nothing in life is like a fairytale—no way everything would be a touch of heaven and a pot of gold after a twist in plot.

yoonoh was in love, taeyong was in love, but it didn’t mean that—even though their hearts reconnected and bound them as one, even though they touched and kissed and cried with ‘I love you’ on their lips—everything would be paradise.

there was a bridge between them, it’d burned and fell apart, and no one could fix it if the person on the other side was missing. when yoonoh had returned, more so pressed and wished to force himself back into taeyong’s life until he just was, they began to rebuild—with bricks and gold and silver and diamonds and steel and wholehearted care.

taeyong too was repairing it, washing away burn marks to reveal gold and cleaning up debris to show clear waters—but there was a gap in the middle of the bridge.

jaehyun and taeyong could touch hands, kiss and hug over the gap, share love and joyful tears with words to pair, but the gap would always be there.

and, as much as taeyong wanted to walk over it, he was afraid that he would drown, that all his memories, left on his side, would burn; and his feet would slip through the gap.

from the other side, yoonoh didn’t feel he was of status to help, he felt like he was made to sit and watch as the gap filled naturally, on its own accord—so what more was left to do, other than mourn?

so he cries, he weeps and wails from the other side, from his side, just waiting and waiting. he cries and cries—but not because he was struck with anger, not because he himself was harmful to himself—but because acceptance is key, and taeyong didn't have it in him to even speak the word.

jung jaehyun cries, because taeyong wasn’t and couldn’t let himself over the gap.

there was something in him that just wouldn’t accept the reality, maybe a part of his mind told him that it wasn’t true—that there was no way the sight he'd been gifted from the womb was slowly but surely disappearing.

so he cries—and taeyong lies with him as he cries, not even a clue as to how badly he could affect such a carefree man, no idea how much he meant to yoonoh—but he holds him and lets him cry, and soothes with his best intentions.

“it'll be okay, whatever it is.” he says, but, god, he’s clueless.

yoonoh cries harder.

“it won't,” he mumbles back, just loud enough for the elder to hear, just loud enough to make his point clear, “you’ll still be blind, love.”

because, jaehyun had realized those days of taeyong quaking, sobbing pitifully into his chest—that they weren't of sudden sorrow and utter upset with the life he had to live; but of denial and tire of the unacceptable truth.

“but I'm not blind.”

he pulls himself away, leaving yoonoh's arms empty, and his tears just a bit more meaningful.

“I'm not.”

whenever either of them faced conflicts, there was a place to escape to, each other when they were younger, the treehouse for taeyong, the office for yoonoh—and now, their conflicts were solved at a bar.

taeyong was fond of thinking when they made their way to the first place of hidden outlooks (the treehouse, of course), he liked to let his mind wander, he always did. time moved faster then, but he always ended up with surplus feelings he had yet learned to deal with.

he’d always ponder on things that he’d pondered on many times before, and always stir up a storm in his ribcage.

yoonoh, however, liked to drink to kill the time—and taeyong did too, they were both sad men—but, always, they were together. maybe yoonoh shouldn’t let taeyong drink, and taeyong to yoonoh as well; but they, in all terms, understood each other, and resolved to alcohol.

in the outside world, though, no one really understood the chaos of the blind man's thoughts, nor his lover’s.

he chugged alcohol like a pro, thus weary stares were thrown his way by strangers galore, as they fought to understand what impaired him.

what made him so special?

why was that officer always by his side, demanding care?

why did they have to respect him, if he was normal?

so taeyong, he seemed to be a mindless target for the harassment of the city's delinquents under the pretense he was nothing but a snob—he was someone who looked normal, whatever the word meant, yet people helped him with everything; and other people just didn’t get why—yet, with yoonoh around, it never happened. who’d dare harass a man with law enforcement around, with his lover around?

there were no instances when a woman would yell, red in the face as she doubted his supposed blindness—no situation where an imitation criminal would try and snatch a wallet or a watch thinking a blind man wouldn’t notice; no times where they'd push him to the back of the line and cheat him, nothing; not when jaehyun was around.

when jaehyun was around, they never even stepped up to taeyong; kept their heads lowered and stares vacant.

but even so, even if those things never happened while he was around, it didn’t matter if yoonoh was right next to taeyong or not; everyone still let their misconceptions run into unnecessary hatred, and doubted his very existence.

they supposed; he is not actually blind, nor is he sad, his eyes look normal, he smiles quite frequently; he deserves the hate, he is no real impaired man, he’s a fraud.

and no one but taeyong himself could shut down the rumours—but he didn’t and he couldn’t.

so the hate continued to go on, no matter who stood near taeyong, no matter what he proved; they coddled faux hate in their minds and targeted him.

but of course it happened to be that, just as much as those bluffing wrongdoers hated him; taeyong near deleted the concept of confidence and happiness from his mind.

he hates himself.

and it blows yoonoh’s mind, breaks his train of thought (goes to show just how small the capacity of his understanding was) and sends him into a frenzy, to know that such a beautiful person could hate himself.

how could he hate himself, when all eyes focused to him for his beauty, all ears soothed with his laughter, all smiles grew from his own bright grin—how such a wonderful being could hate himself, yoonoh didn’t know.

but taeyong, he hated everything.

he was bitter.

he would be bitter as long as denial was the stage he chose to squander time in.

he is in denial.

he is in denial.

he was still an ocean of angst, still a man who couldn’t accept defeat no matter what—he was still taeyong, who’d loved and lived but never learned.

