Perfect

The next time I awakened, night had fallen.  The sun had nearly finished its descent; the room was only slightly illuminated by a soft blue glow.  I could only make out the outline of the window and the door in the partial darkness.

            He was behind me, holding me close to him.  I could feel his slumbering breaths and the rise and fall of his warm chest against my back.  I could smell his skin and his hair and the musky scent of the bedsheets.  His legs were tangled with mine.

            I felt like that was the safest and most comfortable place in the world; in his arms, spooned against his body, under a fleece blanket.

            I just lay there, thinking about him.  Remembering.  Shamelessly savoring bits and pieces of this evening’s episode with my imagination.  Just thinking about it made my blood come to a rolling boil again.

            He made a sound and I froze.  I knew how exhausted he was--I didn’t want to wake him.

            “...Are you awake?” he asked, after a long moment of silence.  His voice was rough and groggy; enough to make my insides churn.

            “Yes.”  I whispered, sounding odd and out of place.

            He let out a sigh against the back of my neck.  It made me shiver.

            He was still and silent.  Soon it was just us and our breathing in the nearly-dark room again.  The faint sound of late summer insects hummed from somewhere outside the half-open window.

            “Wendy.” he said.

            “Mm.”

            “I love you.”

            He said it in English, and the statement seemed to physically enter my body, creeping under my skin and floating along with the blood in my veins... Pumping in and out of my heart and sustaining me.

            In those words I saw, reflected in my mind, my life.  Who I was, who I would be.  Who I am, who I could be.  I thought of Wendy Son as the lead vocalist of Red Velvet, singing and dancing my way all across the globe, rich and famous, but I also thought of myself as Wendy Son the fiancée, the wife, the mother.  The life of a k-pop idol, juxtaposed against a... quieter life.

            Lately, he and I had been so busy that every moment that we had to spend together quickly became hot and heavy with our desperation and need.  Consequently, I had grown too accustomed to his stage persona; that wild, y charm and charisma that could make any girl crazily scream his name.         

            Shame on me, forgetting the human being behind that mask of sorts; the man whom I had fallen so deeply in love with, who was only just beneath the character of EXO’s Chen, waiting for me to reach deep enough to grasp his soul.

            Likewise, I had been more absorbed with entertaining him, rather than loving him as I should be.