There are some things in life that should never happen. And this tiny fact Daehyun knows all too well. Because it’s a fact that glares all too blaringly bright in his eyes even as he stands in the midst of the bustling shopping complex, camera in hand, mask covering half his face, his own hair covering his forehead so that the only thing that peered out between the two black materials was his own pair of eyes. The stream of Saturday afternoon shoppers parted before him and closed up behind him as if he were a stone in the middle of a river, cleaving the silvery substance in two before it rejoined. He shouldn’t be standing here. This shouldn’t be happening.

This… stalking.

Because he can’t lie to himself. He wouldn’t dare. He had languished in the corner of his bed for long enough when Jongup had pointed out exactly what his behaviour resembled. And when the otherwise harmless younger actually snapped and slapped him upside the head one day, Daehyun really had to man up and face who he was. But to the concern of the younger, Daehyun didn’t stop his activities, rather, as if acknowledging that what he was doing was borderline psychotic gave him permission, he resumed it with renewed vigour, following his prey even outside school, outside club activities.

So he ends up here, few meters away from a statue of a girl holding up a pair of butterflies, bringing the camera up to his face. There’s a young man by the name of Youngjae who stands just under the arms of the statue, his black hair swept to the side of his head so that it falls into one eye, two black earrings adorn his lobes and eyes searching in the crowd. Daehyun knows all about Youngjae, which home class he’s in, what subjects he takes, his whole timetable, his height, weight, hobbies, favourites. He knows Youngjae’s closest friends, knows the members of his family and what they do for a living. He knows Youngjae’s address, his number, both home and mobile. Daehyun knows this because he knows he’s a sweet talker and charmer. He can twist the receptionist at school around his fingers as easily as he can stab a piece of meat with a fork. He can seduce and chat up the girls in his school, exasperatedly telling them that Youngjae left him without his number when they had a music—the only subject and class they shared—project together. He’d sent a wink after the ringleader and had watched them swoon, smug about his work.

But Youngjae was different. He was too innocent, too pure to be poisoned by Daehyun’s silver tongue. Instead, the one time Daehyun did approach the other with ulterior motives, attempting to bewitch Youngjae by flattering his voice, Youngjae completely turned it on Daehyun, enthusiastically praising Daehyun’s singing. He was humble, generous, selfless and more besides, it didn’t help that he was also easy on the eyes and completely photogenic that Daehyun enjoyed capturing candid shots.

It’s the way Youngjae’s skin glows, how there’s a halo of light in his hair, making the strands look soft. It’s the way his fingers clutch at the strap of his messenger bag that makes Daehyun want to gently pry them off and fit them between his own, to rub them between his palms on cold winter nights, to kiss with complete devotion each fingertip, to trace and memorise each line, each dip and curve of the fingers. It’s the way that Youngjae searches in the crowd and the way those brown orbs light up with such happiness that, even few meters away, Daehyun is able to feel the happiness emanating from him and it fills him up until he’s so light, he thinks he may be drunk. It’s how Youngjae jumps a little as he waves towards his friends, it’s the most precious sight Daehyun has ever had the honour to behold, it’s the light in Youngjae, the smile, the warmth that has Daehyun completely enraptured, even as he hugs his friends, Bang Yongguk and Choi Junhong.

Daehyun knows a little about them, after all, it’s only polite to not only them, but also to Youngjae that he finds a little about Youngjae’s friends. Yongguk, Daehyun knows, is a year his senior, school vice-president, second in his grade with rapping and lyrics composing as his hobbies. His sources assure him of a soft heart under a cool exterior, and feeling perhaps a little shadowed by his twin, Yongnam, first in the grade, also with interest in music. Choi Junhong, he knows more about. His main source is Jongup who is in the same afterschool dance club as the other. Junhong is the same grade as Jongup, that is, the year below Daehyun, and has a passion for small animals and skateboarding. According to Jongup, he met Youngjae after he got lost in the neighbourhood, and since Yongguk was his assigned senior for the year, he’d introduced Yongguk to Youngjae and thus formed the friendship triangle.