“let’s go to the treehouse.”

though time had flown so very fast, maybe many months passed since the hurdles that separated taeyong and yoonoh were overcome; days were still spent atop a tree in the secluded yet unsafe home away from home.

“let’s go to the treehouse today.”

even though they were always together, always beside one another, like the old days, when they were younger—even though yoonoh had a one bedroom apartment and a bed big enough for two; they watched the sky repaint from blue to navy with glittery dots, to even the brightest of oranges, all in the treehouse.

“okay.”

jaehyun was the only one who expressed his acceptance of the love, fully, honestly.

“let’s go.”

it was only fair the quiet, shattered doll of a boy that taeyong was would be so reluctant and yet so loud with his feelings—but as before, the only reason he held back was for the failure of his eyes—what had helped him see that even yoonoh abandoned him, was suddenly leaving.

he'd never know if yoonoh would leave again, because he wouldn’t be able to see.

he was afraid to completely commit, because of his eyes.

jaehyun was there, all cheery and loving—smothered him in affection and yet kept distance for his comfort; but he couldn't quite accept that his eyes were failing and he’d never be able to see again.

“how long do you want to stay?”

“would it be bad if I said forever?”

that gap may exist forever.

“as long as I’m with you, forever is okay.”

they silently travel to their little home away from home.

“but forever in a box is all but nothing.”

when they get there, maybe taeyong cries.

yoonoh gently embraced the smaller boy, wiped his tears with the sleeve of his henley and kissed atop his head—

"my eyes and your eyes are exactly the same. each little cell and their unbelievable powers; they're the same. mine are not naïve but I still have a lot to see, a lot to learn...taeyong, yours are so wise they finally want to rest, want you to keep your knowledge without having to observe. bit by bit they’ll peel away their pieces and colour to let you see without seeing."

he smiles softly, "think of it that way."

taeyong doesn't quite respond.

and, it’s justifiable—he won’t, he can’t—he couldn’t let himself, no matter the effort given.

he’d been like that forever.

see, there were many things that taeyong had in life that he felt he could never give up, and there were many things that taeyong had experienced and done in life that he could never admit to.

he was a stubborn person altogether.

so, he’d never admit to being stubborn with accepting things, that he was unable to come to terms with the little conflicts in life, often—nor that he’d once revealed a secret that no one was supposed to know, and blamed it on someone who barely knew of him—how could he ever admit to his own flaws?

and then there was a journal, all the things he’d nearly lost when the treehouse nearly collapsed, even the treehouse itself, a painting hung sweetly in his room, scarfs and badly knitted hats that were stored away in his closet—and they all had one connection, that made it so he’d never be able to give them up.

the journal was filled to the brim with love notes, the cover was white but there was still red and blue paint in the form of his and jaehyun’s hands on the back and front; every date in the top right corner stated a day when him and jaehyun squandered hours away loving each other.

the things he kept in the treehouse, they were still there; picture frames and ragged papers. they still reminded him of his first and only love, they still smelled like that year spring was hot and him and jaehyun kissed for the millionth time—they still were.

then the canvas on his wall, brush evident with bulky paint and texture, made by him himself, in all technicality—though his hand was guided, by another, large one, he still captured the sun high in the sky and a blue eyed cat on the porch.

the scarfs and hats, self-made, for his lover in preparation for winter and its cold—all made with care, despite the disastrous look of it.

the connection was, though years old, his biggest source of strength.

he reads the thin 62 out of 100 pages of the journal weak and flimsy whenever his heart can’t handle the weight of his tears, touches the horrendous yarn of the hats and scarves, lies in a little wood house, drags his fingers over old paint and plays with little paper cranes and broken picture frames; just to soothe his sadness.

sometimes (often) he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep; he finds his source of strength, and tries it for all it’s worth.

usually they wouldn't return until night had sunken into the early morning and tears had finally dried, but yoonoh found it gurgling at his heart that he wanted to go home and hold taeyong rather than hold onto the past.

the past was what would haunt taeyong even into his afterlife—he was just too scarred.

there was no way in hell he would be the same again—his heart was broken, and just because jaehyun was back with all of his love didn't mean that it'd healed from the inside out.

jaehyun had a wistful smile as he gazed into the sky, one that couldn’t be looked at without a twinge of emotion—there was a nauseous buildup of regret in his gut that he just wanted to release; and he felt like such a bad person for it.

his regret, it wasn't because he was with taeyong again, not because taeyong didn't love him as much as he could—it was because he was the worst er to ever exist.

he loved, left, then came back—and instead of helping taeyong back into his original skin; he was sitting around, a pathetic enabler.

taeyong was coping with memories, wallowing in the past—but it was unhealthy, the way he did it, unhealthy.

some days jaehyun would wake up to the older man's sobs, to taeyong begging for time to turn back so he could be happy again.

it wasn't healthy.

not at all.

