paper back on the tabletop and leant over to type the sentence, the words appearing on the filled word document quickly. He heard Lay’s usual “oh.” as he laughed and pushed himself back up and reached for the stool next to the computer table to sit down. The same events took place on a regular basis every night when Lay decided it was time for him to stop spending time on the couch or cooking – he was working as some sort of journalist-like job just that he wasn’t the one who went out all day to take pictures and visit crime scenes. He was the one who worked behind the scenes, the one who was in charge of putting the messy constellations of thoughts his partner came up with after having on-site visits together into an understandable string of words that would then be published in the papers. It wasn’t an easy job, given that a single mistake would be judged by the eyes of the entire population who liked reading the morning papers – and that was the reason why when it came to his self-proclaimed work hours at night, he’d dump all of his concentration into the computer screen and Kyungsoo would find himself fading into the background unless he needed help. But he didn’t mind, and he’d settle for sitting on the stool beside him to accompany him until he was done. Lay ended quite quickly today, proceeding without a hitch after he had forgotten how to enter a sentence he hadn’t read before. His vocabulary wasn’t as defined and wide yet given that he had come by from his hometown just years back. He remembered the first time they met under the evening sky when he had accidentally bumped into Lay while they were interestingly having their own evening jogs at the same time. Lay’s confused eyes and worried expression would’ve been something he’d never forget – he remembered how beautifully contoured his face was, his features unique. His eyes were widened at the fact that he had bumped into someone and he kept apologizing as he grabbed Kyungsoo’s hand tightly to pull him back up – that was the first time Kyungsoo felt his heart flutter for this innocent boy.

“I’m done.” Lay smiled as he leant backwards in the chair and stretched his arms out before turning to Kyungsoo.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Someone sounds upset today-” Lay chuckled as he got up and walked to stand behind Kyungsoo as he rested his hands gently on his head, giving him a massage as he hummed a tune. Kyungsoo could’ve sworn that it was heaven.

“Nah I’m not. When was I.” Kyungsoo said as he frowned a little, his inspiration had run dry that day and he came home in frustration, his shoes kicked a bit too far off to the staircase, and his bags strewn on the floor beside the sofa. Yet he kept it in at the sight of how he was hard at work again. He was always a hardworker, someone who’d toss things aside for the commitment he had for his work. He admired him for his responsibility, but it was everything that fell under a career that caused possible conflicts between them.

For starters, Lay loved things factual. His writings were often factual, restricted by the pedantic expectations of his boss on the first day that he agreed to take up this arduous job. He was to report the news and the news only, including none of his own personal thoughts. Perhaps he had grown too used to this entire factual environment and grew a little irked towards things that had too much emotion in writing – but he loved dancing. And he loved things that let him express himself; just not in prose or poetry.

But Kyungsoo was on the other end of the spectrum. His life depended on poetry, the expression of his emotions – nothing factual. He loved how words could be strung together so easily to form a patched quilt that he’d gladly spend his days huddling in, he loved everything that could pierce his heart and mend it all over again. Things factual were however still appreciated, though they weren’t his cup of tea. If he had to be honest, he had a moleskin notebook filled with sketchy poems he’d written for Lay since the first day they met – but he knew that he wouldn’t appreciate it too much. Knowing Lay, his adorable character would make him force a smile and thank Kyungsoo for it but he knew that it wouldn’t exactly be able to touch his heart.

“Are you sure?” Lay hummed as he pulled Kyungsoo up from his seat and dragged him towards the sofa, making him sit down next to him. He wrapped his arms around his relatively narrow shoulders and rested his head against his neck. And that was when Kyungsoo knew that Lay was at it again, his tactic he’d use to get all the information he needed from Kyungsoo. Whenever he was upset, this boy would miraculously be able to tell without even saying a word. It was as though he was so easily read and there were things he couldn’t ever hide even if he were to put in the extra effort to cover his emotions with layers and layers of masks. Lay was harder to read, but then again he wouldn’t have anything to hide would he? His angelic character just seemed so innocent all the time that he resembled a young child at times, a clean white sheet of paper.

“Yeah. As long as you’re around I’ll be fine.”

--

He found himself trudging down the busy street, his hands fit snugly in his pockets. As he walked past a dessert shop, eyeing the mousses in the display corner, the yellowish light shining down on their bodies elegantly; and his soulless eyes stopped on the two mousses in the corner. Everyday he’d find more differences between the two of them, things that would potentially pull them apart and it irked him. Lay loved strawberry mousses; it was like an immediate effect where once the pink tinted mousse was placed in front of him on the dining table, his eyes would blink open quickly. It worked even better than his presence at times, and he’d sulk. Yet if a strawberry mousse were to be placed before Kyungsoo, he’d scrunch his nose up a little and pick the ice cold fork up hesitantly. He’d poke at the soft texture of the dessert but he’d never want to place even the smallest scoop of this gooey substance in his mouth – he wouldn’t want to try partaking the blandness of sour strawberries, he’d never want a part in ingesting this fruit. It might appear baseless to others, but he knew he had a good reason to dislike these pink things. The last time he tried chewing a strawberry, he almost landed himself in the hospital – it might sound insane or impossible but he was allergic to strawberries, allergic to all the berries that left gooey, unpleasant aftertastes in his mouth. He hated them, to be utterly honest. Equally, Lay disliked the aroma of coffee. But Kyungsoo loved coffee.

