He was waiting for a gold sky. A blanket of orange that would slide its stunning warmth across the sky and pour into the opening of his dull wall, bounce off the corners of the room and into his waking eyes, ignite the surfaces of his mundane belongings, warm his chilled body. But the sun rose quietly with the least majesty and extravagance possible. His room lightened from a cold, dark gray immediately into the familiar but unexciting color of daytime. He rubbed his eyes and hesitantly accepted nature's lackluster morning greeting by finally rolling out of bed. If he'd been up since 4:30 am, why did he feel so tired and weak? Lying awake in a pitch black room with persistent thoughts and a desperate need to go to bathroom clearly did not replace sleep. While waddling to the bathroom he stepped on a soft bundle of fabric. And another. The fleeting thoughts of tidying up his room came less frequently the less Tao was around.

He was praying for rain to fall. Around the time Sehun got out of bed that morning, Tao was sitting in a room full of subdued nature paintings and dark wooden tables. An iced coffee warming up in the anxiously firm grasp of his pallid fingers, he wished for gray clouds to materialize and dominate the sky and wet the windows of every building in the city. He would take any sign from the universe that Sehun wouldn’t hate him for this. It at once intrigued and irritated Tao to think about the length of time between now and his last communication with his old friend Kris. Was it possible to forget about someone for so long? Or had he not been forgotten, but simply stored away in a place in his brain that Tao was just too occupied to use? Of course, he was occupied. But he was well aware that it wasn't the only reason why he was incapable of keeping in contact with someone once so important in his life. And it was a horrible excuse.

Not a second after Tao’s last thought, like the sudden draft of wind spilling in through the door, kicking violently at the warmth that was tightly woven in the air of the coffee shop, an unmistakable figure appeared at the door. Tall and slender, face sharp and tired, black hair tied back slickly. Emerging with cautious conviction and a shadow of self-reproach that darkened his face and slowed his steps towards the table, Kris broke down the heavy wall between them with one long, glassy-eyed stare. Tao couldn’t look at him for longer than the seconds-- no, eons it took him to realize blood was pumping so loudly in his empty mind that he couldn’t produce a word. A loud, shallow breath escaped his mouth. The tall man sat down across from him very, very slowly. Kris was waiting for something. Tao didn’t know what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll start then.” Kris’ bright lips opened into a humble smile. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Tao’s eyes glazed over and suddenly Kris saw the city in them, the daylight’s reflection painted in those small white spheres somehow more sad and captivating than anything he had ever seen in his life.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” The softness in his voice was unbearable. Tao kept his eyes locked on the dusty window sill.

Kris sighed. “Look, you don’t have to forgive me. I understand why you wouldn’t want to see me, especially after all this time. I tried, but trying was useless since I never ended up calling you. And… well you never called either. I want to know if you at least tried, too.”

Tao remained frozen in defiance. But the index finger on his slender hand quivered uncontrollably over the surface of the table.

“Don’t forgive me, Tao,” Kris shrilled, losing his confidence but not taking his eyes off of his best friend. “All I ask is that you spend the week with me.”

--

None of his words were calculated. He spoke with a newfound comfortable fluidity and confidence that was perhaps lost in the years of fending for his own safety, during which he spoke only when it was needed. Even in the years prior to Kris’ painfully timed departure, he hadn’t felt so free with himself. Tao was a young child again, drifting through the clouds on the shoulders of an old, trustworthy friend.

They spent an equal amount of time catching up on each other’s lives and creating new moments. Tao had almost forgotten what it was like to never have to bear an awkward silence. Kris learned about Tao’s favourite street corners, park benches, boutiques and restaurants. Tao’s confidence in his skill at first-person shooting games took a massive blow. Kris celebrated his first adult birthday with his best friend. Tao carried his first drunk person home.

--

“Your old friend from high school, huh?”

Sehun breathed into the lustrous fabric of his grey throw blanket, trying to create warmth between his bent knees and his cold cheeks. He watched the shadow of the window curtains wave and wriggle over Tao’s lithe figure. Something about the dreary white light suffusing from the open window gave Sehun the unsettling feeling that his world was in black-and-white.

“Yeah, I’ve told you about Kris,” said Tao as he looked over at the beef stew simmering on the stovetop.

“So? Do I get to meet this guy? We should all have dinner or something.”

Tao stirred the stew with silent concentration.

“What, is that a problem?” He slid off his stool and peeked his head over Tao’s shoulder. There was a little sheen of sweat on the bridge of Tao’s nose, so Sehun dabbed it dry with a hand towel. Tao kept his eyes on the stove. “From what I hear, he sounds like a cool guy. Do you think we would get along? What’s he into--”

A wooden spoon slammed onto the counter. “I don’t know,” Tao snapped. The bit of sweat on his nose returned. He exhaled heavily and his stiff and agitated face softened once again. “I don’t know much about him. He was away for so long…”

“Okay.”