When Youngjae begins to tow his friends away from the statue, Daehyun starts a little, and ploughs through the crowd, muttering apologies as his elbows knock over a few shoppers. They give him a reprimanding glare, but he doesn’t notice, too focused on the way Youngjae smiles as he checks behind his shoulders for his friends. It pushes his cheeks up until his cheekbones stand in sharp relief and his eyes are curved prettily, the corners wrinkling to show true mirth. To Daehyun, Youngjae is the singularly most beautiful creature to grace the earth. The light that chases shadows away. And Daehyun is just a lost moth, distracted from his path by the brightness, forever gravitating towards it, but never being able to touch it.

They head to the arcade, Junhong holding command at a DDR machine as Daehyun stands behind a crowd that surrounds a racing car game. He’s not interested in the competitors, though he sees one of the competitor’s girlfriend eyeing him up. He lifts an eyebrow and the girl leers at him, but he turns away. He can sweet talk her later if he must. He wanders up and down the many gaming machines, sometimes trying his hand at a Guitar Hero-esque game but mostly just merging with the crowds that form around the Tekken machines, but always within a few meters of Youngjae.

It’s a little risky taking his camera out in the arcade centre, not only from thieves but it would also draw attention to himself, but there’s something about Youngjae that Daehyun can’t resist, that draws him in and he finds himself gambling his anonymity, taking his expensive camera from its pouch in his bag, lifting it to his eyes just as Youngjae jumps back in shock at something in the zombie shooting game. He takes a snap, marvelling at the way Youngjae’s eyes widen, his hand pressed to his heart, skin looking soft as the coloured flashes of light from the machine dances across it. Then the eyes disappear into a smile, and a hearty laugh leave his lips, the sound ensnarling Daehyun, a Siren’s song that calls out, enthralling Daehyun, leading him into the dangerous oceans to his watery grave. He twists the lens, zooming in and focusing on those lips, wondering absently how soft they were, how will they feel like pressed against his own. Will the top lip feel different to the fuller bottom lip?

But Daehyun was never a risk-taker. When the odds are against him, he surrenders. He’s gone far too long out in the open with the camera trained on Youngjae, and he caps and stows away the camera just as the girl from the racing machine taps his shoulder.

“I’m not stupid,” she states plainly, the dimness of the arcade centre and the bright flashing lights light up her eyes so they are brown crystals, cold and glinting in mischief, and when chiselled in the wrong direction come in sharp edges that are dangerous. “I know that mask isn’t because you’re sick, and I know it hides a pretty face underneath it.”

The way she smirks at him is disconcerting, it’s something that Youngjae’s lips can’t physically twist into. It’s feral, hungry, and at once Daehyun’s natural defence takes over. “Is that so?” His voice is muffled by the fabric, but by the way the girl’s lips twitch upwards he knows she’s heard him clearly. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Youngjae tugging at Yongguk’s sleeve.

“Well, if you take off the mask, then we’ll both know for sure.”

Youngjae’s whining a little, and Daehyun’s not at all surprised to see Youngjae desperately leading Yongguk away from the shooting game. He hears snatches of Youngjae’s words—“that thing is going to give me a heart attack”, “I’m hungry, hyung!”, “Why don’t we go to Clover Café?”, “C’mon, hyung! You’re going to turn into a homicidal psychopath!”— and he thinks Youngjae is a little too precious, that Youngjae is perfectly huggable, and would like to put the younger into his pocket to take home, pet like a puppy and shield all the evils away from the preciousness.

“Well? Should I take the mask off for you then?”

Daehyun snaps back to the girl in front of him, raising an eyebrow, a feat he knows that Youngjae hasn’t mastered yet. With his left hand, he pulls the mask down, revealing a smirk rivalling the girl’s. “How about coffee at Clover Café?” It’s as good an excuse as any to stay close to Youngjae.

Halfway to the café, Daehyun’s phone vibrates. The girl reluctantly unwinds her arm from Daehyun’s to allow him to fish for it.