“hyung.” he calls, crawling over to the now brunet man with a smudged smile. "I love you." he rests his head on taeyong's lap and sighs. he feels like , knowing that he's letting the love of his life suffer.

“I love you.”

“I love you a lot.”

“I love you.”

his eyes sting.

“we should leave.”

he whispers it, an eagerness buried in his sad tone; “we should leave right now. we should go home, we should go home and cuddle and talk and kiss until our mouths hurt; hyung, we've gotta leave, we need to leave.” he says, but then his voice cracks and his face is red and his eyes are filled with tears.

taeyong looks at his lover so lazily, his face set in a look that says he knows—he knows what jaehyun means, he knows what he's doing isn't good.

god, he knows.

“why?”

yoonoh pauses, the tears that collect in his eyes finally fall—“hyung, being here—being here is so ed up for us! for...for you. we need to forget about all that bull—you don't have to forgive my mistakes...but please, living in the past will tear you up even more! it's what's best for you—”

taeyong snorts, it's small and yet so scathing; “since when do you know what's best for me jung jaehyun?” he asks, eyes narrowed to maybe hold back tears.

everyone is losing it.

“you left me, went downhill, and I had to reminisce just to get by. there's no way you can replace those moments, no way you can fix me—”

yoonoh stops him, falling back onto his lover's lap with a tight smile—“but I'm trying. I'm trying to make you happy, I try to show you that we can make new memories, I try to tell you it can all change—but you're just so...stubborn.”

taeyong looks hurt.

emotions—they seems so...alien. they’re—in every way—normal, however, it just doesn’t sit right.

with taeyong, of course.

to him, it felt like a hurricane of sadness was continuously visiting him, every single day. it felt as if, pardon his thought but, his body was a target for the practice of weaponry, his mind was the home of storms, and his heart was a warzone meant to be purely destroyed.

he felt like something meant to be broken, someone that was born to drown—but he just couldn’t understand why, and lord bless him if he would ever accept it.

he supposes, in a state of drunkenness that causes his cheeks to match the rosiness of his nose, he is worthless.

taeyong is losing control, he himself thinks so.

it was almost clear—almost—but it's still raining. and he knows it well, he can clearly see those foreboding clouds; ugly and dark.

his face is contorted in such a smile, but the smaller boy’s tears read otherwise.

taeyong had unsuccessfully tried to commit suicide—all shaky hands, chalky pills, dry lips and convulsing limbs.

“I’m not blind.”

even those kisses yoonoh laid gently on his eyelids wouldn’t heal him, even those vivid descriptions wouldn’t let him see—he had no reason to accept it!

“I’m not blind.”

to yoonoh, it seemed like such a small thing—just accept the fact that you’re blind, and it's over.

but it's not easy—accepting it is hard, knowing that you’ve lost something you've had your whole life isn’t something you just accept; it's hard.

four years of utter sorrow, then more to come of shadowy darkness—if he couldn’t see to make the new memories, how could anything matter anymore?

he wasn’t blind.

he'd never accept it.

when they follow his limp body laid tiredly on a hospital bed tread angrily down the hall for an emergency stomach pump, jaehyun realized pitifully that his love was nothing compared to the stages of grief.

taeyong was in denial.

his lips are white, hair greasy and unkempt, eyes unfocused; trembling like leaves in autumn because the doctor is telling him that both of his retinas are permanently inflamed due to some over-development in his body, “you’ll be completely blind 8 months into the year...you still have time, don’t waste it doing things like this.”—telling him like he doesn’t already know.

he faints.

jaehyun screams at the doctor with all his might—“you're insensitive, pathetic; you should’ve gone to school longer because if you can’t tell that he's depressed then you're a ing idiot!”

night falls reluctantly, coating the sky with black and blue and mistakes of white.

taeyong doesn’t wake till dawn.

“you're like an insect, so ing annoying and dumb—all you do is follow what you think is the light! you never think about anything else! whenever you’re alone you only always do stupid !” she yells, voice loud and rough—taeyong doesn’t back off this time though, no, he yells as loud as his migraine will let him; “why does it even bother you!? just go home to flaunt about how you’re the only functional child you attention seeking b