Sehun lifted the heavy bundle of blanket trailing on the floor and covered Tao’s left shoulder. Arms cold and chest feeling quite heavy, Sehun left his arm rested on Tao’s shoulder for next half hour, keeping Tao warm and protected but leaving himself otherwise.

--

Sehun felt a warmth dissolve into his skin heavier than the sunlight of an afternoon and yet so light on his heart. He needed that body to stay where it was forever, because he could not fathom how he would feel if his arms were ever empty again. A small jolt of fear pierced his chest with every shuffle, every uncomfortable shift of Tao’s body, for that could mean that the boy didn’t want to stay. For whatever reason, he was constantly beset by dizzying worries ever since Tao’s meeting with his friend from high school. For fear that a forced confession would hit the floor and bounce back up to hit Tao in the face, he sat in the darkness, safe in his timorous silence.

As the room grew stale and the time on the nightstand’s digital clock turned 12:40AM, Tao turned his head to meet with Sehun’s in the dim orange light. The look in his feline eyes could be described as nothing but fatal, and Sehun knew he needed to let go, release the comforting fantasy that everything was beautiful as long as Tao rested in his arms. He saw the corners of Tao’s mouth curl up slowly, but his eyes produced nothing close to a smile. Tears.

Sehun lifted his hands from the boy’s torso. “If you need to talk about something…”

Tao’s body rolled to the other side of the bed. The worn springs creaked and Sehun’s heart jumped at the alarmingly loud sound and the bitter reality that followed. His arms were empty.

“Sehun,” Tao mumbled, facing the wall opposite the window. “Go to sleep already.”

--

| Get out of bed already! You’re late !!

Sehun blinked away the clouds in his eyes and re-read the text message. Another one shortly followed.

| ARE YOU GONNA COME TO WORK?! You are so dead *___*

Oh . He woke up with his legs hanging from the edge of his bed, tangled in his not-so-white sheets, dressed in his work clothes from last night. Or rather, yesterday evening. After coming home from a seven hour shift, Sehun hadn’t bothered changing, showering or getting up from the softest section of his mattress in case he missed the spectacle that was his bedroom window. Nothing close to a view presented itself through the transparent canvas; nevertheless, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else but stare at the nearby dusty-looking brick building and its surrounding dull edifices. At some point, before his heavy eyelids fell shut and before the sun had even set, the word that described the feeling that viciously ate at his insides all day popped into his mind.

lonely.

Sehun fought with his bedsheets until he was set free, ran a hand through his oily hair and stumbled out of his room. His keys were on the kitchen counter. He left for work.

--

“That was brutal.” Jin wiped her sweat-tinted forehead before pulling out the cash float. “Today, you clean and I count, got it? If I have to stand in this coffee-scented sauna for three more seconds, I’m gonna collapse.”

“Okay, I’m on it,” replied Sehun. He cringed at her dreadfully tired appearance. “Jesus, Jin. You look like hell.” He patted her on the shoulder and made his way to the cleaning storage closet.

“Wait!”

Eyelids sagging down and skin ghastly pale, Jin took three clumsy steps forward. Her thin arm rose, trembling as though it weighed a ton, and she pointed in the direction of the entrance. “Don’t forget… the closed sign…”

She crumpled to the floor.

“Jin!” Sehun slid onto the laminate where Jin lay motionless. It looked like she was sleeping, but the sickly colour in her face and her dry, cracked lips proved otherwise. The sweltering heat of the summer’s hottest and most humid day had brought in hundreds more customers than usual looking for cold beverages and air conditioning, but the incessant demand had only made the back of the restaurant hotter and stickier. Five employees were running back and forth in the cramped cafe all day, and tiny supervisor Jin could only take so much of it.

“Wake up, Jin!” He tapped on her cheek with his palm. Her skin was still remarkably supple. “Jin. Can you hear me? Uh, how do you do this? Soojin!”

Sehun’s heart shook upon realizing that everyone else had already punched out.

After crouching frozen over his sick coworker for a whole minute, he ran to the door and flipped the sign. Sorry, we’re closed.

--

Minutes treaded sluggishly by as Sehun watched a single drop of water slide down the glass of water in front of him. He sat on a chair beside an old corduroy sofa where he had laid Jin down. She was not as light as he’d expected her to be, and he noticed that her arms were quite toned. The poorly lit staff room felt as cold as it looked. Sehun was beginning to drift away to the soothing rhythm of the wall clock when he heard a soft moan.

“Jin?”

He glanced at the clock. Surprisingly, only three minutes had passed. She rose from her peaceful rest, eyes barely open and teeth chattering.

“Did I… did I take a nap in here?”

Sehun was now kneeling beside her. “No, you fainted,” he said, handing her the glass of water. “You totally overworked yourself.”

“Did you… clean up the store?”

“What, was I supposed to just leave you here? You were only out for about five minutes. Any longer and I would’ve taken you to the hospital.”

