It was night, the crescent moon veiled by the dark clouds that covetously obstructs its beauty, and silently hides the millions of stars from shining at their best; the sky like a spilled ink, causing the night to be unusually darker that it seemed previously. To Jongdae, who had gotten use of the dark hours before dawn and the empty streets below his block which seemed to be even more lonely under the dim orange glow from the street lights, the silence screaming louder than any noise and everything was lost into the wind, it does not matter.

   He spares a glance at the night sky once more, wondering if it’s about to rain. But then the clouds shift, and the moon peeks out from behind, the soft moonlight shining on him once again. The moonlight was like a spotlight waiting for him to take the solo stage and shine just as bright, proving to the world what he can do. Yet Jongdae hesitates, his faith wavering, and he doesn’t in the end. He shifts like the clouds had, and manoeuvred away from where the light shines, hiding himself in the shades.

   He doesn’t have the courage, fear of failure overtaking his limited confidence facing a world he had never faced before. He desperately yearns for the spotlight, a given chance, but he’s afraid of failure. He knows that this isn’t right of him; if he wants to succeed he’d have to take a step out of his comfort zone. It isn’t that Jongdae didn’t know what to do, the steps to take if he wants to make his dreams into goals, and then into reality.

   Yet all his life, Jongdae had not been much of the type that seeks. He’s akin to water, tranquil, and only pushes forward where the breeze directs him. He was born to a humble family down the countryside, to a meek family of four. Neither his Father nor his elder brother were ambitious people, they were content with the simple lifestyle that had.

   No, content wouldn’t be the perfect word to use. Facing the current society South Korea is in right now, the small simple family could not do anything but stay content to what they have. This was the lifestyle that Jongdae had been brought up with, taught to stay content with whatever they have and never expect too much. Jongdae thinks that perhaps wanting to sing was ‘too much’. Somehow his family supported him through his education, and then supported him to Seoul’s Arts Academy.

   Jongdae’s in his last year of school; he watches his classmates one by one rising to the limelight, sought for their capabilities. He should have been one of them; he hopes to be one of them. But what good is hoping when he doesn’t even dare to take the first step. He could only stay in the shadows, never one to own the limelight because he’s too much of a coward.

   Perhaps the one not-so-cowardly action that he ever took was moving to the Seoul city four years ago. Jongdae had not expected it to become his worst nightmare. He had been so stubborn back down, insistent that he wanted to sing over tears shed as he confide in his family.

   Singing means more than a possible future career to Jongdae, it was his heart and his soul; his entire life in a nutshell. There was once when he firmly believed that he was birthed to the world just to sing, but reality was too unforgiving. He gets to forget the world and everything against him when he sings, despite the fleeting moment. He loses himself at the start of every song, and is roughly pulled back to reality with the end of every note.

   Sometimes Jongdae is tempted to leave, to go back home, but he doesn’t because he knows he cannot. He gives himself chances over again because he doesn’t want to disappoint his family, but he knows, at the end of the day he’d just disappoint them.

   Slender fingers wrap around the white ceramic mug that contained his coffee that had long gone cold. It became a habit of his to make himself a mug of coffee every night, and a habit to end up never finishing the beverage at all. He isn’t much of a fan of coffees, despite his part-time job as a barista down the corner of the street. He just took up the habit of drinking coffee because at least it gave him an excuse why he couldn’t sleep at night.

   Sleep has never been easy for Jongdae. He couldn’t possibly remember when and how it started – he supposed there should be a reason for it, since everything happens with a reason. Night comes and sleep doesn’t follow like it usually does. He had been frightened once, but the fear dissolved faster than sugar in hot tea because he learns that there’s nothing to fear in the dark.

   But he never really understood why, and he never really actually asked his parents about it. He supposed they know about his condition, but they never really spoke about it. He had only asked once, and his Mother had replied that it’s because he didn’t exert enough hard work in the day to feel exhausted enough in the night.

   He took a tentative sip of the cold coffee, before cringing at the bitter taste that seeps through his taste buds. “This tastes horrendous,” Jongdae splutters, placing the mug on the coffee table before him. “How do people even enjoy this taste?” Definitely not the reason why he chose to become a barista. It was because he saw pictures of latte art when he was surfing the net and got his interest piqued.

  That had been a few months after he moved into this apartment, and by coincidence the café down the street happened to be recruiting. Without that job, he wouldn’t know what else he’d be able to do. Apart from singing, Jongdae isn’t really that confident of himself in any other skills. Furthermore, having a job means having an income, however little.

