Kyungsoo awoke to the light scent of vanilla as he found himself resting his head gently against Lay’s chest, his hand outstretched and hugging the older boy tightly. As he opened his eyes, he felt a hand land on his head gently.

“Mornings Lay.” Kyungsoo muttered as he rolled over to the side and lay staring at the ceiling.

“I see your language skills haven’t left you entirely huh? Mornings hyung.” Lay chuckled gently as he slipped his arms around Kyungsoo’s waist and held him tightly.

“Lay you do notice that you’re the one who’s older and so I should call you hyung-” Since the two of them met, Lay had insisted on calling him his hyung even though he was clearly two years younger; he always said that it felt natural because Kyungsoo had this air of intelligence and superiority around him which of course he didn’t quite agree to.

“You know I like to call you that. Unless you prefer Soo oppa.” Lay laughed as he hugged Kyungsoo tighter, leaving him to smile weakly, “Now get up because you’re going to have a pretty interesting Saturday ahead.” Lay loosened his grip around Kyungsoo and pushed himself off the bed hastily before walking over to the other side of the bed to squat at the bedside.

“What are we doing today its- its Saturday.” Kyungsoo rubbed his eyes and he pushed himself off the bed in one push and sat up. He hunched slightly over the blanket lying over his legs as he felt the little hesitation in his head, the feeling where he’d need some time to think about how his words would flow together even though it was a simple phrase, “God damn the ing aphasia.” He hissed as he scratched the back of his head and rolled over his side to get off the bed and sat on the floor next to Lay who looked at him with concern.

“You’re feeling the effects of the illness hm?” Lay sighed as he twisted himself to lean against the bed, “It’ll settle in gradually apparently, so the difficulty will be like a roller coaster that just goes up. In that sense, even though it’ll be a hinderance and a bother it might be, to some extent, something thrilling and fun. Take it in a positive light.” In times like this, he showed his maturity, the way in which his gently words were the only things that could calm Kyungsoo down proper. He nodded as he leant against his shoulders. “I’m going to bring you somewhere today so you can relax and forget about all of these things for at least some time today. And when we’re done you’re going to have to promise me that you’ll take everything easy, don’t stress yourself out or get too frustrated.” As Kyungsoo nodded once again, his hair running against Lay’s neck, he chuckled as he ruffled his hair and gave him a gentle push to motion him towards the washroom.

-

Clutching the notebook tightly in his left hand, Lay dragged Kyungsoo out of the house. Clad in his onyx beanie and brown button up shirt over a pair of sweatpants, the older boy looked stunning, leaving Kyungsoo to smile a little as he glanced at his book in his hand. He was about to bring Kyungsoo about the district, bringing him to the places where they had their treasured memories and allowing him to read the poetry he wrote for those episodes, or fill up the empty spaces if he hadn’t back then. The idea of filling up the gaps excited him, the thought of having everything in a complete set felt like it was something like nostalgia – as though he’d have a logbook of how home felt like when his words slipped out of his mouth incoherently. He followed behind Lay as he brought him to the park as Kyungsoo smiled at the memories of their first meeting beneath the velvet skies; settling Kyungsoo down on the bench as he ran his fingers along the poetry written years ago, his calloused fingers trembling as he tried his best to piece the words together in his head before uttering a sound. A gentle smile appeared on Lay’s curled lips as he ran his hand down Kyungsoo’s back repeatedly, as though encouraging him to move forth without fretting too much – as he neared the end of the poem, he struggled at the last few words before sighing and shutting the book in one sharp movement; how pathetic could one get? To the extent that his own poetry was something he could no longer reach, dreams barely tangible. He sighed as he clenched his fists, his fingers digging into his own palm as he felt Lay’s arm wrap around his shoulder as he tried to find himself; cooling himself down quietly under the vibrance of the sun.

 

“You’re alright?” Lay whispered as he pat his head to which the younger boy nodded, his eyes slightly soulless as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Sighing, Lay helped him up and dragged him towards the next destination as his fingers intertwined with his. Kyungsoo found himself pulled forward solely by his strength as he felt his body grow limp against his grip. Watching how his veins ran under his skin, Kyungsoo kept his eyes on Lay’s arm as he followed him, truding by his side as they reached a bus stop.

