My mom was making me rethink a lot about my relationships, my life and just basically myself. 

I may have not been entirely in love with you, but I loved the thought of being loved, that was what she had written on a random page. 'I have come to realize that love does not bloom by one person's relentless heart - but two. And that other half, I cannot attain from you. Even if my heart tries to catch your rhythm, your pulse will never beat with mine in unison. I want you, but I cannot have you - and never will.'

I had been comparing her situation with me and Riley, or more towards my perspective. When we first started dating, I felt like the happiest person on earth to the point I could have been immune to all negativity in the world. I liked the thought of having someone to hold my hand everytime I went into class, and talk to on the other side of the phone but not in that kind of way. She was someone I could tell that she was everything that made me happy and kiss her that for some reason, granted me something I wanted: affection. It became something that I had come to be familiar with, like hot chocolate on a winter's night. 

But I never really thought out loud whether I was in love with Riley, or the thought of being in love and loved in return?

Maybe the reason why I felt empty after the split was not because of her, but the fact that source of comfort would soon be left unattended to. It occured to me that I was a love hoarder, clinging onto every bit of affection as much as I could. I was no better than Donghyuck then.

"I think I've figured some things out, especially about my feelings for Riley." I proclaimed in our dorm. Tim was putting his shirt on, a fancier one - that meant he was going out. 

"The girl you broke up with months ago?" he asked nonchalantly. "That took you long enough, and what did you figure out?"

"Well, I guess I wasn't really in love with her. I mean, I'm pretty sure I loved her - just not in that way. Here, look at what my mom wrote." and I passed him the journal.

"What way?" he asked again after he finished reading. "In a straight male romantic kind of way?" he smirked then it faded. He cleared his throat, "Sorry, no homo."

I frowned, "I-I'm sorry, come again?" I wanted to make sure I was hearing him right. He never said those words before to me, he knew I was fine with him being gay. A million guesses started flooding my mind. Was he really that mad at me? Did my jokes go too far? Did I make him uncomfortable? Did he think I would push him away because of that kiss? Does he hate me now?

He cracked a smile, it was barely one. "Look Mark, I think I need to be clear with you. I'm done running away from something I did wrong, and now I'm trying to make a change. What I did - that kiss - I wasn't thinking right, I acted without realizing what you would feel. And...I'm grateful that you haven't really brought that up, I hope for my sake. So now I'm making up for it, I know my limits now." there was another long and painfully awkward pause. 

I looked down, unsure of what to say out loud. You don't need to feel sorry for anything, because you did nothing wrong. You don't need to keep your distance because you never stepped over the line, a line only you created. That kiss did nothing to hurt me, you're the opposite of hurt. I don't hate you, not at all.

But nothing came out of my mouth.

Tim put his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips and, "I'm going over to the Christmas party, see you tonight." and he closed the door from behind him.

Another change was that this time, he didn't even try to drag me along with him - like he did every damn time. It may have been confusion, but I was perplexed. I wasn't sure, thus my hand shakingly reached for my chest. Then my eyes darted towards the writing on the page I had bookmarked not too long ago. My mom may have been one too hopeless at love, but her words sure struck close to human emotion.

'I know you're special to me when I look into your eyes and I can see a the moon embracing the sun, and yet I can see how much of yourself is cracked as well - because I can feel the hurt as much as you.'  If her words were true, that would mean he was much more  to me. He certainly was. I still hadn't gotten over the realization after so long, that I did find him good looking, especially when he put his hands in his pockets. Oddly so, I was still deciding if it was a friendly gesture, or something more than that. That was why my heart was thumping so fast.

And yet with every beat, I could feel my heartstrings at strain. It was always like this these days, every time he ignored me or acted cold - I felt some part of me twisting with a sting. I had my vague guesses to why I felt that way, judging by how much I had learned about the human heart through my mom's entries. But then again, she ultimately became the victim for wearing her heart on her sleeve. So her sayings could be wrong. 

But this time, I had a really strong feeling she could possibly be right. 

" 'La douleur exquise'..." I murmured the words tattooed on Timothy's arm and typed it out on the search bar, hoping that it could give me a clue about him pushing me away.

La douleur exquise: The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.

Donghyuck's P.O.V

"Donghyuck, come down for dinner!" I heard her voice call out my name. I opened my eyes, and it was not the room Mark and I had. The ceiling was a dull cement colour, and the room reeked of tap water. It was equally nostalgic yet haunting. I was back home, before I diagnosed, before I met Doc, before I escaped my own black hole.

