The very first time that I saw him in person was in an alleyway behind the building he visited frequently to relax after a tense day at work. He wasn’t alone, so I tried as best I could to walk along calmly, my hands in my jacket pockets, my shoulders hunched as if I was trying to cave in on myself. I was very thankful that my hood was drawn so my face wouldn’t be seen; as introverted as I was outside of practice, I didn’t want to be identified, and having put up my hood earlier came to be a great idea. My plan to go unnoticed failed, though, because I was struck by his unique beauty, and also because I couldn't believe it was actually him. This made me freeze up and stare like a child admiring a sweets shop. Stepping out of the backdoor, he descended a couple steps, hopping lightly, his shoulders bobbing, his face looking down and away from me. The sweep of unusually colored hair swayed slightly over his eyes, hidden behind lids nearly sealed, eyelashes splayed over delicate cheekbones. He was handsome and refined, and he looked mellowed out. The boy behind him, his , couldn’t quite hold my attention well enough, and this was because I was too riveted by the first young man that had exited. As if my feet were nailed to the ground, I stood there, watching. Then he finally looked up and I came to know why he was so calm-looking—his pupils dilated, the whites of his eyes pink, he stared right through me.

The boy behind him was a handful of inches taller than he was, if not a whole head, his smile kind but sad when I got a good look at him, the two of us noticing each other at the same time. He bowed his head slightly in apology and mumbled an “Excuse me,” then led the first boy away. I watched their retreating figures, staring at their backs, and could not for the life of me move from my spot until they were gone from my sight.

After that encounter, I couldn’t forget about the boy that was so beautiful and so wrong with his red, dilated eyes. I could not forget the expression of the other boy, the sad smile that couldn’t quite brighten his eyes. I saw them often enough in the media, and on the posters that adorned the walls of the company building I practically lived in, but I never got to see them in person because they were always busy, or because I was occupied with my own training, so I found myself visiting that alleyway every night on my way home from the company, hoping to catch another glimpse of that boy with the surreal beauty, the boy that was not shown to the public. I thought I’d never see him like that again, but my hope never let me give up.

It proved effective to be tenacious, but whether it was a good thing or a bad thing...