touch the sky

»  I’ve always wondered how it would feel like to touch the sky. Will the clouds melt in my fingertips? Is it as soft as it looks like? Will my hands be able to grasp it, or is it gonna disappear once I thought I’m finally holding it? I always ask her about it, and all I would get in response is either “Don’t you get tired asking the same question without getting a satisfying answer?” or a chuckle before she goes back to what she was doing while I stand beside her, ignored.

“Noona.”

She hummed, acknowledging me, her eyes not leaving her textbook. Her small fingers grasp the edge of the page as tenderly as she would fix my dishevelled and sticky hair after staying under the sun for too long. Flipping the page, her eyebrows meet slightly in the middle, mouthing the words printed on the paper before nodding her head, something she always does absent-mindedly which I find oddly amusing, along with every little thing I have been taking notice.

I didn’t know I was staring until she looked up from her book and at me, lifting an eyebrow. In reflex, I awkwardly shifted my gaze to the window to her left.

“The cloud—“

She chuckled before I even finished and sat next to me on her own bed. The smell of her shampoo instantly puts me to a trance. Subconsciously I leaned closely to take another sniff. I know this is super weird but I’ve always been one to take risks. So why not leap on this one, just this one.

I froze in my spot because she turned her head to face me, and I was only a thumb away from her.

“Why are you so weird, Hansol.” She pushed my forehead, putting a much more comfortable distance between me and her before she lies herself down with her arm covering her eyes from the light.

Afraid of the dark but can’t sleep with the lights on, psh. I laughed which made her take a look at me with a confused and weirded-out expression on her face, as if I said something stupid like “hi, marry me.” Although that was something I might or might not have told her five years ago when I was thirteen and she was seventeen, in the presence of her first douche bag of a boyfriend.

Objectively speaking, all her boyfriends were douche bags, except for her third boyfriend after the two-timing Douche Bag No. 2. Let’s keep him under the codename Mr. Nice Guy. But trust me when I say I saw invisible sharp horns peeking from his head. He’s just like the other two, just a teeny tiny bit nicer. And I hated him the most because he takes care of noona well. I hated him despite his efforts to get along with Chan and I.

Despite the fact that he knows what flavour of donuts we like, I tried to