   During the holidays, at least it gave him something else to do other than laze at the apartment all day, feeling depressed and suffocated by the four white walls that surrounds him. He isn’t one who’d decorate the place he’s living in; he just required the necessities unlike most people who enjoy aesthetics.

   He stood up, stretching himself like a feline with a yawn that barely slips past his plump lips as dawn approaches, seeping colours back into the once dark sky. The night ends up being rainless, though the end result doesn’t matter. He glances once at the clock on the wall, the minute’s hand striking 6:49AM. If there’s one thing about insomnia that he quite likes, it’s the fact that he’d probably never have to worry about not being able to wake up on time for school.

   He left the coffee, cold and long forgotten, amongst the cold wind and warm sunlight as he took a quick shower before donning his uniform, grabbing his bag and walked out of the house to start a new day; though he wouldn’t say afresh, since he didn’t even end the previous day. He greets the security-slash-management uncle by the gate with a brief flash of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes and quicken his steps.

   As usual, the commotions in the school never end. Jongdae seats himself in his seat by the window, basking himself in the sunlight with his earpieces in, music on and the world blocked out. The only sound that could cut through his world was the shrill ring of the school bell, signalling the start of school. He hides his earphone as his lecturer walks into the classroom on time as usual.

   The class is momentarily silenced as they greet the teacher, and then the usual tricksters started their folly once more. There’s laughter and bickering all around the classroom, coming from classmates that Jongdae recognizes their countenances for the past four years, but never the names. Holiday is round the corner, no wonder for the undeniable festive mood within the room. The corner of Jongdae’s lips quirk to a soft angle of smile as he watches his lecturer beams at them with her beautiful eye smile.

   “Class, listen,” the beautiful lecturer calls out with her smooth voice. It took Jongdae a brief moment to remember her name – Ms Tiffany. She had a last name that he couldn’t remember, but he recalls her saying that she didn’t liked to be addressed with her last name, it makes her feel old. He assumes it’s the western culture that she was raised up with. “As you all should know about the final year performance is in two months’ time, I’m hoping that you guys will be actively joining! It’s your final year, so if anyone hasn’t performed before should take the chance now to showcase your talents!”

   Jongdae’s heart skipped a beat involuntarily, and he blinks. He knew about the final year performance of course, he had always been interested to apply since his first year. But he never brought up enough courage to really do so and procrastination only lead to him missing the deadline. He advert his gaze when he felt Ms. Tiffany’s rest on him, his cheeks lightly flushed.

   The chaos from the room soon overwhelmed his own emotions and he finds himself back with earpieces in, his music on and blocking the world once again. Quietly, he penned down the fragmented thoughts of the song he was humming to yesterday, filling in words and scratching off certain verses that he didn’t feel right. He’s so focused in his own world, the edges of his lips curling into a beautiful smile. He didn’t even realize the ringing of the bell that once again indicates the end of the class.

   In a fluster, he pulls his earpieces off and stood up, bowing at Ms. Tiffany who somehow ended up standing before his table. From his peripheral vision and the unusual silence of the classroom he could tell that he’s once again the last to leave. “Ms. Tiffany, am I bothering you?”

   “No Jongdae, I was just wondering if you’re interested in this year’s final year performance. Most of your classmates have all been through the final year performances of the previous years; only you still have not taken the opportunity. Would you like to try this time round? You have a beautiful voice, Jongdae; I wouldn’t want to see it wasted.”

   “I– I’m not sure about that, Ms,” he stumbles over his words, almost biting his tongue mid-sentence. He’s not very good at interacting with people, even though he quite likes this musical teacher of his. She always plays good pieces on the piano, and she was gentle and understanding, never forcing anything upon Jongdae. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling that.”

   “Nonsense, Jongdae,” her words are sharp, but not her gentle tone matched with the crescent of her eye smiles. “Just because you’re quite the silent type in class doesn’t mean I don’t keep my eyes open for talents, my dear. You have a brilliant voice; I think that alone is enough to ‘handle’ the performance.”

   “I– May you give me some time to consider?” he pleads, feeling beyond flustered and bewildered at the compliments that his lecturer suddenly showers him with. He knows that Ms. Tiffany quite likes him, for what reasons he couldn’t comprehend. His cheeks flushed at having such passionate warmth bestowed upon him that he has absolute no idea how to reply. He could only choose the coward way; turn and scamper.

