"‘In the gloom, gold gathers the light against it.’ In choosing this line from Pound’s 11th Canto as one of the epigraphs to his Collected Poems, Geoffrey Hill concentrates our attention on one of the central problems posed by Pound’s poetry and explored by his own." I explained in front of the hall of people, with our professor, Mr. Robert, sitting in his chair as he listened attentively. "Beauty is no absolute guarantee of truth or morality; art may illuminate or corrupt. As David Perkins points out in Modernism and After, Pound is incomparable amongst modern poets for the rhythmic subtlety of his evocation of sensuous beauty, of the play of light and shade." 

Mr. Robert nodded, "And what may you conclude about your study, Mr. Lee?" He was like that, optioning to jump past the long and troublesome questions and would only ask the outcome and conclusions we get from everything we do, our study and our opinions. Maybe that was why I respected him so much, he knew what we wanted to be asked and he granted us the freedom to answer the questions in our own way. 

I smiled, "Exactly what Perkins said, professor - Allow me to extract a quote from him aligned with my views on Political Critisms and Poetry.  ‘Evaluation,’ he says, ‘is always personal’; he enjoys the lyrical passages, and for him these outweigh the political unpleasantness. In any subject matter, whether positive or negative, poetry is always the de facto way of evaluating things and letting the public decipher its hidden message." 

"And one more thing from me before you end this, would you be so kind to present a short poem to the class? The one you created, perhaps?" he asked me. 

"How did you know I wrote-" I looked at Timothy who was sitting in the middle of the hall, with his smug smile as he twirled his pencil. I immediately knew this was his doing, only he knew whenever I couldn't sleep, I would turn take out my notebook to write. It didn't matter what it was, a word poured on paper meant a fragment of stress discarded. I had only ever remembered one poem from everything else, because it was so personal to me. I never thought about sharing it to anyone, much less a whole class.

"We're waiting, Mr. Lee." Mr. Robert said, anticipating. 

"Y-yeah, I have one I remember." I walked to the middle of the hall, planted my feet firmly on the ground and my lips. I couldn't believe I was doing this, reciting self written stuff after so long. "This one's called The Paper House." 

"Usually when people ask someone where they come from, the typical answer would be 'I come from New York' or 'I'm from Montauk.' or even a simple 'I'm actually Canadian.'  But when the boy is asked this question, he says he comes from the Paper House. There, he says, is a place hidden within the woods. There, the sun sets longer as each dream of every boy and girl goes to die as they have fun. It is a place where people go, where the days delay until no one knows it is the end of summer until snow starts to fall. In the Paper House, days turn to years until one loses count on their calendar."

"The boy thinks he is the only one not stuck in the time loop they are trapped in, he is aware that people will eventually come and go. The dinners they have, the laughter during April Fools, the Christmas carols of off-tune voices - are nothing but white lies. The boy despises every second wasted at the Paper House, and yearns of leaving when he cannot. To him, the house was thin and brittle, truthfully the people there were flimsy just like a sheet of white paper. Even worse than a house of cards."

"The days turn to weeks, the weeks turn to months - and the boy loses count on his calendar; the red marker has rolled under his bed to gather dust. He was no longer chasing time as he chased the other boys and girls up and down the stairs, The midnight rendezvous filled his heart with glee as he forgot about the world he once yearned to return to. He, a lost boy, was content on staying in his Neverland."

"But as he loaded his bags into the bunk of the red cadillac, he turned to look back at the Paper House one last time. Tears rolled down his cheeks, as he gazed at every little detail he found. He never noticed how green the grass was, how the sky was a brighter shade of blue in the day and how the sunrise's colors were almost identical to sunset; the stars twinled like a sea in space and the hummingbirds were singing a farewell hymn for him to hear. The boys would continue throwing rocks at the girls' windows, the Christmas carols would still be sung off-key, a new crack would form on the century-old windows of the attic - it would all happen, without him being able to see it. Boarding the car, he swallowed his nostalgia as time was chasing him away. The chagrin of the car exhaust blared out smoke, blurring the image of the house in the woods from a distance. A wrinkle in time, there only to be a figment of the past. Once and for all, the boy smiles and realizes, 'The house was paper, but the memories were not'." 

I didn't expect it to get a standing ovation, this included Mr. Robert too. Our usual group was perched in our place, hollering my name the loudest. I couldn't help but grin. It was so touching because that poem was a reflection of me, and I felt comfortable referring myself in a third-person perspective. Seeing how the story I told being something people liked listening to, it made me feel better.

"You may return to your seat, Mr. Lee," Mr. Robert said. "And I'd like to see you after class."

I blinked, "Y-yes, sir."

"Why haven't you published your works?" Mr. Robert asked me as we strolled down the trail. We were going against the current of students who were returning from their respective classes, Mr. Robert wanted us to talk over a cup of coffee. He was the typical all-American man, a relatively young lecturer at the tender age of forty-one. With ash brown hair dusted with a few streaks of grey, dressed in a casual checkered shirt under a blazer that was hung upon his arm, with the latter holding his files and books. "You have potential, why not search for publishers?"