 

“Do you remember this?” Lay pointed towards the bus stop as Kyungsoo stops abruptly and stares in the direction as he smiles gently; he remembers it of course but the words don’t fit together. He nods as he turns back to Lay and tries to smile but feels nothing but a concoction of nostalgia and pique – he grabs the corners of his shirt as he bites his lips gently and his head to the side. Frowning, he calms himself down and tries to piece the letters together, word by word, to form a sentence. He barely makes it as he sighs at his inability; what was a writer to be if he couldn’t even form a sentence – it used to be something he’d use in pretty much every second he had spent awake, waking up to the warm sunlight as he sat on the sofa watching the cars go by on the road beneath him as the scent of fresh Arabica wafts over from the table in front of him, the scent of fruits and coffee beans as he would smile in satisfaction, picking the pen up to write. He’d sit at the same spot as night fell, watching the familiar feature hunched over the computer screen as he watched the television screen light up in an array of colours before him as he thought of what to write next, thinking of commentaries about the groups on the music shows, thinking of ideas for a new itenary when they decided they’d take a break and go on a holiday; words were what made Kyungsoo a whole piece, and having this illness just left him crumbling apart, as though someone had pulled his spine out from his back, leaving a mess of blood, flesh and shattered bones. Yet standing in front of this bus stop he has too much he wishes to say, too much for his battered head to fathom at this point of time. After meeting in the park once, a month later they met at this bus stop when the sky was leaving its own droplets of water to fall towards the ground, forming spectacular patterns as the road seemed subtly flooded. Kyungsoo stood outside of the crowded bus stop with his pale peach umbrella over his head as he watched the stranger run towards him with a cap over his head and his hands hanging loosely as he took heavy strides towards the bus stop with his head hanging low, his eyes fixated on the ground in front of him. Kyungsoo watches in silence as the figure grows nearer but doesn’t seem to stop as he tilts his head to the side and instinctively holds his hands out to stop the stranger from running headfirst into him as he gasps at the man’s strength as he almost finds himself falling down. The stranger looks up at him with his apologetic look as he pauses and chuckles at him – he remembers him. They stood amongst the sweaty crowd as Kyungsoo felt safe for once, as though he might just survive a day without angst. Subsequently, they met every week at the same bus stop at the same time; because Kyungsoo had lessons to go for, and Lay had work to go for.

 

“Y-yeah I do.” Kyungsoo cringes at how little he utters – he remembers everything neatly in his head, arranged chronologically. He remembers every single glance Lay shot towards him, every single pat on the head – every single minute they spent together but he can’t say a thing. He shuts his eyes tightly and lets out a frustrated cry as he runs his hand through his brown-red hair in anger as he hunches and simply watched the people get onto the bus which just arrived.

 

“Read it.” Lay held the book open in front of Kyungsoo at his eye level as he gives him an encouraging smile and pats him lightly on the head, “Its frustrating but stay strong and hang in there; Do Kyungsoo loves poetry more than his own life. Remember? So before it gets worse try your best.”

 

Kyungsoo smiles slightly as his reply and picks the book up in his trembling hands as he smiles at the fond memories, trying to sew them back together into the usual warm patched up quilt he’d hug to sleep every night as it gave him more security than anything; placing the familiar scenes together into one short film he’d keep on repeat everynight, coming up with commentaries for it as he watched their two backs slumped against the glass on their first date, their two hands intertwined a few weeks after, and the manner in which Kyungsoo enjoyed lying against Lay’s chest as he slept. These memories came flowing back or rather gushing back in things stronger than streams but not as calm as oceans – he sighed as he attempted to read the words, his voice quivering as he went step by step – going for the pathetic syllables.

---

 

17^th March – monochrome nostalgia.

(We’ve been keeping contact somehow, being dorks in the rain together in the bus stop every week and it feels better than heaven would’ve felt in my opinion. I imagined falling back into this pit of endearment stupid, something which would leave me in a rotting ground – but it feels better than anything else; empyrean euphoria, whatever I could call it wouldn’t suffice. And perhaps Do Kyungsoo found something he might even love more than poetry. I mean, someone.)

 

(i)

“But I will love you endlessly” –

a light flutter accompanied by the

staccato rhythm of footsteps.

 

“Forever and always.” –

words thrown carelessly without

a thought; habitual or naive.

 

“This is my oath to you.”

A legal covenant in the eyes of his

pathetic fragility – their wishes and words

left to rot in the stale air of a thin-walled

glass jar.

 

(ii)

Diagnosis: Chronic disease of dependence;

Symptoms : Relentless counting of days –

A hopeless clamber towards the

mellow tint of orange at the

peak of his inability.

 

Life span: Infinite

Cure: Endless –

His hundred-and-eighty twenty-four

hours were a mere count of numbers,

random numerals placed together to form

an aptly accurate depiction of his

weaknesses.

 

Washed overboard,

left without a buoy -

forgotten redemptions

blurred by deepened sins.

 

(iii)

Yet a peer over the aftermath;

a leap towards the security of warm

fine specks of sand revealed

closure and solace -

kindness and cliché lessons learnt.

 

Slight nostalgia settled in along with the

strong bass of the familiar instrumentals;

Silent association between the two

bubbled beneath the wraps of

a quilt.

 

(iv)

Courageous tumbles forward

coexisted within the minute locus of

quiet choreographies –

he had found his soul once again,

the return back

home.