This is a dream, this is a dream. I reminded myself because I knew as much as my schizophrenia was under control, I could always have dreams and Doc had reminded me to always remember how to see the difference between dreams and reality. It was just a matter of time before I woke up, so all I had to do was remind myself this was not real. Even if I knew that, the dream seemed vividly real; it was a relief that I had experienced this before. The first time when this occured, all I could recall was a night of panic, cold sweat and keeping everyone in the house up until I toned down on the panting. I could recite Doc's words in my sleep, "Remember one thing, don't let the past take away your present. When something like this happens again, tell yourself that you have a future to look forward to. It's okay to look back, but not with regret."

I swallowed a lump in my throat and opened the door of the room, my old bedroom. The old fading yellow wallpaper looked exactly the same and I could almost imagine the dream being real, and the smell of cooking stew made my insides warm. That what she always made, whenever she wasn't hungover - or when she was completely sober. My eyes peeked into the kitchen, a much cleaner version of it when she cleaned it ages ago. Her back faced me, hair up in a messy bun. 

"Took you long enough!" she turned around as she said that, chuckling. "I was about to go to your room to fetch you, or the food will get cold."

Knowing this was all but a dream, I stayed silent. The scenario was the same as the various ones I had previously, her cooking my favorite dish and we would sit down. That was when she would talk about her day and how many jokes she had with her friends. And that was also the moment I could tell this was not reality, for this was not my mom but another version of her I had wanted. A normal mom who didn't hurt herself with narcotics, who had other soccer moms as friends and who did things normal moms did for their kids. This was a dream I had designed to my own liking. 

Nonetheless, I stared at the bowl of stew she had prepared for me, and back at her where she seemed to be enjoying the meal very much. This was definitely the dream I had wanted, and yet I knew it could only be a dream within a dream and that was it. 

"So, are they treating you well?" she asked out of the blue. 

I looked up, "What?"

She continued eating, "Your foster family, of course. And you best get ready for college, remember to always take other's advice too."

This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream.

I could feel the tears building up, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Then I understood how this played out, my mind was taking me places again. As I constantly felt like I lived in a simulation game, in which I had option to choose my actions. This was one of those scenarios, it had been long since my mind went this beserk. I shouldn't be letting myself go, I should remind myself that this wasn't real. But even if I did, there still wouldn't be an answer to my questions.

"But what if...what if I have a problem now?" I blurted. 

That was when she looked up, "You know you can tell me your problem, my son. It's okay, maybe I can help."

I swallowed, "Tell me what should I do, then."

 From afar, I could see the the house at a distance with its glory of the flashy Christmas lights and loud young adults. It was supposed to be a traditional Christmas party, at least a pre-Christmas party before everyone left for the holidays. I had expected a more toned down atmosphere, where everyone was enjoying hot chocolate and a mass gathering for some cheesy holiday movie. But supposedly I was wrong...

The reason why I decided to come was because after having the bedroom to myself, I started to let my mind do its own thing. I tried closing my eyes, but all that appeared was his face. Timothy goddamned Armor. I twisted and turned in bed, to the extent that I had that itching urge to just let my heart reign over me. I had no idea what I was feeling, the inexplicable feeling that always increased when I thought of him. I had gotten up, flipped the journal to the page where I had written my own unfinished poem not too long ago.

'Nature has the most surprising ways of finding our weak spots, and for us humans, that weak spot is love.'
'His eyes of the waves, the creases of his fingertips reminded me of the fine of a brush on a canvas,
His skin all too delicate to be kissed by the sun, God forbid how fragile it is to be touched,
His lingering scent of orchids and cigarettes, of both good and bad, 
Of hot summer nights and the quiet of a sunrise,
Of midnight suns and fiery stars,
The Cupid's Bow his lips possessed-

And that was where I had stopped, unable to take anymore wild thoughts my mind had been having. What was I scared of? Of him or of myself? If I really did like someone, why was it so hard to accept that fact? It occured to me that maybe, just maybe - never officially labelling my uality was a good move after all. I had said that in support of Donghyuck, and never really put much thought into it. But what if? Just what if?

For some absurd reason, my heart knew the exact person to ask this question, but in my mind it was clearly the wrong move. Nonetheless, I decided to follow my heart this time. I searched my list of contacts, finally finding the one I had intentionally been ignoring for the past few months. Taking a big breath, I dialed the number and waited in bed.

"Hello?" her voice answered, just as how I remembered it to be. Soft yet firm, that was Riley Andrews. "Mark, is that you?" her tone was somewhere between surprise, hope, and utter confusion.

I paused for a while, "Y-yeah, it's me. Sorry for calling all of a sudden, I just...felt like I had to do it." I blurted fast and my dry lips. "Because I'm kind of in a midlife crisis at the moment, it's more or so about my tastic hormones and romantic feelings. But heck, that's why I'm calling - because I can't figure myself out."

Then she paused for some time, I could almost see her trying to digest everything. "Well, that's pretty ironic of you since you're asking advice from the person you just broke up with. But one, it's not like you to discuss about your hormonal imbalance or your relationships with me. And two, I'm pretty honoured that I'm the person you're trusting to confide with about these problems even though it's as weird as it gets. But please, do ask."

