I'll Hide and You'll Seek
(triple update, 63, 64 & 65)

As the silence bleeds out, the auditorium collapses into a standing ovation, nothing but the lovely echoes of Daehyun's heartfelt words left against the walls. I hastily wipe at my tears as I clap for Daehyun, and he searches the crowd and locks eyes with me once more for a fragile second.

The next few contestants are all a blur, smithereens of lyrics and choruses crushed by the remnants of Daehyun's voice. He's been hurt so much because of that boy. I just want him to be happy for the rest of his life.

I manage to smile through my welled up tears when they announce the results, Daehyun clinching first runner-up while Hayi wins first place and Yoseob third. The cheers for Daehyun are phenomenal, his team proudly yelling as he goes up on stage to collect his award. Despite the small smile over his face, it doesn't seem to reach his eyes, him sauntering backstage once they're done with the photo-taking.

Daehyun is amazing. That sole thought repeats like a broken casette player in my mind even as the lights finally brim over the audience, the show coming to a spectacular end. I rub at the dried tear streaks down my face and Chanhee squeezes my shoulder. Himchan swiftly paces down and wipes my cheeks, shaking his head with a soft sigh.

"Cry baby." He pinches my cheek and Jongup clears his throat, the two engaging in an eccentric stare-off. 

I sniffle and grab my things, my bawling resulting in a blubbering voice. "Go home without me. I want to talk to Daehyun."

"Yeah, you should congratulate him," Jongup beams. "He sang crazy well. Didn't expect it from him." He checks his phone and turns to Himchan, stating, "Hyung, my parents are here. Shall we go first?"

Himchan bites on his lower lip, glancing down at Jongup and deciding, "Thanks, Jongup, but I think I'll stay."

"I'll wait for you," Himchan offers as he turns back to me. He tries to grasp me just as I back away, him missing by a few inches. I wave and churn out a small simper.

"It's okay; thanks, hyung. I'll take a while. You two go back without me." I briskly amble away and Himchan's calls wilt into the boisterous chatter of families and friends. Winding through the throng, I scour around for Daehyun, seeing many of the glitter faces from just now but no Daehyun. Searching for a good five minutes and even going out to the foyer, there's no sign of Daehyun anywhere. I briskly jog back to the auditorium and ask one of the passing helpers.

"Excuse me, do you know if Daehyun's still here?" I question.

"He left right after he got his award," she provides, flashing me a sympathetic smile. My shoulders deflate and I thank her, aimlessly standing at one corner backstage while the volunteers scurry around. I wanted to congratulate him...

Plucking out my phone from my pocket, I key in Daehyun's phone number, deliberating on whether to call him. He might be busy celebrating with his friends now; I could be disturbing him.

"Whose is this?" Chanhee shouts, raising up a maroon box with a big bow. That looks like one of the gifts Daehyun received. He might have forgotten to bring it home. If no one claims it, I'll offer to bring it back for Daehyun.

"Wasn't this in the trash just now? I saw Daehyun threw it away right before he went," a helper points out, taking the box and inspecting it with a quick shake.

"What... That's harsh. I wonder who's the poor girl who got it for him," Chanhee laments, clicking his tongue in distaste. One of the other juniors, Jinhwan, suddenly squeezes himself through the sparse mushrooms of people here and there and exclaims, "Don't throw that away! Daehyun's brother said to give it to somebody called Youngjae. I didn't know who that was so I left it there."

"Youngjae?" Hearing this, Chanhee immediately swivels around and briskly heads back out to the stage. I hurriedly chase after him right before he goes past the curtains.

"Chanhee! I'm here," I bleat, the boy spinning around in surprise.

"Oh, so you heard what they said? Daehyun left this for you, apparently." He hands me the gift and I gingerly hold it in my arms, warmth tickling my cheeks. I thought Daehyun got the gift from a friend but it's for me?

Chanhee chats with me for a short while and I manage to excuse myself, promptly exiting the auditorium with the stream of jubilant students. I clutch at the rather hefty box and fiddle with the lid, deciding to open it at a place with less people in case I drop everything in such a bustling area. Roaming to one of the school benches, a bunch of students a distance away chatting to one another, I plop myself down and place the box on the table.

It's rather big... When I first laid eyes on it, I was thinking that Daehyun must have received an extravagant gift. Maybe he had too many and thought of giving me one. Somebody mentioned Daehyun threw it away so I'm not sure.