From: Jonguppie
Emergency dance practice for
tmrs comp. Tell mum pls.
Dont pick me up from drawing class
:D

As he looks up from his text, he sees Junhong waving goodbye to Youngjae and Yongguk.

“So, who was that?” the girl asks, her voice free from suspicion. Good, because Daehyun doesn’t believe they’ll ever meet again.

“My younger brother.” He pushes the door open, gesturing with exaggerated flourish for the girl to enter. She giggles. “He has dance practice.”

They settle down at the table across from Youngjae and Yongguk, the conversation flowing from that simple fact. He finds out little details about her, her name is Hyosung, and the guy at the arcade was just her cousin, and other inconsequential facts that Daehyun doesn’t bother to remember. He lets his mouth run, going through the repetitive motions and questions of these sorts of performances, his mind across the aisle where Youngjae and Yongguk are quietly conversing.

“How close do you think Junhong and his little crush is?” Yongguk asks, his cave voice a deep rumble that rolls beneath Daehyun’s conversation with Hyosung.

“I think Junhongie wants to confess soon.” Youngjae smiles and giggles, a sound akin to the twinkling of wind-chimes that fall sweetly on Daehyun’s ears. And he’s distracted enough for Hyosung to ask if he is usually so spacey. He grimaces a little but replies yes he is, receiving an “Aww, cute!” in reply at which he internally cringes a little.

“Then I’m happy for him,” Yongguk comments, but there’s a sort of hesitancy in his voice that Daehyun’s able to detect even as he focuses on Hyosung’s hands as she explains some notion or other, he’s not entirely sure what. And then he hears Yongguk in a breath. “Do you think…”

“Gukkie-hyung?” Youngjae sounds alarmed, as alarmed as Daehyun is, because this is not the confident and sure-footed person Daehyun’s seen at school, who executes self-written raps about raising against corruption with perfect beat, this doesn’t sound like the protective hyung who was there to guide Junhong throughout this year and when his pet frog died. The waver in Yongguk’s voice, the way—as Daehyun’s eyes sidle to their table—his fingers are picking at the edge of sleeves, pulling at a thread that refuse to snap off, it’s not like Yongguk at all. And he’s scared, he’s actually scared of what Yongguk has to say. Daehyun watches as Yongguk swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing a little, Hyosung’s chatter still falling upon his ears fading into the din of the background café. And when Yongguk opens his mouth, Daehyun braces himself on the edge of the table.

“Do you think… we could find happiness together?”

And Daehyun grips the table until his fingers are sore and his knuckles are white, because no, no no no and no. It’s a one word mantra that he’s repeating in his head, hoping that some god would hear his plea. He’s never been religious, he doesn’t understand Faith, but right now he’s hoping to the high heavens above that some god does exist and forgives him for never believing. And somewhere in his shell shocked mind he knows his thoughts are utterly ridiculous, ever the drama queen that he is. It’s just a feeling that wells up inside of him, a desperateness, a panic.

Then Youngjae parts his lips and Daehyun is almost screaming at Youngjae to say no, but he can’t move, he’s frozen, glued to his seat even as Youngjae tilts his head to the side. “Pardon?” And the suspense is killing him because even if he’s been observing Youngjae, he never once even suspected that Yongguk held such feelings, because as far as Daehyun knows, Youngjae hasn’t looked at anyone in any way. But what if Youngjae’s been hiding his feelings because he feels that Yongguk would never return them? Certainly Youngjae is the type to step back and cheer on the sidelines, broken-hearted and all, if it meant his beloved could smile freely.

The thread on Yongguk’s sleeve snaps and he’s left with nothing to do but drum his fingers on the table top. Daehyun notices that the other’s legs are shaking. “Be together? You and me?”

Daehyun watches as comprehension washes over Youngjae’s face, turning his face red, and leaving his eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. It’s such a delicate shade of red, just a dusting of pink really, and Daehyun wants nothing but to cup those cheeks in his hands and feel the warm glow of it against his palms, but Hyosung lays a hand on top of his own and he’s forced to turn to her, an easy smile on his face. “Sorry, I’ll be getting my exam results back tomorrow, so I’m a little distracted.”