Sighing, Kyungsoo looked up at the shop owner and bit his lips before smiling, “One strawberry and one coffee mousse please.” He watched the man behind the counter nod and reach for a larger box as he held his hand out, “Could you please pack them separately? Thank you.” As the man passed the pink bag to Kyungsoo, he nodded and gave a faint grin before turning back to the streets.

Fumbling to get the keys, he placed the keys into the keyhole gently before turning it slowly in an attempt to refrain from disturbing Lay if he were to be working; and he was greeted by the familiar sight of Lay working on the computer. Gulping a little, he walked towards the fridge and placed the desserts in the middle shelf before returning to his perch on the couch and reached for his moleskin notebook which would usually have been on the coffee table beside the sofa below the lamp; but he touched the smooth surface of the table. He felt his heartbeat increase, his anxiety getting to him as he turned towards the table to see the empty spot. Breathing in heavily, he pushed himself off the sofa to scan the living room. He felt his throat getting increasingly dry as he found no traces of his haven.

“Lay. Where’s my notebook?” He stammered, his voice hoarse as he clenched his fists. No reply.

“Yixing.” Silence.

“Yixing!” Kyungsoo found himself roaring, his hair in a mess from the frustration he’d been feeling as he run his fingers through his hair repeatedly. He heard the fumbling of papers and the sound of the wooden chair rubbing against the surface of the marble floor as he shut his eyes tightly.

“Uh. I don’t know-” Yixing stuttered.

“I’ve known you for years, don’t lie.” Genuine anger.

“I spilt some tea on it earlier; its drying in my room.”

“Wha-what?” Kyungsoo felt nothing but chagrin at this point.

“It was quite soaked…” Everyone had a point in which they’d flare up, no matter how calm they were daily. And Lay knew he had just pulled the trigger, the shot fired at the entire chunk of explosives Kyungsoo had kept hidden from the first day they understood the conficts between the two of them. He sighed.

“Where is it?” Kyungsoo hissed.

“My room.” Lay tried to stay calm, his voice quivering a little; and this shook Kyungsoo a little as he stills for a few moments, going silent.

“I-I’m sorry for flaring up. I just- It hasn’t been a good day. I-I’ll be back in awhile.” His voice had become close to a whisper as he choked his tears back and left the house with the door slammed shut. He regretted it the moment he stepped out, his walls crumbling.

Lay too, slumped into his chair quietly and stayed still for a few moments. Swallowing hard, he got up and swung his fist against the wall and rested his head against its chilly surface – it was the first time they argued, and it was because of his negligence. He stayed motionless for a few moments before entering his room with trembling hands – he neared the window as he picked the limp book up from its perch on the window ledge and flipped it open to the first page.

---

 

15^th January – 200%

 

(I met him again today in a café. It felt so surreal, the manner in which it was so coincidental that it felt close to planned. Its something I really felt happy about, the fact that everytime we meet I get this feeling of being comfortable and at home and with that said I guess I might be close to being in love. I don’t know – but when these thoughts get to my head I get my usual insecurities and the differences pop up in my head because it’s a known fact : Zhang Yi Xing doesn’t like poetry.

But Do Kyung Soo loves it more than he loves himself. )

 

1-4-3 feels simple:

 

Like a blueberry lost
amidst the seas of pink tinted yoghurt

kept in the tight embrace of a glass cup;

fragile yet strong.

 

Like a cloud floating
leisurely above the cheery green pastures

as the height left a tint of fear,

overcome by the whispers from the

wind.

 

Like a paper crane kept
afloat by the taut arms of a thin string

holding on with the strength of a tightly

tied knot; the closest you’d feel
to empyrean happiness.

 

Like a lone soul falling
into a masquerade amongst
the mystique of celestial gems as the trek

rang wind chimes in your porch.

 

Like a composition of the

sweetest harmonies recorded into the

sleek silver finishes of a cassette

to be delivered with the inevitable

blush of cheeks and an

anxiously thumping heart.

 

“It must be love; 200% sure of that.”

---

 

Lay sighed as he found himself sitting down on his bed, his head in a mess which he wouldn’t ever be able to fathom. He never liked poetry but this was beautiful. He blinked for a few seconds before shutting his eyes and turning back to the window to place the book back on its perch.

“Dry soon, alright?” Lay peered out of the window to see the raindrops beginning to fall.

“And you fool, come home soon.”