“I didn’t know you could sing,” you call out to him. He doesn’t stop singing to reply to you, and just flashes you a wink as he continues to utter beautiful notes, the melody ringing fully in the still air. Although there are times when he allows himself to show his embarrassment by occasionally burying his face in his hands (thus muffling his voice for a few seconds) and crinkling his nose right after, he stares at you at all the other times, never breaking his gaze. You feel like you could stare into his eyes forever, like at any moment, you could fall right into the endless black of his irises and lose yourself in his voice, in his entirety, in everything about his world that intrigues you.

You lean your chin against the palm of your hand and match his steady look with yours. A breeze comes, briefly disturbing the rose petals with its soft caress. Kai’s voice rides on the wind, the gentle sound drifting up to your ears, spinning around your room and inside your mind. You don’t know what song he’s singing, but you don’t really care. All you know is that it sounds beautiful.

He finishes, and immediately after ending the song, he buries his face in his hands again, his confidence suddenly disappearing. You watch, amused, as he pats his cheeks as if to degrade the scarlet on his face, before biting his lip and looking up at you with large, imploring eyes. It’s hard to resist someone with a face like that.

“Will you come down now?”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll keep singing until you come down.”

You pretend to consider this option before you reply, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Kai huffs and complains, “I’ll lose my voice.”

“Alright, alright,” you shake your head, grinning to yourself as you start closing your window. “I’ll be right there, okay?” You inform him, and before you wait for his reply, you slam the window shut, pull the curtains over it, and head out of the room. You briefly check your reflection in the mirror and run a hand through your hair before dashing through the hallway and down the stairs. As soon as you push open the doors, you feel a gust of wind that cruelly slaps you in the face, twisting your hair in its invisible fingers and knotting them together. You try to pat your hair down and start going around the building to meet Kai. You find him waiting exactly where you had left him, with the roses on the floor. Seeing you, his face brightens, and he picks up the roses and strides toward you, a purposeful step in his walk. You pause where you are, letting him claim the remaining distance. He stops about two feet away from you and, with an uncertain smile, holds out the roses. “Thanks for coming down.”

But you’re not going to give in that easily. You cross your arms and your head to the side, giving him a considering once-over. After a few seconds of focused inspection (an act that only achieves the confirmation of how attractive Kai is), you say, “What made you change your mind?”

Kai lowers the roses. “About what?”

“About me,” you state simply. Your heart hammers against your chest, distracting you from remaining focused, but you ignore its urgings as best you can. You want to know. You want to know he won’t play with your feelings again. You want to know that everything about him is sincere. He said he wouldn’t promise anything, but he also said he’d try. What made him want to make that decision?

“I … “ Kai grimaces at a thought that invades his mind before he continues, “ … my dad. He … pushes me away a lot. I just … “ he stares at the ground, at the layer of grass hidden in the darkness, “ … I don’t think I could handle you doing the same.”

His authentic tone tugs at your heart, and you smile at him, a sad smile that portrays his feelings. “How is he?” You ask.

Kai stares at the roses in his hands before replying, “He’s okay. He … he’s at the hospital. I visited him today, and he seemed all right, I suppose. Healthy. Well … as healthy as he can be in that state.” He laughs lightly at this. “All he talked about was the company, and how he needs to be there to make sure things are running smoothly. Things are getting better, actually. With the company. The stocks are coming back up. But my dad … even on the hospital bed, he still insisted I start working to inherit his position.” Kai shrugs, but you can tell that talking about it troubles him. “I wish he could just see, you know? That I want to do something else.”

You recall Kai’s idea to show his dad his dreams through the talent show and ask, “What about the talent show?”

“Oh. That.” Kai scratches his head. “It depends. I’d like to audition. But there’s no point in performing if my dad doesn’t feel well enough to attend. And he might not even attend, anyway,” he says bitterly, “sick or not sick. He’d probably have some meeting he’d rather attend, some business partner he’d rather see.” He shrugs, trying to let the burden slide from his heart, but a part of him still continues to hold on to the negativity. He holds out the roses to you again, attempting to distract himself from the subject at hand. “Will you take these?”

Wordlessly, you carefully wrap your hands around the bouquet and bring it to your chest. You duck your head to smell the sweet perfume of the roses and smile at the delicate petals that form its beauty, fragile veins supporting its structure.

“I hope you like roses,” Kai says, fiddling with his hands nervously. “I asked Hyunsoo, but she said she had no idea what type of flowers you liked, so … I decided I’d go with the most advertised favorite.”

“Oh?” you laugh. A whisper of a wind ruffles Kai’s hair, making those thick black strands fall away from his face.

“You think he’ll ever … let me?” Kai asks you, his eyes pleading you to convey your honest opinion. “You know, let me do … what I want to do. Will he let me?”

You stare at him. You don’t know what to say. You want to tell him that everything is going to work out, but you don’t know that for sure, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. The last thing Kai needs right now is a predictable response. What he wants right now is you, and the sincerity you have to offer.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “But … I think … he’ll give you a chance. There’s always a chance. Even if it’s a little chance, or a chance that seems too small. I think he’d do it. But I think you … you have to give him a chance, too,” you add. “I can’t say that I can relate to what you’re feeling,” you continue carefully, “but I think … if both sides give each other the benefit of a doubt … then wouldn’t that be good?”

Kai searches your eyes, his expression bleak. Your heart slows, your fear spreading through your body, but then he smiles, that wonderful smile that brightens not only his face, but also the entire night. It makes you happy that, despite his disappointed premonitions of the future, he can still smile. He’s been doing that a lot, hasn’t he? Smiling. You wonder what’s changed him. You wonder if it’s you.

“You’re too nice to me,” Kai comments, looking at you in consideration. You blush underneath his gaze and are thankful for the black night that partly covers your features. “And I’m sorry that I … look. I’ve liked you. For a while now. But I can’t … I’m not the type of guy who can just … talk about his feelings and all,” he says, flustered. He motions at the roses in your hand. “I’m not very good with words,” he murmurs, stepping forward, his chest pressing the roses against your own. You hold your breath, unable to move, unable to function. “I say one thing, and do something else,” he continues, his breath a subtle hiss that serenades your senses. He leans in, closer, closer, until the roses are in danger of being crushed. He looks down, smiles, and pries the roses from your hand, putting it behind his back in a smooth, pre-calculated gesture. “And I’m not very good … at holding my feelings.”

“No?” You somehow reply, your breath too shaky, too vulnerable. He is so close. He is so close, and memories of yesterday flit through the back of your mind.

“No,” he repeats, smirking, “I’m not.” He reaches out to place a gentle hand around your cheek, his callused fingers grazing your skin, his thumb running across your bottom lip. “Hold still,” he commands, his voice low. “I’m going to kiss you now.” Before you can reply or even comprehend what he’s just said, he places his full lips on yours. You close your eyes and kiss him back, relishing the feeling of his hand cradling your face, of his lips moving against your own, pressing, pushing, working against your skin. He places his other arm around your waist, the roses still firmly held in his hand, and holds you against him, keeping you so close against his body until you can feel every fiber, every part of his being collide with your own. You run your fingers through his hair and smile as you kiss him, realizing that his lips are as soft as they look. He pauses long enough to pull back, your face just an inch away from his own, and with a playful tone, he says, “I should’ve kissed you a long time ago.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” you murmur, and he smiles, shakes his head, and captures your words with his lips.