Hyosung’s saying something again, accepting his smooth lie, but Daehyun’s already focused on how Youngjae’s chewing his bottom lip, giving it a red tint.

“I don’t want to rush you or anything,” Yongguk says, his own words spoken in a hurry, his tongue tripping over each syllable. “You don’t have to answer now.”

Something in Youngjae’s eyes shift. Daehyun’s able to read it, of course he is, how can he not? Youngjae’s resolved on something, Daehyun guesses that Youngjae knows his answer, but there’s still a tinge of fear in those brown eyes holding him back, and Daehyun’s gambling on that fear. He feels sick that he needs to gamble on fear of all emotions, not love, not happiness or anything positive, but fear. And there’s this self-hatred that wells up inside of him, because he’s a monster, well and truly one if he’s wishing Youngjae fear and it makes all that he’s done so wrong, but if he’s gambling so much now, if the stakes are so high, then it’s better to just go on and see what happens. That’s his reasoning, and his hand shakes so much when he clamps them around his cup of coffee that he immediately releases it.

Youngjae his lips, leaving them shiny with saliva and Daehyun clenches his hands into a fist. “I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.” There’s a hesitant smile on Youngjae’s face. “Here? Nine-ish?”

Yongguk nods and they’re standing up and heading out, Yongguk holding the door like a true gentleman. Daehyun’s left behind, Hyosung staring at his clenched fists. He forces the ends of lips upwards, but his muscles are so stiff they refuse to lift up far and just from the look on Hyosung’s face he knows he’s failed.

Hyosung, however, merely reaches across the table and pats his hand in a kind gesture. It’s a friendly pat, not a sensual . “I think you need to rest and sort out your thoughts if something is bothering you.” When Daehyun looks up to Hyosung, he sees her eyes shining in concern and no trace of a leer within her features. “It’s not a conversation you need right now. Go, I’ll pay for your coffee.”

Truly, Daehyun would be glad to have Hyosung as a friend. He laughs as he shakes his head, reaching into his pocket for some change. “That wouldn’t be polite at all since I was the one who brought you here.” Then on second thoughts, he grabs the napkin and the miniature pen he keeps at all times in his pocket and produces a series of numbers on the soft tissue, wrinkling the paper in the process. “Call me, noona. I’d like to be your friend.”

Hyosung grins a gummy grin that would have made many men swoon, but one that Daehyun can’t help but feel could easily be eclipsed by the brightness of Youngjae’s gentle smiles. Hyosung scribbles something on the napkin too and tears it off for Daehyun. They exchange their goodbyes and Daehyun steps out, his stomach a riot of twists and knots for an unknown tomorrow.

When he arrives home, he pokes his head into the kitchen and tells his mother that Jongup will be late then retreats into his room. Immediately he takes out the memory card from his camera and loads it onto his computer. He silently works through the new lot of photos, flipping through them and sorting them into folders titled “Youngjae’s smile”, “Youngjae’s fingers” and the like. He checks the date and time each photo was taken and renames them according to that information. There’s a folder for blurry photos since he’s loathed to just delete them, and a folder for edits when he gets a break during homework and choir to fiddle around with Photoshop. There’s an edit called “Touch of an Angel” that he’s particularly fond of, consisting of an artistic collage of the way the light splays across Youngjae’s skin. The saturation the light brings with it makes Youngjae look ethereal, unearthly, too good to be entirely true.