I laughed nervously, "Well, I haven't really thought about that." as I sipped on my coffee he had generously paid for. The campus's café was currently empty, so we were the only customers there. Beneath the table, my palms were sweaty because of my nervousness. It had secretly became a dream come true when I found out  would be having Robert Lautner as my professor. He had previously written a few books I became obsessed with before college, 'February House' and 'Rebel Nights' were his books that had caught my attention. 

He noticed my uneasiness, "Are you feeling uncomfortable? Is it because of me? Come on, don't be shy." he asked jokingly, then he patted my back. "I'm not as intimidating as people think I am." He drank from his black coffee, "Tell me, what books do you like? Anything you're specifically into?"

"In fact, I enjoyed two of your books, sir." I admitted off the bat. 

"Oh really?" he perked. "Which book?"

"I felt like you were reflecting yourself through 'Rebel Nights' and I was really impressed with your writing in 'February House'. It felt good knowing someone like you supports LGBTQ+ rights."

"Love is love, Mark," he said. "February House was just compilation of stories I simply collected around New York during my stay there, people are made up of stories just waiting to be heard - and all I did was pen them down on paper. That's why the special thanks section had one whole list of people I had to give credit to, the poetry I wrote was because of them." the way he said it, his eyes twinkled. "Do you have anyone who happens to be of that community?"

I nodded, "A few of my friends, some of your students - and my brother too." 

"That's nice." he smiled. 

"And what about Rebel Nights, professor?" I asked again. "There was one chapter in particular that I found interesting, you played on the words 'night' and 'knight'."

"Ah, that book," he chuckled, as if swallowing his nostalgia. "Actually, a lot of the stuff I wrote for that, I wrote it all the way back in my college years. For the title poem, I modified it, rather, I continued it after abandoning for so long. You see, during our youth, we see ourselves as dashing heroes in shinning armour - doing whatever we wanted to when we didn't realize we were our very own demons. Trust me, I am not an excpetion."

I had to laugh, "You - a bad person? I don't really buy that."

"That's because you know me as the person I am today, not my past self. People change, yet the mistakes we have commited have done their deed and there's no rewriting that. The sins I've commited, I blame myself everyday." he sighed deeply, and that made me wonder what kind of wrongs did he commit to have this much regret. "In other words, the person I used to be in my younger days - was an absolute bag."

That made me laugh even more. No matter what kind of person he was, I still admired him for his writing because I could read his thoughts and regrets like an open book - and now I admired him even more after knowing the backstory of it all. He wasn't one to shun away from admitting his flaws. 

"And you, should work on that book of yours." he told me. "I'd like to see some of your poetry one day, it'd be a shame to hide it from people who'd be interested in reading your stories. Miss Bennet mentioned me about you, I just never had the chance to talk to you face-to-face. I should have known better than to doubt the raw talent my friend sees in people."

"I'm still practicing, sir." I answered embarrassingly. "Really, I'm not that good."

"No, you're astoundingly talented for someone your age." he protested. "There is no denying that."

I blushed shyly, "Thank you, sir."

"Call me Robert," he said. "And I'm coming to see a lot of me in you, Mark - minus the fact that you're a far better person than I had been at your age." he looked at me and was silent for a second, as if thinking about something important. "Tell me, are you free next weekend?"

I was taken by surprise. "Er, I suppose so?"

He smiled, "Come over for dinner then, I insist."

"H-huh?" I was taken aback. "W-wow, I'm not sure-"

"My girlfriend and I would like to have extra company at home once in a while, and she's always pestering me to bring along my students for dinner. If you feel uncomfortable, bring along a few of your friends - just don't bring along a whole party. Are you okay with that?" he arched his eyebrows as he finished his coffee. The offer was so tempting...

"Sure, I'd like that too." I finally gave in, because I secretely felt ecstatic about that idea of having dinner with one of my favorite authors. 

"Great," he brought out his ball pen from his pocket and scribbled his address. As he passed it to me, he got up, "This is my address so you can drive over next weekend. Now I best get going, got a lot of work to do. And here," he then searched through his books, and took one out before passing it to me. "This is a new one I'm releasing next summer, I'd like you to review it for me and may this be a gift to you - it's somewhat confidential so don't tell anyone about it." he winked and left the café.

"S-sure...sir." I murmured, unable to grasp what I was holding in my hand. I flipped the front cover of his new book 'Parabatai', he had signed it in black bold marker. I had been keeping track of the its release date ever since, and had no idea I would get my hands on it earlier than expected.

I didn't stop smiling as I skipped all the way back to the dorms.

*Donghyuck's P.O.V*

I sighed as I crossed the column in the calendar with blotched red marker, two more months. Ten more weeks. I had ten more weeks before he had to go back. After that I stared at the clock, five more minutes before he arrived in his Kawasaki bike and all-black attire. Hair swept to the side hidden inside his neon green helmet. 

Ten more weeks to see his smile.

Ten more weeks to hold his hand whenever I wanted to.