   “Take your time to decide, my dear, there’s still quite some time to the deadline of registration. Though take note, this is your last chance. Please don’t miss it, my dear.” She watches him, her unspoken words left lingering in her mind. She had paid extra attention to Jongdae, both worried and anxious for him. He’s a one in a thousand talent that she’d hardly find, and it would really hurt her heart if such a gem like him ends up being forsaken.

   Due to the holidays round the corner, and that they were music majors, there wasn’t much lessons around. Jongdae ends school mid-afternoon, and he finds himself back at his apartment. He rests himself on the sofa, a hand over his features. The words of what his lecturer said kept lingering at the back of his mind, as if trying to tempt him.

   He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, getting up only to get another quick shower squeezed in between his schedules, and he changes out of his school’s uniform into his barista’s one. It was a casual barista outfit that most probably anyone who’s a barista ever wore before. Black suspenders against white buttoned-up shirt, matched with a pair of black skinny jeans and blue sneakers.

   He searches for his nametag, momentarily forgotten where he had last thrown them. He finds them in the last minute, at the drawer near his bed. He skids out of the door to rush to his work. He should really kick his lazing around habit, but there’s nothing else that he wants to do.

   Jongdae comes to a stop when he sees a huge pile of boxes by the road near the entrance of the gate, and a huge truck parked beside. He blinks, confusion etched in his countenance; but his curiousness didn’t last, since he realize he’s going to really run late if he doesn’t fasten his pace. He doesn’t spare another glance at the weird site as he goes, mind set on his work.

   “You’re nearly late,” it’s Minseok who welcomes him at the chime of the opening of the door, the corner of his lips quirked into a small smirk. “Sehun will be late today, he still have classes. Thankfully it’s not the weekends yet, so there won’t be that much of a crowd.”

   Jongdae replies with a quick nod, flinging his apron on as he flashes a quick smile towards the older male. Minseok is one of the very few that Jongdae really talks to, and Minseok’s approachable to everyone. He’d been Jongdae’s mentor in latte art as well, and soon they became some kind of a friend. Not the type that’ll chat each other up with casual conversations, but close enough for him to remember his name to his face.

   Time passes when there’s work to do quickly. Minseok stood by the counter taking the orders of the two ladies with a charming smile when the doorbells chime once again to the opening of the door. Jongdae raises his head in his work of making another frappuccino to greet a half-hearted “Welcome,” when he’s utterly captivated by the view before him.

   Wearing a simple tee and jeans, his physique was perfect and with a milky complex, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen such ethereal beauty on a guy before. The newcomer is someone that Jongdae has never met in the small town-society, and he blinks once to take in the good-looking cherubic features on the other’s countenance. If there’s anything worth being termed ‘angelic’, he thinks this guy is the only one who’s worthy of it.

   He snaps out of his moment of trance and goes back to finishing his current drink with a flush to his face. He could feel the heat rising up to his ears. Gosh, how embarrassing! Nevertheless, his ears still perked up when Minseok took his order and asked for a name, and a velvety voice replied, “Lu Han.”

  He is quick in his skills, something that Jongdae is always proud of himself of. He holds the cup that writes the other’s name a little tighter than usual, then mentally smacked himself at what he’s doing. His cheeks still flushed, he starts making the drink, well-aware that the owner of the drink is actually standing behind him, waiting. He finishes the beverage (less sweet, no whipped cream, double chocolate frappuccino).

   Jongdae passes the drink over, their fingers making quick contact. The other guy – Lu Han – flashes him a quick smile with a simple “Thank you”, much genuine than the smile he returns. He watches Lu Han struggles with his drink, his laptop and his thick textbooks to a seat in the corner.

By the time Lu Han’s setting up his laptop, with his textbooks flipped to the pages he require, Jongdae’s back to doing his job as usual. Nimble fingers type away at lightning speed, Lu Han’s gaze forever stuck on his laptop as he rushed out his essay due next week, and Jongdae busies himself with latte art and frappuccinos, both of them engrossed in their own world to bother about their surroundings.

   By the time Jongdae finally ends his six hours shift, Minseok takes over Sehun’s cashier’s position, and Sehun takes over Jongdae’s barista position at the bar. Sehun and Minseok are in the midst of exchanging jokes, and the most recent prank that the mischievous Sehun played on his high school classmates. A chuckle slips past Jongdae’s lips as he bids both of them goodnight.