I almost laughed, "I guess so, my mind's been a wreck lately. Not going into it too much, but I know you're the first person that Donghyuck came out to. That also means you told him something that made him trust you, so what did you tell him?"

She had the nerve to laugh, "That's all in the past and I don't recall you ever asking. Really, that doesn't matter anymore now right?"

"It does matter right now, to me." I said, slightly on edge. "So what did you tell him?"

"Well, it certainly doesn't have much connection to your mid-life crisis right?"

I sighed, "Riley, all I need is for you to tell me what you told him. Just tell me what you said." I ended the sentence slightly more harsh, that was when she picked up the change of atmosphere.

She paused and continued, "Mark, is there something you aren't telling me? What is it?" when I didn't answer, she pushed on. "If you aren't telling me, then I'll have to guess."

I sighed again, "Blow yourself away then."

"You...killed someone?" she tried her luck.

I laughed, "No, I didn't."

"Your...under pressure over your studies?"

I rolled my eyes, "I'm not you Riles, I don't fuss over stuff like that."

"Hmm...oh my god, did you get someone pregnant over a one-night stand?"

I choked, "What? No! Riley, I know I'm an effing but geez, don't make me sound that stupid!"

"Well, what is it then? You asked me what did I tell Donghyuck-" and she stopped mid-sentence, which meant she had connected the dots. "Mark, are you by any chance...are you gay?" her tone was dead serious, like she was concerned for my life.

I stayed silent, but then realized that wasn't what I felt was wrong with me. "I don't think so, since I was genuinely attracted to you. But I'm not very sure what I feel Riley."

"Okay, so you're biual then?"

I closed my eyes, "You tell me what I am, Riley. Explain to me what's in my head and how can my mind once be so sure over something then completely doubting it the next second. Tell me, what's wrong with me?"

"Well, you like this guy then? Which definitely means you're not straight." she said. "-but that doesn't mean you have to label yourself, Mark. What's the matter then? I don't think you find liking someone that big of a problem."

The point was the person I may or may not be liking was someone I never expected to like, not in that way. And now there he was, invading every space in my head. It could have also been the slow realization of how much I didn't know about myself, and once I knew about it - proclaiming and announcing to the world who you really were was a big deal. 

Coming out was hard. It was easier said than done.

I wanted to openly talk about my heart, but never had the courage to do so. I needed a push because I wanted it to change.

"I need you to ask me more questions about him, because I can't seem to say my answers out loud just yet." I pursed my lips. "What am I doing? I don't even know why I'm troubling you with such stupid things-"

"How does he look like?" she suddenly asked. "Tell me in the sappiest, most over-the-top poetic way you can describe him."

I was surprised but nonetheless I peered at the writing in the journal as I held it, my free hand tracing the words with my fingers. "'His eyes of the waves, the creases of his fingertips reminded me of the fine of a brush on a canvas, his skin all too delicate to be kissed by the sun, God forbid how fragile it is to be touched, his lingering scent of orchids and cigarettes, of both good and bad; Of hot summer nights and the quiet of a sunrise,of midnight suns and fiery stars-'" I hesitated on the unfinished sentence, because the right description of it was all too intricate and personal to describe. But I tried anyway, otherwise I would never muster the courage to try again. 

"'The Cupid's Bow his lips possessed, made a mark on my heart without even shooting its arrow. His voice hummed the most ethereal lullaby, the voice notes tracing poetry along the corners of his smile where words were left unspoken. I saw him in me when he spoke of the significance of a language, be it of thorns or hummingbirds - for we sang in tune with each other. And even if he was a siren who would sing me to a sleep of damnation, I'd gladly listen to his laugh for more-and-ever.'"

When I finished the poem, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and now I was free to say whatever I wanted. The poem was the deepest part of how I had always felt but unable to express for so long. The supression lead to me inflicting pain inside me, the pain led to numbness and ultimately a wall from within. Explaining those feelings irrevocably made me smile, when I had no idea why. There was glee, even when there was uncertainty. "What do you think?" I finally asked her. "Was that poetic enough for you?"

I could almost picture her expression on the other side, I understood how odd it would be for her to listen to her ex-boyfriend talk about a boy. "That was...a very poetic and OBVIOUS sign that this person is someone very special to you, Mark. But it wasn't just the words you chose, but I could hear your voice shaking while you said it. I'm not sure if you noticed that, but the more you started talking about him - I could almost picture you smiling as you said it." and for once I knew, she wasn't mad at me for this. She was genuinely hopeful for something. "I'm not very good at relationships Mark, but I think you love him."

"Y-yeah," I breathed, feeling somewhat relieved. "I think I do."