As he works, he lets his iPod play his favourite playlist and Youngjae’s voice washes over him, calming him in a way that no other sound could, soft and soothing. He’d been able to smooth talk his way for Youngjae’s real music partner—he lied to the girls for his number, conned them without so much as batting an eyelash—to let Daehyun safeguard the computer while Youngjae’s partner left to ask the teacher for some advice. He’d quickly copied all the files they’d been working on into his USB. The partner had come back, satisfied that no alterations to his project had occurred, and had since then trusted Daehyun a little more. There were recordings of Youngjae’s brilliant singing, interspersed with Youngjae’s laughs at his own mistakes, his mutterings and berating were endearing, and though some claimed that mistakes and fallibility made people ugly, to Daehyun it made Youngjae more divine. He’d never believed in absolute perfection anyway. Imperfection in itself, Daehyun thinks, is a sort of perfection, the sort which is to be treasured and cradled close to the chest, to where the heart lay.

He doesn’t know how long he’s immersed himself in fiddling around with the photos, levelling the colours and the saturation, but it’s long enough for Jongup to poke his head through the door, calling out a cheerful “hyung” that jerks Daehyun’s complete being upright. He’s about to turn around to unleash a lecture on knocking before entering but the smile on Jongup’s face stems any tirade. His face is glowing, a healthy red blush across his cheeks and he’s one hundred percent happy that Daehyun hesitates to ruin it. His eyes twinkle like brown tinsel, and he’s already racing up to Daehyun, tugging at his sleeves.

“Guess what, hyung, guess what?” His grin reaches his ears.

Humouring the younger, Daehyun turns completely away from the computer screen and hums a low “What?”

“Junhong asked me out!” Jongup does a little hop where he’s standing that makes a soft smile unfurl across Daehyun’s lips. “We were practicing and you know how I get when there’s music, but Junhong was staring at me, so I stopped dancing to ask what was wrong. And then he just said ‘I like you—I mean, dancing. Your dancing.’ But I was kinda in a daze—“

“You didn’t ask ‘What is ‘dancing’?’ did you?” Daehyun can only shake his head at Jongup’s shame-filled, flushed face. “We really need to get rid of your habit of asking things you already know.”

“Sorry…” But at Daehyun’s gesture to continue, Jongup immediately lights up again. “Anyway, while he was confused about my question, since I heard him, I told him I liked him too. And then he said ‘really? Do you want to hang at that really big arcade centre near the dance competition place?’”

In response, Daehyun merely squints his eyes, trying to process Jongup’s words. “He didn’t exactly ask you to be his boyfriend, did he?”

At Daehyun’s words, Jongup immediately blushes, slowly shaking his head, but then something in his eyes changes, it goes dull, like they’ve lost their focus and the spark that defined him, and Daehyun’s alarmed until he notices that it’s trained at a spot behind his head.

“Are you still following him?” Following, because Jongup is afraid to say stalking, of labelling his own brother a ‘stalker’.

“Evidently,” Daehyun retorts and turns back to the computer screen, picking up his tablet pen. He doesn’t want to see the lifelessness in his brother’s eyes, doesn’t want to face the ray of complicated emotions that Jongup is emitting.

He really isn’t a stalker, he attempts to convince himself when Jongup retreats out of his room, because he doesn’t engage in other activities that stalkers supposedly do, like contacting them, leaving possessive messages behind, threatening their loved ones. He doesn’t do that, but he does know almost everything there is about Youngjae. He wishes that Youngjae could be his to hold, his to caress, to kiss, to wake up to every morning, to have Youngjae’s sleeping face to be the last image before closing his eyes at night. His to call baby, to have his own name typed out as “Daehyunnie <3” on Youngjae’s phone, to have matching phone accessories. He wants to be Youngjae’s and Youngjae to be his.

But as he lies on his bed with his three blankets neatly piled on top of him, contemplating the same ceiling he has seen since he was five, he thinks to himself that, if he is going to be losing Youngjae tomorrow to Yongguk, he’d like to delude himself just this once, that Youngjae is his.

He sneaks an arm out, feeling the breath of the cold night that chills him right up to his shoulder, and grabs his phone from its place on his table. His fingers flicker nimbly, and he dials without looking, bringing the phone to his ears as he continues to stare at the ceiling.