She pushed herself off the bed and nearly fell over again. “Sehun! You shouldn’t have wasted your time here. Get back to work.”

“Are you joking? I wasn’t just going to leave you lying on the floor!” He grabbed her shoulders to help her regain balance, but she shoved him away.

“I’m fine, Sehun. I can take care of myself,” she said, smirking.

Something was bubbling in his gut. Suddenly, he wasn’t cold anymore. “Do you think this is funny? God, you’re unbelievable. You freaked the hell out of me!"

“Why do you care so much?”

Sehun had no answer.

“Calm yourself, kid.” Jin looked a lot better since she woke up. The redness in her eyes was finally fading, but now they were shooting a deadly serious stare at Sehun. They were standing a foot apart. “Why are you so agitated? What’s going on?”

Looking up at Sehun with her chubby cheeks and accusatory scowl, she had the appearance of a brazen child. Yet looking closely at her eyes-- framed by dark, thick eyelashes and glistening a little too much in the colourless fluorescent light-- Sehun detected the strongly scented sentiment of concern.

“What, you don’t think I noticed the way you’ve been acting all day? You’ve been cold, detached and pretty rude. And you’ve been doing your job really well, so something is obviously wrong.”

Sehun looked down.

“Hey, just talk to me,” said Jin. She tugged on his index finger and pulled him onto the couch. “This is a safe place.”

“Why is everything a joke to you?” Sehun asked, eyes fixated on the decrepit microwave across the room. There was no way he was going to tell her anything about it. About his longing for the knowledge of where Tao was every minute of the day. About the increasingly lonely nights where it seemed as though everything in his room missed that boy. About the stupid dreams of rainy days and breakfast in bed and soft goodnight kisses.

On one hand, he wished Jin would just leave so he could have the dim room to himself, because maybe being alone in this dank staffroom would help him clear his mind. On the other, Jin’s knee was rested on Sehun’s, and he liked the warmth of her skin.

“Jin.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s possible to forget someone?”

“Of course not.”

Sehun shuffled. “I mean, not completely forget. But is there a point where that person matters to you so little that…”

“What?”

“...they matter to you so little that they just sort of... disappear?”

Jin took her gaze off of Sehun for a few seconds to think. One of the few lights in the room flickered.

“If there’s even a possibility that they could disappear,” she said flatly, breathlessly, “then they never mattered to you in the first place.”

“Really,” Sehun breathed. He looked into Jin’s calm eyes and caught a reflection of a faint outline. It was boy with overgrown hair and slouching shoulders, an image with which he was just as familiar as he was disappointed. He begged himself not to break down.

“That’s what I think, anyway. My mom told me this one thing when I was in high school, after I got my tiny little heart broken for the first time.

She said, ‘even with proper love and care, a paper heart will fold and tear.’

Some people are weak, and don’t know how to love. I suppose… those are the kind of people who can just forget someone.”

“Oh.”

“Sehun.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a little…” she pulled up her sleeve and wiped a hanging tear from his chin.

He tried to smirk, to laugh it off like Jin always did. But smiling while crying hurt, like switching from cold to hot, or eating a bad combination of food. It made him feel sick.

Tao’s flushed, teary face appeared in his mind.

Sehun looked up at a teary-eyed Tao

The look in his feline eyes could be described as nothing but fatal

He wanted to squeeze something. His hands jittered with the intense feeling that all of the energy in his body needed to escape from the tips of his fingers. He needed to hold on, so he wouldn’t explode or melt or dissipate like a cloud of smoke, gone forever. He held on to the small, soft hands on the lap in front of his.

“I’m not going to disappear,” he muttered.

Jin’s hands squeezed back. “Who said you were going to disappear?”

There were tears in her eyes, too. His faint reflection blurred out, and now he was only looking and Soojin. Dry and messy hair, round face, vigorous features. She looked much younger than 27, especially when on the verge of crying. Somehow, Sehun felt as though it was his responsibility to cheer her up whenever she was down, encourage her whenever she lacked confidence, and most importantly, always assure her that everything was okay. He had been keeping this up for the past two years, and it felt normal and good. In the eighteen years prior to meeting Soojin, Sehun had never felt like it was his responsibility to do anything. There were no friends to keep, no lovers to please and no reasons to believe anyone would try to do all those things for him.

Sehun thought about Soojin a lot. It took him about a year to realize that he had an actual friend. That friend didn’t need anything from him, or put pressure on him to be anything he didn’t want to be. She listened to him. Before listening to him, she actually got him to speak in order to express himself. She only got angry with him when he did stupid things at work or acted like a nonchalant jerk and deserved to be scolded.

Sehun thought a lot about why Jin was so important to him. But right now, the best thing about Jin was that she was here. He knew he wasn’t going to disappear from her.

“Sehun? I’m waiting for an answer. I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Sehun said before leaning in to kiss her

--