.: Pick Me

He stared up reaching his hand towards the endless blue sky.

He imagined something perhaps fluffier than the clouds themselves.

Something like a mess of chocolate, poofy locks that bounce in full hearty laughter.

He could feel the reminiscent sting of his arm, already forming a bruise from a clumsy, heavy hand that always clapped onto his pale skin in the background of the pair of roaring snickers and hyena giggles.

He pictured irises on the sun's sphere shape, shining as bright as its rays too bright for his own eyes.

The smile that form with them appeared next.

His fingers tingled at the ghostly sensation of smooth softness as he recalled the taut cheeks pulled so high from a mischievous grin.

He dropped his hand back down lost once again in the sea of grass.

Crumbles of fresh dirt from the lush meadow pillowed the fall and formed to his slender fingers.

An index finger traced up a waxy coating, up to an outstretched limb so gentle yet strong it reminded him of a heart he knew too well.

He plucked the flower from the ground, hearing the crisp snap that reverberated in his ribcage.

'How?' he wondered. How did his heart always manage to stay intact from its countless breaking upon laying his eyes on such sweet smiles and hearing honeyed words of praise for his own voice.

He would sing for him all day past the point of becoming hellishly hoarse if his muse would shine his purest of awed smiles he loved so much...

Sing until he cried out the pain dwelling inside, built upon what felt like eras of eternal friendship.

Sing until his lungs filled with fire, inhaling up his oxygen.

Sing... until he knew his everlasting, unconditional love for him.

Love for him that knew no bounds.

Knew not what limitations were.

But knew only how to grow.

How to keep strong.

How to hold on.

How to love no other...

He took the flower in his hands and raised it up back to the sky that reminded him of his heart's desire and demise.

"I'll decide here and now," he said to himself in the softest of whispers that could only be tickled breath against one's ear. 

"It's stupid just like you. A stupid idea. But, I have to decide now... To let go or to keep going."

He plucked a petal, feeling an ominous dread spread from vein to vein like acid slowly disintegrating his heart away.

"He likes me not," he whispered.

He fought the next, ripping it from its pollen filled core.

His voice trembled at the mere thought.

A thought strong enough to make his love last for eternity.

It made him hope.

Made him believe there was a chance.

"He likes me."

Another white, velvet piece was chucked to the ground almost in envious anger.

"He likes me not...!"

With the next petal torn, he grew antsy.

His actions became erratic and hurried.

"He likes me. He likes me not. He likes me-"

Three petals shred from its body like a gruelsome beast savagely tearing off its limb from starvation.

They fell to the long forgotten dirt floor.

"He likes me not."

He began to slow.

He began to feel himself fall apart as the end was nearing.

He stared at the little flower, its bright green stem displayed the full life and hope it once had pinched between his fingers like a chokehold on his fate.

He began to curl up inside, his guts twisting, and his bones curling inward to pierce the remains his heart.

He plucked the petals left, knowing his decision.

"...He likes me..."

He said for the last time like a mournful goodbye to an old friend.

The next line was said as if spoken to the murderer of the hypothetical old friend.

"...He likes me not."

He let the now lonely stem join the rest of its petals to be carried off into the same cool wind he blamed his tears to be produced by.

He messily rubbed at his dulled eyes with the back of his dirt stained hands like a toddler who broke his favorite toy at the playground.

He let the quiet sobs take over his breath's rhythm.

He hiccuped for more air as if he were drowning.

A heavy hand laid on his shoulder.

He turned around.

His eyes widened as if a lifeline was thrown to rescue him from deadly waters.

He spotted the slight waves at him from wind-tousled hair.

He squinted a bit from light rays beaming only at him despite not facing in the sun's direction.

He stopped breathing at the sight of upturned lips forming that familiar cheeky grin of his muse and eternal friend.

It was a sight for sore eyes.

Baekhyun wiped his eyes once more before silently inquiring about the never before seen item in Chanyeol's grasp.

Chanyeol, with a nervous yet 1000 watt toothy grin, shifted his gaze down to his feet and back to shimmering, obsidian eyes he always wished he could wake up to for the rest of his life.

He held out the bouquet of fresh, vibrant flowers - and quietly picked from the same meadow field he spotted an angel getting lost in his thoughts in - and cleared his throat.

"Don't cry..."

He wanted to burst into giggles at the pink streaks down Baekhyun's face, remembering the cute, grumpy mumbles he had overheard.

Chanyeol wanted nothing more than to pinch silly Baekhyun's mochi cheeks with the roll of his eyes.

With one sentence, he changed fate.

He brought back life into his own muse's face that lit up from words that he once dreamed to hear and couldn't accept the idea of ever happening in reality.

His heart that was once aching, pierced by every giddy giggle by his side and puppy-like eye smiles he could never resist, was now overflowing with joy like Baekhyun's eyes down his cheeks and onto Chanyeol's chest.

With one sentence, he found himself arms full of the boy that had always loved him too.

"He likes you."