Untying the ribbon, I carefully lift the lid, a slight confusion washing over me as I dissect its contents. There's a lot of things inside—several knick knacks, a small box, a stack of clipped photographs and an envelope. Picking up the photos, the memories instantly permeate my mind—the one right at the top is me with a macaron in my mouth from our date. This gift was really made for me...

I reach for the letter when the item right at the bottom of the box catches my eye. The familiarity has me tugging it out straight away, the dog-eared black book a contrast to the other brand new gifts. It's Daehyun's sketchbook. I hadn't seen it in a while. I do remember he would be sketching sometimes whenever he was at the garden earlier than I was, where we eat lunch together before literature, but there was one point I stopped seeing it around.

He never let me see it in the past. I can still recall the time where we were still awkward and I'd surprised him at Coffee Cojjee. He'd spilled coffee in a hasty attempt to stop me from seeing it. That time, at his house too. After I showered and came out, he slammed it close when I crept up on him. He eventually admitted he was drawing pictures of his crush so I didn't anymore and gave him his privacy.

Why is he giving this to me?

The possible answers don't come as fast as my fingers move, my thumb slipping on the underside of the cover. I hesitantly flip it open and peer at the first portrait.

My eyes scrutinise every detail of the person in the image. It's of a boy with large eyes and chubby cheeks, sitting on the train while hugging his backpack. The perspective is of someone quite far away, the neighbouring seats filled with faceless figures. Every crooked pencil , the smudge of Daehyun's thumbprints, the tears in the paper from erasing harshly, all of it is splayed out for me to see. His drawing style seems quite different from the one picture I accidentally saw at Daehyun's house when he was sick.

There's a small, almost shy scrawl at the edge. He's pretty.

It's then that I notice the sticky note stuck to the back of the sketchbook cover. I gingerly press it down and skim over it.

You told me to show it to him, so here it is.

My fingers tremble as his words submerge into my mind. I hurriedly flip through the book, pages fluttering by. 

Portraits of the most intimate views breeze by swiftly as I stare dumbly at the precise sketches. The same boy in every picture grows with more clarity as the lead indents get sharper. The many drawings at the front are all from a distance—the boy at the canteen, laughing; him at the school garden; even the brief view of him through the classroom window. The scenery changes every once in a while—at a cafe, in the train cabin, along the hallways—but never the person in the drawings.

Slowly, they start to grow closer, the boy in the portrait eventually looking me in the eyes. The sheer affection emanating from every one of his sketches finally blooms with the most painful familiarity I can ever imagine. 

All... all the things we've done together... When we met by accident at the cafe, that time when I came over to his place for the project, even the many, many occasions we've spent lunch together before literature—

These- these are all... pictures of me...

All this time- these three years, Daehyun... Daehyun's really loved me? I've- I've never even known who he was for the past few years and- and yet he..... he's loved me all these years? 

Daehyun... gave me his heart and he didn't even breathe a word of it to me for so, so long...

I... I thought it could be but- but how can it actually be me, of all people? Through these six months we were friends, I- I can't believe he's loved me all this while when I had no idea.

Everything he's said about that one boy I could only imagine from his words was far, far better than I could ever be, every time he told me he loved that boy no matter how much it hurt him, every single instance where he's taken such painstaking care of me as if I was the most fr1agile thing in his hands—

The pages come to an end and the very last undeniable portrait stares miserably up at me, a scarlet rose curled into my hair. My hand is gingerly raised to my face and there's a nightingale perched on the very edge of my curled finger, the beautiful hazel bird nestling sweetly against my cheek. Daehyun's familiar handwriting is twirled right below. 

Thank you for finding me, Youngjae.

Daehyun loves me. He's loved me for so, so long. And- and all I've done to him...

The whispers start to drift over as people discreetly point at me, tears streaming heavily down my cheeks as my body wracks with sobs. I'm so stupid. God, I'm so, so stupid! Daehyun has always been by my side, tending to my every need, and I've- I've been such a huge idiot to just brush it off every time I felt he was doing more than he should as a friend. I've only known that I love him for these two weeks and I can't even bring myself to look at him, while he- he's loved me for years. How... how much has he been hurting because of me?

I- I have to find him. My phone nearly slips from my grasp as my shaking fingers desperately dial Daehyun's number, the busy tone thrown back so terribly cold. Clutching the box tight in my arms, I sprint out of the school, hurried patters of my footstep brushing past the bewildered students.

What kind of boys do you like?

Pretty ones. Those that look like Spring, kept in a little jar.

Why di