   His glance fell upon the guy sitting at the corner typing away on his laptop; his flawless features contort with concentration and frustration. It was the beverage that was left half-drunk that attracted his attention though. Jongdae didn’t like it when he sees his customers never finishing the drinks he made; it felt like he didn’t make the drinks tasty enough. For some reasons he couldn’t recall the name that went with the beauty.

   Shaking his head, he left regardless. As he crosses the gate to get into the building, Jongdae took a pause to look at the side of the street. Something felt strange to the young male. Had there been something there earlier? He thought he vaguely recalls a large pile of boxes around. Is someone moving out, or is there a newcomer moving in? He thinks the security-slash-management uncle might have told him something this morning, but he doesn’t remember because he had been in a rush to get away from the ahjusshi.

   Shrugging his aching shoulders, Jongdae trot back up to his apartment on the seventh floor, aiming for his bed the moment he stepped into the room. He lets out a small groan as he dumped himself onto the welcoming bed of his and rolls around, arching his bed like a feline with soft whines escaping past his lips. He really does have an ability to procrastinate things, and he doesn’t even have many things to do.

   When the clock strikes 11:29PM, he begrudgingly pulls himself out of the comfort of his bed and crawled his way to the bathroom, both literally and figuratively. He did a quick roll when he’s near, whining his way all over the short journey. Only when the heat of the water rains on him that he remembers what he’d forgotten that morning.

   That ahjusshi has a knack of gossiping like the women around, something that Jongdae doesn’t like to participate in but it’s not in his say when people drags him in. He recollects what the man had told him that morning, apparently he’s getting himself a new neighbour, but somehow he really couldn’t recall exactly which unit is the newcomer moving in to.

   Jongdae isn’t the type to retain information, most memories always slips past his mind. Everything was brief in Jongdae’s life, nothing last a lasting impression. He didn’t see a need to let anything, or anyone last long in his life; if they’re meant to leave anyway, why hold on in the first place?

   He finishes his hot shower and walks to the balcony, nose crinkling when he saw the cup of left over coffee he had forgotten to clear away that morning. With a sigh he cleared the cup and cleaned up the stains left behind, thankful that ants didn’t attack the area yet. He isn’t in the mood of brewing himself coffee for the night, since he’d never finish drinking away.

   Settling for snuggling up the sofa with his beloved blanket; Jongdae flips the channel till something interesting shows. He’s mid-way watching Running Man when exhaustion kicks in and he welcomes the badly-required sleep that finally comes to him.

   But the state of unconscious doesn’t last long; eyelashes flutters, fingers twitching and soon Jongdae find himself awaken; rubbing the soreness from his eyes, Jongdae lets out a long yawn and leans himself on the sofa, grumbling inaudible nonsense. The blankets tangled up with his legs causing him to tumble his way down the sofa, landing with a loud crash and a hiss of agony from him.

   Groaning, he rubs the area that he’s sure going to bruise from the impact, he stumbles his way over to the kitchen, eyelids drooping. He nearly hits his face onto the refrigerator’s door which he was trying to open, and d for the milk somewhere within, deciding to heat some milk for his empty stomach. Finally getting the sleepiness out of his eyes, Jongdae glances at the clock that reads 3:56AM.

   “That’s a surprising timing,” he muses to himself. That meant that he actually managed to sleep for a few hours, no wonder he’s feeling more refreshed than he usually is. Jongdae had been through so many years with deprived sleep that sleeping for up to 8 hours isn’t his wish, as long as he’s able to sleep for more than 2 hours each day he’s more than appreciative.

   Rummaging through his bag to search for his notebook, he flips through the pages filled with doodles of music symbols. He finds the page he’s looking for and scans through what he had written through the day. “This doesn’t sound right– should change the word–” He makes amends through his already vandalized notebook, feeling satisfied at knowing that he’s nearing completion for his newest song.

   It starts with a small, light hum of the tune that’s been lingering in his mind for the past few days. He doesn’t sing immediately to start with, simply humming the tunes to himself over and over again to get a decent melody that’ll sound the best. Then he started to sing by adding words that seem to fit the tune; a few chuckles here and there at adding random words that made absolute no sense.

   The night goes darker when he finally managed to fill in the lyrics here and there to make quite a song. He sips on his hot milk from time and time. Without realizing, he actually finishes a beverage for the first time of his many sleepless nights. He finally sings, leaning against the chair.