Ten more weeks to kiss him-

"Hey!" Felix exploded into the scene by slamming the door open. 

"Do not scare me like that !" I exclaimed in annoyance and threw a dirty shirt I snatched from the corner. It was upon instinct, and I blushed in embarassment. He grinned crookedly and tackled me all of a sudden. Without closing the door.

I was pinned down on my bed with him looking at me from above, grinning. My heart was beating out of my chest, but I still tried to keep a poker face. "Ahem, you could've had the decency to shut the door, right?" I asked.

Then he laughed, "But I wasn't going to do anything shameless anyway." and he released me from his grip. I smacked him with a pillow, hard, before shifting to sit next to him. "Why didn't you come down to get me at the door? I thought you weren't at home."

I rolled my eyes, "Aunt Tiffany told you before, make yourself at home. You can come and go as you please, that's what she said."

"You don't seem too keen about it." he noted. "Why? Don't you like me coming over?"

"Of course I want you to come over, that's the first thing I hope for everyday." I answered sheepishly as I traced circles on the back of his hand. It was habit I had developed with time, it seemed as if I couldn't keep out contact with him. Be it something as intimate as kissing or as simple as touching his fingers - I couldn't stay away from him. Which made me even more anxious just thinking about him going back to Australia...

"What's that?" he got up abruptly and walked over to the calendar that was sellotaped to the wall. He frowned, "Donghyuck, what's this?" He knew.

I swallowed, "Er, it's nothing - just some important dates to remember." my palms were sweaty when I stuffed them in my pockets. But Felix was a smart guy, he'd notice the coincidence sooner or later-

"This is...the date I'm leaving for Australia." he said in realization. "Wow," he whistled. "-time flies by fast, huh? In no time I'll be boarding the next plane back to Sydney, maybe back at home in my room."

He didn't see me close my eyes when he said it, he was completely unaware of my feelings. I was containing how much I didn't want him to leave, much less hear him say it out loud with such ease. Don't say what I don't want to think about...

"Hey," he put his hand on my shoulder and gazed at me with a concerned expression. "What's the matter? Me going back to Sydney doesn't mean it's the end, Donghyuck, we'll be in contact. It's not like we'll be completely separated."

I pursed my lips, "But that's not the only thing I want," I blurted, much to my horror. "It's not enough just hearing your voice, or texts. I just...can't bear the thought of being away from you - literally, I mean it." I couldn't stop myself from admitting such things, when I knew it was casuing myself first-hand embarrassment. My face turned red. "I get that I'm being foolish, that I think you should be as fussy as I am about this. Then just forget I ever told you, forget about it all."

I looked down at the floor, unaware when his hand went touch my cheek. Instantly it sent warmth down my spine and gave me chills, automatically my hand held it and didn't let it go. This was what I meant by how significant physical interaction was to me, and not just hearing his lovely voice. 

Having him was like having the world.

"And that is why," he hushed after the kiss. "-I won't let these few weeks go to waste. I'll spend every second of it with you, since you and I both are waiting for our exam results - we have all the time in the world. How's that sound?"

I couldn't help but smile, "That sounds wonderful."

He raised his eyebrows, "Now I can't possibly let all my words go to waste, I think it's time I earned my reward?" I could not believe he was that shameless to ask for that. 

Nonetheless, I planted a kiss on his cheek. "There, happy now?"

He grinned, "Yes I am." then he remembered something. "Oh, I almost forgot - could I borrow Mark's gaming console?" 

I rolled my eyes at him, "Really? You had to ruin the moment for that?" I opened the drawers. "Yeah, I think he kept it in here somewhere. Here, I'll tell him you borrowed it. He rarely uses it anyway."

"Thanks." and he was focused on the game within seconds. I thought to myself, in both exasperation and somewhat happiness, how on earth did you ever fall in love with this guy?

"Your welcome-" I frowned when I caught sight of something else in the drawer. I took it out, and realized it was the time capsule Mark and I had dug up so many years ago. I had no idea he kept in in secret. I knew it was bad to snoop, but I couldn't help myself. 

Inside were dozens of polaroids, both old and new - some dating back two decades ago. A few of them were his mom, I knew that, since the dates were way back in time. The newer ones were fresh in memory, moments captured through the camera lens. Him and I on the couch during the first week I moved in, our first Christmas Eve, a family picture of us after the wedding. A lot of the collection was him and Riley too, kissing, hugging, having a good time. I wondered if he'd still keep them, I knew what had happened already; they had called it quits not too long ago. 

I looked through a few more, and spotted the latest one. He was at some party that I assumed was in college, he was holding up a beer pong cup (and that was the moment I discovered he had been drinking in college and that he was busted if I told Doc and Aunt Tiffany) as he had his arm around another guy's shoulder. It was Mark's roommate, Timothy Armor. The one he couldn't stop raving about at the start of last year when he first enrolled at UVA, the Timothy Armor who shared his odd passion for words and geekiness. The way they posed, the intimacy they had judging by the photo-

It could almost trick anyone in believing that they were more than just friends.