It’s smooth and white, and completely plain and featureless. He never bothered to paint his room, neither had Jongup, but whereas Jongup had posters of Chris Brown, Daehyun had a few photos of Youngjae that he’d printed out. There are three small ones above his desk, and one large one rolled up and hidden in his closet. He takes it out occasionally to admire the smooth side-profile, the lashes, the hair, the curve of the nose, the dip of the area between nose and lip, the rounded yet defined chin leading into a strong but soft jawline.

“Hello?”

He starts at the sleepy voice of Youngjae in his ear, distorted a little over the phone. He stays silent though, content in listening to Youngjae breathe.

“Umm, who is this?”

He smiles a little at the question.

“Hello?”

He closes his eyes, the smile still on his lips.

“Is this urgent? Because I do need to sleep; it’s past midnight.”

He hums a little at the back of his throat, soft enough that the phone can’t pick it up.

“Look, whoever you are, I’m going to hang up now. Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” he manages to whisper softly, but before Youngjae could even get a word in, he ends the call. He imagines Youngjae furiously whispering to himself about how rude the caller was to hang up on him. Then he images Youngjae giving out a large “humph” and turning to the side, throwing the blanket over his head.

With that picture in mind, and with the thought that maybe he could be classified as a true sociopath, he falls asleep, the small smile still stretched across his lips, the furrow between his brows gone.

At 8.57am the next day, he finds himself on the bus, impatiently tapping his foot. Not only was the bus late by ten minutes, it’s now caught up with some mechanical problem. The doors refuse to open, and Daehyun has half a mind to break the emergency window just to run to Clover Café despite his unfit shape. There’s an old woman in front of him that’s nagging under her breath, her grandchild sitting beside her, the high pitch squeals piercing Daehyun’s ears. He’s actually about to stand up and kick the doors when the driver starts up the bus again and shouts in triumph when the doors snap open. He sits down again, unconsciously wringing his hands as the clock ticks 9.01am, chewing his bottom lip and his eyes never stopping at one place for longer than three seconds.

When he arrives at Clover Café, it’s already 9.07am, and anything could have happened in seven minutes. He’s sweating from his power walk to the entrance despite the cold, a testimony to his need to actually exercise, but when he opens the door, his insides freeze.

Right there, at exactly the same table as yesterday, Yongguk is leaning across the table, his thighs braced against the table, both his arms stretched out. And in his palms, he has Youngjae’s face pulled towards him, his lips pressed firmly against Youngjae’s. Both their eyes are closed, their cheeks flushed with either the cold or a giddy delirium, Daehyun didn’t really know, didn’t really want to deliberate over. The worst part of this picture perfect moment, is Youngjae leaning up into Yongguk’s kiss, his hands steadying him on the table. Youngjae is the first to tilt his head to deepen the kiss, and, in some stupor that has overcome him, Daehyun takes out his camera and captures what, he believes, Youngjae will consider the sweetest moment of his life. It’s only one shot that he takes, and he only ever needs one shot.

He feels numb as he finds a seat the furthest away from the newly formed couple. People say that the world should be shattering, but Daehyun only feels numb. He sees the waitress marching about, asking his order, hear himself ask for the strongest brew of coffee, and when prompted by the waitress for anything else, adds on, like an afterthought, a slice of strawberry cheesecake. He hears the twinkle of the bells as customers come and go, smell the dark trademark aroma of his coffee when it arrives, taste the bitterness on his tongue when he scalds it. The dull roar of a truck makes the windows tremble from its vibrations, reminding Daehyun of the occurrences outside. The world goes on despite his heartache, and he feels like another fallen leaf on the sidewalk, blown around by the wind of fate, or a moth lost amongst the misguiding city lights that point here and there, everywhere and nowhere.

