Reaching against the beating of the bass drum far away through the speakers, humming in the distance as piano keys tickle my ear through the soft fibers shaking my core.

Restless nights of practice, searing redness until my voice becomes rusty. Sitting down in the little kitchen of the dorm, 3 A.M., waiting to pounce on the tea kettle once it screeches.

Fumbling, I can almost feel you in the dark. But acknowledging you would be to give in, so I stare at the steam and pray that you make the first move. Bum—boom—bahbum. Is this what it feels like to be alive? Electric and on edge, pretending to focus on the tea when really I can feel your eyes piercing my skull.

Now a small string is added, from what I can tell it’s an electric guitar trying too hard to be reminiscent of a soft violin. Just throw me against the wall already. Grab me by the shoulders, the hair, the face, something to let me know you’re really here.

Screech. Mechanically pouring the hot water flowering over the little bag and dumping in the honey, my mind preoccupied.

“A little less honey, a little more lemon. Lemon’s good for the throat too.”

“Oh, you’re here.” As if I didn’t know that you’d been there all along.

“Yeah, just got home.” Home. I would barely call these linoleum floors and white-washed walls home, but. The words “welcome back” tempt to pop out of my throat, but I push them back down.

“You should get some sleep, more schedules tomorrow,” comes out instead. You chuckle, a little lopsided smile hardly visible in the dim glow coming from the bathroom night light.

Step. Boom. Another step. Bahboom. A little shuffle. Should I put the tea down? Raising your hand, my mind chants “grab me, grab me, grab me”. Pat. Hand landing on my head.

“Alright, I’ll be turning in then. You should get some sleep too.” A flicker of lingering warmth remains where your hand was. I hear the click of the iPod speakers as you turn system off, and I can’t distinguish between you and the darkness of the night.

A quiet, “G’night Sehun,” reaches my ears, following the release of the doorknob and a wave welling up in the pit of my stomach.

I never really planned to drink the tea.