it's 03:42 in the morning and it's no surprise that the left side of the bed feels cold.
taekwoon's heart has been broken the exact same way, for the 100th time.

'what a sick joke', he thought out loud.

as he lay in bed, covered in two layers: sweat and dried , trying to make something poetic out of the darkest shade of lilac that covered the majority of the sky, disappearing into a light blush of pink.

isn't it funny how people celebrate 100 days after being together or being alive but taekwoon's clothes are ripped from wonshik's eagerness to taekwoon, the only trace left is a mental cut so sharp it could easily mistaken as a physical pain?
while most prefer it when the sun and the way it brings out colour in everything, taekwoon treasures the night.
when wonshik kisses him and moans his name later on, that's when the world seems the brightest to taekwoon.
but it doesn't change the fact that taekwoon's - arms hugging himself, a white ocean of fabric contrasted against his sinful self. 

taekwoon is still alone.