When he walks home tonight, he’ll stop by the electronics store and buy a portable hard disk drive. Tonight, Jongup will be with Junhong and will not pester him about his obsession, which will be a good thing, since Daehyun will upload his last, final photo of Youngjae onto the computer. He’ll do a final bit of editing, maybe airbrushing slightly, adjust the vibrancy. Then he’ll take the hard disk drive out of the clear plastic shopping bag with the cheery blue and yellow logo and plug it into the USB socket. He’ll drum his fingers as he waits for the computer to load, impatiently tapping out a rhythm on the desktop. When it finally loads, he’ll click on the folder saved onto his computer, hold down the control key and in quick, precise motion, press ‘a’ and then ‘x’. He’ll open up the hard disk drive, then paste all the files in, naming the little black box “Yoo Youngjae, Angel”. While the computer is pasting, he’ll clear out the camera’s memory card and eject both media from the computer. Then he’ll return the clean memory card to his camera and place it back into his bag, but he will take the hard disk drive and set it aside, at the back of the wardrobe where he will also store the posters he has of Youngjae, letting it gather dust in the next few years. He’ll take the posters out occasionally, more so in these first few weeks than months on, but he won’t ever throw them or the hard disk drive out. Youngjae is his angel and when an angel touches the earth, it leaves an impression behind that can hardly be forgotten in one’s life time or even a millennium of lifetimes.

But for now he sits in the Clover Café, staring blankly ahead at the seat opposite him. He contemplates calling up a friend, or maybe Hyosung-noona, but in the end, his hand stays immobile. A few seats over he hears, as if he were tuning specifically to the Bangjae radio channel, Yongguk suggesting they take a walk, remarking that there might not be much to see at the central park today, but promising to revisit again when it’s warmer, perhaps in April when the cherry blossoms are blooming. Hearing this, Daehyun thinks, almost detachedly to himself, that walking under the cherry blossoms and then visiting the markets was his ideal date to go on with Youngjae.

And it will never come to be.

At the next chime of the bells, Daehyun concludes that the two have left, despite never having looked up. Instead, he dips his head and drinks the coffee, the numbness he still feels dulling his sense of taste so that the coffee is only mildly atrocious and the strawberry cheesecake tastes like butter. When a hopeless fly collides into the window by his ear, he merely blinks. He supposes that after the fifth time the fly banged into the window, he should be feeling annoyed, but he can’t even dredge from the depths of his apathy a simple enough emotion such as annoyance.

“Hello, is anyone sitting here?”

Forced to glance up, Daehyun represses a sigh. He turns his face to the man standing there, long strands of his fringe almost covering an eye and framing his sharp, sloping jawline. Almost immediately Daehyun envies the man for his small nose, but when he sees the camera hanging from his neck, he quickly dismisses it. “Not at all.”

The man smiles gratefully at him. “Hi, I’m Kim Himchan, sorry for just barging in. I’m from the Conservatorium of Music High School.”

And Daehyun thinks to himself, if the posters and photos of Youngjae are to be kept at the back of his wardrobe, he may as well try to move on. Move on as best as one can after meeting an angel. In Daehyun’s mind, no one can compare to the brilliancy of Youngjae, not Himchan with his rabbit teeth or Hyosung with her gummy smile.

“It’s fine,” he responds, putting some effort into an eye-smile. “I’m Daehyun and I also have an interest in music.”

“Really? I focus on traditional music, particularly the janggu.”

“I’m more into singing. I’d like to be a singer one day. Maybe hip-hop or pop, but ballads are my specialty.”

“That’s really interesting. Be sure to sing for me one day, yeah?”

But Youngjae belongs to Yongguk now and Luna Moths only survive for a week. When Daehyun is reincarnated, he wishes to be a Mandarin Duck, with Youngjae as his mate for life. For now though, for this life, Daehyun will smile up at Himchan sitting across from him, scanning down the menu until his finger rests on the option Iced Americano.

“Of course, one day I will.”

A/N: YOU ASKED FOR DAEHYUN TO SUFFER, AND I DELIVERED. YOU'RE WELCOME.

OTL If you guys thought that Daejae were going to end up happy together, I'm sorry to disappoint you... Anyways, I'm languishing, trying to find a job. Am too ugly, I mean at the interview they asked if I could wear makeup on the job like whut. Hmph.

ANYWAYS, I LOVE YOU IF YOU'LL LEAVE SOME COMMENTS  CHUUUU~<3333