At first it was all yellows.

The bridge is full of people—some walking alone, some with a companion, and some in class. It does not matter how many they are or what the stand for in this day and age because for him, everyone is just… plain old everyone, crossing to get to where they think they should be. The sun is high and bright above him, mocking him with its light, its yellows, its fire and melting everything that does not agree with it. He hates the sun. It is loved by people because it gives light to everyone it holds dearest, but the sun is cruel, for it is, after all, the reason why dark exists.

And then it was red.

He does not move from where he is seated. The wind is harsh against his skin, but he basks in its cold. His feet are dangling; there is no land beneath him. He feels like he is afloat, like he is flying. There is nowhere for him to go, but he keeps flying until he reaches Somewhere. And when he opens his eyes, he sees that the sky is red. Scarlet red. In a way, it is an on-going war and he is in the middle of it. He wonders why the once blue sky he had faith in is now red. Red is a scary color. Red is strong. Red: he was never, but right now, he lets himself believe he is. 

Finally, the color of the sky matches the color of the sea.

The sea is the only thing in this world that could calm him down because the sea is not reassuring equally as it is not dissenting. Waves will destroy one the way it will sing to him a lullaby. The sea is neutral—merciful and vindictive. And he supposes the sky is trying to mold itself to tantamount to the unprejudiced beauty of the sea; but it never will be the sea. The sea is honest and trustworthy and the sky will always have the sun.

Now, he is at his darkest.

He senses a presence behind him, but he does not look back. A stranger sits beside him. Faceless and unknown, his voice is both rich and listless. He utters his words in a dawdling manner, as if there is no rush at all. As if he is taking his sweet time. 

“Why are you here?” 

He hears the stranger say. He cannot concede to the truth that he is tempted to turn his head to the luscious sound that his ears desperately chase. 

Still, he looks directly in front of him, unwilling to see the stranger. It does not matter who the stranger may be or how beguiling his voice may be because for him everyone is just… plain old everyone. 

So he sits in silence, letting the spoken words sway in the air to the beat of his own dangling limbs.

“Are you here because you want to die?” 

He finds himself talking. He finds his voice.

“No. I want to go home.”

His own voice sounds peculiar to him.

“So you sat here for almost an hour?”

“Yes.”

The stranger has so many questions, and answering all these irks him, but he listens, and he listens well. Unknown’s voice sounds like it’s his final chance at life, and it has been so long since the last time he wanted to love. 

“I’m Jeonghan. I live in that house,” the stranger’s arm extends to point at the cabin to their left. “I see you here always.”

A cozy home he has. Sighing, he looks at the stranger. The full moon casts light upon his face, subtly but clearly. 

He is as bewitching as his voice. 

And when he does not reply, the stranger asks, “What is your name?”

This time his eyes follow the way the stranger’s lips move. He forgets the rules. He forgets the world. He forgets the systems. He can only hear the stranger and see the stranger.

“Jisoo,” he mumbles. “I’m Jisoo. I live far from here.”

“Why do you come here everyday then?”

“The sunset.”

The stranger smiles at him, gentle not blinding. Not quite like the sun he abhors deeply.

“Everyday I see you sit on this bridge, and everyday I wonder when are you going to jump off and drown.”

“You think aloud, don’t you?”

“A question for me?” The stranger clutches at his chest dramatically. Jisoo fights the smile bidding to happen. “And here I thought you weren’t interested.”

“You’re right. I’m not,” he says, silently looking ahead again to hide the tugging of the corners of his mouth. “I’m just surprised at how you speak.”

“How do I speak?”

“Like no one is rushing you. Like every thought should be hurriedly said for the world to hear.”

“Really? That sounds contrasting.”

He looks at the stranger and offers the smile he could not help anymore. “Isn’t everything both and nothing at the same time?” 

They fall silent. The breeze is not as biting as earlier, but it is still chilly enough to get gossebumps. Jisoo shivers slightly when the air brushed against his skin, but he does not do anything about it. For some reason, he feels warm.

“You think weird.” The stranger pats his thigh after the long quiet.

“You talk weird.” Jisoo pats the stranger’s thigh as well.

The stranger laughs full and content. His laugh is overflowing with sincerity and passion as though he was born to grace the world with his glee. Jisoo stares at him for one reason: he does seem like the sun he loathes sharply and then he does not. The stranger is a simple enigma to him. What exactly is he, Jisoo cannot tell, but Jisoo knows he can.

“Touché.”

All good thing must come to an end, is what Jisoo clings to, so he stands up and dusts himself. He feels the wood of the bridge beneath his feet, and he enters back to verisimilitude of existence. The stranger is one of the handful of fair things that happened in his life. He does not know when else would he have something similar again.

The stranger is on his feet, too, looking directly in his eyes. Jisoo is caught off guard. He did not expect that kind of zealousness fixed on him.

“Say my name,” the stranger implores. 

“Why?”

“Before you go, at least say my name.”

“But you haven’t said my name either.”

“I did. Right after you told me. I did, Jisoo.”

And maybe he did. Maybe the stranger did say his name out loud.

But Jisoo would not know. He cannot hear himself.

“Why does it matter if I say your name, too?”

“Because then I would know if I’ve been a friend to you.”

Now Jisoo understands why, so he says his name as fondly as he can.

 “Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan smiles wide and loud and beautiful like the sun. Then he chuckles, pleasantly deep and elegant unlike the sun. What exactly is he, Jisoo cannot tell, but Jisoo knows he can. Just give him time and he will.

And so, Jeonghan runs back to the cabin where he came from, waving goodbye at Jisoo as he looks back. He shouts about see you tomorrows, almost trips on his way. Jisoo could not tell what Jeonghan is supposed to be.

With his new friend out of sight, he sighs and kicks a pebble off the bridge. He looks up the sky and for the first time he fails to remember why he hates the sky.

And he sees the moon. He sees Jeonghan.

Now Jisoo understands why, so he says his name as fondly as he can.

“Jeonghan.”