   Lu Han definitely did not expect his first new at a new home would end up like this. He had his best friend help him out with moving the furniture, trusting that Yifan would know his tastes best. Of course, the remaining personal items belonging to himself would have to be unpacked personally; Yifan knows better than to do those sorts of things.

   He had only managed to beg and threaten Yifan to help him because he was desperately in need to knock up this stupid assignment of his. He had fallout with his previous landlord who was supposed to rent him the apartment for 3 years. The move had been sudden for him, and caught in a very bad timing where his examinations are round the corner, and never-ending assignments pile on his study table. It’s almost impossible to tell if his textbook is thicker or his pile of assignments is thicker.

   He had been so engrossed with typing out the 32 pages long essay that he had totally lost track of time. He was on his twenty-four thousand and third words when the nice café he was residing in came to a close. He supposes he should be grateful to the owner, who had purposely delayed their closing so as to give him more time. He ends up having to lug his laptop and his really thick and heavy textbooks back up to his new apartment.

   He’s grouchy, that he wouldn’t deny; Lu Han’s half the time always in extreme moods; either really nice, or really, really irritable. The stress is finally getting to him, especially when he had to go through a period of frantic-near-hysteria when he almost thought he was going to be homeless. Yifan is always trustable, really, because he’s the one who found him a new place to live in such a short period of time.

   Glancing around at the room, he’s glad that at least Yifan really has good tastes and set up his apartment quite well. He’s even thoughtful enough to set the remaining boxes of personal items by the side, so the klutz wouldn’t find himself tripping over anything anytime soon (hopefully). He’s highly tempted to burrow himself onto the welcoming sight of the bed in his spacious bedroom, but he has to resist himself because he’s sticky with perspiration.

   His arms are sore at having to carry such heavy textbooks and he only managed to set them onto the study room’s table nicely because he didn’t want to risk damaging his laptop when he decides to throw those books not-too-gently. He cracks his neck twice; feeling eerily satisfied at hearing those sounds his bones make whenever he does that. (His mother told him time after time that it’s bad for the bones to do that and he’d end up aching when he’s old but it soothes his nerves every time.)

   Lu Han takes a quick tour around the entire apartment, although his overly exhausted eyes probably wouldn’t be able to take in much anyway. He’d leave the admiration to the next day, or whenever he wakes up, he supposes. Finally trudging his lithe frame to the bathroom, he ponders if he should just drown himself in the bathtub, but went against the idea because drowning seems quite a painful way to die.

   The hot water does soothe his nerves and relaxes his aching muscles, and he dozes off in the bathtub for half an hour. He’s only awaken by the splash when his head went underwater and he feels wide awake briefly – fear of death does that to someone. He literally clawed his way out of the bathtub because he’s too lazy to even bother to stand and lay on the cold tiles, staring at white ceiling.

   “What exactly am I doing,” Lu Han drawls to himself with an eye roll that’ll give Yifan’s for a run of his money, and he picks himself up only to end up sneezing and with the realization that he’d forgotten his towels – and his clothes. He regrets every lying on the cold tiles and is half tempted to go back into the bathtub of hot water but he could already feel his skin wrinkling over soaking too long.

   Scrunching his nose, he decided that this is his own apartment anyway. What does he have to be scared of? Not like he’d end up meeting anyone; now that’s a real scary thought. He walks out as bare as the day he was born and stood before the boxes that Yifan piled up at the corner. A lone brow quirked upwards because he realizes he doesn’t really know which box contains what stuffs–

   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lu Han groans and sinks to the floor. He grabs the first box nearest to him and uses all his strength to destroy the tape because he’s once again too lazy to go and find any scissors. He’s out of strength by the first box but he’s really grateful because it ends up to be the box that held exactly what he requires right this moment.

   He dries himself up with the towel he gotten and wrapped it around his waist, face contort with concentration as he searched through his pile of clothes and tried to figure out which would be the most comfortable to be worn to sleep. He ends up with a pair of striped boxers and old t-shirts. Gratefully, he’s finally plopped on his bed; the living room a mess from what he just did and the floor might be a little wet with water stains – but he’ll bother about those when he wakes.

   He’s half asleep when he first hears the sound; a velvety voice, a soothing melody and a very nice song. Lu Han doesn’t think he had heard the song anywhere before, and his mind is too spent to use any brain cells for the day anymore. He burry his face into his soft pillow, listening to the song that became a lullaby for him and Lu Han finds himself falling asleep with ease for the first in many nights.